Pedestals of Ash Page 6

  Both of them looked at the crystal clear pool, and Kevin gave his father a look that asked, “Can I jump in?”

  Nick started to shake his head in disapproval when Terri interrupted, “If he wants to go for a swim, it’s okay. As a matter of fact, you both might enjoy a quick dip. If you don’t have any trunks, I have a pair of Bishop’s shorts in my room.”

  A quick father-son discussion ensued, resulting in Kevin’s scurrying out to the truck to get their bags. Terri noted he stopped on the way and picked up his rifle without even thinking about it. What a world we live in when a 16-year old boy treats his rifle like kids used to treat their cell phones. Kevin quickly returned with their belongings, and both men used Terri’s room to change. In a few minutes, two huge splashes interrupted the tranquil surroundings of the Manor’s gardens. If Terri hadn’t known better, she would have sworn there were two kids playing in the water.

  After a few laps, one semi-serious splash fight, and a minor wrestling match, Nick glided over to the edge and braced his arms on the side of the pool. Terri, sitting in one of the cushy recliners surrounding the pool deck, smiled and questioned, “Feel better?”

  Nick rubbed the water from his eyes and responded, “I can’t believe I’m swimming in a beautiful pool. This is one thing I thought would never happen again. I think we’ve finally made it to paradise!”

  Terri laughed and bragged, “We have a nice barter market and a fully stocked bar as well. We tried to get you to come with us, but noooooooo. You wanted to stay and help rebuild society. Nobody can say you weren’t invited.”

  Kevin splashed over and joined the conversation, “Miss Terri, you never said anything about a pool. I can’t believe how good this feels. If you had told me about the pool, I would’ve talked dad into coming sooner.”

  Nick playfully splashed water in his son’s face, causing the young man to duck underwater and push off the side. Terri took the opportunity to speak to his father, “So Master Sergeant, what brings you out west, if I may be so nosey? Last I heard, you were going to stay and help all of those poor refugees at the I-10 exit. What happened?”

  Nick sighed and looked down. His expression betrayed an intense exasperation tinged with sadness. “We did rebuild as best we could. We even managed to establish trade with a nearby town. After a few months, the people organized their own leaders and even had an election of sorts.” The big man’s eyes drifted off, and he gently shook his head. “You know me, Terri – I’m a soldier, not a politician. They wanted me to be a policeman, and I just couldn’t do that. They were concerned about folks pulling the tags off their mattresses while I was still worried about raiders, looters, and rogue gangs. When there weren’t any serious raids or problems the last month or so, I guess I kind of wore out my welcome.”

  Terri had trouble visualizing what Nick was describing to her. Bishop and she had tried to cross interstate 10 at a remote exit on their trip west. The exit had been taken over by a biker gang on one side and a drug gang on the other. Thousands of cars were stranded on the road, leaving the occupants without basic necessities of gas, water, food, or shelter. The two ruling gangs had systematically taken anything they wanted from the marooned motorists. Bishop and Nick initiated a war between the two sides, resulting in one gang being wiped out and the other taking off before the starving people overwhelmed them. Nick and his son had decided to stay and help those people rebuild.

  Terri shook her finger at Nick and playfully scolded him. “You and Bishop seem to have a way about you. Both of you seem to have this bad habit of pissing people off. Bishop is lucky I happen to like the alpha male type – not everyone does.”

  Nick laughed hard at Terri’s remark. “So, speaking of Mister Bishop, where would that old dog have wandered off to? You didn’t finally get enough of that cornball humor and do him in, did ya?”

  Terri giggled and shook her head. “No, I did not ‘do him in,’ although his jokes sometimes make me want to smack him a bit.” It took Terri about 10 minutes to explain that Bishop was on a mission for his old boss, who had literally just dropped in from the sky. When Terri got to the part about the Independents and the President of the United States, Nick’s eyes grew wide with disbelief.

  “Terri, you let him go do that by himself? Oh my God, girl! Does he really think he can make it all the way to Fort Bliss and convince the president to negotiate with this new group? Wow! I thought I lead an exciting life.”

