Bishop's Song (20 page)

“Looks fine to me,” Bishop responded, moving his head to examine both sides of the V8. “But then again, I’m not a wrench jockey by any means.”

Grim was impatient, his head pivoting around the area as if he expected an ambush at any moment. “If it looks okay, then let’s go. It’ll still run
, won’t it?”

“It will run, but only about 5 mile
s per hour. We’ll eat through our gas like crazy with it like this. Besides, what if we need a quick getaway?”

Bishop closed the hood, moving to the side and shining his light under the truck. “Something’s leaking,” he announced before lying on his back and sliding underneath the
pickup. A few moments later, a resounding “Shit!” sounded from beneath the wounded vehicle.

He reappeared, rolling out and shaking his head. “Those women hit something critical. I can’t tell exactly what, but there is a hole in the transmission. We’re leaking fluid like crazy, and have probably already done some permanent damage. It’s too hot to touch.”

Deke calmly studied the area, “It’s going to be light soon. If you can pull it over there behind the bathrooms, it won’t be visible from the road. This is as good a place as any to hole up and decide what to do. Besides, I’m getting hungry.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bishop agreed.

Ten minutes later, the truck was hidden behind a single-story block building that had once been the rest area’s primary attraction for travelers. Small signs announced facilities for both sexes. Bishop, taking on the task of clearing the building, grunted when he hesitated at the ladies’ doorway.
Old habits die hard
, he thought. There were no occupants of any stall, male or female.

The three men busied themselves making camp. They had just finished when the warm glow of the pre-dawn illuminated the countryside surrounding their temporary bivouac. Deke stood for a moment, taking it all in.

“This would have been a good spot to stop on a long car trip,” he noted, nodding toward the mature hardwoods scattered around the grounds. “A nice, shady spot to let the kiddos burn off some backseat energy and for the missus to use the facilities.”

Bishop nodded, smiling at the seldom seen soft side on the operator. Noticing his friend’s expression, Deke added, “What? I have a mom and dad. I have brothers and sisters. I dated girls. I wasn’t created in a back room at Fort Bragg and turned loose on the world
, ya know.”

“I’m glad,” was all Bishop said before moving off to start a fire.

After the men had eaten and determined their order of sentry duty, there wasn’t anything else to discuss except the topic they all dreaded. What to do about their transportation.

“We need a new truck,” Bishop offered, hating to broach the subject.

“And where might we find one of those?” Grim replied.

Without
answering, Bishop fetched the map from the cab, spreading the folds open on a nearby picnic table. He was soon joined by his two mates.

“We’re about here,” he began, tapping a spot on the paper with his index finger. “We’ve been running parallel with this interstate
… I-40… all night. I’m thinking we hole-up here, and then one or two of us can hoof it down to that road… see if we can retrieve another truck.”

Deke considered the option, scratching his chin while thinking. “How would we carry gas? A battery? All the stuff you would need to get a relic started?”

“That’s why I’m thinking two of us should go. One guy can’t carry all that. We would need a couple gallons of gas, this truck’s battery and a few tools. It’s just over 25 miles to I-40. Let’s say we’d have to walk another five miles before we found a suitable truck. It could be done.”

Deke’s
gaze darted toward the horizon, obviously working through the problem. “So two guys carrying a very heavy load, humping 30-40 miles through what could be very dangerous territory. That doesn’t fit with my vacation plans. Any Plan B?”

Bishop countered, “The only part I think would be dangerous would be the walking along the interstate. Since we’re on foot, we should be able to circumvent any trouble spots, like exits.
There are no towns along that stretch, and we’re far enough east of Little Rock that the population should be pretty thin.”

Grim cleared his throat, nodding toward the two cars in the parking lot. “We can’t salvage a part or something from those cars and keep the
same truck?”

“The bullet struck part of the transmission and what I think is the crankcase. Even if we could find a fit, there’s no way we can do serious repairs without tools and knowledge. I think we’ve burned up some
gears or something, so patching the leak and topping off the fluid probably wouldn’t do us much good. We might get stranded out in the open someplace, and that would suck.”

Grim had to agree with the assessment, even though he didn’t like it. “How about we catch some shut-eye and mull it over
? I’m beat and not thinking clearly. You two can’t be far behind.”

“Now there’s the best idea I’ve heard in a while,” added Deke. “I want to keep our after dark schedule, regardless of what we do. My eyes are burning
, and my legs ache. Let’s crash and then make a decision.”

Yawning, Bishop nodded and said, “Stop talking about it, damn it. You two are like
a mother singing a lullaby, and I’ve got the first watch.”

