~ ~ * * ~ ~
Chris Larabee reined his horse to a halt on the
side of the road. A small boy slid from behind him, dropped to the ground and
scurried into the brush. Chris
dismounted too, taking a few minutes to stretch while he watched the boy. He
was searching for an object they’d seen glinting in the sun as they’d come over
the last hill. They’d been out half the day trying to track the small herd of
wild horses Chris had seen several times over the past two weeks, but it looked
like today they weren’t going to find them.
They already had two horses -- three now that
the mare had foaled. Several months back they’d found the black stallion they
were currently riding. It had been limping heavily near one of the small, wild
herds that roamed the canyons. The quality of the horse had made it stand out
from the rest of the herd. Their first thought had been that perhaps it had
gotten loose from somebody’s corral and was now trying to run free with the
other mustangs.
When they’d gotten close enough to inspect its
hooves, he’d not been surprised to find the horse was shod. The shoes had been
in poor condition though, one in particularly bad shape, making it painful to
walk on, let alone run and keep up with the herd. As for the mare, she actually
belonged to Jack Tanner, but Jack had gone missing over six months ago, so
Chris had been taking care of her in his absence. The man had taken off on the
gray mare early one morning, and nearly a month later the mare had shown up
again, without her rider. And shortly
afterwards, Vin had shown up, as well.
It had actually been Jack’s idea to attempt
breeding horses. He’d figured if they could raise enough horses, they wouldn’t
have to rely as much on fuel, which was almost impossible to come by, and
likely to run out completely sooner rather than later. Plus, a horse was a lot
less conspicuous out on the road and easier to conceal, if need be. Chris had
thought it was a pretty smart idea, although Jack’s disappearance had put the
entire project on hold for a while. When it looked less and less likely that
Jack would return, Chris had finally resolved to follow through with the plan
on his own, which was why his present goal was to find another mare.
Chris stroked the stallion’s muzzle, pleased
that he was behaving himself fairly well that day. He much preferred to ride
the silvery-gray mare they’d affectionately deemed ‘Mary’. She was much more
docile and easy to control than ‘Steve the stallion’, but it was much too soon
to take her away from her little foal.
Chris watched as Vin’s blond head popped up from
behind a bare shrub. The boy jogged back to Chris, a smile on his face as he
held out his new prize for the man’s inspection. “Well, well…that’s pretty
fancy,” Chris said, inspecting the object then holding it up to his eye. “Know
what it is?”
The boy didn’t answer verbally, and Chris hadn’t
expected him to. He just shook his head and waited expectantly for Chris to
explain. It had been six months or more
since he’d first met this boy, and never had he heard him utter a word. He was friendly, affectionate with people he
was familiar with, and every now and then somebody – usually Buck – would
manage to make him laugh. That he could make that sound was a good sign, but as
more time passed, Chris had to wonder if Vin would ever be able to tell them a
single detail about himself -- or his father.
He hadn’t known Jack Tanner very long, but
oddly, almost from the moment they’d met, Chris had trusted and believed in
him. Something he wasn’t in the habit of feeling for total strangers.
Tanner had been a Texas Ranger, as his father
had been, but unlike his father, he’d also been a fugitive -- a wanted man,
convicted of murder. Chris remembered following the case back when he’d worked
homicide. Tanner had been working on an unsolved murder case; had claimed that
he was close to making an arrest and felt that was the reason he was set
up. The crime scene had been so
obviously manipulated that Chris thought even a blind man should’ve been able
to tell. But the public had wanted justice for the murder of a ‘helpless,
paraplegic – a highly decorated war veteran’. They demanded a quick close to
the ugly ordeal and despite Tanner’s own prestigious military and civilian
records, despite the fact that there was no clear motive, no viable reason for
this respected law enforcement officer and family man to suddenly resort to
murdering informants, he nonetheless became the convenient scapegoat.
Chris hadn’t been too surprised that the judge
had found him guilty, but he had been a little shocked when he’d found out that
the man had received the death penalty. When he’d learned that Tanner had
escaped en-route to the prison, Chris hadn’t been the only law enforcement
officer to silently cheer him on -- and the rumor was that some had actually
done quite a bit more than just cheer him on.
Tanner had been at the Mission with Josiah
Sanchez when Chris and Buck had arrived, more than two years ago; apparently
he’d been staying there for quite a while, probably since his escape from the
prison bus the previous year. Meeting Jack Tanner in person had only convinced
Chris that much more of the man’s innocence.
Jack Tanner was a calm, quiet, thoughtful man
with honest, expressive blue eyes – the same eyes that Chris saw everyday when
he looked at Vin. He’d spoken a few times about a having a wife and son, but
Chris thought that he was probably reluctant to mention them, knowing that even
on a good day Chris was barely able to contain his grief over losing his own
wife and son.
Tanner had suspected that his family was being
held in one of the camps, and by the way he talked it was obvious that he
planned to find them and bring them back one day; but as far as Chris knew,
Tanner had never gotten a solid lead on his family’s whereabouts.
There were so many folks out there who’d been
separated from their loved ones that hearing a man vow to find his lost family
had become fairly common.
Not all of the
camps had guards, or a watchtower, or dogs and lights, but a lot of them did.
Those particular camps could be tricky to sneak into, although they’d managed
it on many occasions. In fact, they had yet to be unsuccessful in a rescue
attempt -- which is why their services were sought out so often. Sometimes they’d be paid well, and the extra
provisions helped out a lot when the other party was in a position to offer.
But there were times when the only payment they received was the gratitude and
appreciation of a family reunited. In truth, that was enough payment for all of
them.
Unfortunately, and for reasons Chris couldn’t
understand, Jack had never asked for their help, or even told them where he was
going. Chris could only assume that the
man had gone after his family. He had found no blood on the horse, no hint of a
struggle. In all these months he hadn’t been able to turn up a single clue as
to the man’s fate. Although, he had the feeling that the answers he was looking
for were locked away tightly, somewhere in Vin Tanner’s subconscious mind.
Chris wiped the lens with a corner of his shirt,
then held the glass up to his eye again, scanning the horizon, as his thoughts
wandered back to the first time he’d met up with Vin.
He’d been in the stable, tending the mare that
had just returned after being gone for a few weeks. He remembered brushing the
horse, allowing the calming, repetitive motion to help him sort through his
thoughts as he tried to figure out what – if anything – he could do to find
Tanner. He’d tried to follow the
horse’s tracks, but had lost them before he’d even gone a mile. Jack was an
excellent tracker, and he’d taught Chris and Buck a thing or two, but they
hadn’t gotten in much practice -- not enough to be very useful, not on that
occasion anyway.
~ ~ * * ~ ~
“Come on out of there, Larabee!” He recognized
the voice, heard others along with it and instinct set his heart racing, his
adrenaline pumping.
The small group of rough-looking men had shown
up a little over three weeks ago. Their looks alone were intimidating, and
their attitudes could be described as arrogant and disrespectful, but they’d
gone along with the Mission’s standard quarantine procedure, remaining in the
secluded tent for the required two weeks. They’d allowed the doc to run his
blood tests, agreed to the terms of living at the Mission -- and they had yet
to actually harm anyone. Chris had the feeling that was about to change,
though.
The previous day Chris had been given the
pleasurable task of asking them to stay away from the widow, Gloria Potter. The
Potter family had been one of the first families at the Mission, and Mr. Potter
had only recently succumbed to injuries he’d received when a faulty generator
had sparked a fire in their newly built cabin.
Mrs. Potter and her children were still grieving. She didn’t need these
men pestering and scaring her, on top of everything else she was dealing
with. Chris had politely requested they
stay clear of her, in no uncertain terms.
Although the men had made light of it, they had backed off, or so Chris
had thought.
Setting the brush down on a crate, he slowly
walked outside of the small stable.
“Can I help you boys?” He stood
for a moment, hands on his hips, sizing up the opposition. There were five of
them, and one of him. Not the best odds.
“We come to teach you a lesson, boy,” one
of them said – a short, stocky fella with a buzz cut, who looked about as wide
as he was tall; the way his arms hung reminded Chris of a gorilla.
“Is that
right?” Chris replied with a cocky grin, although he knew he was outmatched. It
sure would be nice if Buck would show up right about now, he thought. Maybe
between the two of them, they’d fare a little better than a snowball in hell.
“We think it’s about time you learn who’s
runnin’ things around here,” the tall, lanky one said. Chris remembered one of
the others calling him ‘Stretch’. He reached a long arm out and wrapped it
around Chris’ shoulders, squeezing it hard. Chris looked at the hand gripping
his shoulder, noting with strange fascination that the man’s hand was enormous.
They surrounded him, forcing him to walk several
yards, into the more wooded area.
“Five against one? Don’t seem fair,” Chris
mentioned, but he was pretty sure these men weren’t the least concerned with
fairness.
“We don’t like to be told what to do. You need
to learn your place, sonny boy.” One of
the men behind gave him a hard shove, sending him to the dirt. He glanced over
his shoulder and saw the man smirking at him. He wore mirror sunglasses and was
bald on the top of his head with long greasy strings of hair hanging down to
his shoulders. He pulled a flask out of his black leather vest, took a couple
swigs, swished the liquid around in his mouth then spit it on Chris. The others
laughed like it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen.
With a grimace, Chris slowly rose to his feet,
knowing he was in trouble but not willing to just give up. Raising his hands,
he tried stalling, hoping some ingenious plan would pop into his head.
Another of the men – big, with a mass of tattoos
decorating his bald head -- grabbed him roughly by the front of his shirt,
pulling his face close. “I heard you used to be a pig, Larabee,” he accused
with menace.
The man definitely needed a Tic-Tac. “I heard
that, too,” Chris replied coolly, cringing slightly and trying to pull away
from the offending breath. The others thought something about that was funny,
but apparently dragon breath didn’t share their sense of humor. He slammed his fist into Chris’ diaphragm
and as Chris doubled over, he brought his knee up smashing it into Chris’ face.
Oh yeah, that hurt. Chris dropped to the ground and stayed there for a long
moment, just trying not to black out.
Another meaty hand reached for him again,
pulling him up by his collar. Chris felt the warmth of his own blood flowing
from his nose and he tried to blink away the darkness encroaching his vision.
All he could see was a crown of stiffly spiked hair and then a fist in front of
his face. He managed to duck, somehow finding the strength to take a step back
for leverage, then ram his head into the man’s solid mid-section. The force was
enough to drive his opponent back a little, but the man stayed on his feet and
reached for Chris again.
Chris tried to prepare for the blow he knew
would follow, but it never came. Instead, he heard a sound that he figured had
to be gunshot. The man suddenly jerked back, releasing him. Chris watched,
amazed as the man staggered and fell to his knees, pressing his right hand to
his left shoulder. Jesus, that was
close, Chris thought as he watched the patch of crimson spreading outward on
the man’s t-shirt. A couple inches
lower and that would have been him.
The others paused, each taking a step back,
looking down at the fallen man then turning to look in the direction the bullet
had come from. Seconds later, there was another report and a second bullet
grazed the neck of gorilla man, taking out a nice chuck of flesh before sinking
into the upper arm of the man with the mirror glasses standing behind him.
Gorilla man grabbed the side of his neck at the same moment the other man
grabbed his arm. He could tell by their expressions they were both stunned and
in pain. He didn’t think any of them had been mortally wounded, although the
one with the shoulder wound had pitched forward on his face. Were those warning
shots, he wondered. Or a sniper taking random pot shots at them?
Another shot rang out and then another. One
bullet landing right above Stretch’s kneecap and the other skimming dangerously
close to dragon breath’s manhood – close enough to sting apparently, since the
man was now holding his crotch as if he was in desperate need of a restroom.
Chris looked carefully through the foliage and scanned the rock formation
behind it, trying to get a glimpse of the sniper, but whoever was doing the
shooting was staying hidden. Dragon breath managed to pull his spike-haired
comrade to his feet just in time for another shot to land directly in the toe
of his boot. He stumbled backward into Stretch, who was bent over, cursing and
clutching his knee. “Let’s get the hell
out of here.”
“What about him?” the man still clutching his
neck questioned, glancing at Chris.
“Who gives a shit?” One yelled, at the same time
another said, “I’m getting the hell out of here!”
Chris ran a shaking hand through his hair then
tried to wipe at the blood still dripping from his nose. He wondered if he
shouldn’t be getting the hell out of there too. He had no idea who the sniper
was, but he was pretty sure that standing where he was made him a pretty easy
target. If it were Buck or one of the others though, they would have identified
themselves, he thought – then wondered why nobody from the camp had come to
investigate what the shooting was about. His legs felt like rubber and his
heart was still hammering away, but he decided that if the sniper had wanted to
hit him, he probably would have done so already.