  Terri went on to explain that the Colonel, Bishop’s old boss and friend of the president, believed there would be civil war between military units loyal to the president and those having sided with the Independents. The Colonel was worried any conflict would go nuclear and perhaps destroy what was left of the country.

  Nick took a bit to digest all of this information. He finally looked up and nodded, “I understand now. After thinking about it, I don’t blame this Colonel guy. I’ve never met a better man for the job than Bishop. Still, you have to be worried sick about him. Has there been any word?”

  Terri explained what little she knew after the Colonel’s grandson had returned with the medical equipment. It wasn’t much information, but the last time anyone saw Bishop, he was headed off into the desert north of Alpha. Terri tried to cheer herself up, “You know Bishop - he’s like a cat with all those lives. He knows the desert, and I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”

  Deacon Brown realized the survivors of the morning’s skirmish were more important at the moment than her grieving over the loss of her son. Promising herself she would take the time to properly mourn his death later, she set about earning her reputation as a strong leader. She moved around the perimeter of the church, calmly issuing commands, reassuring the frightened, and generally taking control of the chaos that followed in the aftermath of the attack. The hardest part was consoling the heartsick family members who had just lost loved ones. Diana knew all of them well, and she counted most as friends. None of these people had signed up to fight a war or do battle. Many were near or at retirement and until recently had planned to finish out their days in the quiet, peaceful life a small western community affords.

  Even though the congregation had held its ground, they had taken quite a few casualties. It would take days just to dig enough graves to bury everyone they had lost. Out of the 50 able-bodied men defending the compound, there were now 21 dead or badly wounded. The fight had expended over half of their remaining ammunition, and by the end of the day, their limited medical supplies would be exhausted.

  Even though Diana worked tirelessly, trying to recover and regroup, the grim reality of the situation could not be ignored. It became more and more obvious the church followers wouldn’t be able to hold out if attacked again. After making sure she had done everything possible in the parking lot, both to console and secure, she retired to her office and sat at her desk pondering the future. The sheer number of sick and wounded made evacuation practically impossible. Even if they did have the gasoline and transportation available to vacate the compound, the group had no place to go. No town or organized group of people would welcome 120 hungry, sick, and injured lodgers.

  While she had risen to the immediate challenge of the situation, the physical and emotional stress of the day clouded her mind, making long-term planning difficult, if not impossible. She had no doubt the “skinnies” would kill most of the congregation if she gave up. The women and children would suffer the most. She briefly entertained thoughts of surrender, but she might as well imitate Moses and lead her flock out into the desert. Thank heavens; she had not received instructions from God to lead her people into the wilderness.

  A knock on her office door interrupted her train of thought. A young man reported that one of the wounded attackers was talking. It seemed that Bishop had successfully made off with some precious medical equipment, and that had caused the leader of the skinnies to lose his temper and attack. The prisoner indicated the skinnies had marshaled over 100 men and commanded a large cache of ammunition and food store
d at the county courthouse.

  The mention of Bishop’s name caused Deacon Brown to recall a conversation she had had with him before he exited the compound. “Reach out to the people of Meraton,” he advised her. Deacon Brown strode to the main assembly area and located one of her key people. “Do we have a vehicle that could make it to Meraton and back? I think I can go there and get help. Is there anything left that can make it?”

  The confidant thought about his leader’s request for a moment and responded, “Yes ma’am, my truck is in the maintenance shed, and it has enough gas in it to get to Meraton and back. It’s nothing fancy ma’am, but it’ll get you there.”

  Deacon Brown thanked the man and headed to her office to pack a bag. While she was gathering her essentials, she informed her lieutenants of her plans. A couple of them were skeptical of her return, but she reassured them that she would indeed come back, hopefully with help of some kind. She planned on leaving for Meraton at first light.

  Smokey paced back and forth in the chief’s office waiting on Hawk’s report. When his second in command finally arrived, the look on Hawk’s face told the boss what he already knew. Hawk reported the bad news, “We lost 39 men and have another 14 wounded.”

