Copperheads - 12 (17 page)

Just under 100 meters from the barricade, a shot rang out. The bullet snapped overhead, the sonic boom of the round telling Bishop that either the rifleman had a horrible aim, or a cautionary bullet had just been fired.

Grim had the same inclination. “A warning?” the ex-contractor’s voice inquired over the airwaves.

“Either that or they need a little range time,” Bishop transmitted.

Bishop took a knee alongside the road, ready to roll off into the drainage ditch if more lead came his way. “What do you want?” he shouted at the men hiding in the rocks ahead.

The Spanish words that floated across the desert were rushed and beyond Bishop’s understanding of the foreign tongue. “Habla Inglish?” he yelled back.

“Drop gun. Walk here,” the voice responded in broken English.

“Sorry, can’t do that,” Bishop shouted back.

“You must pay a toll! A toll to pass.”

“Nada!” Bishop yelled back. “Ain’t happening, Señor!”

Again, the report of a rifle shot ripped through the air. This time, the bullet dropped a little closer. Bishop held his ground.

“We’ve got four, maybe five hostiles in the rocks along both sides of the road,” Grim announced. I think only one of them has a rifle. I see one pitchfork; another guy is carrying what looks like a homemade spear. Orders?”

Without moving his head, Bishop keyed the mic. “Grim, keep their head down. Butter, roll them up. I’m tiring of this little game. These guys are just highwaymen and not very good ones at that. Take them alive if possible.”

“Roger that,” Grim answered. “Going hot.”

From just east of the roadblock, Grim’s weapon opened up, spraying the surrounding rocks with short bursts of fire. As Bishop was rolling into the ditch, he spotted Butter surge from the bushes and charge the ambushers. 

Grim burst out of the rocks just then, his carbine spitting fire as he hit the thugs from the opposite side. Several panicked voices started begging in Spanish. A second later, Bishop spied several sets of arms rise in surrender after dropping their weapons.

While Grim ordered his new captives to move away from their abandoned rifles, Bishop and Butter swept the area looking for additional adversaries. None were found.

“Search them, Butter. You never know when somebody might get brave and act stupid.”

As the kid approached the group of terrified men, Bishop finally took a moment to study the captives. He wasn’t impressed.

They were a ragtag lot at best, tattered clothing, extremely thin, and looked like they could all benefit from a shower at the YMCA. The Texan noted the mismatched boots on the largest man in the group, as well as the odd assortment of weapons lying on the ground. Two of the prisoners were actually barefoot.

When Butter approached to search the bandits’ leader, the man pulled a large knife and dropped into a combat crouch, apparently ready to fight.

Grim’s weapon was up in a flash, but Butter held up his hand and stopped his friend from cutting the aggressive fellow in half.

Tossing his weapon to Bishop, Butter pulled his own blade and flexed his massive arms while executing one of the most bone-chilling growls the Texan had ever heard. The message was clear, “Come on, little man. I love a knife fight.”

Seeing the cords and sinew rippling through the towering giant’s frame, the prisoner had a change of heart and immediately dropped his own blade while his hands shot skyward.

“He’s smarter than he looks,” Grim chuckled as Butter stepped closer to finish examining the now demure captive.

When he was within reach, Butter’s huge fist slashed through the air. The strike landed on the former knife-fighter’s temple, delivering so much force that the unfortunate target was physically lifted off the ground. Bishop winced as the man landed and rolled across the sand, immediately wondering if the guy would ever eat solid food again.

“Pull a knife on me, you little bitch, and I’ll rip your head off,” the big kid hissed in a rare show of anger.

“Ouch,” Bishop grunted, knowing the strike would hurt for days and trying to decide if Butter had really been trying to decapitate the prisoner.

“Butter? Damn, son. I’m right proud to serve with you, boy,” Grim laughed. “I think you’re finally figuring it out, kid.”

“I don’t like sneaky people, sir. Makes me mad,” Butter answered, his voice now back to its normal, cordial tone.   

Shaking his head, Bishop knew they needed to get back to business. “Move them up to the road, Butter. Make those two carry their unconscious friend. Grim, you sweep the area. I’m going to call up the convoy.”

“You got it, boss,” the older man answered, immediately moving off to make sure there weren’t any additional bushwhackers in the vicinity. 

Less than five minutes later, Terri, Bishop, and Butter stood beside the road as the procession of trucks began their parade by them. Turning to his wife, the Texan nodded toward the detainees and instructed, “Get their story.”

Terri started asking the conscious prisoners questions in Spanish but none would answer. With a nod from Bishop, Butter took a step toward the closer man and drew his blade while flashing an angry scowl.

All of the locals immediately began talking, all at once. With big eyes darting between Butter’s blade and the unresponsive man at their feet, Terri had to slow them down more than once.

After a few minutes of exchange, Terri called Bishop aside to explain. “These men are from a village about 100 miles west of here. Sounds like a tiny place. They’re trying to reach a cousin’s ranch near Brownsville, doing a little looting and the occasional robbery along the way. They are very hungry and scared to death of Butter.”

“Who can blame them?” Bishop grinned, staring at the looming giant. “Tell them we will drop off their rifles a mile up the road. Tell them if they ever bother us again, I will let the big guy skin them alive.”

