The Quest: Countdown to Armageddon: Book 6 (3 page)

     The mayor shook the hands of both men and walked back into chambers.

     “Tom,” Paul said. “At least do me one small favor.”

     “What’s that, Paul?”

     “I won’t deny that I’ve wanted to be sheriff someday. It’s been my eventual goal ever since I joined the department. But I didn’t want it this soon. I figured I’d get it when the old sheriff was worn out and retired because the county asked him to hang it up and retire for his own good.

     “Promise me you’ll be safe out there. I want you to come back and take back this job. I don’t mind doing it temporarily, but I hate playing the political game and doing all the paperwork that you’ve gotten used to doing. I’m happier in a patrol car or on a horse, making my rounds. I feel like that’s my place. Not sitting in the office directing others.”

     “Whether you’re in charge now or ten years from now, it doesn’t matter, Paul. The paperwork and politics will still be a big part of the job.”

     “I know. And ten years from now when I slow down, maybe I won’t mind it so much. It’s just that…”

     “Are you trying to find a good way of saying I’m too old to be where the action is? That I belong sitting at a desk filling out forms?”

     “No, Tom… that’s not what I’m saying at all…”

     Paul knew he’d made a mess out of the sentiment he was trying to convey.

     Tom smiled.

     Paul finally blurted out the words he should have said in the first place.

     “I just want you to be safe and come back in one piece, Tom. There’s plenty of time for me to be sheriff later on, after you retire. Right now, I’ll hold the place for you until you return. But you’re the one who should be running the show, not me.”

     “Don’t worry, Paul. I’ll be back. I promise.”

-3-

     John Castro lay gravely wounded in a field of Texas Bluebonnets and other wildflowers.

     In his unconscious state he had no idea what had happened, or how incredibly lucky he was. For despite Robbie Benton’s best efforts, he was still alive.

     Just barely.

     It was merely a twitch, and a small one at that. But that was all the difference it took.

     The twitch in Robbie’s hand was imperceptible. He didn’t even notice it. Robbie was focusing so much on his target, his breath control, and his trigger pull that the slight twitch in his right hand escaped him completely.

     Perhaps John Castro had a higher power watching over him. Perhaps it just wasn’t his time. Or perhaps, as he’d told Hannah many times before, he was just the luckiest man on earth.

     For at the exact moment Robbie was easing the trigger back on his rifle, John turned his head to look at a small jackrabbit he’d spooked from the brush.

     It was those two things, occurring simultaneously, that caused Robbie’s bullet to miss his target. Robbie had carefully aimed for the center mass of John’s head, in the hopes that the .556 bullet would enter his skull through a small entry hole, then tumble enough to explode through the back of the head, taking most of the brain matter with it. Instead, the bullet pierced John’s scalp toward the back of his head, crushing the back of his skull and rendering him instantly unconscious. It exited through the scalp at the back of his head and buried itself harmlessly in the ground forty feet away from him.

     In essence, John’s good luck and Robbie’s itchy hand combined to trade a guaranteed kill shot for a glancing blow which might be fatal.

     But which also might not be.

     His second shot was better, but still missed its primary target.

     Four millimeters.

     That was the space between the right atrium of John’s heart sac and the path the second bullet traveled through his body.

     Four millimeters.

     It was entirely likely that the bullet missed the heart simply because it was contracted as it beat. The same bullet, following the same path half a second later, might have torn through a heart full of blood and caused irreparable damage.

     John’s good luck was holding. But just barely.

     For although he was still alive, the second bullet caused him significant wounds. His lung was now punctured on the front side, ripped open at the back, and one of his ribs was splintered.

     Either wound, the one to his chest or the one to the back of his skull, could still kill him.

     But he was blissfully unaware his life was even in danger. Or that anything had happened.

     He was still unconscious, the right side of his face lying passively in the dirt. Tiny fire ants traversed his left cheek, no doubt wondering what this monstrosity was and how it came to lie on their nest.

     Blood flowed from his chest, his back, and his head. From his back protruded a shattered piece of rib bone.

     A house fly landed upon it and savored the sticky blood which covered it.

     But John knew nothing of that.

     John was engulfed in a merciful, pain-free blackness.

     He had no idea that life itself was draining from his body.

     One heartbeat at a time.

     Robbie Benton had no clue that both of his bullets missed their marks.

     And really, why would he? His first shot dropped his target instantly. Just as it would have if he’d been dead center on John’s head.

     His second shot hit John in the chest. There was no doubt in Robbie’s mind.

     Of course, it was just enough off target to take away his guarantee that the shot would be fatal.

     But Robbie didn’t know that.

     Robbie arose from his sniper’s nest, full of self-satisfaction. He’d done what the insurgents in Fallujah hadn’t been able to do. He’d done what the deadly plague which ravaged the area hadn’t been able to do.

     He’d been able to finally kill John Castro, who many had come to believe was invincible.

     Only… he hadn’t.

-4-

     “What’s your game plan?”