  Smokey tried to minimize their losses. “We hurt them, too. I know we killed a bunch of them.”

  Hawk nodded and continued, “Look at the bright side – we have fewer mouths to feed. It will take us a bit to regroup though. Do you want to hit them again tonight?”

  Smokey had anticipated that question and surprised his man. “No, let’s take a day or so and make sure we put an end to this thing, once and for all. We should’ve taken more time to teach everyone the plan today. We were too slow, and it cost us. We can’t afford to fuck up like that again.”

  “You got it, boss. It ain’t like they’re going anywhere.”

  Bishop’s watch alarm beeped in his ear, and he groggily located and pressed the tiny button. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and gingerly stretched his body. He was stiff and very sore, but the few hours of shuteye had helped. The few mouthfuls of water he had pulled from the sand were all but forgotten; his mouth feeling gritty and parched once again.

  After checking the perimeter of his bivouac, he quickly dressed and slung his rifle. He was full of anticipation as he approached the solar still and his bush traps. He decided the still would probably produce the most water, so he checked the bushes first.

  Bishop bent down by the first bagged plant and felt the tip of the plastic bag. There was water in there! It wasn’t much, perhaps a finger’s worth in his cup, but still he would get a drink. The second bush was a bit of a disappointment, as it had produced less of the valuable fluid.

  He took a knee beside the still and gently removed the plastic cover. Inside, his cup was about half-full of water. Bishop fought the urge to immediately snatch the cup to his parched lips and down the liquid. He carefully picked up the vessel with both hands and slowly took one sip and then another. The water tasted pure and cool, a more palatable experience than his last drink. He sat the cup back down in the sand and looked at the plastic bag that had been the lid of his still. A few beads of water remained, and he bent over and licked up each and every one.

  The next task was to retrieve the water from the bush traps, and that took a bit of work so as not to spill a single, precious drop. After he added their small amounts of liquid into his cup, it was almost three quarters full. It wasn’t enough to survive long-term, but hopefully, it would suffice until he could find more.

  Bishop sat right where he was and gradually sipped water for almost 15 minutes, savoring every wet droplet. He listened to the few late afternoon desert birds talking to each other in the distance and was fascinated by two small lizards performing some sort of ritual around a pile of nearby rocks. The shadows were beginning to grow longer as the late afternoon sun clung to the western mountains. Bishop wanted to get into his gear and get moving while there was still a little light. It was always easier to break camp without using the night vision or fumbling around in complete darkness.

  He folded up the plastic bags and walked back to his shelter. He found the deer jerky and ate a large slice, washing it down with the last few gulps of water. That little bit of food and hydration seemed to recharge his body and mind. He finished packing, double-checked to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind, and continued his westward journey just as the sun slipped below the horizon.

  Terri, Nick, and Kevin spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on the events of the last few months. When their hunger got the best of them, they enjoyed a late supper of homemade burritos at Pete’s, and Nick threw back the first “hard” liquor he’d tasted in a long time. Dusk quickly faded into night, as Pete and Nick exchanged stories while Terri and Kevin laughed and inserted a few of their own.

  After locking up the Manor’s office, Betty stopped by the bar to see how things were going, and decided to hang around and enjoy some tall tales herself. Terri had shared the news of her pregnancy earlier in the afternoon, and Nick had squeezed her tightly at the announcement. However, the revelation prompted a continued barrage of jokes and innuendo, all focusing on the idea of a little Bishop, loose at the ranch. Even Terri had to admit, just the mental image of such a thing made her smile.

  “Well, you can’t just refer to the bambino as ‘Little Bishop’ forever,” Betty protested. You know, there is even the possibility that you might give birth to a little girl. Terri’s mind’s eye instantly photoshopped an image of a Shirley Temple singing “The Good Ship Lollipop,” except the chubby cherub was wearing Bishop’s face, surrounded by ringlets. Terri almost choked on the remaining bite of her burrito.