Chris waited several moments, until he felt a
little steadier. He kept glancing in the direction he guessed the mystery
shooter had been, but whoever it was didn’t appear. He was curious about the
person’s identity, but not curious enough to go snooping around and end up
getting shot. He was just about to leave and head back to his campsite when, to
his astonishment, a little boy carrying a rifle stepped out from behind a
cluster of sugar pines up the hill.
The child approached slowly, cautiously, coming
to a halt a safe distance from Chris’ reach. He wore an oversized cowboy hat.
His clothing was filthy and tattered; the sleeves of his shirt ripped off near
the shoulder, exposing his tanned, sinewy little arms.
The rifle he carried looked like it might be bigger
than he was, and upon closer inspection, the rifle was disturbingly familiar to
Chris. The kid propped the rifle over one shoulder, and pushed the brim of his
hat up, allowing Chris to see his face. Past the dirt and grime was a pair of
wide, blue eyes that seemed as familiar to him as the rifle did. Chris thought
the boy couldn’t be over nine or ten, and in another time he’d have scolded him
for being out alone in the woods, for possessing a firearm. But the fact was,
the kid had just saved his ass.
“You got good
aim, cowboy,” he said, truly impressed. Something about the boy told him that
not one of those shots had been random. The way the boy held himself and seemed
confident with the large weapon, or perhaps it was that look in his eyes.
The boy didn’t
say anything, just nodded once, took a hesitant step closer and offered him a
canteen. Lord, the kid was so young, he thought, maybe a couple years
older than his own son would have been, definitely too young to be out here
alone. Chris accepted the canteen,
taking just enough to wet his lips then handing it slowly back. For the kid’s
sake, he hoped the water in the canteen was safe.
“Thanks.” He
paused for a moment, using the tail of his shirt to wipe again at his nose,
feeling a bit unsure of what to do next. Should he question the kid, or let him
walk away and follow him? Should he offer to take him home, or back to the
Mission and see if he could get some answers from him back there? “Name’s Chris,” he said, extending his hand.
He figured that finding out the boy’s name was probably the best place to
start, especially if the name was what Chris thought it might be.
The boy
glanced at Chris’ hand then looked up and studied his eyes. Slowly, he shifted
the rifle to his left hand then reached out with his right, keeping wary eyes
locked on Chris’.
Chris smiled
encouragingly, feeling like he was dealing with a skittish, wild animal. “You
got a name?” he asked, crouching down so they were on eye level. The boy
frowned, looked down at the ground then back up. Chris could tell he was
mulling things over, trying to decide whether or not it was wise to dispense
such information. Finally, he turned sideways, glancing at Chris then down at
his right shoulder where Chris could see a set of black letters peeking out
from beneath his shirt.
Reaching out
slowly, Chris pushed the material back so he could inspect the mark. Etched permanently into the kid’s tender
shoulder was the name ‘Tanner’ in bold, black letters, followed by a set of
identification numbers. Obviously he’d come from one of the camps. Some marked
their occupants, a procedure that was originally intended as a means of
identification, but never had gone over too well. Very few people consented to
it, so whenever you saw one you could pretty much assume it had been forced on
the recipient.
If this was
Tanner’s kid -- and Chris was ninety nine percent sure it was -- did that mean
that Jack was somewhere around? He couldn’t imagine Jack letting his boy
take-off with a rifle, but maybe the man was injured somewhere, in no shape to
look after a child.
“Is that your
dad’s rifle?” he asked. The boy just gazed at him, not answering in any way.
“It’s okay, I know your dad. He’s a friend of mine.” Still no response. Chris
frowned, not sure how to reach the kid. “Are your parents around here?” he
tried again. That got a subtle reaction. Chris watched the boy’s face intently
as a barely detectable struggle of emotion took place, then he gave the
slightest shake of his head and looked away.
Chris sighed,
feeling frustration building. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly,
reminding himself that the boy had probably been through a hell of a lot, more
than Chris wanted to imagine. It could
be that something very bad had happened to his parents – to Jack – and this
child needed to be handled carefully, with all the patience Chris could find.
“I bet your name is Vin,” he said, managing a smile. That got another reaction;
the kid turned his face back toward Chris, eyes wide with surprise. “Am I right?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.
A small nod, and then the corners of Vin’s mouth turned up in a hopeful smile.
“Well, Vin,” he said, figuring the best place to
start would be a decent meal. “Ya hungry?”
He didn’t expect the boy to panic, but suddenly he looked like he wanted
to bolt. “I have a camper, back at the Mission. Least I can do is offer you
some food, and something to drink after you saved my hide.” Chris watched his
eyes, knowing when he’d come to some sort of resolution.
Standing
slowly, he tilted his head in the direction of their camp and offered a hand.
“What d’ya say?” The boy didn’t say
anything; he just nodded, looking more than a little scared as he took one step
-- a leap – and placed his small hand in Chris’.
~ ~ * * ~ ~
A touch on his arm brought him out of his
reverie, and he looked down into questioning eyes. “It’s a spy glass, and an
old one at that,” he explained, handing it back to Vin. “Looks brass; if we
polish it up it’ll be real nice and shiny. Hold it up to your eye.”
The boy gave Chris a look of mild disbelief but
did as was suggested.
“You have to close the other eye, and look
through the hole.” Chris reached out and turned the boy by his shoulders then
pointed at the western horizon. “Look out that way.”
Vin looked through the glass for a long moment,
gazing out over the rough, rocky terrain; then he turned back toward Chris with
the glass still at his eye. A rare grin lit his face and he pulled the glass
away and blinked as if startled.
Chris narrowed his eyes. “Ya sayin’ I look
funny?” he asked wryly, the corner of his mouth twitching up. The boy grinned wider. Chris rolled his eyes
then stood up, knees crackling. “Okay, wise guy, we best be getting back.”
When Vin tried to hand over the looking glass, Chris
waved a hand dismissively. “It’s yours, you found it,” he said, stepping into
the stirrup and swinging his leg over the saddle.
The boy smiled again, and tucked the glass into
his belt. He grasped Chris’ hand, allowing himself to be hoisted up behind him.
With a flick of the reins they were headed down the long road, towards the
Mission.
~ ~ * * ~ ~
In his former life, Chris Larabee had been a
homicide detective. Buck Wilmington had been his partner for close to ten years
before they’d both been promoted to captain, and Chris had been transferred to
the Major Crime division. That had taken place just a few months before the
attacks, but it seemed like a lifetime ago.
The city where they’d worked hadn’t been one of
those attacked by foreign enemies; instead, it had been pillaged by its own
citizens. The buildings were vandalized, the stores and businesses looted. No
household was safe from the theft and violence that had spread quickly through
the city and its suburbs. The National Guard – what was left of it -- had been
sent out to the major cities that had been struck by the enemy forces, leaving
the citizens with little alternative other than to grab what possessions they
could carry, and flee.
And the enemy didn’t really have a distinct face
or name, not like it had in previous wars. It wasn’t any single country in
particular, but an elusive organization of wealthy terrorists that included
many powerful religious and political leaders. The organization had managed to
incorporate into its ranks all of the major terrorist factions of the world,
along with the numerous smaller, less organized groups. It had the charisma,
power and money to win the support of the third world masses, among others,
with its extremist rhetoric and oaths of vengeance to the faceless capitalist
enemy.
A little over five years ago they’d unleashed a
number of plagues -- diseases once thought to be contained like small pox,
bubonic plague, along with a few new viruses and retro-viruses as well. Major epidemics had taken a lot of lives,
especially in the more populated cities.
It wasn’t surprising that the perpetrators had managed to evade the
homeland security measures; Chris suspected that most of them had been living
in the country for years.
Two years later, the entire country was brought
to its knees within a matter of days. The major cities were hit with
small-scale, ‘home-made’ nuclear bombs, the effects of which were still being
felt and would be for years to come.
High radiation levels made it impossible to live in the sections of the
cities still in tact. The water supplies had been tainted; the power hubs shut
down or destroyed, cutting the electricity throughout the nation. There was
nothing left of New York City, or Washington DC but piles of smoldering rubble.
With no power it was difficult to tell what was
going on in the rest of the world. The information from secondary sources was
that Europe and Canada were in much the same state as the US. Metropolitan
areas in other parts of the world, all allies of the US and her European
counterparts, had also been attacked in a similar manner. So there was little
hope for relief or aid of any sort.
Chris remembered sitting in his office, going
over a report when there was a knock on his door, and one of his detectives
leaned in to tell him ‘you’ve got to come and see this’. Chris had been holding
paperwork in front of him, browsing through it as he made his way to the break
room. What he caught on the television there had been staggering enough that
he’d allowed the report to fall to the floor and never did bother to retrieve
it.
He’d called home to make sure Sarah and Adam
were safe, then called Buck to touch base with his best friend. Initially
they’d intended to stay to try and help keep order in the city, but once the
power went out things got completely out of hand. The chaos that ensued was
beyond anyone’s control.
Riots broke out, the mobs even forcing their way
into the police station before setting it on fire. Chris had used a flashlight
to search the dark building for wounded, and found Buck unconscious in the
hallway just outside of Homicide. He’d
hoisted his big friend across his shoulders and headed for the parking garage
across the street. Everything from the point of getting them into his truck to
the moment he turned off the ignition in his own driveway was still a big,
confusing blur. He vaguely remembered
trying to maneuver his way through the downtown area and out onto the
highway. Then Buck had come to and they’d
both agreed that the most sensible thing for them to do would be retreat to the
ranch and ride out the worst of the mayhem -- and maybe return to help pick up
the pieces afterwards.
Chris had figured his ranch was the safest place
they could be. He’d been wrong about that.
What Chris hadn’t figured on – hadn’t even
considered – was that in the midst of total chaos, a band of prison escapees
would come looking for him. Instead of
killing him though, they’d made both he and Buck watch as his house burned to
the ground, with his wife and son inside. Then, when there was nothing left but
smoldering ashes, they’d left the two men tied to the big oak tree out front,
with Adam’s empty tire swing, swaying back and forth beside them.
Apparently they hadn’t figured he and Buck would
get loose, or else they hadn’t cared.
God only knows why, but they’d left the barn untouched, and hadn’t
bothered with his truck or their new camper. The mini-RV was fully stocked,
just incase of emergencies, but the stupid bastards hadn’t seemed to notice
that anything else on the property existed.
As soon as Chris and Buck had gotten loose,
Chris had jumped in his truck, Buck following his lead with only slightly more
caution. Within a few days, they’d single-mindedly taken down almost all
of the men.
Chris had felt absolutely no remorse in carrying
out his own personal sentence. Knowing that each of the men had already been
tried and convicted of murder made it just that much easier to live with. Buck,
who in the past had always played good cop to Chris’ bad cop, had been just as
ruthless as Chris. Being forced to
helplessly watch as their family burned had apparently shoved both men well
past the point of reason.
Two of the men remained at-large -- out there,
somewhere. Whether they were dead or alive he may never know, but he did know
that as long as he lived, he’d never forget their faces. He’d never stop
looking.
For the next few weeks, they’d stayed in the
camper, parked behind the barn. Although they couldn’t actually see the remains
of the house from where the camper was parked, it was there nonetheless, like
some horrific, white elephant. They
spent those weeks doing their best to finish off several bottles of whiskey
Chris had stashed away.
Then, one day Chris woke up in the back of the
RV, realizing it was in motion. He’d stumbled to the front to find Buck at the
wheel, the highway stretched out before them.
Buck had given him one of his characteristic,
big cheery grins, “Mornin’ sunshine!” like nothing bad had happened.
Chris, bleary-eyed, not ready to let go of his
grief and anger, had squinted out the windshield, silently cursing the
sunshine. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Buck, patient and sober, had looked him in the
eye and said, “Anywhere, just as long as it’s away from that place.” He knew then, that Buck had dragged himself
back across that line they’d both crossed when they’d watched his house burn,
and he was trying to drag Chris back too.
“That place is my home, Buck,” he’d
growled, feeling the throb of pain in his head increase. How could he leave
them? How could he just move on? He’d felt he was betraying them in some way.
“It was your home, pard. Hell, it was my
home too. At least that’s what it always felt like. But…being there…it’s no
good, anymore. It’s killing you, Chris, and I don’t think I could stand to lose
you, too,” Buck had answered solemnly, his voice cracking, his eyes remaining
focused on the road ahead.
Chris had
wanted to protest, even though he’d known deep inside that Buck was right. He’d
wanted to tell Buck that it was none of his business, but the worried look on
his friend’s normally happy face made him stop and think. Buck acted like a
clown most of the time, but since the first day they’d met the man had always
been there, always had his back. There was nobody Chris Larabee respected and
trusted more than Buck Wilmington -- and because of that, he kept his mouth
closed, and let Buck drive.
An hour or so later, he’d repeated the question,
that time with resignation instead of hostility. “So, where we headed?”
“Ya remember that chaplain, used to work up at
that prison a few years back?” Buck glanced over at him. “Father Sanchez was
his name.”
