Bishop's Song (17 page)

“We need to get my wife and kid out of that shit,” added Grim, his determination now stronger than ever.

“We will, brother,” Deke reassured. “We will.”

Hugh wished everyone good luck and a round of “
See you back in Alpha soon,” and “Tell everyone we’ll be fine,” followed. The three contractors watched the pilot enter the plane, standing motionless until the craft was nothing but a speck in the western sky.

“Let’s get at it,” Deke said. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

A series of debates ensued as the men prepared for the trip to Matt’s house. After Bishop had briefed Deke and Grim on what he had both seen and heard about Martinsville, everyone had a different opinion on what should be loaded in the truck and what should be left at the airfield to be retrieved later.

The disagreement had centered on how mu
ch they could trust the park rangers and other residents of the area not to pilfer their stash while they were gone. One man argued they should pack heavy on firepower. Another maintained that in doing so a stray bullet from a hostile along the trip might mean the end of the mission – and their lives.

“It’s a fucking time bomb,” Grim commented, looking at the collection of gasoline and ammunition. If somebody gets off a lucky shot and hits that load in the back of the truck, we could all become
Airborne Rangers, blown sky high without a chute.”

“But everyone at the lodge knows what we’re up
to and why the plane kept coming back,” Bishop argued. “I’m normally a pretty trusting guy, but those folks are desperate. If we leave our supplies here, it might grow legs and walk off while we’re gone.”

It was finally decided to load the truck, stacking the dangerous supplies in the middle and surrounding them with food, clothing and other essentials that would hopefully provide a shield.

It was approaching dusk by the time the men had fueled the pickup and wedged in all of the supplies. A tarp covered the cargo, an effort to prevent prying eyes from viewing what essentially amounted to a king’s treasure to many of the people they would be passing by.

Bishop, having the most experience
operating a vehicle via night vision, was the designated driver, Deke and Grim riding in the back behind the cab. The truck was heavy in the rear, down on her shocks from the weight of the cargo. All of the men knew that wouldn’t be the case for long as consuming fuel and food would lighten the load as they progressed. They all hoped that the usage of ammunition wouldn’t contribute to the loss of weight.

Dusk was painting the early evening sky
as they approached the outskirts of town. During his earlier scouting trip, Bishop discovered a slightly different route that better accommodated a vehicle. Still, things appeared the same to Bishop until they entered what was essentially the main business district.

The
fire and smoke spitting from several trash barrels was the first hint of human occupation, the flickering light evident from a considerable distance through the NVD monocle. Deke, standing in the bed and scanning with his thermal unit reported at least three hotspots ahead. Noticing the aroma of burning wood when the breeze changed, and trio spotted the people congregated around the fires.

Bishop could tell they were thin, even with the limited depth perception provided by the night vision. There was something about the way their clothes hung from their shoulders that gave a hobo-like impression
, long before he could make out any details.

Always thinking of security, his attention was drawn to the fact that none of the small groups of people carried any weapons
– at least not long guns.

“Stop here,” hissed Deke through the open window. “Grim and I will dismount and
investigate. There’s a bunch of debris and shit up in the roadway up there, so we can’t just blow through at high speed anyway.”

“Losing a tire wouldn’t be good,” Bishop
reiterated.

Before he could let the truck roll to a stop, the two contractors hopped out of the bed, the boots making a solid thud on the pavement. Carrying weapons at low ready, they proceeded to walk in front of the truck, heads scanning right and left.

The first group of residents were so stunned by the appearance of the men and truck, they didn’t move or say anything. Men with long beards, ragtag clothing and hollow eyes stood and stared as Bishop passed. He didn’t hear anyone utter a single word, just blank expressions and the slight movement of their heads as the truck passed.

The second group of locals, having a longer field of view, had the time to gather their wits and react. One man took a step forward, raising his hand as if he wanted Bishop to stop. A small child
scurried away as if instructed to hide by some guardian.
Or to alert others
, thought Bishop.
I know drug dealers in the big cities use children as early warning devices… I wonder…

Grim must have had the same thought. Bishop heard hi
m hiss at Deke, “I think the advantage of surprise is no longer with us.”

They traveled another block, two abandoned, burned out vehicles blocking portions of the road. At one point, Bishop had to drive up on the sidewalk to pass. Broken glass was
strewn everywhere, some from windshields, some from store fronts. Trash, busted pieces of furniture and even a toilet seat littered the roadway. Travel was slow going.

At first, Bishop thought the arrow was simply a stick someone had thrown at Grim. Bouncing harmlessly o
ff the plates of his body armor, the operator froze momentarily, puzzled by what had just struck his chest. It wasn’t until he looked down at his feet that he realized someone had just shot at them.

“Move!” Deke ordered,
advancing in front of the truck at a trot. A moment later, Grim had caught up. Another arrow bounced off the truck, missing Bishop’s empty driver’s side window by less than a foot.

The operators were so distracted by the random shots, they didn’t see the crowd gathering up ahead, blocking the only passage out of town.

Deke spied the massed throng first, immediately holding up a fist in the air to signal a stop. The two scouts took a knee, weapons shouldered and ready to engage.