  After regaining her composure, Terri became thoughtful for a moment before responding to Betty’s statement. “Well, you know with all that has been going on, we haven’t even discussed it yet. I didn’t want to know the sex of the child when Doc did the ultrasound, so I guess we need to pick two names. And I suppose there is no time like the present to try out baby names for fit.” The conversation quickly focused on what the new addition to the ranch should be called. Everyone exuberantly blurted out ideas, and Terri couldn’t keep track of all the suggestions. When she protested, Pete volunteered paper and pencil so the mother-to-be could record all of their suggestions to share with Bishop later.

  Pete favored names that had stood the test of time like “James” and “Will.” Nick and Kevin suggested “Ranger, Hunter and Colton,” for a boy, along with “Terra, Riley, or Taylor,” for a girl.

  Betty shook her head in disapproval at the testosterone-influenced tags. “Oh my,” she declared, “why can’t it be something more in keeping with the times? Many people honor a relative by naming their little one after a favorite aunt, uncle, cousin, or grandparent. It might be a nice way to carry on a family name. How about it, Terri? Do you know any of Bishop’s relatives’ names? What about his parents?”

  Terri thought again, “No, not really. He doesn’t say much about any family. I guess I’m the same way… especially since Mom passed….” Terri paused, and got a pained expression, betraying her hurt. The memories of watching television that day came rushing back. Everyone immediately realized something was wrong, and silence fell over the otherwise giddy troop. “I’m sorry,” she faltered, “let’s talk about something else.”

  Nick decided to plug his earlier observation, while steering the conversation in a slightly new direction. “One thing is for certain. If it’s a boy, we don’t want him named Bishop. There’s only room in Texas for one of those! I propose a toast to absent friends and fast reunions.” Nick lifted his glass, as did everyone at the table. “To Bishop,” was heard from a chorus of voices, as the glasses of water, bathtub gin, tea and homemade beer clinked together. Nick’s toast had done the trick, and the rest of the evening was filled with laughter and good cheer.

  Traveling by the light of the moon, the group meandered back to the Manor. Terri’s mood became melancholy a
s she missed her mate. She would give anything if Bishop could have been here to enjoy the laughter shared among good friends. After saying her goodnights, Terri stood in the garden and looked up at the stars. She whispered, “I love you, Bishop – please come home to me soon.” A tear wandered down her cheek and was quickly wiped away. Terri took solace in her comfortable bed and was asleep within the hour.

  The desert around Bishop was relatively flat, with patches of cactus and scrub, widely spaced. There was a good moon and cloudless sky, so walking at night didn’t present much of a problem. More out of habit than necessity, he brought his rifle up and peered through the night vision every so often just to check the terrain ahead.

  After he had traveled a few hours, he paused to take a break and scan the horizon. As the green and black world generated by the night vision swept past, a familiar shape caught his attention, and he zeroed in on it immediately. It was a windmill. Thousands of these devices had been used on farms and ranches for over 150 years. One of the first uses of renewable energy, the wind would spin the blades and power a water pump. The pump would fill a trough used by livestock on remote stretches of land. A windmill meant water.

  Many ranches also installed these units in the general area of the main house as well, and Bishop approached with caution. Being shot as a burglar or looter wasn’t in his plan. In the last 20 years, many of these wind-driven pumps had been replaced with electric models, powered by solar panels. It wasn’t a matter of efficiency or capability, but one of cost. The windmill’s heavy tower, metal blades, and steel shaft were expensive to purchase when compared to a cheap electrical pump, powered by the sun. It wasn’t unusual to see the old mill looming over the newer technology, like a schoolteacher watching her student at the blackboard.

  Regardless of what was pumping, the mill’s tower was like a beacon to a man needing water. The one Bishop spotted was a remote unit with no buildings or homes in sight. Still, he circled the area quietly, just in case he hadn’t been the only one to notice this potential source of life. The ground indicated there were cattle in the area as the earth was chopped up with thousands of hoof prints. The piles of older dung and patches of hair on a nearby fence confirmed his assumption.