“You mean that crazy bastard who up and left
because he thought the end of the world was coming?”
“Yep,” Buck nodded with a grin, “that’d be him.”
“What about him?”
“Well, he used to come back to town from time to
time, to stock up on supplies and such, and visit his sister at the institution.
He told me he’s living at an old, abandoned mission a few miles from the
border. Said he’s got all the things he’ll need to last out the Tribulation.”
“The Tribulation?” Chris asked, raising an
eyebrow skeptically.
“Yeah,” Buck shrugged a shoulder, “that’s what
he told me was comin’. He said it’s in the Bible, but I haven’t looked. You got
a Bible in here?”
As a matter of fact, there was a Bible in there
somewhere, but instead of saying so Chris just looked at him tiredly.
“Never mind.” Buck was quiet for a moment,
looking like he was deep in thought, then he continued. “I guess it’s supposed
to be a rough time, right before the end of the world.”
“That sounds encouraging,” he replied dryly.
“Life sucks and then you die?”
Buck snorted. “Yeah, guess so.”
Chris rolled his eyes. “Maybe he should be the
one at the institution.” He glanced at Buck with a slight grin. “Maybe you,
too.”
Buck laughed. “Yeah, maybe we all should. Who
knows? Anyway, he always said that one day we’d all see that he was right, and
if it wasn’t too late, I’d be welcome to join him. He’s been restoring that
mission for the past few years and he’s all set up; got all the equipment,
generators, radio, supplies, firepower -- everything you’d need to survive for
years.”
“Why is this information setting off alarm bells
in my head?”
Buck only laughed again.
“We got supplies, firepower, a water filtration
system. Why do we need to go there?” When it came down to it, Chris hadn’t been
sure he was ready to be around people, yet.
“We can’t just keep driving around, Chris. You
got a better idea?”
Unfortunately, nothing came to mind.
“I figure he’s got to have some plan, some idea
of what’s going on, what’s going to happen. These survivalist types take this
shit real seriously. Everyone thinks they’re off their rockers and maybe they
are, but they’re probably the only ones prepared to get through somethin’ like
this.”
Chris couldn’t argue with that, besides he knew
they couldn’t drive around too long or all they’d accomplish is running out of
gas. He’d closed his eyes, drawing images in his mind of Sarah and Adam
standing on the front porch, waiting for him to come home, as they’d always
done.
Once they got to the mission, they’d found that
they weren’t the first to seek out the preacher. There were two other men
already there. Chris had recognized one of the men as the fugitive Texas
Ranger, Jack Tanner. There was also a doctor, Nathan Jackson M.D. who had met
Sanchez years before, while doing his medical residency at the same prison.
Jackson
had been at the hospital when the riots began, ended up working long shifts
when the casualties started coming in. When the phones went out he’d been
unable to call home, and by the time he’d managed to get home his wife and
daughter were already missing. He’d gone back to the hospital, but by the time
he’d got there it was already engulfed in flames. At first, he’d set out on his
own to search for his wife and daughter. It hadn’t taken long for him to become
overwhelmed by the destruction and hopelessness around him, and to realize that
he wasn’t going to be able to do much of anything for anyone on his own. So,
he’d sought out his old friend, the preacher, Josiah Sanchez.
~ ~ * * ~ ~
As Chris coaxed the horse to the top of a steep
embankment, he looked out over the landscape ahead. From that point, he was
barely able to make out the Mission, and that was only because he knew it was
there. The road they were traveling on
was miles off the highway. Ahead there was another winding road – more like a
wide path – that cut across the rugged terrain and led to the old monastery
that was the Mission. They were deep in the canyon-lands, but the Mission was
located in a semi-fertile valley, with the river running through. It had been
built into a high bluff that curved inward at that point, sheltering the
building. It blended in with the stone,
and was veiled by trees and brush. The climate at their elevation was fairly
steady year round. Most days were warm, occasionally too warm and at night the
temperature would often drop to freezing, even in the summer. The winter months brought cooler weather,
but even then the temperature usually stayed above 60 degrees in the daytime.
There were a few dozen people who had set up
campsites around the Mission. Newcomers went through a sort of interview
process, just to make sure that they shared the same goals and expectations as
the other residents did. Almost everyone was invited to stay, as long as they
agreed to allow the doc to run his standard tests, and abide by their
quarantine rule. In fact, the only
people Chris could think of that had ever been turned away were the five
shitheads who had tried to jump him. Nathan had bandaged their wounds and
they’d been sent on their way.
For the most part, they were just a bunch of
normal, everyday people who were determined to survive and to remain as
self-sufficient as they could. They were extra cautious to avoid following the
patterns of the other camps, which had probably started out much like them.
Chris imagined that in the beginning, most camps were just groups of regular
people looking for a sense of security and community. He doubted that it had
ever occurred to them that the fences they raised for protection would someday
become their own prison walls.
Sadly, the
average survivor was only too willing to hand over their possessions along with
their freedom and independence.
In the rare
event that an occupant wanted to leave the camp, usually the overseer would
hand the person a tally of what they owed for room and board, and any other
charges that could be included – along with interest. When they were unable to pay, which almost all of them were, the
overseer would give an estimation of the time it would take to pay off their
debt. Sometimes they’d be offered other, less than honorable options for paying
the debt off quicker. Of course, the debt increased with each passing day, so
most of the time the occupants found themselves in a no-win situation, but they
tended not to fight it. They chose
instead to merely accept that their lives would now consist of twelve-hour
workdays in exchange for rations and a roof over their heads at night.
Ironically,
almost all of them focused their anger, and blamed their conditions on a
nameless, faceless specter of an enemy.
Chris couldn’t help but wonder whether or not a hundred years down the
road history would repeat itself?
The Mission
had no fences, no watchtower, or overseer, nobody doling out rations and
forcing labor. The people respected each other -- each other’s property and
privacy. They bought and sold, or traded each other for services and other
necessities. Everyone contributed in some way, but nobody was forced to
participate, nobody was forced to stay.
They were everything the enemy had tried to wipe out.
Chris, Buck, Josiah and Nathan kept the peace
among the settlers. They didn’t give orders, or bully anyone. They simply
stepped in if a situation got out of hand, or if someone asked for their help.
It was late afternoon when they made it back to
the small RV they shared with Buck. Chris waited for Vin to climb down from the
saddle before dismounting himself.
He couldn’t help noticing the unfamiliar late
model sports car parked close to the Mission; it was bright red and stood out
like a sore thumb. Several of the other residents had vehicles, but they were
seldom used because fuel was in such short supply, and he knew for a fact that
none of them were that flashy. Before he could lead the horse around back to
the lean-to they used as a stable, he saw Josiah walking toward him, a pretty
blonde-haired woman on his arm. He
caught sight of a boy trailing behind the two, who looked to be a few years
older than Vin. Chris felt a little relieved, assuming that the car must belong
to the woman and the boy. “Looks like we got company,” he said, nudging Vin.
Vin smiled up at him and turned to see what
Chris was talking about. When he saw the newcomers he moved closer to Chris.
The youth walked around from behind the woman,
and smiled at Vin. “Why Mr. Tanner,” the boy said with a nod. “What a pleasure
to see you again.”
“Chris, I’d like you to meet the lovely Ms.
Maude Standish,” pausing, Josiah gestured to the boy, “and this is her son
Ezra. They’re going to be staying with us for a while.”
“Nice to
meet you,” Chris greeted, politely shaking the woman’s dainty hand. He put an
arm across Vin’s shoulders, and asked, “You know these two, cowboy?”
Vin didn’t answer; he just looked up at Chris,
his expression troubled.
The other boy
stepped closer. “Vin and I are old friends. We both had the misfortune to be
placed in the same deplorable facility.”
Vin gazed at the boy, then beyond him. His
eyebrows were drawn together, like he was trying to think, trying to remember.
“What’s wrong, Vin?” the other boy teased. “Cat
got your tongue?”
Vin didn’t acknowledge the boy; instead he
looked down at his shoes. Chris recognized the all-too familiar response. It
was the same thing that happened anytime one of them mentioned Vin’s past, or
his father or mother. The kid just sort
of zoned-out -- went somewhere else. Josiah had said it was a defense
mechanism. Whatever it was, it pained Chris to see it.
“Vin doesn’t speak,” Josiah explained to the
boy. “But, I’m guessing that he did at one time?”
Ezra looked puzzled, but he nodded.
With a gentle hand, Josiah tipped Vin’s chin up then gave him a smile. “Perhaps
he’ll be able to find his voice again, for us.”
Vin looked at the preacher, but he didn’t smile
as he usually did at the man’s gentle encouragement.
Maude Standish cleared her throat then smiled
sweetly when everyone looked at her. “Father Sanchez, is there someplace where
perhaps I could freshen up?”
“Of course,” Josiah gestured towards the
mission, offering his arm for her to take. “There’s an outhouse right out
back.”
“Outhouse?” she repeated, looking somewhat
appalled.
“Well, the monks who built this place decided
that indoor plumbing was a bit too extravagant. You know how monks can be.”
Maude huffed. “Barbarians.”
“Yes,” Josiah grinned. “Indeed.”
Ezra watched them go then turned back to Vin.
“Is this your father, Vin?” he asked, glancing at Chris.
Vin took a step back, alarmed. His father? He
took another step back and shook his head. No, Chris wasn’t his father. His
father was . . . somewhere else.
“Wickes told us you’d been sold,” Ezra said
hesitantly. “But, Ms. Dunne told us that your father had come to get you.”
Vin kept his eyes fixed on the ground. He tried
to block out the words. He filled his mind with the song – humming it inside
his head because he could no longer remember the words. He only remembered it
was about sunshine, and that she used to sing it to him and it made him
feel happy and safe.
No, he wasn’t okay. There were images swirling
around in his head, and they wouldn’t go away. Flashes of him riding on the
gray horse, only it wasn’t Chris in front of him, it was somebody else. Men
following them, somebody making him hide up in a hollow tree trunk . . ..
After a long pause, Ezra continued. “JD and his
mother disappeared soon after you left.”
Vin suddenly lifted his head. JD?
“The rumor was
that Ms. Dunne was punished for failing to divulge the information she knew
concerning your escape. Nobody saw her again, but I’m certain that I saw young
JD, several times, looking out the second story window of Wickes’ house.”
Vin’s mind kept repeating the name JD, over and
over . . ..
“Who’s JD?” Chris asked Ezra. He kneeled in
front of Vin, studying him with concern.
“When I arrived at the camp, Vin was already
there, along with JD and his mother. I believe Vin’s mother,” his voice became
hushed, “had passed away some time before that.”
Vin felt dizzy. His mother? He remembered when
all the lights went out, she had put him in the car and told him they
were going to see his daddy. He remembered being happy because he hadn’t seen
his daddy for a long time because he was always working, putting bad men in
jail. Like the bad men who had stopped their car. In his mind he could hear
them shouting, see them jumping on the car, their faces pressed against the
windows, the windshield shattering and then . . . he’d woke up in a bed and
JD’s momma was smiling at him.
“Anyway,” Ezra continued, “Ms. Dunne, JD’s
mother, looked after Vin . . . as she did for me, as well.”
Vin closed his eyes, trying to push the bad
images and memories away. He felt a hand on his back that he knew belonged to
Chris.
“Why don’t we all go inside and have some orange
juice?” Chris asked, nodding toward his camper. Vin was looking like he was
getting ready to fall over or take off, and Chris wanted to try and avoid
either of those from happening.
“Orange juice?” Ezra questioned skeptically.
Chris grinned and shrugged. “Well, it’s orange.”
The last thing Vin wanted to do was go inside
that camper. He suddenly felt as if there wasn’t enough air to breathe and
being inside the trailer would only make it worse. The trailer would be too
small, too stuffy and confining. He grabbed Chris’ sleeve and was about to
point to the horse that still needed to be put up when Buck pulled alongside
them in the big black truck.
“Howdy, boys,” Buck greeted, touching the brim
of his Stetson as he steppd out of the truck.
“Hey, Buck,” Chris paused at the bottom of the
metal steps. “Where’s Nate?”
“Dropped him up the hill,” he nodded toward the
Mission then turned his attention to the boy standing at Chris’ side. “Hey
there, half-pint.”
Suddenly, Vin felt he could breathe again, and
he beamed at the dark haired man. Buck always made the bad thoughts go
away. Vin remembered the spyglass, snatched
it out of his belt and waved it in Buck’s face.
“Whatchya got there, lil’ pard?” he asked,
kneeling down to look at the spyglass. He turned it around, inspecting it
properly, then let out a long whistle in admiration. “Whoo-whee, a spyglass,” he said, seriously impressed. “Looks
like an antique, maybe even older than Chris.”
“Very funny.”
