The Battle: Alone: Book 4 (8 page)

     “I’d have killed him if I ever had the chance. She was the first woman I ever truly loved. And he was the first man I ever truly hated.”

     “What happened to him?”

     “He was sent to prison for four years. It was his fourth DWI. He shouldn’t even have been behind the wheel. Four years in prison. That was all the judge deemed my Sarah’s life to be worth.

     “I kept tabs on him, awaiting the day when he made parole or finished his time. I was going to kill him slowly, so I could watch the agony in his eyes as he died.

     “But fate took control. He had a very large cellmate named Bubba, who fancied the man. Told him to get on his knees one night after lights out to service him. Apparently he gagged, and that was all it took to send Bubba into a rage.

     “I heard that Bubba strangled him with his bare hands, so hard that both of his eyeballs popped out of their sockets.

     “For a time I felt deprived. I was pissed because Bubba, who lost nothing more than a blow job, got to kill the man who took my love away from me. I hated Bubba for depriving me of what I felt was my right. And for a time I swore I’d find Bubba and punish him for taking that pleasure away from me.

     “But Bubba was serving forty years with no chance for parole. He was pretty much untouchable, and I eventually accepted the fact that I’d never lay eyes upon him.

     “Those first years, without Sarah, were excruciatingly painful for me. There were times I wanted to give up. But I pressed on somehow.”

     He seemed to sense that Sarah was getting antsy. Listening to this brutal man pouring out his soul to her was making her uncomfortable.

     And he was starting to ramble.

     “I’m sorry, my dear. Am I boring you?”

     “No, sir. Not at all.”

     She was a terrible liar. She hadn’t done it often enough to get good at it, and he saw right through it.

     But he let it pass.

     “Sarah, I treat you better than the others because I love you. And I long for the day when you’ll love me in return. You don’t believe me, I know. But mark my words, you will.”

     “But I’m married, Mr. Swain. I promised my eternal love to my husband Dave…”

     “Who is no longer alive or he’d have come to your aid. Stop fooling yourself, Sarah. You know what the world has become out there. Most of the people have died, many by their own hand. Most of the survivors are stricken with the plague and are living out their last days in agony. I have protected you and the others from all that, by continuing to let you stay here where it’s safe.

     “You think I am a cruel man. But if I was a cruel man I would have cast you and the others out. Out there, where you’d have died a certain death. I hear you pray to God when I pass by your bedroom late at night. I hear your prayers. I hear you asking your God to rescue you and your loved ones.

     “Need I remind you, Sarah, that it was your God who brought the earth to its knees to begin with. It wasn’t your God who saved you. It was me. I saved all of you, by bringing in men to protect this place from aggressors. It was me, not your God, who did that. And then I let all of you stay, when the rest of the world was dying out there.

     “That was me! Not your God! I saved you all… you all owe me your lives.”

     Sarah started to sob.

     “But my baby… my little Beth…”

     “Oh, stop bringing up Beth. That wasn’t my fault.”

     He reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek.

     “Look at me, Sarah.”

     She did as she was commanded.

     “Sarah, your eyes… your cheekbones… the very shape of your face. You are an exact replica of my other Sarah. My old Sarah. She too was perfect in most every way. She too looked like a porcelain doll. She and you could have been twins.

     “Sweetheart, can’t you see that you belong to me now? You already hold my heart in your hands. I’ll have your heart too, someday. But first you’ll have to stop blaming me for what happened to little Beth and accept the fact that your husband is gone.

     “Honey, once you accept that, and stop blaming me, then you’ll start to realize that you owe your very existence to me. I’m the one who took you under my wing and protected you. I’m the one who has kept you alive all this time and kept the men away from you. I was the one who shot Ron Bennett for placing his hand on your breast. The others learned from that, as I knew they would. It was my action that has prevented the rest of them from following suit.

     “Sweetheart, I know it’s hard for you to accept, but mark my words, it’ll happen. Someday your feelings will start to turn. You’ll begin to love me. And someday when the world is safe again, we’ll get rid of the men. I’ll send them away to find their own treasures. We won’t need them anymore.

     “It will just be you, and me, and Lindsey. You’ll regard me as your new husband and Lindsey will regard me as her new father. And we’ll live together, just the three of us, in our own little fairy tale land.”

     Sarah was tempted to ask about the others: her sister Karen and her sons, and the neighbors who’d come to live on the farm after the blackout.

     She almost asked, “What about them? Where do they fit into your little
fairy tale
?”

     But she thought better of it.

     She was genuinely afraid of what the answer might be.

     He finally released her hand.

     “Think about that, my sweet love. Think about all the things I’ve told you. Would you do that much for me?”

     “Yes, sir. I will.”

     She got up to leave, and as she turned she could feel his eyes following her every move.

     She knew what was coming, but hoped she could make it out the kitchen door. Make it to Lindsey’s room to check on her. Say a prayer with her. Console her and wipe her tears.

     But she was unable to run, for that would have angered him. Instead, she walked briskly toward the door, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t call her back.

     She didn’t quite make it.

     “Sarah?”

     She stopped, steeled herself, and turned around.

     “Yes, sir?”