The merging aromas of coffee and smoldering hickory chips lured Bishop from his dream. He had decided to sleep in the fully reclined driver’s seat rather than risk rolling off a picnic table, like the accommodations chosen by his partners.

The sun was low in the west, probably two hours from
slipping over the horizon. Peering at his watch, he noted the four hours of rest he’d achieved.

“Well good morning, sunshine,” Deke greeted,
observing movement in the truck’s cab. “Room service should deliver the eggs and bacon to the door any minute now.”

R
ubbing his eyes, Bishop managed a weak, “Hope you ordered mine scrambled with cheese.”

Bishop’s frame was stiff, a symptom of never having fully
relaxed or been comfortable in the driver’s seat. After a stretch and yawn, he wandered off to find a tree to stand behind.

A mouthful of water combined with a short squeeze of toothpaste
satisfied his bare minimum hygiene requirements. The first sip of coffee made him feel somewhat human. “I’m getting too old for this shit,” he mumbled.

Grim was setting up a wire grill over the campfire, a cooler of food nearby. “I want to fix the last of this beef we brought from Alpha. The ice in the cooler is gone, and the
se steaks will spoil before too much longer. How do you like yours cooked?”

After eating the thick slices of well
-cooked meat, topped off with canned corn and fresh green beans, the men sat in silence, again trying to avoid the difficult decision that could make or break the mission.

“I can’t come up with any alternative to Bishop’s idea,” Grim
finally said. “How ‘bout you, Deke?”

“Nothing comes to mind. One thing
’s for sure, we can’t just stay here and hope a better option presents itself. I didn’t see or hear another soul during my entire watch.”

And so they began talking through the plan, covering as much detail as possible. At one point, Grim rose from his haunches and said, “I found something that might help. I got bored during my watch and jimmied the trunk lids of those cars… just curious. Check this out.”

The operator walked toward the parking lot, returning a minute later pulling a bag of golf clubs on a two-wheel cart. “I think this might help with the weight.”

Bishop smiled, the small bit of good fortune helping cheer him up. “That’s one hell of a find, Grim. Nice. Very nice.”

Deke glanced at the sun and then announced, “We’ve got a hell of a lot of work to do if we’re going to leave tonight. Most of it will be easier with daylight. Let’s get moving.”

“Well, crap! How is a guy supposed to practice his putt
ing on this little vacation, gentlemen?” Bishop quipped as he removed the bag of clubs from the cart.

It had been decided that Grim would remain behind to guard the truck. Given that responsibility, the contractor began setting up his security, running
tripwires in key locations around the rest area.

Bishop
set about removing the battery from the truck and filling two plastic milk jugs with gasoline from the barrels. “The gas will melt this plastic in a day or two,” he commented. “We’ve got to find something quick.”

Deke busied himself packing supplies for the trip. Besides the truck
rescue gear, water was the heaviest commodity. After the basic necessities had been gathered, he and Bishop exchanged a quick inventory of the personal kit each would bring.

“We don’t need two blow-out bags,” Deke noted,
setting aside his medical kit in order to make room for other weighty items.

“I’m going to leave my big rifle behind,” added Bishop. “That way we can share common ammo and
mags.”

As dusk fell, they completed the hurried preparations
, all three men announcing they were ready by the time the moon appeared in the sky above.

“See
ya in a day or two,” was the only exchange between Grim and the two-man raiding party.

“You fucking better,” the lone sentry replied.

As Bishop and Deke headed off into the night, all three men were analyzing the dangers that lie ahead. If the raiders didn’t return, Grim was in a bad spot. If anyone got hurt, the chances of survival were low. If the truck were discovered by locals, how long could the lone sentry hold out against a motivated attack?

Just like life
, Bishop thought as he pulled the supply-heavy cart along the pavement.
There are always about a hundred things that can mess you up. It’s a wonder we’ve made it this far.

Central Arkansas

July 9, 2016

They were hugging the tree line, trying to straddle the border between the dense woods and
the untilled field, trying to negotiate a compromise between walking fully exposed in the open and slugging it through thick briars and brush. Trying to circumvent the tangling, pricking foliage at night was undoable, so Bishop and Deke decided to chance for lighter cover along the edges of the woods.

Bishop had no way of seeing the game camera. Mounted 15 feet on the side of a tree and angled downward, the
battery-powered device sensed the Texan’s passage via its motion detector. Had Deke been using his thermal imager, or Bishop scanning with his night vision, either man would have seen the infrared flash emitted by the unit. Timing was against them, both men using only their eyes at the time of the passing.

