The Directives Page 12

  Not only was Butter extremely tall and muscular, he was the only man in Alliance territory who had gone hand-to-hand with Nick and not been bested. An undefeated state champion wrestler, it was rumored Butter was well on his way to the United States Olympic team before the collapse occurred.

  When they had first met, Terri assumed her protector had earned his nickname due to his blonde, butter-colored hair, but Slim soon set the record straight. “He slaps butter on everything. Ever since we were kids… butter on breakfast cereal, butter on steak, butter on grits…. Heck, I am shocked he’s not one big ball of butter fat.”

  The irony of it all wasn’t lost on Terri, especially after several months of fighting to regain her pre-pregnancy figure. There isn’t an ounce of fat on that guy, she thought, envious of such a metabolism.

  No sooner than Terri and her guardian reached the courthouse’s side exit, Slim appeared at their side. “Everything’s in order, Miss Terri,” he announced. “It looks like another bright and clear day… good weather for a road trip.”

  Slim held the door open for Terri to pass, his eyes always darting right and left as if he expected some threat to materialize out of thin air. Next to Butter, the dark-haired ranch hand appeared tiny – almost harmless. She knew that was an illusion.

  Slim was actually an average size fellow with a wiry build and brown eyes that never seemed to focus on any one object. Looking like he would be more at home in a saddle than guarding a dignitary, he was hardly the type anyone would visualize as a security professional. That was a misconception as well.

  Over time, Terri had found that Slim was the truly dangerous one of the pair. He was incredibly fast and accurate with a pistol. So impressive were his skills that even Bishop, Nick, and the Darkwater contractors had solicited his training and advice.

  The man was also uncannily observant. More than once, he’d shocked Terri by noting some minor detail that she had missed. Nothing seemed to escape his scrutiny.

  When Terri discovered that Slim had worked at the Department of State, protecting American diplomats and VIPs all over the world, his demeanor, habits and skills all made sense.

  About the only thing Slim seemed to fear was Hunter. More than once, she’d had to pull the infant away from Butter, his inexhaustible enjoyment of playtime interfering with meals and naps. Slim, on the other hand, shied away from any contact with the baby. It was almost as if the man was scared he’d break the child. The dichotomy was amazing and often humorous.

  With Hunter still sleeping, Terri and her escorts strode across the courthouse lawn toward a waiting line of idling vehicles. There were six in all, a carefully selected assortment of civilian, law enforcement, and military transports. Terri’s objective was the second of two large, class-A motorhomes, one of which had become her traveling office and abode. In front of her “home on wheels” sat a military Humvee, one of Sheriff Watts’s squad cars, and another camper that was used to house her companions. Behind, two civilian pickup trucks rounded out the entourage, their beds stuffed to the brim with fuel cans and boxes of supplies.

  “Our first stop is Austin, ma’am,” Slim noted. “We’ll be on the road for approximately five hours. Is there anything else you need before we roll out of Alpha?”

  Terri shook her head, “No. No, I think Betty and I packed everything we needed last night.”

  “Good. The military representatives arrived early this morning and are all set. Sheriff Watts has assigned one of his senior deputies to accompany us and work with any law enforcement we might encounter. We’ve got two engineers, one representative from the rancher’s guild, and of course, my team.”

  Terri scanned up and down the line and sighed, wondering if they were utilizing the Alliance’s resources in the most effective manner.

  Obviously, the trip was necessary. The folks in the big cities in the central part of the state had been made aware of the federal government’s voluntary withdrawal from Texas. However, few of the officers running the military zones knew much about the Alliance or its leaders. Everyone on the council had agreed - it was time for a series of face-to-face meetings. The planning for the excursion to the eastern part of the state had begun several weeks ago. Tomorrow, Nick and Diana would be making a similar journey to Dallas and Fort Worth.

  It was more than just showing the flag. A long list of objectives had been identified for the trip. The leadership in West Texas needed firsthand knowledge of what conditions were like on the ground. The huge population centers east of the Hill Country needed to have representation on the council. A thousand things had to be accomplished in order to enable a recovery and improve people’s lives.

