Bishop's Song (15 page)

Bishop tried not to react, but inside his head was reeling. The weakest part of their plan was traveling through the Mississippi River
Delta. They knew the military had a huge operation going on, an initiative called Operation Heartland. It was the government’s big push to jumpstart the recovery. Other than that, the team from Alpha knew very little. Talking to someone who had worked in the area could be critical, especially an MP.”

“Yes,” Bishop replied, trying to keep his voice calm. “Such a person might provide some very useful input.
How do you know about this man?”

Grinning widely, Frank
responded, “He’s my nephew. He hiked through the park on his way home. His wife and child were living with us while he was away. Despite my insistence that he stay here, he wanted to go back to his farm… was dead-set on doing so.”

Remembering his determination to reach the ranch after the bug-out from Houston, Bishop could understand such an emotional drive. “How do you know he made it home?” the Texan asked.

“He’s like you, Bishop. He’s a capable man and left well-armed. We warned him about the situation in town, but it didn’t seem to bother him much. He gathered up his family and set off about three weeks ago. I’m pretty sure he made it. He’s always been a determined SOB.”

“How long a trip do you think it would be?”

“Well, that all depends. Can we drive in your
rental
?”

Bishop considered the question, weighing the variables. The weather could keep Hugh socked in for days, which would allow for a
trip on foot and keep the truck relatively safe where it was. On the other hand, a walking expedition would take longer and add additional peril.

“I’d prefer not to use the truck,” Bishop decided. “It is more critical to our task than just about anything else.”

Frank seemed to be working through the distances and pace. “Well, in that case, I would estimate we can accomplish the round trip in a day if we don’t run into any trouble. Start off just before dawn, be back in the evening at dusk.”

“What if we traveled at night?”

The head ranger snorted, “You do have a big pair of nads, don’t ya? I mean, I get it – traveling at night would be safer, but our progress would be slower.”

“Not with one of these,” Bishop replied,
pulling out his night vision. “We can bust it cross country if we do it right.”

The
Texan passed Frank the monocle to examine. “My, my,” was his only verbal response, the man intent upon fondling the device.

The quick-release optical mounting system was one of the finest inventions in the history of mankind, at least from Bishop’s current perspective. Combined with a unified platform available on a huge variety of weapons, anyone could quickly swap optics, magnifiers, lasers, ranger finders and a variety of other rifle furniture between firearms in a matter of moments.

The technology also allowed for adaptation to environmental
conditions, such as moving from the forest to open terrain, or as in Bishop’s situation, the gray afternoon having faded into a starless night.

Without removing
the zeroed-in optic, he could switch from daylight to lowlight by simply snapping on the night vision to his rifle. When he wanted to let Frank have a look, he quickly detached the palm-sized unit and handed it to his comrade.

And Frank wanted to have a look more often than not.

The two men had left the park two hours ago, following an old farm lane at first, then cutting across an open pasture as the light finally faded. Frank had drawn Bishop a map of the route with significant landmarks and approximate distances.

“We should mark rally points, in case we get separated,” Bishop had
persuaded. It really hadn’t been a problem, as Frank wouldn’t let more than a few feet of separation grow between them.

While the park ranger
managed his noise discipline respectfully well, the man’s insistence at staying up-tight and personal with the Texan was dangerous and annoying. If Bishop had believed the odds were strong that they were walking into trouble, he would have scolded Frank. After dropping a couple of strong hints that were basically ignored, Bishop decided to let it go. The chances of running into a problem in the woods at night were slim.
I don’t know what he’s been through
, Bishop reflected.
Maybe he has good reason to fear the night.

Frank had retrieved one of the ranger’s AR15s, for which Bishop had supplied two magazines – the negotiated price for the
Intel-gathering soiree through the Arkansas countryside. Bishop hoped Frank wouldn’t use up the ammo before the night was out… prayed he wouldn’t have the need.

The
ir route required passing through the outskirts of Martinsville, bypassing the potential trouble spot deemed unreasonable due to the extra time that would be required for the journey. A series of impassable streams, swollen from the recent storms, eliminated any timely detour. Bishop wasn’t overly concerned - given the hour and the small, hopefully unnoticeable, size of their party.

Stench
was the first indication the community was ahead. A blend of wood smoke, sewage and a few other unidentifiable odors assaulted Bishop’s sense of smell. It was unpleasant, to say the least.

As they approached the first few signs of what had once been a berg of almost 5,000 people, the
town was quiet, given the hour of zero-dark thirty. Other than occasional whiffs of foulness drifting by, the first few businesses, homes and outbuildings all appeared normal.

Ordinarily
when encroaching an urban area, staying in the shadows is a critical tactic. But not tonight. There were no streetlights, no moonlight, and no starlight. Even the high tech night vision struggled to paint a picture of anything more than basic shapes and outlines. Bishop felt like he was in a deep underground cave, so dark he wasn’t sure where the walls ended and open space began. Twice he walked off the pavement they were trying to follow, the crunch of the gravel shoulder embarrassing, but otherwise harmless.

