Holding Their Own VII: Phoenix Star (12 page)

Bishop paused at the camper’s door, his body language indicating he didn’t want to continue the search inside.

Terri’s voice interrupted his contemplation. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to go in there,” he replied with a shy tone.

“Why? Did you hear something inside?”

“No… nothing like that. I’m just positive I’ll find dead people in there, and I hate that.”

“Do you want me to go?”

Bishop actually weighed her offer. He deliberated letting her take the lead until it dawned on him that the residents of the campsite might be hiding inside.
Maybe they’ve been sick and staying indoors. Maybe that’s why the spider webs are here
, he considered.

“No, I’ll go.”

Bishop banged loudly on the door. “Hello? Anyone home? I’m coming in… I mean no harm.”

Terri’s giggle made him pause. “What?” he said, not understanding what was so funny.

“I mean no harm,” she mocked, “as I bust in your door with a big, mean-looking rifle and a chest full of ammo.”

Bishop smirked at her logic and then returned his attention to the door. He reached up and tested the latch, a little surprised it was unlocked. “If someone were in there, I would think they would’ve locked the door,” he commented.

He pulled it open for just a second, quickly ducking back. Nothing happened.

Again, he pulled the handle and peered inside. Glancing over his shoulder at his wife, Bishop shrugged and then disappeared over the threshold.

A few moments later, his head reappeared at the doorway, a yellow sheet of paper in his hand. He walked over to Terri with a sad expression and handed her the document.

Hello,

My name is Ernie Sawyer, and my wife is Roberta. We live at 5451 S. Morgan Street, New Orleans, LA. Since you are reading this letter, it means my wife and I no longer occupy this earth. She and I first camped at this waterfall 47 years ago on our honeymoon. We’ve enjoyed a full, wonder-filled life together. On the back of this note are the addresses and phone numbers of our sons. We haven’t been able to get in contact with them since everything changed. If you have the wherewithal to get a message through, we would be eternally grateful. Please let them know we love them both with all our hearts. They are fine young men, and not a day goes by that their mother and I haven’t had them in our thoughts.

We were touring the southwest when the world went crazy, enjoying our retirement years, and taking in the sights. During those terrible last days on the road, we were unable to find food, fuel or the prescription medications we both require. We decided to come back here, and only with the guiding hand of the good Lord did we make it. The truck was on empty for the last several miles.

We’ve enjoyed our second honeymoon here at Perilous Falls. It has been peaceful, beautiful, and calming. Bobbie and I couldn’t ask for a better ending to what has been a long and happy marriage.

These last few days have proven difficult. Our health is deteriorating, and food is running low. We’ve done without the generator for a few nights, but the weather continues to grow hotter. Her cough is out of control, and I can’t continue without her. We have been saving some strong narcotic prescriptions for just such a time.

As I leave this final message, Bobbie and I are going to take one last walk down the trail to the falls. We’ve talked it over, and both of us agree that today is the day. Neither of us is sure we’ll be able to make it tomorrow.

You are welcome to anything we’ve left behind. If it helps you through these troubled times, then we will smile in heaven. God bless.

Terri lowered the letter, a tear streaming down her cheek. “Oh, Bishop,” she said.

The couple hugged for a moment, and then Bishop nodded toward the trail leading off the lot. He walked over and picked up the shovel. “I’m going to go and lay them to rest. I think you and Hunter will be safe here. Stay close to the truck, and keep that rifle handy.”

Terri nodded, watching as he headed for the path.

He walked a half mile before he found them. There was a park bench, strategically placed to overlook the falls. It was the dry season, so there wasn’t any water. Only the smooth face of rock was visible indicating where there would be a cascade during the wetter months.

Animals and the elements had scattered their remains, with a few bleached, yellow bones still resting on the bench. Bishop shook his head when he noticed two skeletal hands, one wearing a wedding ring, still entwined in a loving embrace. He imagined the couple taking the overdose, sitting on the bench and holding each other until the end came.

“I hope Terri and I go as peacefully,” he whispered to the bones. “I pray we have as many years together, and it ends in such a beautiful place.”

There wasn’t anywhere to dig a grave, nothing but thin soil covering solid rock. He gently gathered as much of their remains as he could find on a flat area of bare stone. It took an hour to pile enough rocks to cover them, the final resting place within view of what would be a nice waterfall in a few months.

One grave for two people
, Bishop thought.
Somehow, I think Ernie and Bobbie would approve of that.
He pulled the folded note from the couple out of his pants pocket and read it one last time before traveling the trail. “Maybe one day I can bring some peace of mind to those sons of yours, Ernie.” He sighed, overcome by the senseless deaths of the older couple, refolded the paper and slipped it in his pocket for safekeeping. 

The Texan returned, his expression melancholy and tired. “I found them,” he informed a curious Terri, “and gave them a proper resting place.”

“That was so sweet, Bishop. Are the falls pretty?”

“They will be after the next rain. There’s no water right now – just bare, smooth rock.”

“Dang.”

Bishop nodded toward an empty side of the lot. “I don’t want to stay here long, but we both need some rest. Besides, I want to do most of our driving at night. I’m going to set up the camper over there, and we can take turns getting some shuteye.”