Buck winked at his old friend. “It’s alright
Chris, we still love ya, don’t we, pal?” Vin nodded seriously, and Chris gave
Buck a dirty look. Buck dismissed it,
choosing instead to put the spyglass to his eye – backwards – just to make Vin
smile. Then he turned it around the proper way, making a big show of peering up
then down, all around the yard, until finally coming to rest an inch from Vin’s
face. “Holy buckets!” He whipped the glass away with an expression of horror
that immediately turned into a grin. “Oh, it’s you.”
Vin rolled his eyes then reached out and patted
the front pocket of Buck’s flannel shirt.
“I guess you’re wanting this?” He pulled out a pack
of sugarless bubble gum. Vin snatched it out of his hand with a grin. “Hey
now,” Buck playfully scolded. “That stuff don’t come free, ya know?” It didn’t either. Any kind of gum or candy
was hard to come by, but somehow Buck always managed to bring a little
something back for the kid. Vin tilted his head like he was thinking of a
suitable payment, then wrapped his arms around Buck’s neck and held on tight.
“Yeah, that’s better.”
Ezra coughed. “How touching.”
Vin pulled back to glare at the boy, and Buck
lifted his eyebrows to Chris.
“Buck, this is Ezra Standish,” Chris explained.
“Ezra and his mom are going to be staying here, at least for a while.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet ya, Ez.”
“Ez-RA.”
Buck nodded, appearing slightly chagrined. “Nice
to meet ya, Ez-RA.”
Vin let out a soft giggle.
“What are you laughin’ at, Tanner?” Buck
growled, narrowing his eyes at Vin, ready to scuffle with the boy. Vin only
grinned, raising his hands and trying to back away.
Chris watched Buck lunge forward and grab the
boy, prompting another giggle. He was actually glad that Buck had showed up,
and apparently Vin was too. That’s okay, he thought. We’ll get this all figured
out in good time. It was probably better that Chris speak with Ezra alone, and
get all the information he needed and have time to sort through it before any
confrontations.
Buck stood up, holding Vin around the waist, as the boy half-heartedly tried to
break free.
“Is there anyway I could get you two to put this
horse up for me?” asked Chris. “I promised Ezra a cold glass of juice.”
“Cold?” Ezra asked, seeming a little more
enthusiastic about the juice.
“When we’re done, we’ll help unload the truck,”
Chris promised, getting a dubious look from Ezra that made him grin. “Won’t we,
Ezra?”
“Surely you’re joking,” Ezra drawled, as he
inspected the bed of the pick-up, which was neatly stacked with wooden crates
and bags of supplies from Buck and Nate’s trip to Colorado.
Chris just chuckled.
“Okay, let’s put this big boy away, squirt,”
Buck said, lifting Vin into the saddle and taking the horse by the reins. “Did
I tell ya that I come up with a name for that new colt?”
Vin shook his head, grinning broadly.
“How’s this sound? Billy the kid.”
Chris groaned, but of course, Vin nodded. “Buck,” Chris warned. “You’re not naming it
Billy.”
“Whatever you say, ol’ pard,” Buck said
agreeably, but Chris didn’t miss the mischievous wink he gave Vin.
“Come on, Ezra, let’s get that cold drink.”
~ ~ * * ~ ~
There was one image that refused to be pushed
out of Vin’s mind, a little boy’s face – big dark eyes and round cheeks. He
could imagine the face looking down from the second story window of Wickes’
house. He wondered why Wickes would keep JD in the house, then figured he
didn’t want to think about that just then.
JD’s momma had always looked out for him, made sure he had enough to eat
and drink, and even tucked him in at night and now Vin was feeling an overwhelming
responsibility to do the same for JD, especially if what Ezra said was true,
and JD’s momma was no longer there for him.
Once they were inside the stable, Buck lifted
Vin from the horse and set him on a crate, giving him a pat on the leg. “I’ll
get the saddle,” he said, and Vin nodded, waiting for Buck to undo the cinch
and remove the saddle before he went to work on the headstall.
Vin tried not to look, but his eyes kept darting
over to the mare and her gangly-legged colt, who watched them curiously through
the stall.
Vin was pretty sure that he knew who that mare
had belonged to. Chris had probably even told him outright at one time, but
he’d stopped saying things that upset Vin some time ago. Now, if he let
himself, he could remember the man -- his dad -- taking the leather bags
from the saddle then giving the big gray horse a slap on the behind. He could
remember watching the horse gallop away as his dad hid him in the old tree . .
. before the men had come.
He’d waited until the men left, and then like
his dad had told him to, he followed the river . . . not thinking about what
the men had done -- what he’d seen them do. Now, the images were blurring
together with other images, similar yet different. His momma. Men had hurt her
too. He could see her face, and blood,
and her eyes . . . and when he’d cried out for her, the men had laughed, and
hurt him.
“Vin?”
Vin swiped at his eyes, then turned to Buck,
trying to hold back his tears. He
wanted to shout that he was sorry that he hadn’t made the men stop. He wanted
to beg for his mom and his dad to forgive him, but all that came out was a
broken sob. And then Buck was there;
his strong arms enveloping Vin, tucking him close, protecting him from whatever
demons were calling him out.
Vin hardly made a noise when he cried, nothing
more than a hiccup or a hitch of breath, but those along with the tremors
running through the small body were nearly enough to break the man’s soft
heart.
After several long minutes, he finally felt the
body in his arms relax and thought maybe the kid had fallen asleep. He pulled
back a little to get a look at Vin who wiped his eyes, and managed to look up
at him with a tremulous smile. “You
gonna be okay, kiddo?” he asked quietly.
Vin nodded.
“How ‘bout we go see what Chris is up to?”
The boy gave Buck one last hug, then slipped his
hand into Buck’s and the two of them made their way slowly back to the
camper.
~ ~ * * ~ ~
Josiah Sanchez escorted his guest down the stone
path of his small but well-cared-for garden, to a patio area in the center. It
was a tiny oasis, sheltered on one side by the tall sandstone bluff, and on the
other by the walls of the Mission. Sitting there, surrounded by the flora --
sparse as it was that time of year -- it was easy to forget the rest of the
world existed.
This would be the so-called interview process;
it was an important step they took before allowing anyone into the camp. Ms.
Standish had already been informed of the quarantine, and agreed to the blood
tests. The interview was usually done so informally that the interviewee never
realized they were being sized-up. Josiah liked to think of it as a
get-to-know-you session, rather than an interview.
“This place is lovely, Reverend Sanchez,” Maude
said appreciatively.
Reverend, Father, Preacher -- Josiah didn’t
think it mattered, and he couldn’t see the Lord being too nit-picky about the
earthly titles given to His servants. If Maude Standish couldn’t make up her
mind whether to call him reverend or father, well, the Lord was understanding,
and he guessed he’d have to be understanding too. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“It reminds me of home.”
“Home?” Josiah inquired, offering her a chair at
one of the small tables he had set up. They were all welcome to seek the peace
and tranquility the garden had to offer. The monks who had lived there so long
ago, had obviously made the garden as a place of meditation and reflection.
Further out from the patio, they had built a stone labyrinth that Josiah walked
often enough that it might be more out of habit, or routine. In his mind, he
was sure that his thoughts and emotions had become more calm and orderly since
he had started walking the labyrinth.
“Yes, we’re originally from Atlanta, Georgia,”
she told him. “But, we’ve always traveled quite a bit. I haven’t been home in
years.” She sighed, a troubled look on her face. “Of course it isn’t possible
for us to return now.”
Josiah nodded, understanding. Atlanta was one of
several major cities where bombs had destroyed most of the inner city
structures -- the airport and news headquarters, among other buildings. The
bombs contained radiation and in some instances other chemical or biological
elements designed to kill the remaining population in the aftermath. They
destroyed on a much smaller scale than a nuclear warhead, but still left the
environment uninhabitable for years.
“So, how did you manage to get your son away
from the camp he was in?” he asked out of curiosity.
“Well, it’s a long story, but when the initial
mayhem ensued, I was on my way home from New York.” She leaned closer and
touched his hand. “If I’d have stayed just a few more hours . . ..” Her voice
trailed off and she shook her head sadly. “Anyway, I’d left Ezra with my cousin
Bridget in Taos while I went to New York on business. Our plane was over Denver when the bombs hit. We ended up landing
in a small airfield in New Mexico. The phones were out . . . I had no idea where my boy was, or if
he was all right.”
“That must have been very frightening.”
“By the time we made it to Taos, there were
hoodlums running the streets, stealing and vandalizing,” she shook her head,
“my cousin was gone . . . the whole neighborhood was abandoned. We searched –
James, my pilot, helped me, but we couldn’t find them anywhere. It took a few
weeks, but we finally got information on several camps where citizens were
supposedly gathering. James found his wife in one of those camps, up near
Albuquerque. That one wasn’t so bad,
but the one I found my Ezra in was positively wretched.”
“Almost two years?” Josiah said with a frown.
“It took you that long to find your son?”
“Yes, I stayed at the camp near Albuquerque for
several months because I had no idea where to begin searching for Ezra. I had
some money, and I managed to make a little more during my stay at the camp –
enough that I was able to persuade the person in charge to help me out. He
managed to obtain the information I was seeking, and a vehicle, but when I got
to the next camp . . . well, let’s just say it wasn’t at all what I’d been
expecting.”
Josiah was just about ready to offer something
sympathetic when the woman grinned.
“I made a fortune off of those poor pathetic
creatures.”
“Oh,” was all he could say.
“That’s how I got the car I’m presently driving.
I know it took a little longer than was comfortable to find my son. I had to keep reminding myself that we
needed the money.” She shrugged then
let out a sigh. “Anyway, it all worked out for the best. I made enough money to
purchase the car, and Ezra’s release, and I have a little extra left over – for
you, of course.”
Josiah’s eyebrows shot up then he smiled,
looking both amused and a little uncomfortable. “Well, we don’t have much use
for money out here.”
“Oh?”
“We don’t require any fees.”
“Oh.”
“May I ask what sort of business you were in?
Just to give us an idea of your interests,” he explained. “We all try to pitch
in, help out where we can to keep things running around here.”
“Well, I was involved with . . .” she cleared
her throat, “investments.”
“Investments?”
“Yes.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Investments.”
“I see. Well, I’m sure we’ll figure out
something that interests you.” Although he had no idea what.
“Money interests me. I’m good with money.” Maude
pouted for a moment, then her face lit up. “I’ll bet you ten dollars that you
can’t guess how much I paid for that car.”
“You’re probably right.” Josiah replied warily.
“Oh, come on now. Aren’t you even going to try?”
Josiah studied the car, thinking that even a
fine car like that probably cost no more than an old rusted out beater, in fact
the flashiness probably made it less valuable on this odd market. It stood out
too much. “Five hundred?” he guessed off the top of his head, doubting he was
anywhere close, but the disappointed look on the woman’s face told him
different. He grinned and shrugged.
“Lucky guess?”
“You’re no fun at all, Father Sanchez,” she
said, her pout returning as she dug in her purse and handed over a ten-dollar
bill. “Do you play cards, by chance?”
Josiah grinned toothily -- like a shark.
~ ~ * * ~ ~
Chris sipped his coffee, as he listened to Ezra
talk. He’d thought it might be difficult to get the kid to open up, but he
seemed more than willing to answer his questions and tell him everything he
wanted to know, and some things he’d rather not.
He’d already described the camp and its
occupants -- mostly single women, some orphans, and widows with small children.
He’d told Chris about the ‘miscreant’ who operated the camp, a man named
Wickes who liked to bully the women and force the children to do ‘menial
labor’, and the ‘ruffians’ who patronized the place for its liquor
and offer of female companionship. It
sounded suspiciously like a brothel, to Chris.
“Sometimes he
beat them, sometimes he did worse.”
”Did he beat you?”
“Not really, he hit me . . . back handed me once
or twice, but nothing like he did to some of the others, mostly the women.”
“What about Vin?”
“He didn’t like Vin for some reason. Perhaps it
was because Vin never cowered from him?” He chuckled a little, shaking his
head. “He always had this defiant look in his eyes, even when Wickes would
threaten him. One time he made Wickes so mad that he locked him in the crawl
space under the house for two days without food or water.”
“Bastard.”
Ezra nodded agreement.
“So, did Vin ever tell you anything about his
family?”
“Well, he spoke of his father,” Ezra told him.
“He kept hoping that his father would come to get him, but I didn’t really pay
much attention.” He looked a little remorseful, then shrugged. “Almost all the
orphans hoped that a relative would come and rescue them. Then one morning we
woke up and Vin was gone. Wickes and his men told us he was sold, or given
away, for misbehavior, but Ms. Dunne told us that Wickes was lying and that Vin
was with his father. That’s who I assumed you were.”
“No,” Chris frowned trying to piece the
information together. “When I found him he was alone. You said his mother was .
. . passed away?”