Terri seemed puzzled by her husband’s words, but knew it wasn’t the time or place to question his orders. After hearing the message in Spanish, the prisoners eagerly nodded their agreement.

“Why are they so scared of Butter?” Terri asked as they headed back toward the pickup.

“I have no idea,” Bishop answered, shrugging his shoulders. “I guess because he’s so large.”

Terri nodded with a smile, “I suppose. Little do they know he’s just a big, friendly teddy bear under all that muscle. Interestingly, though, one of those men asked if we were Copperheads.”

Pulling up short, Bishop stopped and stared at his wife. “Did he say anything else?”

“No,” Terri replied, shaking her head. “I could tell he was relieved when I told him we weren’t. He seemed to be very frightened of them. He said that everyone they met along the way had warned his little gang about avoiding them. That’s all he knew.”

Bishop pivoted, wanting to press the bandits for more information, but they had already run away. Turning to assess at the line of trucks now rolling off into the distance, he decided there wasn’t time to hunt down his former prisoners. “I’ve got a bad feeling about these snake people.”

Julio’s grammar needs a lot of work
, April concluded as she scanned the amount of red ink she had just deposited on his paper. “I need to keep him after school for a little one on one tutoring,” she whispered.

A quick check of her small desk confirmed that she had indeed saved the worst for last, at least when it came to grading tonight’s homework.

Neatly sorting the papers into their respective stacks, she deposited the children’s assignments into the canvas satchel and hung the old bag on its hook near the head of her cot.

She next checked her skirt, trying to remember if she had changed to this outfit yesterday or the day before. A quick glance at her only other clothing confirmed that she was wearing the least soiled of her two options. Her analysis was confirmed by the size of the dust cloud that rose into the air when she patted the bottom seam. Laundry day was tomorrow. It would have to do.

Finally ready for bed, she pulled off her clothes and hung both blouse and broadcloth skirt on the same hook as her bag. The next time Castro came by to visit, she would meet his needs with a little more vigor than usual, and perhaps he would remember to install a second hanger in her room. A second candle would help as well.

After pulling back the old wool blanket, she sat on the cot’s edge and as usual, planned the next day’s agenda. There was the spelling test in the morning … then the children were to take a field trip to one of the remote silos where grain was stored. There, they would learn how some of the machinery worked.

Like most of the curriculum at the plantation, practical skills and life lessons were always intermixed with reading, writing, and math. For a moment, she pined for more books, better equipment, and an expanded education for her pupils, but that simply wasn’t an option, and probably wouldn’t be for years to come.

Still, the children of the plantation were learning the basics, and that was far and above what most of the world’s youth were receiving since the apocalypse. Her students were well fed, had shirts on their backs, were given basic medical care, and had roofs over their heads.

That thought led April to, once again, study her own surroundings.

Her room was really a closet, separated from the main barracks by a partition of scrap wood and a sheet of roofing tin. Three years ago, before the world had gone to hell, she would have considered it a shanty at best. Now, she was one of the few who had her own private space, cramped and drafty as it might be.

Part of her good fortune was due to her need to grade papers and work into the night. Mostly, she had to admit, it was because she had caught Castro’s eye, and he liked a little privacy when he came to visit.

A scuffle on the floor outside her curtain drew her attention, her heart sinking at the thought that Castro was indeed on the prowl. The footfalls continued past the old bedsheet that acted as her door, most likely one of the laborers on his way to the outhouse.

An outhouse. Quarters that were barely three feet wide and sported a curtain for a door. A wardrobe that consisted of two blouses and two skirts that felt like they were made of a burlap blend fabric. A man who dropped in for sex anytime he wished, regardless of her state or mood.

April fought the urge to feel sorry for herself. “Stop being such a fussbudget,” she reprimanded herself. She was teaching school, the only occupation she had ever wanted. She had shelter. She was part of a community. She was safe. Her stomach was full. She was no longer slowly starving to death.

Hunger.

Recalling that first winter after the apocalypse was always difficult. For a fleeting moment, she wondered how her mother was doing … wished she could sit and argue with her sister, if only for a few minutes. She missed her family terribly and yearned for a simpler time when she would wake up and smell the morning air coming off the lake. As was often the case, she dreamed of the racks of clothes that probably still hung in her closet.

All of those memories were trumped, however, pushed aside by one intense, overriding recollection – hunger. It was a sensation that was impossible to forget … the gnawing, bone-deep, grinding emptiness that had consumed every fiber of her being. She would never forget how it felt, swore that she would go anywhere, do anything to avoid being hungry again.

“Stop your bellyaching,” she whispered to the candle. “You ate today. In this world, what more can you ask? Besides, life here on the plantation isn’t so bad. In some respects, it is a lot like how you thought the world should function even before the collapse. A modified communal utopia.”

That question directed her thoughts down a different path, a well-worn mental route that she had traveled a hundred times since she had been “rescued” that morning so long ago.

After leaving home before sunrise, she remembered reaching the end of the marina’s lane and wondering which direction to walk. The sound of a distant motor made the decision for her, and she turned toward the rare noise.

The men at the pickup seemed surprised to see her meander up to them as if they were giving away free food. “Are you hungry?” they asked.

“Yes. I’m very hungry. Do you have anything to eat?”

“We will take you to a place that has all the food you can eat. You have to work hard for it, but they will feed you.”