     “Why don’t you go freshen up? Then meet me in my room in about twenty minutes or so.”

     She wanted to scream.

     She wanted to grab a knife from the drawer and plunge it into his heart.

     Instead, she managed a weak smile and said, “Yes, sir.”

Chapter 13

     It was nearing midnight when Dave made it back to the Explorer. Walking the country roads at night without the aid of GPS wasn’t easy, and he’d stupidly taken a wrong turn. He’d walked two miles down the wrong road before he realized his mistake and had to retrace his steps.

     At least his vehicle was still there and appeared to be untouched.

     He settled into the driver’s seat and sighed at the quiet comfort it offered him.

     It had been a hell of a day. He was exhausted, and every muscle in his body ached. But he was a little bit smarter than he’d been the day before. Knew a little bit more about the farm, possible attack and escape routes, and the lay of the land.

     There was still a lot to do before he could put his plan into action. Still questions that needed to be answered. Still reinforcements to recruit.

     He wouldn’t go until he was confident he could do it without Sarah and his daughters getting hurt.

     After all this time, he owed them that much.

     An hour later, Dave was on the outskirts of the little town of Dugan. From the maps in his travel atlas, he knew it to be the county seat of Winslow County. That meant they had either a police department or a county sheriff’s office. And that meant help.

     He parked the big Explorer at a highway rest area just outside of town. The truck parking area was adorned with about twenty big rigs, parked when the lights went out so their drivers could nap or use the restroom, and slowly turning to dust in the year since.

     He parked in the narrow space between two of the rigs, which effectively hid his vehicle from view of the highway.

     It also gave him a convenient place to get a little bit of rest, for the trucks on either side of him were equipped with sleeper cabs.

     He slowly exited his vehicle and inspected the area around him for any signs of movement. He saw none.

     The cabs of both trucks were empty. The first, an older GMC, smelled of mold and mildew. Dave suspected the driver had left the ventilation doors open in the ceiling of the sleeper when he abandoned the rig. All the rains over the months since then had done their damage.

     The other sleeper looked promising. It belonged to Allied Freight, one of the biggest cross-country movers in the nation. One of the things Dave had learned from his journey from Texas was that large trucking companies were very image conscious. They required that their trucks be kept reasonably clean, and their drivers as well. Some of them employed people who traveled the nation, hanging out at truck stops, pulling random safety and cleanliness inspections of any of its rigs which just happened to pull in.

     And in recent years just prior to the blackout, such companies had the ability to track their rigs with GPS, giving them the option of just showing up on a trucker’s doorstep whenever they wanted.

     Dave could therefore be fairly certain that such rigs, although abandoned for more than a year now, would still provide him a reasonably clean, reasonably comfortable, place to lay his head.

     Sure enough the second rig, a Ford Freightliner, was neat as a pin. It smelled stale, from having been sealed up for so long. But that wasn’t a bad thing. It meant that wandering nomads hadn’t been using it, and hadn’t left their fleas or bedbugs behind.

     He checked his watch before he crashed, and noted it was just after three a.m.

     He locked the doors behind him and made sure the windows were tightly sealed, and that all the vents were closed.

     He knew that with no ventilation, he wouldn’t be able to oversleep.

     The mid-morning sun would bake the fiberglass cab, raising the temperatures to close to a hundred degrees before noon. He’d likely wake up in a sweat. But at least he’d wake up in time to accomplish the day’s mission, instead of sleeping the day away.

Chapter 14

     The little old man looked friendly enough. At least he smiled when Dave walked through the door marked “Winslow County Sheriff’s Office: Serving Proudly Since 1846.”

     “Well good morning, young fella. Or is it afternoon yet? My old wind up watch finally gave out a few weeks ago and it’s kinda hard to tell now.”

     Dave checked his own watch and said, “It’s almost one p.m., and I’m doing okay. Thanks for asking, sir. How about yourself?”

     “Couldn’t be better, unless the lights and the air conditioner suddenly started working again. What can I do for you?”

     “I’m looking for the sheriff, if he’s around. I have this letter to give him.”

     Dave unfolded the letter given him by Frank Woodard before he left San Antonio.

     “It’s a letter of provenance,” Frank had explained. “They were used a lot in the old days, when someone was traveling to a strange land where he might be viewed as unsavory or hostile. It was given to someone in authority, to prove that the traveler was who he said he was, and not just somebody looking for trouble.”

     The little old man opened the letter and read it while Dave looked around the room.

To Whom It May Concern,

     My name Is Frank L. Woodard. I am a Senior Deputy with the Bexar County Sheriff’s Department in San Antonio, Texas.

     I can vouch that the bearer of this letter, Dave Speer, is a personal friend of mine who is also a permanent resident of Bexar County.

     Mr. Speer means you no harm or ill will. He is merely on a journey to find his family who was stranded in the Kansas City area when the blackout occurred.

     Please aid him on his journey if you are able, and not hinder him in any way.

     As testament to my own identity and credentials, I urge you to contact Jason Willingham, Sheriff of Winslow County. I have known Jason for many years, and I know he is well known and respected throughout the State of Kansas. Jason knows the sound of my voice, and will vouch for me if he contacts me via ham radio. Dave knows the frequencies I monitor.