“As far as I know. Vin never really spoke of
her. I asked him once, and he only said that she was gone. Later, Ms. Dunne
asked me not to mention it to him anymore. She told me that she had found Vin
lying in the street, near a woman who she assumed was his mother. She was dead.
Apparently Ms. Dunne was unable to do anything more than pick him up and take
him with her.”
Chris took another swallow of coffee, feeling
his own grief mingling with the grief he felt in Vin’s behalf, unable to think
of anything else to say.
After a few moments of silence, Ezra cleared his
throat and folded his hands. “May I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” Chris said easily. “Go ahead.”
“Is it true, what I’ve heard about you?”
Chris raised an eyebrow. “That depends on what
you’ve heard about me.”
“Well, not about you specifically, but I’ve
heard about the Mission, the men who can get in and out of the camps – they
rescue people.”
Chris nodded vaguely, feeling a little
uncomfortable.
“Is it true that you set an entire camp of
prisoners free?”
“That wasn’t actually part of the plan,” he
said, grimacing. They hadn’t intended to set the entire camp free, just a
handful of innocent men. But they’d run into a bit of trouble with the guards
and the entire operation had turned sour. Before they even realized what was
happening, a riot had broken out and they’d been lucky to get out alive.
“But,” Ezra persisted, “you help people? You get
them out or help them to escape?”
Again, Chris nodded, wondering where this was
going.
“You have to get JD,” Ezra said, surprising
Chris by sounding a little desperate.
“JD? You mean the kid at the camp?”
“Yes, he’s just a little kid, and he’s all
alone. I can’t believe Vin never mentioned him,” Ezra said with a puzzled
expression. “They were like brothers. JD’s mother treated Vin like he was her
own child.”
“Ezra, Vin hasn’t mentioned anyone,”
Chris said, his tone a little defensive. “He hasn’t spoken a single word the
entire time I’ve known him.”
Ezra nodded,
like he’d just remembered that detail. “That’s just odd. I don’t understand. He
was always quiet, but he did talk. He always annoyed me by calling me Ez, just
like your friend did.”
Chris couldn’t help but smile at that. They all
had a theory of why Vin didn’t talk, but Buck had never seemed too worried
about it. ‘He’ll talk when he’s ready,’ Buck always said. “Something must have
happened between the time he left the camp, and the time he showed up here.”
Ezra gave him a wry look. No kidding?
Chris blew out a long breath. “As for JD, I
can’t really give you an answer on that right now, not until I talk to the
others.”
Ezra narrowed his eyes, but nodded, seeming to
accept the answer for now. “All right.”
They heard Buck’s voice outside in a boisterous,
one-sided conversation. Ezra finished his drink in one gulp then wiped the back
of his hand across his mouth in very unmannerly fashion. Chris had to smile.
Apparently Ezra was a kid after all.
~ ~ * * ~ ~
It had taken a few hours to unload the truck and
distribute the supplies to the proper places, so they’d eaten supper later than
usual. Ezra had put up a fuss about being forced to do manual labor, citing
various child labor laws -- most of them completely fabricated -- but in truth,
he hadn’t really minded helping out. He’d gladly do a little work in return for
everything he felt was being offered to them. Besides, he actually found that
he genuinely liked the people there. His mother would be so disappointed.
It had gotten dark early, as it usually did that
time of year, and several of the men were seated around a blazing campfire,
drinking coffee and talking.
Ezra sat in a folding lawn chair beside Father
Sanchez. They’d taken a vote and decided to forgo the usual quarantine in this
case. They had still been made to undergo the other tests, but Maude and Ezra
were given a room inside the Mission, instead of being forced to stay in the
usual tent on the outskirts of the campsite. Up until then, all of the
newcomers had been men, or at least had a man in the family. Not so long ago,
some might have considered the decision to be sexist, but in the world they
lived in now, a person knew better than to turn down a kind gesture.
Chris Larabee sat on the preacher’s left, with
Vin Tanner sprawled across his lap, half asleep and Buck Wilmington to the left
of Larabee.
Ezra looked up as the doctor approached, taking
the empty lawn chair to Ezra’s right.
“Your mom is fine, just a bad headache,” he said, with a gentle smile.
“I gave her something for it that’ll probably help her sleep too.”
“Thank you,” Ezra nodded, amazed again that
these men seemed to truly care about them and about each other. He glanced down at Vin who was gazing
trancelike at the flames, eyelids drooping, seeming completely boneless as Mr.
Larabee absently stroked his hair. Vin seemed so much younger, or perhaps more
vulnerable than Ezra remembered him being at the camp. His refusal, or
inability to speak was frustrating. Ezra kept expecting to hear his friend’s
soft drawl, but so far all he’d gotten were nods, shrugs, or a shake of his
head.
Chris took a sip of his coffee then glanced
around at the others before looking down at Vin. “Since everyone’s here, I have
something I need to talk to you all about.”
The other men sat up a little, giving him their
attention.
“Ezra has given me some information that we need
to consider.”
Ezra took a deep breath and let it out slowly,
relieved that Mr. Larabee hadn’t been putting him off earlier.
Vin suddenly appeared more alert, even though
Chris kept combing his fingers through the boy’s hair.
“Seems that there’s a boy . . . six years old?”
He glanced at Ezra who gave him a nod. “His mother watched out for Ezra and Vin
when they were in the camp, but now Ezra thinks something has happened and the
boy’s mother isn’t around anymore.”
Vin looked intensely, hopefully at Chris.
“Ezra thinks that Wickes, the overseer, has the
boy stashed in his house . . . for God only knows what reason. He thinks we
ought to go get the boy,” he said, laying it out short and simple. “And,” he
smiled down at Vin, “I’m betting Vin would like that too.”
“Okay,
but what are we gonna do with him once we get him out?” Buck asked.
“Well, we can worry about that later. Anything’s
got to be better than leaving him there,” Chris answered a little sharply.
“From what Ezra has told me this Wickes guy is a real bastard.”
Vin sat up at that, nodding vigorously.
“Are you sure his mother is gone?” Nathan asked
Ezra.
Ezra glanced at Vin, feeling a little
apprehensive. “I just know what people were saying. I never saw her again. I
saw JD, but not his mother. Even if she is still alive . . .couldn’t you get
them both?”
“Yes,” Josiah answered, his voice calm. “But, we
need to know how many people we’re going in for.”
“Maybe we could take a little trip down there
next week and check things out,” Chris said.
“Next week?” Ezra sat forward, looking at them
all with disbelief. Vin looked at
Chris, his expression mirroring Ezra’s.
“We can’t just go storm the place without
knowing the layout and having some idea of what to expect,” Chris said,
reasonably. “We need to go up there, take a look at the place, see if we can
talk to anyone and then figure out a plan. A few days isn’t going to make that
much of a difference.”
Ezra and Vin exchanged frustrated glances. “Perhaps it will to JD,” Ezra grumbled, and
Vin nodded his agreement.
“We’ll get him out, but we need to be prepared
before we go in,” Buck said, trying to conciliate. “Why don’t you boys go on now, get ready for bed?”
“Bed?” Ezra questioned.
“Come on, squirt,” Buck said, pushing himself
out of the squeaky lawn chair and winking at Vin. “Ole Buck’ll tell ya a
story.”
Vin slid from Chris’ lap and took Buck’s hand with
a smile.
“None of those stories like I heard ya tellin’
the other day, I hope,” Nathan scolded, raising an eyebrow at Buck.
“I only tell classics,” Buck grinned. “Right
buddy?”
Vin nodded, and Chris rolled his eyes. If Buck
claimed he’d seen cows jumping over the moon, Vin would back him up.
Once the door of the camper was closed, the
remaining men each turned to Ezra who was still sitting there, trying to blend
in.
“You want me to tell ya a bedtime story, Ezra?”
Josiah asked, with a teasing smile.
“No thank you. I’m not a child, you know.” But
when he looked at the men, they were all smiling as if his statement was
supposed to be humorous. “Fine,” he huffed and stood, raising his chin
haughtily. “I’m sure the company of my unconscious mother will be much more
appealing, anyway.”
Chris gave him a two-fingered salute.
“Nighty-night, Ezra,” Josiah said with a big
grin.
“Good night . . . sirs.”
~ ~ * * ~ ~
Vin had been up for hours, trying to keep
himself occupied as he waited for Ezra to wake up. He knew his friend liked to
sleep late, but he could never understand why. He was at the stable cleaning up
and mostly fussing over the new foal when he noticed Ezra standing at the door,
watching him. Glancing over his
shoulder he smiled.
“Mr. Tanner,” Ezra said, making Vin roll
his eyes and turn his attention back to the little foal.
“Vin,” he tried again, “we need to
discuss the predicament concerning young Mr. Dunne.”
Vin liked the way Ezra talked, the fancy
words he used -- all except for the way he called everyone Mr. or Miss. He
thought it sounded real dumb to call a little kid like JD ‘Mr. Dunne’. He nodded though, agreeing that they needed
to figure out what to do about JD.
“Your, uh, Mr. Larabee said they would go
to the camp in a few days, but I believe we could have him out by then if the
two of us ventured there ourselves.
Vin turned to frown at him. How in the
heck were they supposed to get there? He knew the general direction, but the
camp was pretty far away, and if they walked, or even took the horse it would
take a whole lot longer than it would for Chris and the guys to get there.
“You agree we need to get him out of
there, as soon as possible?” Ezra prompted.
Vin nodded. Of course he wanted to get
JD; he just wasn’t sure if they could or even should try to do it on their
own. Chris and the guys did this kind
of stuff all the time; they were experts at it.
Ezra cleared his throat and looked
around, then leaned closer to Vin. “We could take my mother’s car,” he
whispered conspiratorially.
Vin’s eyes went wide. Was Ezra crazy?
“I assure you that I am an excellent
driver.”
Vin lifted an eyebrow.
“Do you have a better plan?”
Vin thought for a moment, running
possibilities through his mind; then he shrugged and shook his head. He was
sure there had to be a better plan, he just couldn’t think of one right then.
“We’ll leave early tomorrow,” Ezra said
quietly. “Right before the sun comes
up.”
Vin snorted, doubting that Ezra had ever
been up before the sun. This, he had to see.
After lunch, he and Chris went for a ride
on the stallion, half-heartedly looking for and not finding the little herd of
wild horses they’d been after. He kept thinking about JD being all alone at the
camp, and how much he wished he could go and get him right then. He also wished
he could tell Chris about the plan Ezra had come up with . . . maybe get his
advice, but he also knew that was pretty dumb because even if his voice would
work, telling Chris about the plan would put an end to it right away. He knew it was risky, going on their own,
but the more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t stand JD being with
Wickes.
He was also a little nervous about taking
Ezra’s mom’s car, and even more nervous about Ezra driving. Ezra knew a lot of
things, he was real smart – probably the smartest kid Vin knew, but he wasn’t
all that much taller than Vin, and he sure wasn’t old enough to drive a car.
But, then again, Ezra always seemed to surprise him. Maybe he did know how to
drive? Or, maybe he was just talking out of his behind?
They had an early supper that night and
sat around the fire as they always did when it wasn’t too cold. He thought
about not sitting with Chris – sitting in his own chair, because he didn’t want
Ezra to think he was a baby, but he just couldn’t do it. He looked forward to
sitting with Chris in the evenings; even if he looked like a baby, he wasn’t
going to care.
He didn’t remember Chris or Buck carrying
him in and putting him to bed, but he woke up on his cot inside the dark
camper. There wasn’t a clock, and Vin didn’t know how to tell time that way,
anyway. Instead he pulled back the plain, blue curtain to look outside. Sure
enough, he could see the dawn’s pink glow, barely beginning to brighten the
eastern horizon -- but he didn’t see Ezra. Maybe they wouldn’t be going to get
JD after all. Vin couldn’t seem to make up his mind whether that would be good
or bad.
As quietly as he could, he slipped out of
the cot, thankful that whoever had put him to bed had left him in his clothes.
His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and he was able to find his shoes
without tripping over anything and then open the door, hardly making a
sound.
To Vin’s surprise, Ezra was already
waiting outside, at the stable where they’d decided to meet. After getting his
shoes on, he grabbed his father’s rifle and some ammunition, then followed Ezra
to his mother’s car. As he opened the
door he found that he was still none too sure he trusted Ezra’s driving skills.
In fact, it was making his stomach feel fluttery.
“We need to push it down the hill,” Ezra
said, glancing at Vin as he sat on the edge of the driver’s seat. “When we get
going, we’ll jump in and the car will start when I shift into gear.”
Vin nodded, still apprehensive.
Ezra shifted into neutral then got out of
the car, grinning, with a spark of mischief in his eyes that made Vin smile.
“Okay,” he said, then both began pushing the little sports car toward the path.
Once they were rolling at a good clip, they jumped inside and closed the doors.
