Holding Their Own XI: Hearts and Minds (22 page)

No one seemed to be paying attention as Bishop passed close to a large cluster of the victorious cowpokes. That’s when he noticed they’d taken one of the defenders alive.

The man who Bishop knew was in charge of the mystery team was on his knees, several of Kathy’s men pointing their weapons at the captive. The Texan could see blood pouring from the prisoner’s scalp.

“I tried to warn you,” Katherine taunted. “I tried to end this without more bloodshed. Now we have to dig more graves. I should probably kill you right here and now… get it over with.”

The older man who’d accompanied the lady rancher stepped forward, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. “He might have value,” Bishop heard. “Don’t forget his wife is some big shot down in Alpha. He might be a good card to have up our sleeve.”

The Texan kept walking but slowed his pace.
They are talking about Terri and me
, he realized.
What the hell is going on?

The captive said, “My name isn’t Bishop. I told you that to scare you. My real name is….”

One of the surrounding ranch hands stepped in and barrel-whipped the prisoner before he could finish, growling a harsh, “Shut up, you lying sack of shit!”

Evidently, the blow was delivered with more force than intended, the captive falling over onto the grass and no longer moving. Katherine didn’t seem to care.

“Tie him up and take him back to our bunkhouse,” she ordered. “Abe is right. He might be a good bargaining chip.”

A flurry of activity followed as two of the ranch hands rushed to execute her orders while others gathered weapons and bodies, and tended to the wounded.

Bishop reached the nearest pickup, opening the door as if someone might be hiding inside. The keys were still there.

After making sure no one was in the immediate vicinity, he smacked the horse on the ass and then pointed toward the cliffs, screaming, “Hey! Hey! I just saw one of them running that way!”

The Texan didn’t wait to see how many heads turned in the direction of where he was pointing. In a flash, he was behind the wheel, hitting the ignition and flooring the gas.

Gravel, dirt, and dust flew from the back tires as he raced down the lane, leaving a group of bewildered, startled ranch hands in his wake. Bishop kept low, his eyes barely able to see over the dash, but not a single shot was fired in his direction.

He turned south onto the county road that fronted the valley, speeding in Butter’s direction. A few miles later, he spied an excellent spot to hide the truck.

Taking the keys with him, Bishop began hiking toward his teammates, wadding up the western hat and shoving it in his pack. Butter might shoot him if he approached the nervous kid while wearing the disguise.

Bishop felt like Santa Claus on Christmas morning, so happy was Butter to see his leader alive. “I heard the shooting, sir, and I thought for sure they’d caught you spying on them,” the big kid gushed, embracing the Texan in a rib-crushing hug. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to be wrong, sir.”

After realigning his spine, Bishop relayed the events that had just occurred in the valley, including the part about the mysterious imposter.

A pained expression crossed Butter’s face, “I know some people don’t agree with our SAINT team’s missions,” he confessed. “When I worked at Pete’s bar, I’d tell people I was training to work with you guys, and some folks would get a little mouthy. I guess rumors, gossip, and exaggerations can spoil the best intentions or results.”

The Texan thought about his man’s comments, for a moment wondering who on earth would have enough gumption to get mouthy with the huge kid. Shaking off that unproductive line of thought, he continued, “There are still citizens of the Alliance who believe I killed all of those National Guardsmen not far from this very spot. It’s like we used to say about the Internet – haters are going to hate. The apocalypse wasn’t enough of an event to modify human nature.”

Grim’s weak moan snapped both of them back to reality.

Butter, believing his boss had fallen to gunfire in the valley, had already constructed a makeshift drag-stretcher. Bishop admired the craftsmanship, citing that it would be perfect to haul the contractor back to the waiting pickup.

Constructed of two wrist-thick saplings and a webbing of paracord between, Bishop was proud of his man for having enough foresight to make the gurney large enough to not only handle Grim, but his pack as well.

An hour later, the two upright SAINT members were carrying their wounded comrade out of the rocks. It was a hot, difficult trail back to the road, but nothing compared to what they would have had to endure walking all the way back to Fort Davidson cross-country.

As they scrambled, climbed, slid, skidded, and hauled Grim toward the truck, Bishop had time to reflect on what he’d seen in the valley that morning.

The ranchers were obviously pissed about the house being burned to the ground. The Texan didn’t blame them but figured there was more at play than just the loss of a home that neither clan used for its primary residence.

Watts had been very clear – the conflict was over the water that flowed through the surrounding property. That’s what they had been fighting over for decades. So why have such a harsh reaction to the fire, real Bishop or pretender?

And who was this imposter?
Now, it is true that Terri does have a great pair of legs… but that aside… who the hell would want to change lives with me?
Bishop mused.

The Texan’s initial thoughts gravitated towards a group of opportunists, roaming the countryside looking for a place to settle, or leverage for financial gain, or just ramble around scavenging for survival. They could have heard about the SAINT teams. His name was unusual and thus easy to remember.

That reasoning, however, didn’t fit with the skill, equipment, and organization the strangers had shown as they had pushed Bishop’s team out. The Texan hadn’t seen anybody fight like that since Deke and his group of Darkwater contractors had tried to take the ranch so long ago.

The Alliance was full of rugged, capable men and women. Merely surviving the collapse often required some level of skill with a firearm and the willpower to use it. Often, it was the bold, aggressive sorts who prevailed. The meek had not inherited the earth – or at least not the part labeled Texas.

The team that attacked Bishop had been different. They were professional fighters, disciplined and experienced. Everything from their controlled usage of ammunition to their coordination of movement led the Texan to believe they were most likely a unit that had either trained or served together in a combat zone.