Terri put her hand on his shoulder and said, “You are the one who needs sleep right now. I’ll take the first watch while you snooze for a couple of hours.”

“Deal.”

It was the smell of cooking food that woke him. The sun was just above the mountains in the west, and he immediately realized that Terri had let him sleep through his shift. Rising gingerly and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he opened the camper door and peeked outside.

“
Wakie, wakie, eggs and bakie,” Terri giggled from the nearby fire.

“I knew you were going to let me sleep before I even went horizontal. While I love you for that, you need rest, too.”

She dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand, “I can sleep in the truck while you’re driving. You’ve had a rough start to our trip and looked tired. Besides, I’ve been telling Hunter campfire ghost stories.”

“Oh, great. Who’s going to calm him at zero-dark-thirty after the nightmares?” he teased, not really expecting an answer. “What’s cooking?”

“The last of the steak and some rice. I wanted to use the meat before it went bad. The camper shell gets pretty hot, and I’m not sure how long things are going to last in there.”

“We’ll be in high country on this next leg. The temperature should cool down quite a bit.”

“Who would have thought it would take an apocalypse for us to have time to tour the southwest?” Terri’s voice carried a child-like curiosity. “Do you think there will be snow on the mountaintops? I’ve not seen snow in years.”

“Could be. It is July though, so maybe it’s not the right time of year.”

“Well,” Terri remarked, her hands on her hips, “clearly, I am going to have to have a chat with my travel agent when we get home. First, no water over the Perilous Falls, now no snow – all because we are traveling in the off season.”

About then, Bishop noticed a cup of some liquid sitting near the fire. He picked it up and sniffed. “What’s that?” he asked, wrinkling his nose at the unfamiliar scent. “Please tell me that is not lunch.”

Terri nodded toward the baby, “He’s been sitting in the car seat too much. There’s a rash on his bottom. One of the church ladies told me to use thyme, brew it like tea, and rub some on his backside. While you were sleeping, I went to the other campsite and found some Bobbie had growing in her little herb garden. I hope it works, or we’re going to have one fussy boy on our hands.”

“Thyme?” Bishop asked. “I had no idea.”

Terri nodded, “She told me her mom used it back before all the fancy diaper rash crèmes were available… claimed it was antibacterial and antifungal. Can’t hurt to try. I’ll check Hunter’s rash again in the morning and see if it worked.”

They ate in silence, Hunter snoozing nearby on a blanket, the crackle of the fire hypnotizing. After finishing the meal, Terri did the dishes while Bishop closed up the camper. It was dusk when they headed out of the park.

Alliance Territory, Northern Border

July 30

“Is that a truck engine I hear?” asked one of the sentries.

His partner raised his head, tilting an ear so he could hear. “Sounds like it to me.”

The two men scrambled from the pickup, taking positions in fortified bunkers made of sandbags and scrap timber. Thoughts of the attack on Midland Station were fresh in their minds as they readied their weapons.

The older man hovered a thumb over a radio, mindful that their primary job was to warn of any incursion. His companion was scanning the highway to the north through his rifle optic, trying to identify the source of the noise in the fading light.

“I’ve got a single semi-truck… pulling a flatbed trailer that appears to be full of… full of people.”

The radio operator raised a pair of binoculars, the one-word, urgent question of “Soldiers?” escaping his lips.

“No,” replied his friend, an eye still glued to his optic. “Refugees.”

Exhaling, the older man keyed the radio, “This is checkpoint Charlie. We have a single truck full of people, no apparent weapons, approaching from the north, over.”

“I read you loud and clear, Sid. How many? Over.”

“Estimate 20-30 total. Looks like a pretty ragged bunch. Over,” the sentry reported.

“Gotcha. Check’em out, and if everything looks okay, send them to the reception center. I’ll let the volunteers know we have new neighbors on the way.”

The younger guard looked at his partner, “Been a while since we had a big group like this. I wonder what their story is?”

Still studying the approaching truck via magnification, Sid speculated, “I bet it’s not good. Do you still have those jugs of water? They might be thirsty.”

“Yeah. He’s slowing down – that’s a good sign.”

Cole had been focusing on the fuel gauge, watching its ever-persistent movement toward the capital “E.” They had stopped 30 miles back, giving all the travelers a chance to relieve themselves and stretch cramped legs. Now he was worried they were going to have to use those legs again.

A handmade sign appeared in the roadway, the neat letters ordering him to slow down. A few hundred yards later, another warned him that he was approaching an Alliance checkpoint. “Be prepared to stop.”

A third warning became visible in the Kenworth’s headlights; “Unload all weapons before approaching.” He rolled down the window as he slowed, yelling back for everyone to follow the instructions. He prayed this wasn’t a trap, but the location was right where Bishop said they would encounter friendlies.

A pickup blocking the road was the next indication of civilization. One man was standing in the center of the pavement waving a flashlight. He had a military-looking rifle slung over his shoulder. Cole rolled to a stop, and the man approached the cab.

“Good evening,” the sentry greeted.

“Nice night,” Cole responded.

“What brings you to Alliance territory?” the guard asked, as if it wasn’t obvious.

Bishop had coached Cole on the exchange, and now the truck driver appreciated the lesson. “We are a lightly armed group of displaced persons. A man named Bishop and his wife Terri informed us that we would be welcomed here.”