Deke passed through the beam next, his picture snapped with surprising clarity. The images of the two men were transmitted via wireless radio to
a computer server residing just over a mile away.

The never-sleeping machine detected the incoming
message instantly, initiating a stored program to scan the images attached to the camera’s broadcast. As the binary processor read each pixel, the stored algorithms made a decision in less than a second. There were human shapes in the photographs.

A second computer program was loaded, this one following pre-configured instructions directing it to sound an alarm. A constant “beep
beep beep” immediately began ringing from the machine.

C. J. Ledbetter hadn’t heard the alert in so long, his sleepy brain had trouble identifying the sound. The first thing that his groggy mind
determined was the solar inverters must be complaining of low batteries. He quickly realized this was a different tone.

Pulling back the covers, he rose gingerly from the bed,
the flashing monitor of the nearby computer system answering his question.

Padding quietly across the bedroom floor, he gazed at the screen and didn’t believe what the machine was telling him
. There, displayed on the large monitor, were the images of two men – one pulling a cart of some sort. Both were armed, rifle barrels and magazine pouches clearly visible.

C
. J. couldn’t comprehend it for a moment, his barely awake fingers stumbling across the keyboard to verify the date and time of the pictures. Reality struggled to set in.

His next
action was to identify which camera had snapped the photos. Again, the keys clicked, and the display refreshed. He stared at the photograph’s audit trail with wide eyes. The two strangers were just over a mile away.

Ledbetter
paced to the window, staring over the nighttime landscape as if the two intruders might be stalking around his yard. Realizing there was no way the two travelers could have covered the distance in such a short time, he tried to recall his checklist. He had to raise the alarm with the other members of his group.

A man can walk a mile in 12 minutes
, he thought.
I’ve got 20 minutes, tops, to get everyone up.
A rustling of cloth told him one person no longer needed to be rousted. Judy was already awake.

“What’s the matter, C. J.?”
his wife’s soft voice asked.

“We’ve got intruders. Go look at the computer screen. I’ve got to get dressed and wake everybody up.”

Shirt, pants and boots, in that order. He was so nervous he tried to put on his boots first. Rifle by the door. The AR felt reassuring. He turned on the night vision, pleased the battery still held life. The extra magazine in each back pocket helped as well. Out the door.

He moved at a brisk pace toward the
guesthouse, the sound of gravel crunching under his boots causing him to flinch.

Thump
! Thump! C. J. was slamming his tight fist against the door over and over again. “We’ve got intruders coming in from the north. Two men, heavily armed. Are you up?”

Thump
, thump, thump again. “Are you up?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m up
, C. J. Did you say two men?” replied the hoarse voice of his oldest son-in-law. The younger one was dead – killed a year ago by intruders, just like the ones captured by the game camera.

“Yup. Grab your r
ifle, and meet me by the mailbox,” he replied, trying to sound casual and confident.

He didn’t wait for an answer, moving on to the
5
th
wheel camper parked nearby. He knocked loudly on the aluminum door. Again, he relayed the message to his two sons. A horrible vision passed through his mind. Would tonight be the night they lost somebody?
My God
, he thought.
I couldn’t stand to lose one of them. Please Lord, not tonight. They’re too young.

He then moved to the second camper, his brother already
stirring from the noise. “How many?” his sibling asked at the door.

“Two. Military rifles, chest rigs, big packs. They
ain’t deer hunting. We’ve got 10 minutes.”

“I’ll be right out.”

He headed back toward the main house where Judy met him at the door. “Get the girls together; stay in here with your pistols and the shotgun. It’s probably nothing, but we can’t take the chance.”

The tone of his voice left no room for question or protest, not that she would’ve
voiced any objection. His bride of 29 years simply nodded and then mouthed the words, “I love you.”

Ledbetter
strode purposefully toward the mailbox, keeping on the grassy edge of the driveway. After arriving at the rally point, he turned to survey his spread.

Everyone called it the Alamo to his face. He also
was aware they called it Ledbetter’s Boondoggle behind his back – at least they did until the world went to hell. Now, he doubted anyone used that term anymore.

With four years of shop class at William Jefferson Clinton High School under his belt, C.
J. had taken a brand new set of tools, loaded them in the trunk of his old, but well-tuned Chevy, and gone looking for work as a mechanic in Little Rock.

Three years later, he was the shop foreman at a large auto dealership. Five years after graduation, he opened his own business. Ten years to the day after leaving
high school, he opened his fifth auto repair store.

Life was good for C.
J. and his hometown sweetheart. Their first baby came less than two years after leaving school. The stork delivered the fourth child seven years later.

