“I don’t think they live here, but I bet I know where they do live. Come on.”
Bishop headed outside, Terri close on his heels. He made for the loading dock of the adjacent office supply store. “This sunlight will ruin our vision again. Let me go in first with the NVD.”
When Bishop opened the door, a chorus of sounds escaped from inside. Rushed footfalls, brushes of cloth, and a chorus of “shssssssssssss” filled the air. He turned to Terri and said, “There’s a bunch of them in there. Maybe a whole family. We need to be careful of protective parents.”
Terri nodded and stepped closer. She
poked her head around the corner and spoke in a friendly voice. “Hey, you guys. My name’s Terri, and I don’t want to hurt anyone. Why don’t you guys come outside here so I can meet you? I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Terri’s greeting was met with more scrambling, followed by a few whispered “
Be quiets.”
Bishop moved into the opening to scan with the night vision and
promptly jumped back. Several pairs of scissors, a handful of exacto knives, and an assortment of other heavy objects bounced off his chest and legs. A few pieces of the barrage missed, rattling across the pavement. If one of them hadn’t bounced off of Bishop’s sore head, the attack would have been comical.
“So much for the friendly approach. Why did they throw scissors?”
“Probably because they were taught not to run with them—that sharp objects are dangerous. Probably the only thing they could find in an office supply store. What are you going to do, Bishop? Start shooting?”
Bishop tilted his head, pretending to take the comment seriously. “Well, that’s an idea. I’m out of hand grenades.”
Terri shook her head and then moved closer to the door, yelling inside. “Now stop throwing stuff at us. My husband’s here with me, and we don’t want to hurt you guys. Please don’t throw anything else.”
Bishop popped his head around the corner again, ducking back quickly in case another barrage of sharp office supplies came flying. None did.
“Terri, there’s a bunch of them in there. The place is full of boxes, nooks and crannies. We’d never find them all. We need a different approach.”
Terri rubbed her chin, and then her eyes brightened. “How about the pied piper routine?”
“Do you have a flute in your load gear?”
“Funny, Bishop. No, we need something to lure them out, or at least a couple of them. I wish we had some chocolate—that might do it.”
“If we had chocolate, you would’ve eaten it all by now.”
“You’re right about that. What I would give for a chocolate Easter bunny right now.”
Bishop laughed, and then pondered Terri’s idea, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “How about soft drinks?”
“Sure, that might work. Are you going to run to the corner Stop ‘n Pick, and grab a case of sodas?”
“Nope. I do have a secret supplier though. Come on.”
Trotting back to the Home Mart, Bishop made a beeline for the employee break area. The glass front of the candy machine had been broken out, all of the sna
cks long gone. The soft drink machine next to it appeared unharmed, however. Bishop found the padlock on the side and noted someone had tried to pry it off but apparently had failed.
“Stay here for a minute, I need a tool.”
“Why don’t you just shoot it off?”
“Because we would both be deaf from the blast in this small of a room, and the potential for a ricochet is high. Beside, padlocks only succumb to bullets on TV shows, not in real life. Not only that, shots being fired might drive our little friends next door even deeper into hiding.”
Jogging out to the main retail area, Bishop found the tool section. He hefted a few pry bars until he found one sure to do the job. Rushing back to the lounge, he showed Terri his find.
“I love a man with a long, hard tool,” she joked.
Rolling his eyes, Bishop inserted the tip behind the lock. Using the machine as a fulcrum, he applied considerable force in a single jerk. The lock didn’t break, but its bracket did. The machine was full of soda pops.
The couple filled a cardboard box with
a few handfuls, hoping it would be something to attract the children next door. Heading back to the neighboring building, they felt a little like Hansel and Gretel as they began laying a trail of soft drink-breadcrumbs from the doorway out into the open lot beyond. Bishop stacked several of the shiny cans where they could be seen from the inside.