When they were closer to the road and farther from the Mission, Ezra pushed in
the clutch, and shifted into first gear. The car jerked a couple times and the
engine sputtered before it began to hum.
Finding second gear was not quite as
easy, and Vin wondered if that horrible grinding noise was a bad thing -- or
more importantly if anyone had heard it back at the Mission. Finally Ezra got
it into second, and then third without the jerking and grinding. Then he looked
over at Vin with a big smile. “Piece of cake.”
Right.
They’d driven for over an hour, straight
down the empty highway without a problem – if you didn’t count the turn onto
the highway. Just ahead was the junction where they were supposed to turn again
and Vin wondered how many grinds it would take this time. As Ezra fought to
downshift, brake and turn all at the same time, Vin suddenly knew why twelve
year olds weren’t given their driver’s licenses. All he could do was reach for the dashboard and try to brace
himself for the impact that was about to come.
~ ~ * * ~ ~
Chris woke shortly after dawn, to the
sound of birds chirping noisily outside the camper. He sat up slowly, yawning
as he tried to motivate his body to get going and begin the day. The air was
cool and a little damp, making him reluctant to let go of his blankets, making
him have second thoughts about getting up at all. He could hear Buck snoring
above him, and one bare arm dangled over the side of the bunk. He knew that
even if he wanted to stay in bed, between Buck’s snoring and the damn birds,
he’d never get back to sleep.
Another yawn and he got out of the bed,
deciding that he needed some coffee. He glanced over to check on Vin . . . and
found his cot empty. Chris puzzled at that. He hadn’t heard Vin get up and
didn’t know where he would have gone this early – well, maybe to the outhouse.
He started the slow process of heating water, getting dressed while he waited.
Buck rolled over and yawned loudly. “Damn
birds,” he muttered, starting to climb slowly out from under his blankets. Once
his bare skin hit the crisp air, he quickly drew the blanket back up to his
chin. “Damn! It’s cold!”
Chris chuckled. “Well, if you’d wear
pajamas or sweats, instead of those boxers.”
“You know I can’t sleep in pajamas or
sweats,” he complained. “I can hardly stand to wear these boxers. It ain’t
natural.”
Chris just shook his head, smiling.
“Whatever.”
When Vin hadn’t returned by the time his
cup of coffee was ready, and Buck had forced himself out of the warm bed, Chris
took a few quick swallows and headed outside. He needed to hit the outhouse
anyway, and hoped he’d run into the kid on his way.
The camp was relatively quiet – except
for the damn birds. Chris made his ‘pit stop’ then looked around a little,
checking the stable, but not finding Vin anywhere. He looked up toward the
mission, wondering if Vin would have gone in to see Ezra, or Josiah, although
he figured it was a little early for that. Then he noticed the red car that for
the last few days had been parked next to Josiah’s beat-up, old pick-up was
gone.
He wasn’t usually the type to jump to
conclusions, but he felt that the absence of the sports car gave him good
enough reason to at least question Josiah on its whereabouts.
“Hey, Chris,” Buck called as he jogged
toward him, from the direction of the outhouse. “Where’s Vin?”
“I don’t know, I can’t find him.” He
started walking toward the Mission with Buck at his heels. “Maude Standish’s
car is missing.”
“What?”
Chris pointed to the empty space where the car had been last night.
“Maybe somebody just stashed it somewhere
else,” Buck said, frowning as he tried to think of possibilities. “It kinda
stands out settin’ right there.”
“Maybe,” Chris replied quietly. “Figure
Josiah ought to know.”
They found Josiah sitting in one of the
pews inside the small chapel area, staring up at the large cross hanging on the
wall, above the altar. “Is there somethin’ I can help you boys with?” he asked,
turning toward them with a smile.
“We need to talk to Ms. Standish, or her
boy, if they’re here,” Chris said curtly. “Vin’s gone . . . least I can’t find
him anywhere, and that fancy red car of hers seems to be missing. Do you know
anything about that?”
“No,” Josiah replied. “It was there last
night.”
“It’s gone now.” He was willing to bet
that they would find Maude sleeping, and no sign of Ezra.
Josiah stood, his eyebrows drawing
together, instantly concerned. “Right this way.” He led them back to the
sanctuary and down a dark hallway that had two doors on each side -- small
dormitories where at one time the monks had resided, along with any who might
come seeking sanctuary, out there in the middle of nowhere.
They knocked several times on one of the
doors before a groggy, uncharacteristically tousle-haired Maude Standish opened
the door, just barely. “Good Lord, do you realize what time it is?” she
complained as if it were the middle of the night, instead of close to 7AM.
“Is Ezra in there with you?” Chris asked,
without apologizing for disturbing her sleep.
“Ezra?” She looked confused, but turned
around, stepping away from the door, and called his name, “Ezra!”
They waited impatiently for her to come
back to the door. “He’s not here, but—“
“Ma’am, I hate to have to tell you this,
but Vin’s missing, and so’s your car,” Buck explained in his courteous drawl,
sounding a lot like Detective Wilmington. “Does your son know how to drive, by
chance?”
“My car? What did you say?” Apparently,
Maude was not a morning person; she definitely wasn’t her usual sharp,
quick-witted self.
“Why don’t you get dressed and meet us
out in the garden,” Josiah said, offering her a little time to get herself
together.
“Try to hurry,” Chris shouted over his
shoulder as they were ushered away from the door.
Josiah already had a pot of coffee going
– real coffee, percolated, not the instant crap. He poured a cup for both men and refilled his own mug before
starting a new pot.
Maude joined them in less time than
they’d expected her to take. She sat down at the table, all seriousness,
looking for once more like a concerned mother than a socialite. Josiah set a
mug of coffee in front of her and she smiled appreciatively at him. “Thank you,
reverend.” She took a sip from the steaming mug, then looked at Chris. “Now,
where is Ezra and what did you say about my car?”
“I don’t know where Ezra is, and I don’t
know where Vin is either,” Chris explained with a lot more patience than he was
feeling.
“Vin is missing too? Well, perhaps
they’re off . . . playing, or whatever it is little boys do,” she said, smiling
and waving a hand as if that matter was all settled. “Now, where’s my car?”
“Well, ma’am, that’s what we’re trying to
figure out,” Buck said.
Josiah reached out to touch her hand.
“Does Ezra know how to drive?”
“I have no idea,” she said, seeming
flustered. “I don’t think he does.”
“Vin ain’t tall enough to reach the
peddles, even in that small car” Chris said, looking at Buck and then Josiah.
“Ezra probably could though, barely.”
“You thinking what I’m thinking,
Chris?” Buck asked.
Chris gave him a quick nod. “Where’s the
camp that Ezra was in?”
“Outside of El Paso,” Maude told him,
frowning. “You don’t think . . .?”
Chris sighed, looking at Buck. “I can’t
think of anything else.”
“Me neither,” Buck agreed. “That’s at
least an hour and a half drive.”
“Why ever would they go back there?”
Maude still didn’t want to believe it.
“Their friend, JD,” Josiah said with a
shrug. “They wanted us to go get him. Ezra asked Chris about it a couple days
ago.”
“We told them we’d go get him. Why would
they take off on their own?” Chris asked, directing the question to himself, as
much as the others.
“My guess is they didn’t think we were
moving quick enough,” Buck answered.
Chris drained his cup of coffee then
pushed back in his chair. “We’ll take my truck. Buck, get Nathan . . . just in
case.”
“Copy that, partner,” Buck replied, then
drained his cup too.
“We’ll find them,” Chris promised Maude
then stood up and glanced at Josiah. “I’m going to grab a little fire power,
and pull the truck around.”
“Fire power?” Maude asked with alarm.
“Just a precaution, ma’am,” Josiah said,
his calm, baritone always sounded reassuring.
When they were ready to go, they quietly
informed Josiah that depending on the circumstances, they may or may not
attempt getting the boy out of the camp. Then they headed to what used to be a
small ranger station, to gas up the truck.
The station always made him think of Jack, who had been the one to
inform them of the supply of gas beneath the ancient-looking pump out back.
They tried to use it sparingly, but knew that one day it would be gone.
Chris replaced the nozzle and made a
silent vow to Jack, wherever he was, that he would find his boy and then he
promised to take better care of him from that point on.
“I can’t believe they stole her car,”
Buck commented, shaking his head in wonder as they pulled back onto the
highway.
“I’m gonna k--” Chris growled, but
stopped short of finishing the sentence. Instead he prayed they hadn’t already
managed to do that, themselves.
~ ~ * * ~ ~
Chris slowed the truck, getting ready to
turn at the junction when Buck leaned forward.
“Shit! There it is, Chris!” he said, pointing to the ditch on his side
of the road. From the way it looked, the car hadn’t been able to make the turn
and had gone off the road and right into an old telephone pole.
“Guess this answers one question,” Nathan
mumbled, not really intending to be heard.
“What do you mean?” Chris asked, as he
pulled over to the shoulder and turned off the engine. He tried not to imagine
the worst, when he looked at the mangled passenger’s side, the way it was
crushed inward by the pole.
“Whether or not the kid can drive,”
Nathan replied, then reached for the first aid kit, hoping he was prepared
enough for whatever they were about to find.
The airbag on the driver’s side had kept
Ezra from being tossed around too much. He was a little dazed when they opened
the door and deflated the bag. His nose had bled down the front of his shirt,
but it looked like the bleeding had tapered off. On closer inspection, it also
looked like he would be sporting a couple of black eyes.
“You okay?” Chris asked, placing a gentle
hand on the boy’s cheek.
“My nose.” Ezra reached up, and gingerly
touched his nose.
“You hurting anywhere else?” Chris
unhitched the seatbelt and waited for an answer. “Your neck?”
Ezra shook his head. “Just . . . my face
hurts.”
“The airbag must have smacked him in the
nose,” Chris informed Nathan as he carefully eased the boy out of the car and
into Nathan’s capable hands.
“No way can we get this door open,” Buck
said from the other side of the car. The pole was right up against the door
handle.
Vin’s eyes were closed, but he had a
frown on his face. Chris was thankful that the airbag on the passenger’s side
had either been disabled or had malfunctioned. He couldn’t see any injuries, no
blood. Still, he had yet to move. “Vin?” Chris called out to the boy, as he
took Ezra’s place in the driver’s seat.
He didn’t open his eyes, but his head turned slightly toward Chris, the
frown deepened.
Chris reached over and gently tapped his
cheek. “Hey cowboy, time to wake up.”
Vin’s lower lip quivered and a tear slid
down his cheek.
Chris brushed the tear away. “Vin, can
you open your eyes for me?”
Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking
several times before looking at Chris.
Chris smiled, too thankful to be upset at
the moment. “You hurtin’ anywhere?”
Vin thought for a moment, before nodding
slowly and reaching for the side of his head.
Chris leaned around to get a better look,
not wanting him to move too much yet. “Got a good-sized goose egg there, pard.
But, you’ll live.” There was also a good-sized gash that was still bleeding,
but he didn’t want to scare the kid. “Doc, how’s Ezra?”
“He’s okay,” Nathan answered from the
ground a few feet away. “Mostly just shaken up. Might have a broken nose, but
there ain’t much I can do for that, right now. ”
“Vin seems okay, could use a little
bandaging. I’m gonna let you take over before we move him.”
Chris unfastened the seatbelt and was
about to instruct Vin to stay still until Nathan took a look at him. Before he
got a word out Vin was out of the seat and had both arms wrapped around Chris’
neck. “Okay, okay. I got ya.”
Chris held on and carefully backed his
way out of the car. Once they were clear and standing in the ditch, Nathan laid
a hand on the boy’s back. “How you
doin’ Vin?” he asked in a gentle voice.
Vin didn’t answer; he just buried his
face against Chris’ neck, holding on tightly.
Chris glanced at Ezra. Buck was kneeling
in front of him, holding an icepack in one hand and cleaning the blood off his
face with the other. “Vin,” he said to the boy trembling in his arms. “Nathan
needs to take a look at that bump on your head, okay?”
Vin nodded, but didn’t let go.
Chris held up a finger, gesturing for the
doctor to give them a moment, then he turned and walked a few steps away. “Hey
pard, you scared me half to death,” he whispered, his voice shaky. “Thank God
you’re okay.” He took another couple steps, then turned back, thankful that he
was able to hold the boy, thankful he’d been given another chance and vowing
not to take moments like these for granted. He rubbed Vin’s back, calming and
reassuring himself as much as the boy.
“’m sorry.” Chris heard the barely
audible words carried on a half sob, and suddenly felt light-headed. He turned
to the others, his eyes wide, not entirely sure it hadn’t been his imagination.
A look at Nathan’s encouraging smile, then Buck’s open-mouthed expression of
shock assured him that it had been real.
