Holding Their Own VII: Phoenix Star (14 page)

The magic hour of 10 a.m. came and went. Bishop and Terri spent the time lounging around the truck, playing with Hunter and snacking on breakfast. Every so often, Bishop would pause mid-sentence or hold up his hand for Terri to stop speaking. He would listen intently for a bit, eventually blaming a bird or other animal for whatever noise had reached his ear.

Glancing at his watch, Bishop announced, “I think I need to go walk the town again. I’d feel better about sleeping here if we knew the place was truly deserted.”

“I’m going to go with you,” his wife indicated. “I’m sick of the truck and curious as hell. I’ll put Hunter in the sling, and we’ll tag along.”

“Terri… I don’t know about that. I know you can take care of yourself, but Hunter would be exposed…”

“I know that, but given the state of the world right now, he’s going to be exposed a lot. We can’t pussy foot around just because we have a baby.”

Bishop didn’t like the idea one bit, his expression indicating he was willing to debate the subject with her.

“Besides,” Terri continued, “Most people won’t shoot a baby. If you approach someone by yourself, with all that body armor and ammo hanging off your chest, they might plug you on sight. With your son and me along, we look more like a family on a daytrip. By yourself, you might be mistaken for the invasion of Attila the Hun.”

“Still, I’m not comfortable with…”

She interrupted again, “Two sets of eyes and two rifles are better than one. We both know it.”

“Terri, I…”

Her hands landed squarely on her hips and her eyebrows raised. “Look, do you really think I’m that much safer here by the truck? If someone did spot it, don’t you think he would be curious and approach? I don’t see it as any more risky walking along than sitting here like a big, fat target.”

“Oh babe, you’re not fat,” Bishop stated, trying to change the subject.

Terri’s eyes smiled, but still she
shook her head at her mate, “Flattery will get you nowhere, young man. Besides, you know that’s not what I meant. Hunter and I will be better off if we stay near you.”

And so the couple headed back to town, Bishop giving up on the argument, conceding his wife’s points. Terri, carrying her rifle and wearing her own Kevlar vest, cooed at Hunter. “We get to go exploring with daddy.”

Bishop wanted to check on a few of the houses. After repeating his excursion of downtown and finding nothing had changed, the trio proceeded along one of the residential side streets.

“There are a lot of empty driveways,” Terri observed. “Did everyone hop in the car and bug-out when the food ran low?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Bishop said, “No way to know. I’m telling you though, this is goose-bump strange. When do the zombies figure out we’re here and attack from the shadows?”

“Go and knock on one of the doors. Maybe everyone is hiding like in Alpha. Maybe there’s some gang of outlaws controlling the town,” she suggested, only half teasing.

Nodding his agreement, Bishop swung his rifle around to his back and strolled slowly up to one of the more promising residences. He rapped loudly on the door and then moved back several steps.

There was no answer.

He repeated the knocking, this time shouting out, “We mean you no harm. We’re lost and need help.”

Again, there was no answer.

Feeling bold, Bishop moved to the edge of the porch, glancing into a window. He spied a tidy living room, furnished with a television, coffee table, sofa, and recliner. There was a water tumbler, complete with coaster, sitting on the table. Through the sheer drapes, he couldn’t see much more than that.

He returned to the front door, stepping to the side and trying the knob. The door was locked.

“Do you want me to kick it in?” he asked his wife.

“No, of course not. Let’s try another house.”

A similar scene was repeated at the next couple of residences. “Maybe the home team is playing in the local World Series of Baseball,” Terri suggested.

“Let’s take a look at some of the backyards,” Bishop suggested. Maybe it’s too hot here without air conditioning… maybe people are living outside.”

The first two residences revealed no surprises. The couple found the typical picnic tables, BBQ grills and children’s toys. At the third home, Bishop sauntered up to try the back door and found it unlocked.

He glanced at Terri, flashing an expression of “Should I?”

She nodded, whispering, “Maybe they left a note.”

Bishop opened the door and stepped back, wary of a frightened resident cutting lo
ose with a shotgun or other firearm. When nothing happened, he stuck his head around the corner and yelled, “Hello! Hello inside. I mean no harm. I’m coming in. Please don’t shoot me.”

There was no answer.

Bishop hesitated, looking up at Terri as if he didn’t want to go inside. Finally, he told her why. “If these people were starving to death, they would probably end up spending their last few days in bed. I don’t want to walk in and find Jack and Jill’s skeletons lying under their comforter.”

“You’ve seen a lot worse, babe.”

“I know, I know. But there’s something creepy about people dying in their own beds. It’s as if I would be disturbing a grave or something. It’s a memory I can do without.”

“Do you want me to go in and check?”

Bishop hesitated at the question, sorely tempted to call her bluff. The same reasoning he had used back at Perilous Falls came rushing into his frontal lobe. Finally sucking it up, he shook his head no and then passed through the threshold. He found himself in a laundry room, complete with washer and dryer, a makeshift clothesline and a shelf lined with detergents and fabric softeners. Everything was covered with a fine coating of dust.

A swinging door led to the kitchen, which he found neat as a pin. There were no dirty dishes in the sink, and the table was clear with the exception of more dust. There was already a scowl on his face as he reached for the refrigerator door, his nose crinkling in anticipation of finding maggot-ridden shelves of rotted food inside. The interior was completely empty and smelled of bleach.

He then moved to the pantry and found not a crumb of food. A quick search of the nearby cabinets confirmed his suspicion – there wasn’t a morsel of nourishment anywhere.

Room by room Bishop cleared the first floor of the house. It was exhausting, stressful work. Not only did he anticipate finding the owners in the next room, he wasn’t exactly sure if he would bumble onto skeletons or find himself looking into the barrel of a shotgun. Given the town reminded him of a horror movie backdrop, he supposed it could be both.