As he waited at the end of the driveway, he grunted at an old memory. “I found a girl who doesn’t mind a man who can fix things and has a little dirt under his
fingernails when he gets home.” He hoped he could fix this thing tonight without any of his family getting killed.

After the second shop had opened, the only dirt under the proprietor’s fingernails was from counting money. A nagging recession meant people kept the
ir cars longer. Older transportation meant more repairs, and his business boomed.

Seeming to ride above the economic agony plaguing the rest of the country, C. J.
traveled through life with few concerns, enjoying the fruits of his hard labor and wise management. Even the Second Great Depression didn’t impact his livelihood – at least not at first.

As the hard
times continued, he began to develop a nagging feeling that something just wasn’t right. A storm was building, just over the horizon… a troublesome sense that something bad was coming down the road.

He began to research on the internet, finding other like-minded people who felt the same way. He learned an entirely new vocabulary and acronyms, terms like bug-out,
prepper, and SHTF.

The purchase of 30 acres
two hours north of Little Rock met with raised eyebrows from his wife, Judy eventually agreeing with the investment despite not believing his excuse for one second. “Go ahead and buy that country place if you want C. J., but I don’t buy this story of yours. Why would a man your age all of a sudden want to take up hunting?”

He justified the solar power system
since it was a remote area, using the logic that, “It takes the utility company forever to restore power after a thunderstorm out here.” She didn’t even comment on the 300 pounds of freeze-dried food she found stored in the cupboard one weekend. The two sealed boxes of seeds remained unnoticed, artfully hidden under some junk in the barn.

It was the purchase of the AR15 that caused a domestic disturbance. “Why do you need that?
” she had tested. “What is going on? You’re scaring me.”

“Look,
hun, I’m concerned, not crazy. There’s just so much going on that’s bad right now. It makes me feel better to do these things. You know me, I’ve always provided for our family. This is the same thing – I’m just providing for what I think the future may hold, the worst case scenario.”

Judy and the kids had accepted his activities, only the occasional joke
accidently reaching his ears. He didn’t care. It just felt better to prepare, to be self-reliant.

His
redemption came after the terrorist attacks pushed the already crippled nation over the edge. When the power went out in their suburban Little Rock home, C. J. started gathering up their belongings. When the first food riot broke out downtown, he started packing the car. He barely managed to get through calls to his family members before the cell towers went down. No one laughed at him anymore.

The sound of footfalls pulled C.
J.’s attention back to the present, his two sons approaching. “Dad, why would anybody be out in the middle of the night like this?”

“I don’t know, Junior, but it can’t be good. Maybe somebody got word about what we’ve got here… the food and fuel and stuff. Maybe these men are only passing through. After what happened the last time, we can’t take any chances.”

Two years ago, the nineteen-year-old boy would have argued with him. Not now.
He’s grown up
.
Dad’s not so crazy dumb anymore
, C. J. thought.
I guess it helps that dad ended up not being such a nut job
. Both boys were strong and proud – just the way he wanted them - independent, not uppity.

Movement
at the edge of his vision distracted the father, but it was only Judy herding the girls into the safety of the main house, the females moving calmly and silently.
Good.

His brother arrived a few moments later, a rifle slung across his chest.
“What’s the plan?”

“They’re coming in past the big deer hide. If we hurry, we can cut them off there – before the
y catch sight of the house. The pond on one side and that heavy thicket on the other will force them to walk right through the gap, just like the deer. You and Junior will use the hide; we’ll go over where you got that deer last week. We’ll be there waiting on them.”

Rubbing his chin, the older Ledbetter asked, “And what
? Are you just going to open fire? Are we going to try and talk? Fire warning shots? I gotta ask again, what’s the plan?”

The dilemma had been discussed a hundred times, the conversations always ending with C. J. believing he would know what to do when the time c
ame, if it ever did. “It will be just like any business deal or encounter with an angry customer; we’ll know what to do,” he had always concluded. “We’ll play it by ear.”

Now, in the middle of the night
with a real threat approaching, he wasn’t so sure.

“Just follow my lead,” he told his brother. “If I start shooting, you guys
join in. If I talk, then hold your fire. I can’t be sure until I see them with my own eyes.”

C. J. could tell his sibling didn’t like the answer, but there wasn’t time to argue. They headed out, moving at a brisk pace.

Deke pushed aside the bush and froze, surprised by the open space
he encountered. The pond wasn’t large, not even a small lake. He judged it to be half an acre at most, but still a surprise.

The rustle of pine needle
s told him Bishop was beside him, evaluating the same obstacle. “Guess we go around, unless you’re wanting a swim.” the Texan whispered.