Terri returned to the entrance and yelled, “Hey, kids. Just to show you we are your friends, we’ve left some cans of soda out here. There’s grape and orange. They are a present, so come on out and help yourself.”
Motioning Bishop to move away, the couple hid behind a stack of pallets piled nearby.
A few minutes went by without anyone taking the bait.
Terri looked at Bishop and shrugged her shoulders. Bishop returned the gesture, saying, “Well, it works for child molesters. Maybe they think you look like a pervert.”
Again, Bishop’s shoulder received a swat.
“This isn’t working,” Terri stated. Handing Bishop her rifle, she slowly walked to the mound of soda cans and sat down on the pavement. Choosing a grape, she popped open the can and took a small sip. She sensed eyes watching her every movement, so she began a routine of sipping the soda and then smiling at the door.
Bishop was on edge, extremely unhappy with Terri’s maneuver. If someone came out of that doorway shooting, he wouldn’t be able to protect her. He was just about to sto
p the whole affair when rustling could be heard from inside the building.
After Terri’s third drink, there was a commotion inside the doorway. Bishop heard a child’s voice whisper, “Mindy! Mindy! Don’t do it.”
A mess of curly blond hair emerged from the entrance, barely visible from Bishop’s vantage. It disappeared quickly, more hushed warnings coming from inside. Terri stayed put, smiling at the empty door.
The little head appeared again, this time staying longer. Terri waved for the child to join her, “Come on, baby, come on out and have a drink. You’re okay.”
The little girl hesitated, taking a single step outside and then glancing nervously left and right. Terri played it well, acting like she was distracted by reading something on the soda can. More voices came from the inside, warning Mindy of a trap and begging her to come back and hide.
Mindy wasn’t interested in the liquid treats. Her gaze fixed on Terri. “You look like my mommy,” the little voice squeaked. “I miss my mommy. You’re pretty like she is. Do you know where she is?”
“I might know where she is, Mindy. I can take you to where there are lots of nice people. Why don’t you come sit down and tell me about your mom? You can have a drink while we’re talking.”
Out into the daylight the child strode. Bishop was shocked at the youngster’s appearance. Her hair was hopelessly ratted and tangled, the back full of dried leaves and other bits of debris. Bishop guessed the girl was about 6 or 7 years old. She wore what was once a red and white checkered dress. The clothing was now a filthy brown color, several tears in the material showing here and there. The inner elbows and wrists of the girl’s arms were caked with dirt, her hands almost black. The tiny little legs below her skirt looked just as soiled and were rail thin all the way down to what were once white socks with a frilly lace trim. Her face was creased with a coating of dark smudges and sleeve-wiped dirt. Bishop’s chest hurt, the pitiful vision in front of him welling up emotions like he’d never felt before.
That could be my child
, he thought.
It’s always the worst when the innocent suffer.
Terri maintained her smile and patted the pavement, signaling Mindy
to join her and have a seat. The girl was mesmerized by Terri, never taking her eyes off of the woman’s face. Slowly, step by step, the child inched closer and finally sat down.
“What flavor do you want, Mindy?”
“I don’t want anything to drink. I just want to go home. You’re not going to eat me, are you?”
Terri recovered quickly from the shock of the question. “Of course not, Mindy. Why would you think I was going to eat you? I don’t eat people.”
“Billy said all of the grown-ups wanted to eat us. They came here a long time ago with guns. They walked around the buildings and took stuff away.”
“No, baby, we’re not going to eat anybody. We’re here to help you guys.”
“Mr. Wilson made us hide when people came around. He said they were dangerous.”
“Who’s Mr. Wilson, Mindy? Where is he?”
“Mr. Wilson was our Sunday School bus driver. We were on the bus when all the people started falling over. The other kids said they were dying, and I hid under my seat. Mr. Wilson drove the bus way out here . . . he was scared.”
It was all coming together for Terri now. She chanced a glance at Bishop, and then asked, “Where’s Mr. Wilson now, Mindy?”