  At first, Terri had envisioned a variable all-star team of Alliance expertise descending upon their neighbors in need. She had visualized hoards of engineers, farmers, ranchers, and mechanics invading the big cities and projecting a message of “We’re here to restore order to your lives.”

  But, as the council had learned more about the true conditions in the east, her desire to save the day began evaporating. In a matter of weeks, she realized that plan was utterly unrealistic.

  So now, instead of making a big splash, they were going to stick a toe into the troubled waters of their fellow Texans.

  “What’s the total number of people going on the trip?” Terri turned and asked Slim.

  “All told, we have 16 hardy explorers setting sail with us today, ma’am,” came the response.

  “And how many of those are dedicated to keeping Hunter and me out of trouble?”

  “Seven, ma’am.”

  Almost half, she thought, disgusted at the use of valuable assets.

  At first, she’d protested the continuous rings of security that Bishop and Nick insisted surround her. “Who would want to hurt Hunter or me?” she’d argued. “It is a waste of resources to have men guarding us all the time. Besides,” she added, patting the 9mm pistol that was always on her belt, “I can take care of myself.”

  While no one doubted Terri was quite self-reliant and skilled to boot, Bishop wouldn’t budge. “You are the face, voice, and icon of the Alliance. There are always going to be people who disagree with what we’re doing. By its very nature, the act of governing often generates anger and ill will. You can’t please everyone. In addition to that, there are still dangerous men roaming Alliance territory. Sheriff Watts can’t ban every outlaw and desperado. What happens if one of these rogue individuals decides to take Hunter or you hostage? It’s happened before, hasn’t it?”

  So she had agreed, deciding to make the best of it. Terri had to admit it was nice to have them around when Bishop was away. But half of their personnel? Wouldn’t it be better to take along more experts?

  “I don’t need that many bodyguards, Slim,” she protested. “This is getting ridiculous. We should be utilizing those limited seats for people who can help our friends back east.”

  Slim shook his head. “Ma’am, we’ve been through this a hundred times already. I beg you, Miss Terri, please let me do my job. If nothing else, put yourself in my shoes. If something happened to you or the baby, would you want to be the guy who had to tell Mister Bishop?”

  Terri waved him off, knowing she wasn’t going to win the argument. “Okay, okay. I’ll quit bitching about it. Let’s get going.”

  After making sure she managed the motorhome’s steps and was out of earshot, Slim turned to Butter and remarked, “She’s so damned headstrong. One of these days she’s going to let that confidence override commonsense - and that is going to get her, and us, into trouble.”

  Butter nodded, accustomed to his friend complaining about Terri’s strong will and excessive determination. “I know,” he consoled his co-worker. “But remember what Mr. Beltran said when he asked us to take this job.”

  Nodding after some thought, Slim had to agree. “The boss was right… as usual.”

  After watching Butter head forward to one of the waiting transports, Slim mounted the steps and slid behind the motorhom
e’s steering wheel. He peered back into the cabin and spotted Terri sitting in a lounge chair, a seatbelt already fastened across her lap. The baby was secure in his crib. “Getting underway, ma’am,” he announced, and then shifted the transmission.

  As the convoy rolled out of Alpha, Mr. Beltran’s words echoed through Slim’s mind. “That woman is special, boys. She has the right combination of grit, love, mountain lion, and commonsense all wrapped up in one soul. Protect her. Keep her safe. She’s our best hope and deserves the chance to see it through.”

  Terri glanced away from her never-ending stack of paperwork, Slim’s usual activity at the helm drawing her attention. Her driver was pressing his radio earpiece tightly, a sure sign something important was being broadcast.

  She tried to hear his response, but the words were undecipherable. Intuition told her something was wrong.

  It became apparent that she wasn’t going to have to wait long to find out what was going on. Slim looked up into the mirror and said, “Miss Terri, please remain seated. We’re making an unscheduled stop.”