Why
that
specific ranch at
that
specific time?

They found the pickup right where Bishop had left it. Grim was quickly slid into the bed, Butter riding in the back to make sure his friend was comfortable.

As Bishop drove toward Fort Davidson, he continued trying to solve the mystery.

Even if a team of former military men had banded together, it was still a troubling coincidence. They had bypassed Grim’s web of trip lines as if the booby traps had been anticipated, maybe even expected. Obviously, Bishop and his team had been scouted before the assault had begun. It was almost as if the imposter and his men knew the SAINT members were there. But how could that be? Bishop shook his head to clear the cobwebs, afraid that the heat of the desert was causing erratic thinking.
Not the time to get on some paranoid tangent,
he told himself. But where was the logic in all of this?

Now, all of the attackers were dead but one, and he was in Katherine’s custody. Why hadn’t she killed the man outright? What was all this talk about using the prisoner in negotiations? The list of unknowns kept piling up, and Bishop didn’t have any answers.

A bump in the road diverted Bishop’s attention to his comrades in the pickup’s bed. A quick thumbs up from Butter assured the driver that his passengers were handling the trip as best as they could. But there was no doubt; if his friend were to survive, he needed the attentions best delivered on an operating table. Bishop knew that his primary concern right now had to be getting medical attention for Grim, providing a safe trip to Davidson.

But at the same time, the puzzle before him begged to be solved.

One thing was for certain, if the man detained by the Baxter ranch hands died, there most likely would never be any resolution to the Texan’s multitude of questions.

His inner voice kept nagging him about the element of his identity. An undeniable benefit of a post-collapse environment absent electronic banking, email, on-line ordering, and credit cards was the elimination of identity theft from a man’s list of daily concerns. Or so he thought.

What really troubled the Texan was the fact that a man claiming his name was being prosecuted for Bishop’s past sins… or perceived wrongdoings. As the pickup approached the outskirts of Fort Davidson, that dawning, little epiphany troubled Bishop greatly.

While he produced his credentials at the Fort Davidson guard’s outpost, he combed the corners of his mind for the captive’s exact words. He envisioned the prisoner’s quivering voice saying, “My name isn’t Bishop. I told you that to scare you.”
What the heck did he mean by that?
the Texan wondered. While he appreciated a little respect as much as the next man, why should his name strike fear in any honest heart?

From what he had overheard, Katherine and Abe had a bone to pick with the Alliance and more specifically with the man they thought was Bishop. Words like henchmen, murdering marauder, thugs, and other derogatory terms had come spewing out of the ranchers’ mouths.
Why?
Even for West Texas, those were some pretty strong accusations.

Yes, he’d been involved in a gunfight or two. Sure, the SAINT team had run into the occasional trouble here and there. But, for the most part, Bishop thought he’d acted honorably the vast majority of the time.
Haters are going to hate
, he repeated.

He made up his mind. There was only one way he was going to get to the bottom of this.   

As Bishop watched Grim being loaded into the county’s only functional ambulance, Grim started grumbling at the two EMT’s for their rough handling of his sensitive carcass. The Texan nodded with a knowing smile - his friend would be okay. He’d be in Alpha soon, undergoing surgery in a matter of hours.

“I want you to go with him,” Bishop informed Butter. “I’m going to poke around that valley some more before I head back home.”

“But… but sir… by yourself?”

“I’ll be very careful. Some man is walking around using my name, and I want to find out what he’s up to. I have a very bad feeling about all this. Besides, Nick, Sheriff Watts, and Terri need a full briefing on what’s going on. Tell them to give me two days, and if I’m not in touch by then, send in the cavalry. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. Be safe, Mister Bishop. You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”

Chapter 8

Hunter, for some unknown reason, had slept in. Mom thought it was a miracle or at minimum a sign that it was going to be the grandest of days.

With the Alliance’s new policy now being distributed all across the territory and a few extra hours of sleep, Terri was in the best of moods as she pushed her son’s buggy toward the Alpha courthouse.

She needed to go to the ranch for additional clothing and to check on the homestead. Neither she nor Bishop had been home for quite some time.

Nick, sporting his typical overprotective reaction, had insisted that Terri take at least one security man along. “I wouldn’t feel right about a young lady and her child traveling by herself
before
everything went to hell, let alone after,” he’d said. “Stop by the courthouse, and I’ll assign a man to drive you out.”

In the end, Terri had agreed, secretly thankful for the escort and protection. Hunter could be a handful at times, and a distraction was the last thing she needed while venturing into the desert. While she was sure everything was fine, a girl just never knew.

At Main Street, she decided that intruding on the inner workings of government could wait, choosing instead to depart on a quest to find something yummy and sweet. While donuts were still uncommon, cakes and other treats were often available. She’d let somebody else make her a cup of tea for a change.

“We’re going to spoil ourselves today,” she informed a smiling Hunter. “You dad is out playing with his friends and their guns, so we’re going to get our share of the good life. I promise you’ll like chocolate icing. It’s a gift from God.”

Mother and son meandered casually down the sidewalk, stopping a few times to window shop or greet a passerby. The weather was cooling off, the sky a royal blue, and there wasn’t a single thing on her calendar with a deadline. Paradise.

A handbill mounted on a nearby utility pole advertised a bake sale to raise money for the Alpha Elementary School. “Perfect!” Terri said to Hunter. “We can shop for goodies and meet some of your future teachers and friends.”

For his part, Hunter seemed in agreement with the plan, flashing a toothless grin and cooing as Terri knelt and examined his diaper.