“He died after we found this place. One of the other kids said he needed pills for his heart.” Mindy pointed to the empty desert behind Terri. “The boys dragged his body out to that field because it didn’t smell very good. We watched the dogs eat him.”
Terri was stunned. She wanted to scream at the injustice, cry over what this little girl had been through. Taking a deep breath, she said, “So how many kids are inside the store, Mindy?”
“There are a lot . . . Billy, Cindy, Marty, Trevor . . . a lot.”
“Mindy, do you think I’m going to hurt you?”
“No, I guess not. But I’m scared of those bad people with guns.” Mindy seemed to remember that Terri wasn’t alone. She began nervously looking around, acting as though she was going to stand up and run. “Where’s the man that was with you? He had a gun, too.”
“It’s okay, Mindy, that’s my husband. His name’s Bishop, and he won’t hurt anyone.”
The girl settled down, returning her stare at Terri. “We shouldn’t stay out here very long. Sometimes people walk by here, and they look mean. Sometimes they have guns, too.”
T
erri patted the girl on the arm. “Don’t worry; Bishop will protect us. He’s a nice man and very protective of me. He won’t let anyone hurt us.”
“My daddy was like that with my mom and me. He went away to the army a long time ago and didn’t come back. He died in some place called Aff…
Afgan… I can’t say it. I don’t remember him, but my mom used to show me pictures and tell me stories.”
Bishop looked at the ground, the moisture from his eyes streaming down his cheeks.
When will all this end? When will we quit doing this to each other?
He thought.
When does the suffering stop?
Terri soothed the girl’s tattered hair, “I’m sorry, baby. We need to get the other kids to go with us and see if we can find their parents
, too. Do you think they would like to go for a ride in my truck?”
Mindy ignored Terri’s question, something reminding the child of her friend inside. “Do you have any medicine? My friend Trish can hardly walk. She skinned her knee real bad and now it has yellow
junk coming out. She says it hurts a lot, and she shivers all the time.”
Terri nodded, “Yes, we have medicine
, and I even know where there’s a nice doctor. Can you show me where Trish is?”
“Yeah. She’s lying in her box. She hasn’t come out for two whole days! I think she’s very sick.”
Mindy stood, motioning for Terri to come with her. Terri reached out for Mindy’s hand, gently stopping the girl. “Mindy, I need for Bishop to come with us. He has the medicine in his pocket. Would you like to meet him?”
The little girl nodded. Terri waved for Bishop to join them, ready to grab Mindy if she spooked and ran. Bishop rose from behi
nd the pallets and slowly sauntered over, trying his best to smile and look friendly. “Hi, Mindy, my name’s Bishop.”
The child backed against Terri’s leg at first, ignoring Bishop’s extended hand. “It’s okay, Mindy. I promise,” Terri consoled.
Ignoring Bishop, the girl tightly grasped Terri’s hand. “Come on, I’ll show you Trish’s box.”
Following the girl to the entrance, Bishop heard more scrambling inside as they approached. He snapped the night vision off of his rifle and held it to his eye as they entered the darker area. The inside of the place astounded him.
Piles of garbage were everywhere. There was a packed carpet of empty wrappers, papers, and trash, evidence that the kids hadn’t been real tidy while eating. Discarded plastic bins of pretzels, trail mix, and other bulk snacks were strewn throughout the area. Bishop motioned to Terri and said, “I would’ve never thought of that. These office supply stores sold large containers of finger foods and other stuff to their customers. Mr. Wilson was pretty smart bringing them here.”
There were also toys, drawings, and every type of writing instrument imaginable scattered around. Evidently
, the drawing supplies had been a big hit with the children, a virtually unlimited number of pens, pencils, and crayons they used to occupy their time. Like their refrigerators at home, it looked as if several of the children had found scotch tape and tacked their artwork to the walls and boxes that filled the space.