     It was Scott’s question, although several of the others gathered around the dining room table had wondered themselves.

     Sara looked at Tom, who said, “Go ahead, sweetie. Tell them what we’ve worked out.”

     “We’re going back to Moon Valley Drive. We’re thinking that surely some of the neighbors survived. Maybe she talked to some of them before she left. Maybe she gave them some indication where she might be headed.

     “We’ll go from there to your old house, Scott. That’s where Jordan took me to when the blackout happened. Mom might have gone there looking to see if that’s where I was. If she did, she may have left a clue behind. And we’ll talk to your old neighbors too. If she went to your old house and I wasn’t there, she may have asked your neighbors where you might have gone. Did any of your neighbors know about the compound?”

     “No, honey. We kept it a big secret. We had to protect it from those who didn’t make the same preparations we did. People who might become desperate enough to come looking for it, if they knew where it was. None of the neighbors even knew we
had
a compound, much less where it might be located.”

     “If that’s the case, then that may be where her search ended. Maybe she’ll leave a note for me there, in case we ever go back. If she doesn’t know about the compound, then she might think we just left temporarily, and will return at a later time, when the world isn’t so dangerous. Maybe she’s squatting at your old place, for lack of a better plan, hoping that maybe we’ll come back some day.”

     “Maybe. What happens if she’s not there, and didn’t leave a note?”

     Sara grew silent.

     She didn’t have a clue how to proceed if she and Tom went that far and had no leads.

     Tom spoke for her.

     “I don’t know, Scott. But the world ain’t that big. Not anymore. With most of the people gone, surely one of the survivors will remember a woman, traveling alone, searching for a girl named Sara. There can’t be any others out there. So anybody she came in contact with would surely remember her.

     “All we have to do is find those people, and ask if she left behind any messages for Sara. Or any clues. Or shoot, just telling us which direction she headed would help.”

     Linda took Sara’s hand, and the young girl looked into her eyes.

     “I’m going to tell you something you may not want to hear, but it’s got to be said. There’s a very good chance that despite your best efforts, you won’t find her. Without knowing where you may have gone, she could have gone anywhere.”

     “I know that, Mom, and I’m trying not to get my hopes up. But I have to at least try. If I try and cannot find her, I’ll accept that maybe it wasn’t meant to be. But finding out that she was beaten and abused too, I feel I owe her something. I have to at least try.”

     “I know you do, honey. And I will pray each night until you return that you find her and bring her back with you.”

     “About that… I know you’ve all said she’s welcome to join us and live here. But are you really sure?”

     “Of course we’re sure. We’ve all discussed it. We could no more send her away than we could have sent you away that day Jordan brought you home and said you had nowhere else to go.”

     Zachary excused himself from the table and brought back a blue zippered money bag.

     All eyes at the table turned to him.

     “I used to keep my baseball cards in here, but somehow they don’t seem as important as they used to be.”

     Sara said, “That’s because you’re growing up and leaving your boyhood things behind you.”

     “Yeah, maybe. Anyway, I figured you could use it more than me.”

     Sara was puzzled, not quite understanding the gesture, until Zachary handed her the bag and she unzipped it.

     She took out one of Scott’s old business cards.

     On the front it proclaimed:

Alamo Rent-A-Space

You got stuff? We got space. Let’s get together.

All size units, starting at $20 per month

(210) 313-4549 Scott Harter, Prop.

     Sara was still unsure of Zachary’s point until he said, “Turn it over.”

     On the reverse side, handwritten in blue ink, were the words:

STACEY McALLISTER: Sara is still alive and is looking for you. Find someone with a ham radio and call frequency 105.4

     Zachary looked at Scott and said, “I hope you don’t mind me using your business cards, Dad. I didn’t figure you needed them anymore.”

     Scott just shrugged. Captain Obvious had a valid point.

     Zachary turned back to Sara.

     “I worry that you’ll go through somewhere looking for your mom, and then she’ll come through the same place later on and you’ll miss each other. You can leave these with the people you encounter along your journey, and they can give it to your mom if they ever happen upon her. And you can put them on community bulletin boards and stuff.”

     “Community bulletin boards?”

     “Dad showed me a couple when I stowed away in his police car. They’re big pieces of wood set up in public areas, to help loved ones reconnect, and to advertise for goods to trade and stuff like that. There was one set up in Alamo Plaza, across from the Alamo, and there were dozens of people either reading it or posting things on it.”

     Sara looked at Scott, who nodded and said, “He’s right. There are a couple dozen of them set up all over the city. You can post a card on each one of them.”

     Tom interrupted.

     “It’s apparently an idea that’s caught on. There are two such boards in downtown Kerrville now, and one in downtown Junction. I reckon that most of the towns have them.”

     Sara looked back to Zachary.

     Then she hugged him.

     “What a great idea! How many of them did you make?”

     “As many as I could until my hand cramped up and stopped working. I lost count at around four hundred, but there’s probably twice that many. In case you run out, I put a couple of bundles of blank cards in there and a couple of pens so you can make some more if you need them.”