Now that would scare me shitless
, he mused.
Walking into the living room and finding Fred and Wilma Barebones waiting with a scattergun. Where do you shoot a skeleton to take it down?

Forcing his mind to refocus, he continued clearing the home, hoping he wouldn’t have to shoot anybody – dead or alive.

Clearly, the folks who lived here were tidy at minimum, perhaps a little OCD. There weren’t any toothpaste stains in the sink; magazines were stacked neatly in their place. A beautiful antique, upright piano adorned one wall of the living room. The corner of the dining room sported a heritage-quality china cabinet, ornate patterns of plates and bowls visible through the glass panes.

As he turned, the sunlight hit the floor just right, and he saw footprints in the dust. Most of them appeared to be his boots, but one set was clearly much smaller and undisturbed by his exploring. He followed them to a small end table where they seemed to stop.

There on the surface, again illuminated by the sun, was the narrow rectangular outline where something had been sitting for a long time before being moved. He looked around, rubbing his chin in puzzlement.
That would be where most people would put a picture
, he finally realized.
Someone came in here and removed a framed photograph or piece of art. Why?

He returned to the back door, finding Terri sitting in a lawn chair and cuddling Hunter. “First floor is clear,” he reported. “I’m heading upstairs now.”

She winked before asking, “Are the bedrooms up there?”

“Yes.”

Bishop waited on the innuendo that was sure to come, but his wife thought better of it. “Be careful,” was her only reply.

The stairs creaked, despite his slow ascent. If bushwhackers were hiding up there, they had plenty of warning he was on his way. The first room he checked was being used for storage. Boxes, hand-labeled with phrases like, “Christmas decorations,” and “Photo albums,” were stacked along one wall.

The next doorway led to the upstairs bath. Again, everything was pristine, sans the coating of dust. He opened the medicine cabinet, discovering it was completely bare. “They bugged out,” he whispered. “We took every bit of medical supplies and food when we left Houston. They did the exact same thing.”

His level of apprehension was much lower as he entered the master. He found the bed neatly made and absent any bones. He checked the his-and-her closets, finding an assortment of empty hangers. “They packed up and headed out,” he mumbled.

Much relieved, Bishop bounded down the stairs and made for the back door. Terri glanced up, glad to see her husband had survived the adventure.

“Looks like they bugged out,” he reported. “There’s zero food or medicine inside. The toilet paper holders are empty, and I couldn’t find any suitcases. I’d say they headed for the hills.”

“That explains it then,” she replied.

“The whole town?” Bishop was skeptical. “We couldn’t get our little street to agree on anything back in Houston. I can’t believe the whole town packed up and left together.”

Terri nodded her agreement. “What do we do now? Search all the houses?”

“No,” he grunted. “I don’t want to do that. I need some sleep. I’ve got a better idea. Let’s head back to the truck.”

Crawford was just as eerily quiet on their return trip, the only sound being a slight breeze blowing a sheet of paper down the deserted street and distant birds chirping their morning songs. Bishop pulled the camper behind the little strip mall and unhooked the hitch. “Let’s take a quick driving tour,” he suggested.

With Terri holding Hunter in the back seat, he drove the short distance and stopped right in the middle of the business district. He revved the engine several times, honked the horn repeatedly
, and then turned off the motor to wait and listen. No one came.

He repeated the process three more times, moving through the residential sections on both sides of the main road. Again, no response.

“You know how in a scary movie the stereotypical dumb blonde keeps roaming through the zombie-infested house… exploring from room to room without regard for her own safety?” Terri asked. “How she is oblivious to all the clues and warning signs that danger is right around the corner? You want to scream at her, ‘He’s behind that door. Get out of there! RUN!’”

“Which one of us is supposed to be the dumb blonde in this analogy?” Bishop queried. Frustrated and confused, he shook his head. “I can’t believe that we have stumbled on a modern-day ghost town, but I’m too tired to worry about it anymore. Let’s get the camper set up. I’ve got to sleep.”

Forty minutes later, the pop-top was extended, and the couple set about making a quick lunch. Bishop played with Hunter, bouncing the contented lad on his knee while Terri prepared the meal.

After wolfing down the hot food, Bishop was toast. He managed to wash the dishes before announcing, “Wake me up in two hours, please.”

“Okay. Hunter and I will be around. I’m going to stay close, but outside. I don’t want anyone sneaking up on us.”

“Smart girl,” he grinned, leaning over to kiss her forehead. Hunter received a peck as well.

Terri heard Bishop’s snoring even before she could put away the clean pots and silverware.

Alexandra Military Zone, Virginia

July 30

“Our activities in West Texa
s are drawing more scrutiny than originally anticipated,” Mr. White began, casually glancing up as a Humvee full of soldiers passed by.

Eris was troubled, “This is
highly unusual, sir. This meeting is outside of established protocol. Didn’t we execute the original mission per instructions?”

White’s t
emper flashed for just a moment - the last thing he needed right now was to have some knuckle-dragger getting uppity over a perceived fuck-up. He managed to control the outburst, his restraint assisted by a passing convoy of noisy construction vehicles, trucks, and busses full of tradesmen on their way into Washington proper. Alexandra was the staging area for the reconstruction efforts underway in the nearby capital.

As the three men watched the parade of trucks and military escorts pass by, Mr. White had to wonder at the priority being given the project. Inside the beltway, Washington had been ransacked by riots, fires and looting. While he could understand the government’s need to put on a good show, rebuilding the White House and Capitol Dome wouldn’t have been his highest priority.
No matter. Not his concern at the moment.