Vin’s head hurt, but he also felt very
guilty for what they’d done, for worrying the others -- for worrying Chris. He
knew they could have been hurt much worse, even been killed. And he knew how
hard that would have been for Chris, because he knew how hard it would be for
him if something ever happened to Chris.
Just the thought of that made it hard to breathe, made him feel as if he
were drowning. If it were ever to happen, he knew he wouldn’t have the will or
the strength to keep holding on anymore.
So he held on now, as tight as he could.
“Vin?” Chris tried to pull him back,
wanted to see his face, but Vin wasn’t ready to let go.
He listened to the boy’s sniffles,
hearing Nathan mildly scolding Ezra from a few feet away. “I can’t believe you
drove off in your momma’s car, without a driver’s license. If I was her I’d
take you over my knee.”
Buck had moved up beside Chris and Vin,
and put his arms loosely around them both. The three of them just stood there
not saying anything for a long time. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,
kiddo,” Buck finally said, his eyes were solemn, moist from tears, but the next
moment he smiled. “How ‘bout you let Nate take a look at you so we can go
spring your buddy JD?”
Vin did release his death grip on Chris
then, leaning back to gauge their sincerity. He nodded, instead of answering
verbally as they’d hoped. Chris wondered if Vin even realized he’d spoken, then
figured it was probably best not to push anything, to let the process continue
naturally and give Vin a little more time to work it out himself.
Chris knew he should reprimand the boys.
What they’d done had been wrong, dangerous, foolish, and a number of other
things, but he was having trouble wiping the stupid grin off his face. When he
noticed Buck wore a matching one, he figured they’d have to wait ‘til later to
let the boys have it.
Or maybe not.
“I got a mind to take you over my knee,
personally,” Nathan muttered to Vin as he tenderly cleaned and bandaged the
boy’s head wound. “And don’t think I won’t. You too,” he said, turning his
glare on Ezra, who had the sense to look contrite. “You boys know better than
to pull something like that . . . scaring the life out of me . . . worryin’
everyone like ya did . . . Ya ought to be ashamed of yo’selves . . . what am I
gonna do with ya . . ..
~ ~ * * ~ ~
Once they’d gotten the boys cleaned up,
they’d driven a ways further before pulling off the road. They’d had to leave
the sports car in the ditch; unfortunately it was past fixing. It was early afternoon, so they had a lot of
time to spare before they would even attempt to go near the camp. They spent
the afternoon looking over the map they had, going over details of the camp,
and generally bouncing ideas off of each other to try and come up with the best
plan they could. At dusk they got back
on the road, and continued on their way, parking the truck in a secluded area,
a safe distance from the camp.
Nearby El Paso hadn’t been entirely
destroyed, although significant parts of it had. Supposedly there was no
radiation lingering there, but it was still a very dangerous place, ruled by
violent gangs. The camp was several miles outside of the city, and mostly women
and children resided there, but Ezra had warned them about the gang members
that were often present, for ‘entertainment purposes’. Wickes not only ran the
camp like a brothel, he also had a still, and apparently a generous supply of
other drugs, making it a popular place for the gangs. Chris couldn’t help but wonder what the man got in exchange for
the things he offered.
They would have liked to been given a
little more time to work out a better plan. Chris thought it might have been
possible for them to pose as gang members, to get in and out of the camp a bit
easier, but that was not to be. The
more they’d thought about it and discussed it, the more each of the men
believed that they needed to get that poor little kid out of there, as soon as
possible.
It was after dark when they approached
the camp itself, on foot. Chris, Buck and Nathan stood outside the fence,
studying the layout, and the large house near the center of the camp. They’d
decided to wait a few hours after the camp had settled down for the night
before they would venture inside.
There were several small tents inside the
fence. A small wooden building stood about fifty yards away, between the fence
and the big house. It was apparently set up for laundry, with lines of clothing
strung from the side of the building to another larger building, more toward
the middle of the grounds, that they figured was a mess hall of sorts. There had
been women and children in and out of the smaller building all evening. A
handful of rough-looking guards were seated at a picnic table outside of the
mess hall, drinking and playing cards. The men had seemed disinterested in the
other activities going on, but would pause in their game to give the women a
hard time whenever one would have to pass by their table.
Around midnight the occupants had settled
down, the guards had disappeared and everything became quiet. Other than the
moon’s illumination, there wasn’t much light inside the camp. There was a faint
glow on the first level of the house, as well as a faint glow coming from the
upstairs bedroom that they were presuming was occupied by the boy, JD.
Still they waited, until finally, around
3 am, they decided the time was right. Chris began to snip the wire, starting
at the bottom of the fence and working up until he had made a suitable
entryway. He would have liked to make the slit more obvious, giving the
occupants at least a temporary means of escape, but he didn’t want to raise any
suspicions, or draw attention before they could get away. He told himself that
he’d make sure the hole was obvious before they left, though.
“Ezra said there’s a back stairway, off
the kitchen,” Nathan whispered. “But remember, you’ll have to go right by
Wickes’ room.”
They’d parked the truck less than a mile
away and left the two boys there – hoping they’d be safer there than if they
would have accompanied them to the camp.
Chris had left the keys to the truck and given Ezra some basic driving
instructions, although Ezra’s toes only touched the peddles when he sat on the
edge of the seat. He’d also left Vin his rifle, just incase anything went
wrong.
“I’ll go in,” Buck said, giving Chris a
hearty pat on the shoulder. Up until then they hadn’t made any decisions on
which one would go in, and Buck was fully expecting Chris to argue. “You and
the doc stay here, incase I need backup.”
“Beauty before age?” Chris asked wryly,
sounding a little put out.
“Well, that goes without saying, stud,”
Buck grinned, tapping his firm abdomen. “Can’t help that I got the body and
stamina of a twenty-year-old.”
Chris couldn’t help but chuckle softly.
“Right, you keep telling yourself that, stud.”
Buck gave them a wink and started to go
through the fence.
“Watch your back,” Chris cautioned,
sincerely.
Buck nodded and climbed through the
fence, then stealthily moved across the yard, to the house. He was a little amazed at how easily the
lock opened. He was expecting to have at least a little trouble getting inside,
or to find some sort of an alarm system in place. Most places weren’t able to have any sort of high tech alarm
system, so they used dogs or set up handmade contraptions that would warn them
of an intruder. The kitchen was dark, except for a very faint glow from a lamp
out in the foyer. The only sound he heard was the hum of the refrigerator
motor. Hopefully things would stay that way.
He looked around carefully but found no traps, nothing rigged up to go
off as an alarm.
Quietly he ascended the stairs, pausing
to check the hallway before he reached the top. It seemed that everyone was
asleep, and he could see no ‘booby-traps’ set up there either. There were four
doors, two on each side. Buck looked down at the second door on the left, which
was supposed to be JD’s and said a little prayer that it actually was. Silently
he walked toward the door, thinking that it seemed an awful long way – or maybe
it just felt like that. He checked the
door, finding it locked, so he reached into his pocket and pulled out his tool,
again thankful to whomever it was that had invented such a nifty thing. He’d
kept a few items from his days on the force, mostly the things he’d had on him
that last day. After the riots they’d attempted to retrieve some of his things
from his condo, only to find that the building had been burned to the ground.
He picked the lock, easily. Still amazed
that things were going so well, he stepped into the room, dimly lit with the
soft glow of a nightlight. Right there on the bed was the boy. He took several
breaths, listening for any sounds before starting across the room toward the
boy. The wooden floor creaked beneath his feet, halting him in the middle of
the room. He felt sweat drip down the side of his face as he stood there
frozen, and realized his heart was thudding in his chest, in his ears; he
wondered if that sound alone would wake up everyone in the house.
After several minutes that felt like an
hour, he took another deep breath and continued toward the bed, stopping at its
side. He looked down at the small figure, and was instantly reminded of Chris’
son. The boy might have been a year or two older than Adam, but he seemed so
small. For a brief moment he worried about Chris; Would Chris see the
similarities? Would being able to save this boy help Chris, or cause him more
pain?
First things first, he told himself. He needed to actually get the kid out of
there, and then he’d worry about the rest. Looking down as he carefully pulled
the blankets away, he couldn’t help smiling at the way the boy’s arms sprawled
up, over his head. He was so damned small, and so damned cute. Shiny black
hair, round rosy cheeks, long dark eyelashes – hell, the kid looked like one of
those little cherubs from a Hallmark card.
He was just about to lift him from the
bed, wondering on the chances of getting the kid out without waking him up,
when two dark eyes popped open. “Who’re you?” the kid asked, a little too loud
for Buck’s comfort. Suddenly, the eyes were filled with fear, and his chin
began to quiver.
“Shh . . .” Buck tried to smile, tried to
look kind, but he was starting to get nervous and jumpy. “I come to get you out
of here, JD,” he whispered. “I’m gonna take you to see Vin.”
“Vin!” Just like that the kid sat up,
looking ecstatic and then Buck heard a noise from somewhere down the hall.
“Shi . . . shoot.” He looked around the
room then quickly and quietly closed the door. There was no lock on the inside,
but there was an old wooden desk with a plastic chair in the corner of the
room. He grabbed the chair and wedged it under the doorknob, knowing it
wouldn’t hold anyone off for long, then he went to the window. “We’re gonna
have to climb out this way.” Chris, I hope you’re payin’ attention, out
there.
The boy was sitting up, his bare feet
dangling over the side of the bed, looking at him with wide eyes. “Where’s your
shoes, lil’ bit?” he asked, searching the floor.
The boy practically bounced down from the
bed, got on his hands and knees and stuck his head under the frame. A moment
later he reappeared with a pair of dirty tattered canvas sneakers that were
tiny, yet looked a few sizes too big for him. “These was Vin’s!” he said,
holding them up proudly.
Buck heard footsteps coming nearer, but
smiled at the boy anyway as he kneeled to help him slip the shoes on. “There ya
go.” Quickly he stood, pulling the top sheet off of the bed. It wouldn’t be
long enough to reach the ground, but at least it would be a little better than
dropping the kid from the window.
~ ~ * * ~ ~
Outside, Chris was getting antsy. He couldn’t take his eyes off the bedroom
window. When he saw a shadow cross the curtains, he felt some sense of relief,
cautious as it was. Buck must have made it to the room, but he wasn’t out yet.
Then another light turned on, and Chris
sucked in a deep breath. “ Somebody’s awake.”
“Damn,” Nathan muttered, glancing nervously
from one bedroom window to the other. He saw the curtains part, and a tall
figure at the boy’s window and he was sure that his heart skipped a beat, or
two.
“I’m going in,” Chris said, already
climbing through the fence. “If anything happens you get the boys home safe
then come back with reinforcements.”
Nathan nodded, knowing it was the most
sensible plan, but not liking the thought of possibly having to leave Chris and
Buck behind.
Chris was already half way across the
yard, so there wasn’t much he could do except keep watch . . . and send up a
prayer that Josiah’s God was keeping watch over them, too.
~ ~ * * ~ ~
“See the man coming through the fence?”
Buck pointed toward the section of fence where he saw Chris slide through. “I
want you to hold onto this sheet, real tight. I’m gonna lower you out the
window and as soon as you can you need to be real brave and drop to the ground
and run for the man. His name’s Chris and he’s gonna take you to Vin.”
“What’s your name?” The little boy asked,
looking up at Buck with solemn eyes.
“My name’s Buck.”
“You’re coming too, ain’t ya Buck?” JD
tilted his head, now looking worried.
“I sure am, but you gotta go first,
okay?”
JD looked out the window, then back up at
Buck. “It’s kinda far.”
“You can do it,” Buck assured him. “C’mon
now.” He helped JD climb up to the ledge, and was thankful to see Chris was
already right below them. “Now, hold on tight,” he reminded, then he lowered
him over the side. Buck leaned out, watching, keeping a grip on the other end
of the sheet. The kid hung on tenaciously until he was about half way and then
he let go, dropping right on top of Chris and knocking him on his rear.
Chris got to his feet right away, and set
the boy on his feet as well. “C’mon Buck,” he whispered loudly, looking up at
the window.
Buck hesitated a moment, turning back
when the doorknob jiggled. “Shit,” he cursed and began climbing out the window.
“JD!” A man’s voice yelled and suddenly
someone was pounding on the door.
Buck cursed again, realizing that he was going to have to jump for it. He
didn’t waste any time thinking about it further; he twisted around, grabbing
onto the frame, then swinging his lanky body outside. He felt the aluminum
ridges digging painfully into his fingers and let go sooner than he’d intended.
The big man landed hard on the ground and before he could take inventory of his
body, Chris had his bicep in a death grip and was pulling him to his feet. The
two men ran, with Buck limping, hoping his ankle wouldn’t give out. Each of
them held tightly to JD’s hands as they pulled him along between them.
Before they were past the laundry
building, they heard men shouting, followed by gunfire. “In there,” Chris
shouted, pushing them toward the small building.