     Respectfully Yours,

     Frank L. Woodard

     Once finished, the man refolded the letter and handed it back to Dave. For several seconds he said nothing, but Dave thought he detected a sense of sadness in the old man’s demeanor.

     Then he said, “My name is Willingham too, but I’m afraid I’m not the man your friend was referring to. Jason was my son, and the sheriff of Winslow County for many years. He was a damn good sheriff, too. I know because I was in the same business. I ran this office myself when I was a young feller like you. I raised my Jason to respect the law and do right for others, and he learned well. When I announced my retirement, he ran as my replacement and won by a landslide. There’s been a Willingham running this office for over fifty years now.

     “At least, there was until about a year or so ago.”

     “Why? What happened?”

     “Jason was on horseback, leading a posse who was tracking some escaped convicts from Leavenworth Prison. The bastards lay in wait for them. Got them in a crossfire. Ambushed ‘em, like cowardly villains in an old western movie.”

     The man looked Dave in the eyes, and Dave could see unfallen tears.

     “Jason, the only one I had left in this world, got shot in the back and died there, in the dirt, like a damn dog.”

     “I’m sorry.”

     “Only two of them made it back alive, and they were both wounded. One died the following day. The other was gut shot, but managed to survive. He said his days of volunteering for posses was over, though, and refused to go back out. Said he owed it to his wife and daughter to stay alive. Can’t say I blame him much.”

     “Did you get them?”

     “No, I’m afraid not. By that time able bodied men were hard to come by. They was killin’ themselves and their families right and left, or stickin’ to themselves and protectin’ their families. I couldn’t raise a second posse, and lit out after them myself. They told me I was crazy, but with Jason gone I honestly didn’t care if I lived or died anyway. The only thing I had left to live for was revenge.

     “But I never found ‘em. They were long gone. Killed a prepper and stole his truck, and lit out west toward Colorado, I heard. I was tempted to go after them, but Colorado’s a big place, and you can’t track a pickup truck on pavement by horseback.

     “So I came back here, to do what I can for the rest of the townsfolk.”

     “I’m sorry, sir. It sounds like you’ve been through hell.”

     “Well, no more than a lot of other people, I’d expect. Who’d have ever thought that taking away something as simple as electricity would bring this world down to its knees like it did?”

     Dave simply nodded. He had no answers for the old man, and began to feel guilty for bothering him. He’d come here looking for help, but it was obvious the man had none to give.

     But he offered anyway.

     “You still haven’t said what you needed to see Jason about, son. Is there anything I can help you with?”

     “I’ve come up here from Texas, to get my wife and daughters and to take them back to San Antonio with me. But I found out they’re being held against their will, by the same kind of escaped convicts that killed your son and the others.”

     “They’ve turned this whole state into a big graveyard. More than six hundred got out, and less than a third of that recaptured. Where are they at, exactly?”

    “At the Spencer farm.”

     “Is that in this county?”

     “Yes, sir. South and east of here.”

     “Can’t say I’m familiar with it. But a lot of places have changed hands since I retired and Jason took my place. Do you know how many are there?”

     “I haven’t had much time to stake it out, but I counted at least nine, and probably more.”

     The old man whistled under his breath.

     “I’m afraid what I can do for you is next to nothing, son. I’ll go back with you if you want, but I won’t do any shooting. It’s not that I don’t have the heart. And not that the bastards don’t deserve it. But I’m eighty two now. You’d have to help me on and off my horse. And although I can see you well enough to know you’re a man and not a woman, I can’t see much farther than that. I’m afraid the bullets from my gun would have just as much chance of finding your wife or young’uns as they would a bad guy.”

     “Is there anyone else?”

     “Nobody willing to take on those odds. I’ll ask around, but the anger against the escaped convicts is gone in most folks now. The survivors we have here have pretty much accepted an uneasy ceasefire with the convicts that are still out there. Kind of a
you don’t bother us and we won’t bother you
type of arrangement.”

     “What about the state police?”

     “The state police don’t exist anymore, son. They disbanded a month after the world went black.”

     “The national guard? The Army? Surely there’s somebody who can help.”

     “The National Guard was absorbed by the Army, which is now under control of FEMA. And you can’t get FEMA to do a damn thing they don’t wanna do. I know ‘cause I’ve tried. It’s an exercise in futility, like dealing with the Three Stooges. Only not that funny.”

     “So there’s nothing you can do to help me?”

     “I can pray for you, son. That’s about it.”

     Dejected, Dave thanked the man for his time and started to leave.

     Then the old man’s face brightened and he said, “Wait. Maybe there’s one more way I can help you. Wait here.”

     He turned and shuffled slowly over to a large gun safe at the back of the office. He took a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and balanced them on the end of his nose, then slowly turned the combination lock.

     The heavy door creaked as it opened.

     “I’ve been meaning to oil that. But I guess it doesn’t really creak any more than my old bones do.”

     He took out a long rifle, with a scope setup as big as Dave’s forearm. And on the front of it was something Dave had seen in movies, but never in real life.