There looked to be about 30 souls trying to block the
rescuers’ escape. Shovels, axes, baseball bats and long pipes filled their hands.
A human roadblock
, thought Bishop.
Now what are we going to do with this?

“No one is shooting,” observed
Grim, surprise in his voice.

“I guess they’re out of ammo,”
Deke replied.

“Completely? Not a single bullet among them?”

Bishop didn’t care and definitely didn’t want to hang around and ask questions. “Get back in the truck,” he said. “I’m going through, one way or the other.”

Grim took his cue from Deke, waiting until his boss had nodded and then moving with hast
e to the bed. Bishop could hear his rifle thump the cab’s roof, a sure sign Grim was ready to cover his boss.

Deke cupped his hand and yelled, “You in the road! You people get the fuck out of the way
, or we will run you over. We’re just passing through.”

The throng ignored the warning.

Movement in the mirror caught Bishop’s eye, a quick glance confirming the worst. Another cluster of ten men were moving up behind them. “Movement on our six!” Bishop yelled at his team. An arrow whizzed past Deke’s head, clattering across the pavement.

“
C’mon, Deke! Let’s blow this pop stand before this shit gets out of hand!” Bishop yelled.

Deke rose, backed up two steps and then rushed for the truck. As soon as Bishop heard
the boots hit the bed, he pushed down the gas, hit the horn, flipped on the lights, and steered the grill right at the center of the approaching mass of people.

At 150 feet, he didn’t think they were going to move, visions of bodies flying like bowling pins as the truck plowed through.

At 100 feet, a few legs began to scurry, uncomfortable at the game of chicken they were playing with a quickly approaching bumper and grill.

At 50 feet, people were seriously trying to get out of the way.

Bishop hit the brakes. Despite the heavily laden truck having only achieved about 30 mph in the short distance, it must have seemed much faster to the pedestrians. He controlled the speed just enough to pass through at almost the same instant that the last person managed to get out of the way.

Someone swung a shovel handle or similar stick at the windshield as they passed, the wood breaking harmlessly against the roof-support above the driver’s side mirror. A few others threw rocks that might have scratched paint, but never threatened to stop the pickup’s progress.

And then they were in the clear.

Almost as suddenly as it had appeared, Martinsville disappeared. Before anyone could comment, open fields and dense forest began to border the
pavement, only the occasional home or structure visible from the road.

Bishop
, waiting until they were over a mile outside of town, slowed the truck. He eventually stopped in the middle of the road, not really concerned about annoying another driver.
That’s a bad habit
, he thought.
A traffic ticket would cause my insurance premiums to go up
.

“You guys
all right back there?” he called from the cab.

“We’re good. That was just fucking
bizarre, dude. It was zombie-like weird,” replied Deke.

Grim was shaken.
“I want a shower. Even though I didn’t touch any of them, I feel the need to bathe. I actually think they would have eaten us if we hadn’t busted through.”

The three men took a few moments to chill out, all of them casting casual glances back at the town as if the hordes of man-eaters
might be in hot pursuit.

The remainder of the drive to Matt’s house was uneventful, and all of the men from Texas were just fine with the monotony. Their host for the evening greeted them at the driveway, claiming to have heard their truck engine over two miles away.

“It just goes to show you how bad things have gotten,” Matt declared. “When a man can hear a truck engine so far away, well, that makes a statement.”

After everyone was settled on the back porch, Matt asked, “Did you secure the goods?”

“I’ve got everything you asked for,” replied Bishop.

“Even the dress?”

“Even the dress.”

Matt cast a glance toward the house, kitchen noises drifting through the screen door. He whispered, “That girl deserves a new dress. She’s been through hell.”

The host then turned his attention to the men surrounding him, apparently sizing them up for the first time. “You guys look like a bunch of hard cases. You might just have big enough nads to pull this off. I’ll be right back.”

Returning with a box, Matt
stared at Deke and then Bishop. “Is this the guy you thought looked like me?”

“He’s close enough,” replied Bishop with a grin. “You
’re both ugly fucks.”

“That
ain’t no shit,” laughed Matt, winking at Deke.

A uniform, papers, notebook and Bishop’s map came out of the box. Matt held
up the army fatigues, and again checked Deke over. “This will probably be a little loose on you, but a lot of guys have lost weight. I left my patches and insignias in place. I ain’t got no use for ‘em anymore.”

The powwow on the back porch continued for another five hours, the men studying maps, procedures and other information Matt thought the rescuers needed know. At times, it was difficult to absorb the core dump, but everyone took notes and paid rapt attention. All were professionals,
accustomed to being avalanched by massive quantities of data reviewed in short order by commanders and supervisors.

Finally, everyone agreed
the exercise was becoming redundant. The mentally exhausted men stood and stretched, working away the stiffness resulting from Matt’s extended tutelage. Everyone felt they knew their role.

Bishop led Matt to the truck and lifted the tarp covering the payment. Ignoring the ammo, salt and wa
x, he immediately reached for the frock, kept secure in a heavy plastic garment bag. Even in the dim moonlight, Bishop could see the smile engulf the fellow’s face. “She’ll love it!” Matt declared.