Buck pushed the little boy between two
stacks of wash bins then took one from the top and placed it in front of him,
pretty much covering the small figure.
“You stay put, little one,” he said firmly, waiting for a nod before he
got up and went to the window. Chris was still at the door, firing at whomever
was firing at them. Buck wasn’t even sure how many they were up against; he
just pulled his Sig from its holster and took aim.
~ ~ * * ~ ~
Vin and Ezra had sat as patiently as they
could until they heard the sound of gunfire erupting in the distance. The two boys looked at each other and Vin
reached for his rifle on the floor of the truck. Ezra, with his two black eyes
and a swollen nose, gave Vin a determined nod then each boy simultaneously reached
for a door handle and climbed out of the truck.
Vin remembered Chris’ words, telling him
to stay put, telling the boys to drive back to the Mission if anything happened
to them. Then he’d left, along with Buck and Nathan and ever since Vin had been
remembering a set of similar instructions, given by his father. As he’d sat in
the truck waiting for Chris, the images played through his mind, over and over,
scene after terrifying scene.
He remembered his father hiding him,
handing him the rifle and telling him to stay put; telling him to follow the
river to the Mission if anything were to happen to him. He could almost hear
the men’s voices, their taunting and ugly laughter as they hurt his father. He
remembered not knowing whether to come out or not, wanting to help, but afraid,
waiting and waiting for what seemed like an eternity. Then, he pictured his
father lying on the ground, bloody and battered, eyes open and staring, face
swollen, almost unrecognizable. Something inside him had broken then – or
that’s what it had felt like -- and he’d blocked those images out of his mind,
had kept them locked away – until tonight when they had all come rushing back
to him.
When he heard the shooting, he knew that
there was no way he could follow Chris’ instructions. There wasn’t anything he
could do to help his dad, but he could still help Chris and Buck and Nathan. He
couldn’t sit by and do nothing . . . again.
They approached the camp silently, easily
hiding among the rocks and scarce trees that made up the landscape surrounding
the camp. Vin could see several guards, trying to stay low on one side of the
root cellar and a couple of others taking cover behind an outhouse. He almost
laughed at the scene before him, watching as the guards fired occasionally at
the laundry room, then ducked to avoid the return fire. Wickes and his men
might have some protection from Chris, Buck and Nathan, but they were
completely exposed to him and Ezra.
Then they realized someone else was
firing from the rocks outside the fence, several yards away from them. Vin pulled Ezra down, and kept watching as
the men inside the camp returned fire.
Obviously whoever was shooting from the
rocks was no friend of Wickes, but he had no idea which one of the men it was.
Ezra pulled a small derringer from his
jacket and held it for Vin to see. Vin nodded, resting the barrel of his rifle
carefully across the rock as he lined up his site. He felt the rifle’s kick, once . . . twice . . . three times . .
.. He knew Ezra had fired off a shot or
two, as well. His ears were ringing,
there was an acrid smell in the air and in what seemed like no time at all
they’d taken out at least four of the men, and possibly hit others. The
remaining men were running for better cover, trying to dodge the new assault on
their exposed rear.
“Vin!” They heard a familiar voice, and
Vin recognized the other person shooting from the rocks was Nathan, which meant
Chris and Buck were inside the laundry room. He felt a familiar panicky surge
inside his chest and tried to push it back, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. He
looked back toward the house, and wondered where JD was and if they’d gotten
him out.
He saw Nathan’s shoulders and his baseball
cap covered head, approaching, ducking behind the rocks then making a dash
across a small clearing to join them behind the cluster of smooth rocks they
were hiding behind. “What do you two
think you’re doin’?” he asked harshly, pulling the boys down beside him.
Before either of them could answer, a
huge explosion rocked the entire camp. All three of them rose to peer over the
rocks, just as Chris pulled his automatic rifle back, and slid back inside the
doorway. There were huge flames
shooting from a point just beyond the mess hall, black and gray smoke billowing
upwards, standing out against the already dark sky.
Then they saw three figures moving away
from the laundry building, running across the yard in their direction. Chris
and Buck – who was limping badly -- and a little figure that had to be JD. More
shots were fired and Chris pushed Buck and JD toward an outhouse, then dove for
cover along with them. Chris peered around a corner, raised his rifle and blew
a hole clean through the corner of the main house. A handful of men immediately jumped back, away from the
protection of the house and Vin took the opportunity to steady his own rifle,
aim and then fire three consecutive shots.
Everything grew quiet then. It took
several minutes for the smoke to clear, although what they now knew was a gas
tank still burned brightly, lighting up most of the camp. The sun was coming up
too and finally, they were able to take a good look around. From what they
could tell, none of Wickes’ men were left standing.
A few of the residents began hesitantly
coming out of their tents. Mostly women, looking bewildered, not bold enough to
walk out in the open but they were looking around, trying to figure out what
was happening -- possibly hoping whatever it was meant their liberation.
Buck set JD on the ground, and he and
Chris walked around the bullet-riddled outhouse, weapons still at the ready.
When Vin saw them lower their weapons and start talking to each other, he
figured that had to be a sign that everything was under control.
Almost before he even realized what he
was doing, he was standing in front of the rock, waving his hands. “JD!” he
yelled, then froze, both shocked and amazed to have heard the sound of his
voice. His head whipped back to look at
Nathan and Ezra, wanting to see if they’d heard it too. Nathan smiled at him,
and slung both of their rifles over his shoulder, then held out his hand,
glaring at Ezra and his gun.
“It’s my mother’s,” Ezra protested.
“Then I’ll give it back to her when we get
back to the Mission,” Nathan insisted. “You take anything else that belongs to
your mother?”
“No,” he said, handing over the
derringer. “Not that it would matter, she’s going to kill me, regardless.”
Vin turned back to see JD running toward
him, followed more slowly by Chris and Buck. “Vin! Vin! Ez! Ez!”
“Ez-RA,” Ezra grumbled automatically, not
loud enough for anyone but them to hear.
He watched as JD slowed, pausing to look
at one of the bodies then making a wide berth around it. Vin could tell it was
Wickes, even from where he was.
Vin gazed at the body, wondering why he
didn’t feel particularly glad the man was dead. He thought he’d feel happy, or
relieved that the man had got what was coming to him, but Vin found that he
didn’t really feel anything at all.
Then JD was climbing through the fence, wearing a too-big t-shirt,
dingy, gray long johns, and his old shoes – but he looked good to Vin, and by
the way Ezra was grinning, Vin reckoned that he must think so too.
Vin was so happy to see JD, so elated
that Chris and Buck were alive, and nothing bad had happened to any of them
that he almost missed the movement from Wickes’ body as Chris and Buck walked
past it -- almost.
Time stood still as he watched Wickes’
body twist on the ground, his eyes open, one arm stretch out slowly, a gun held
in his hand.
Horrified, Vin looked at Nathan, at his
gun that was strapped over Nathan’s shoulder. Nathan was smiling at JD; Ezra
was too, neither one paying any attention to the renewed threat, the man trying
to aim his gun at Chris and Buck. His
voice failed him again, as he tried to cry out and warn the two men who meant
everything to him. This can’t be happening, he thought helplessly even as it
played out before his eyes. But then, in the blink of an eye, Buck spun around,
gun raised at his hip and fired off one deadly shot that landed right between
Wickes’ eyes.
Vin suddenly felt a little dizzy, his
ears were ringing and there were tiny specks of light floating before his eyes.
He could hear voices, people talking, but it all sounded muffled and far away.
“Breathe, pard.” This voice was closer,
and he took a deep breath, and then another, as he felt himself lifted in the
air, a pair of strong arms holding onto him. “You okay, cowboy?” murmured in
his ear. And then time resumed.
~ ~ * * ~ ~
Epilogue
Nathan yawned then shook his head to keep
himself awake. “Is there any of that coffee left?” He looked into the rearview
mirror, but Buck was sound asleep with Ezra tucked under one arm, and JD under
the other.
Beside him, Vin twisted around in his
seat, reached back and grasped the thermos, handing it over to Nathan.
It was cold, but he drank it anyway.
“Somebody talk to me or pop a tape in, or something.”
Leaning forward, Vin opened the glove
compartment and began rooting around for a tape.
From the back seat, Buck yawned then sat
up straighter. “Make sure it ain’t one of them awful jazz tapes of Larabee’s,
though. Play something good.”
“Shut up, Buck,” Chris said without heat.
“There should be a couple of Elvis tapes
up there.”
“No there’s not,” Chris replied, just as
Vin pulled out an Elvis tape. Chris winked at him. “I used them to get a
campfire going, a couple weeks ago.”
‘That ain’t even funny, Larabee.”
Vin tossed the Elvis tape back into the
glove box, and put in a Journey tape, and Chris turned around to look at Buck.
“How you feelin’ pard?”
“Ankle hurts, but I’m doing okay.”
“You get to hurtin’ too bad, you just let
me know,” Nathan told him, glancing back in the rearview mirror.
“I will. It sure will be nice to have a
few more women around to pretty up things,” Buck commented distractedly, a
silly grin on his face.
All together there had been about 20
women and dozen or more children in Wickes’ camp. Chris had made the offer for
any that wanted to come back to the Mission, thinking that staying at the camp,
so close to El Paso, would be too dangerous. Several were now riding
comfortably on a mattress in the back of the pickup truck. The rest had chosen
to strike out on their own, or go in search of lost relatives. There’d been two
old Astro vans, thankfully each with full tanks of gas, parked in a garage at
the camp. The women and children had loaded them with supplies and headed out
at the same time Chris had.
In the barn, they’d found a crapload
of generators, some never before used,
along with some water purifiers, livestock and a few other things they could
use at the Mission. There’d also been a root cellar full of canned foods,
bottled wine and other liquor. Unfortunately, they hadn’t been able to fit much
else into the back of his truck. Chris was still debating on whether or not
they should return to the camp later – after dropping off their passengers --
to stock up on some of the things they could use, before any others helped
themselves to the supplies.
Nathan yawned again and Chris looked over
at him. “If you need me to drive, just say the word.”
“I should be okay.”
“I could drive,” Ezra said helpfully,
from the backseat. Chris’ truck was an automatic, and Chris had given him
instructions on how to operate it.
“Over my dead body,” Nathan muttered.
Buck burst out laughing. “That’d be a
sure thing if we let ol’ Ez here behind the wheel.”
“I can drive! I just got confused
before!”
Chris heard a giggle from Vin and gave
the boy a squeeze. “What d’ya think, cowboy?” Vin shook his head adamantly then
snuggled closer. He knew for sure that he wouldn’t be driving anywhere with
Ezra for a long, long time.
“How about the next time we plan on
sneakin’ into one of those camps,” Buck proposed, “we let Ez take the guards
out for a little joyride beforehand.”
“I do not find that the least bit
humorous, Mr. Wilmington.”
“I bet your momma ain’t gonna find any
humor in what you did to her car, either,” said Nathan.
“Buck!” A new voice suddenly rang out. “I
gotta go -- bad!”
Nathan didn’t waste a moment pulling over
to the side of the road.
“I can take him,” Chris offered, craning
his neck to look around the headrest.
“Nah,” Buck replied. “I’m okay.”
As Nathan waited for Buck and little JD
to return from their ‘pit stop’, he thought about his beautiful wife and
daughter, and how much he longed for them. Were they alive? Were they stuck in
some hellhole of a camp like the one they’d just left? The thought that anyone
would treat his sweet, compassionate Raine and innocent little Natalie the way
Wickes had treated those women made his heart break.
A moment later, Buck opened the door and
boosted JD into the back seat then climbed in after him. “I made a river!” the
kid declared proudly, causing them all to snicker.
Chris waited until they were on the road again,
before quietly asking, “You okay, Doc?”
Nathan wiped a tear from his cheek; he
hadn’t even realized it had fallen.
“Yeah.”
“We’ll find ‘em, Nate,” Chris assured,
knowing what his friend was thinking – wanting to offer some sort of comfort,
wishing he could do more. “Ya gotta keep believing that.”
Nathan’s family was on his mind always,
but sometimes their absence just seemed to hurt more. They’d managed to rescue
so many people from the camps, and every time he couldn’t help but hope that
this would be the time that he’d find his own wife and child. There were times
when it all got to be too much and he just wasn’t sure he could keep on going.
Vin reached over and placed his small
hand on Nathan’s and just left it there as they drove. He glanced down at Vin
and caught the meaning in the vivid blue eyes that looked back at him. Vin was
telling Nathan the same thing Chris had, and Nathan knew in his heart it was
true.
A new song came over the speakers, one he
vaguely remembered hearing a long time ago. It took a moment for the words to
sink in, but oddly, the melodic voice was telling him the same thing. Don’t stop believing. It could have been coincidence – probably
was, but he chose to think it was a sign, purposely meant to give him
hope.
In the world they lived in, you needed
hope and something to believe in just to make it through the day.