  “What’s going on, Slim?”

  “We just received a broadcast from Fort Hood, ma’am. The convoy is pulling to the side so you can be briefed.”

  “Bishop,” Terri whispered, throwing a worried look at Betty. “Something has gone wrong with Bishop.”

  A few moments later, she felt the trailer’s momentum slow as Slim let off the gas. Another seemingly endless minute passed before they navigated to the shoulder and stopped. Terri’s seatbelt was off in a second, and after a glance at Betty and Hunter, she was striding toward the coach’s door.

  Slim beat her to it, blocking her exit. “Ma’am, please wait just a moment. Colonel Jefferies is on his way back from the lead Humvee and will fill you in immediately.”

  “Is he alive?” her worried voice asked.

  Slim’s eyes flashed surprise at the question, yet again amazed at the woman’s level of perception. “Yes, ma’am, Mister Bishop is alive. All that I know at this moment is that his unit suffered extreme casualties, and your husband is in surgery at Fort Hood.”

  Terri stood motionless, her face filling with a thousand questions. Betty was there, pulling Terri close in a supportive embrace. “How bad is it?” the older woman asked.

  Before Slim could answer, a knock sounded on the door. The guard unlocked the latch, admitting the military officer.

  After removing his hat in respect, the colonel explained, “Ma’am, I just received a broadcast from Fort Hood on the long range com. The unit assigned to secure the manufacturing facility at Brighton, Texas has returned to the base with over a dozen wounded, including your husband. At this time, he is in surgery. That is all I know at the moment.”

  “How far away are we from the base?” Terri asked.

  “Three hours, ma’am, give or take.”

  The Chairwoman of the Alliance Council reappeared, replacing the frightened, concerned wife. “Well what are we waiting for, gentlemen? Our itinerary has just changed. Take me to Fort Hood.”

  Slim’s natural aversion to any deviation from the plan showed on his face, but before the security man could voice an objection, Terri’s stare bored into his eyes.

  “You were going to say something, Slim?” she challenged, her tone making it clear the effort would be wasted.

  “No, ma’am,” he answered wisely, and then turned to the colonel. “Please inform the base commander of our anticipated arrival. I’m not sure how long we’ll be staying.”

  “I’ll brief the rest of the convoy as well,” the officer noted. “I’ll also let the commanders in Austin know we’ve been delayed.”

  The colonel started to turn for the door, but then paused. Turning back to face Terri, he said, “We have the finest battle-trauma surgeons in the world at Hood, ma’am. I’m sure your husband will be okay.”

  Bishop was lying on his stomach, and it was pissing him off. His groggy mind registered the discomfort of the unnatural position, but was unsure what to do about it.

  Deciding that his side, back, or even a fetal arrangement would be more comfortable, his brain sent the signal to roll over.

  Somehow, despite the anesthesia, his arms answered the confused command, and he began to rise.

  A firm, but gentle hand pressed down on his back, easily defeating the weak effort. “No you don’t, mister. You need to stay off your back for a bit.”

  Bishop wanted to protest, but only managed about the weakest, nonthreatening growl he’d ever heard. It was almost funny.

  Somewhere, off in the distance, he heard a new voice. It was talking about him, so he abandoned the effort to roll over, instead focusing his attention on what was being said.

  “He had four pellets of buckshot in his left thigh,” a male voice reported. “There was some initial infection, minor muscle damage, and several skin lacerations.”

  “So he’s going to be okay?” came a familiar voice.

  I must be dreaming, Bishop thought. That sounded like Terri.

  “Yes, ma’am, he’s going to be fine. We had to dig around in there to remove the lead, but it was pretty straightforward. He’s going to be sore for a while, but after the staples come out, he will eventually regain full use of the limb. He had multiple contusions, lacerations and some severely bruised ribs, as well.”

  “Thank you, doctor. When can I talk to him?”