On the second misstep, Bishop halted abruptly and felt Frank bump into his pack a half second later. Shaking his head, he pulled the man down to take a knee and whispered, “I’m going to turn on the night vision’s illuminator and my flashlight’s infrared beam.
The two of them combined will enhance the night vision enough to avoid trouble. As it stands right now, we could walk right into a pack of wild dogs, either canine or human, and not even know they were there until we felt teeth pierce flesh.”

“Okay,” replied the nervous man. “Whatever you think is best. Will it help me see?”

“No. The human eye can’t recognize the infrared spectrum, but …” Bishop pulled out a light stick from his vest, snapping and shaking the chemical device until a warm, green glow surrounded the two men. “I’m going to risk weaving this in the exterior webbing on my pack. Just follow it. It should show you where to step. If I stop or go to a knee, you do the same. Just follow the golden glow road, like Dorothy in that wizard movie.”

The green light illuminated enough of Frank’s face to show Bishop that the man didn’t appreciate his humor.
Some people take things way too seriously,
thought Bishop.
What? You want to live forever
.

Bishop pulled his flashlight off the vest, using the glow of the chemical stick to make double sure he used the correct setting for the invisible
infrared light. He still covered the lenses with his hand, before hitting the power button, knowing that even a small flashlight beam would be visible for miles on a night like tonight.

Bishop’s torch clipped to the
MOLLE ladders on his vest, and after adjusting the stream of light to the correct angle, he tested the effect.

Returning
the monocle to his eye, he scanned the area and found he could see clearly out to 70 yards.
Much better
, he thought.
The only drawback is the battery usage - or if someone else has night vision.

With his guiding light, Bishop could make out more of the town as they passed. It was creepy. Not a single light
showed anywhere, not even a candle. Overgrown yards surrounded homes with dark windows, even the driveways succumbing to nature’s relentless advance of unkempt foliage.

What had been piles of trash were scattered here and there, remnants of a time when humans bought their food in plastic and paper. Dogs, raccoons and other wildlife had visited the gathering heaps at some point,
scattering contents that no human had the energy or initiative to clean up.
Nature was taking it all back anyway
, he thought.
Eventually it will take an archeologist to find any evidence of human habitation if this keeps up.

The thought of dogs reminded Bishop of his primary concern before crossing through the town.
Those four-legged early warning systems were a worry, but so far Frank and he hadn’t heard a single bark or growl.
Had the animals learned to keep quiet - lest they be eaten? Had some desperate soul made a meal of them all to survive?
Bishop shook his head to dismiss the morbid thoughts.

His other fear of Martinsville proved unwarranted as well. There were no sentries. Remembering his trip across Texas,
they had encountered roadblocks, fortified bridges and barricaded passages along the route. He mentally assumed this place would possess the same unwelcome obstacles, but it didn’t.

How long had it taken before they realized it wasn’t worth the effort
, he pondered, stepping along a now weed-strewn sidewalk. How many weeks or months had it been before someone realized that the guys blocking the road in their pickups weren’t encountering a single soul? No more drifters. Nothing left for anyone to loot. Who cares about security when there’s nothing left to protect?

The concept saddened Bishop. Despite his
desperate desire to avoid bumping heads with any locals, the degradation of the town to the point where there was nothing left to guard made a statement – a resolution of decay – an abandonment of hope.

In fact, the only barrier they encountered required nothing more than stepping just slightly higher than normal. A truck had slammed into a utility pole, causing the weakened support to fall into the middle of the street. No one had cleaned it up
. No one had bothered. Bishop didn’t check the rusted hull of the truck, but wouldn’t have been shocked to see the bones of the driver still sitting behind the wheel. The bullet holes in the driver’s door told him what had happened here over a year ago.

Before long
, they were trekking across the countryside again, walking along the edge of a paved road once used by those folks who would venture into Martinsville to buy groceries, a new sprinkler head or perhaps a scoop of ice cream. To Bishop, the air grew cleaner, easier to breathe.

The spread between the homes bordering the roadway grew, the pavement
narrowing after a while.

It was about then that Bishop noticed
two shifts in their environment, both helping to lift the melancholy fog that descended on him in Martinsville. The first was the return of nature’s orchestra of wildlife sounds. Tree frogs, crickets, and other creatures of the night raised their voices to an ever-increasing level as the two humans relinquished the concrete and asphalt of the town.

The second change was a break in the cloud cover. Bishop had just raised the night vision to scan ahead when the entire landscape illuminated like someone had turned on a giant spotlight. Really nothing more than a few stars poking through
the cloud cover, the contrast was amazing. He turned off the battery-powered devices, exhaling in relief that the resupply plane would probably make it through tomorrow.

They
hiked another handful of miles, the routine becoming second nature to the two travelers. Bishop would stop and scan with his nighttime helper, pivoting 360 degrees while scanning for any threat. After verifying their isolation, he’d plot 50 steps ahead and begin walking again.

Frank’s whisper interrupted the process. “That’s Mathew’s driveway up ahead.”

No sooner had the words registered, than a dog started barking in the distance. “Just like you said,” Bishop responded. “Let’s stick with our plan.”