  “He should be coming around any minute now. But, I have to warn you. From the reports I’ve heard, his physical condition might be the least of our worries.”

  “What do you mean?” came that female voice again.

  Damn, Bishop thought. They must have given me some really, really strong happy juice. I could have sworn that was my wife.

  He drifted away from the rest of the conversation, choosing instead to dream about Terri and his son. They were all at the ranch together. It was nighttime, and mom and dad were showing Hunter the stars. His baby blues rivaled the stars’ twinkle.

  A rustle beside him ended the daydream, then a sweet scent registered through the haze. The aroma was familiar, warm, and inviting. He felt a soft touch graze his cheek… a kiss.

  The narcotic fog slowed his recognition, his brain failing to connect the dots. That nurse’s hair smells just like Terri’s, he decided. Nice of her to kiss me though. What a wonderful bedside manner.

  Then reality dawned, Bishop’s eyes fluttering open. “Terri?”

  “Hey, babe. How are you feeling?”

  Bishop’s throat was dry, his voice cracking. “Terri, what are you doing here? When… why…”

  She brushed his hair, leaning in to kiss his forehead and massage away the growing worry line there. “I was on my way to Austin. We heard on the radio that you’d been hurt. I thought I’d stop by and make sure you weren’t chasing any nurses around.”

  He moved his hand, reaching for her. She accepted the offering with a glowing smile, squeezing him gently.

  Emotion boiled up inside the Texan. He was so happy to see his bride, so thankful she was there. Tears started streaming down his cheek, embarrassing sobs that he couldn’t seem to control.

  Terri didn’t speak or move, she just held onto him, letting him work it out. Finally able to control his voice, Bishop stared at her with the saddest eyes she’d ever seen. “Things went so terribly wrong. It was so bad…. the bodies… dying men… we can’t let that happen again.”

  “I heard, baby. I’m here, and we’ll work it out. I’m so sorry this happened.”

  She watched as Bishop’s eyes lost their focus, the terror on his face indicative of some horror being relived from vivid memories. She felt the shiver roll through his frame, and then he began sobbing again.

  After he had recovered, she bent close and whispered, “I love you, Bishop. With all my heart and soul, I love you. I’m here for you. We will work this all out together. I promise.”

  For three days, Bishop remained bedridden at the doctor’s behest. Terri brought Hunter in as often as possibl
e, the infant seeming to give his father as much comfort as anything.

  On the fourth day, the couple began walking short distances, the circulation and exercise prescribed to accelerate Bishop’s healing.

  When it was just the two of them, during the quiet hours of the day, Bishop would speak of Brighton. His recounting began with short, snappy sentences, and then he’d stop, anger and frustration causing him to pull back into the recesses of his mind.

  Over time, he began to extend, including more and more details about what had gone wrong, why people had reacted the way they had, and why the killing had been so intense.

  Terri had been briefed on the mission’s outcome from the senior officers at Hood. She had seen the reports filed by the surviving soldiers. She knew it had been a terrible experience for all involved. She also understood that Bishop had been in the center of the whole ordeal.

  It was on the fifth day that General Owens stopped by to visit Bishop in the infirmary. Terri was at her husband’s bedside when the senior officer entered the room.

  After pleasantries and greetings had been exchanged, Bishop got serious. “General, we can’t use that same strategy again. We have to come up with something different.”

  Trying to placate the wounded man, Owens nodded politely and smiled. “Of course my officers will modify our procedures and mission profile, sir. I know they’re already working on improving the defensive capabilities for the next mission. There have even been some discussions on including some armor with each group. We’ll be better prepared next time.”

  Terri was surprised when Bishop sat straight up in the bed. For a moment, she thought he was going to physically accost the visitor, so intense were his eyes. “No, sir. We’re not going to do any such thing. There’s been another victim from the collapse, one I didn’t realize until Brighton… a causality that none of us considered, but now we know.”

  Owens was slightly taken aback, not familiar with anyone questioning his authority or decisions in this way. “I don’t understand?”