Copperheads - 12 (15 page)

After a few hours of peekaboo and roughhousing, Terri decided it was time to address the white elephant in the room. “Penny for your thoughts, Mr. SAINT team boss man. Soooo…. are you going to take the assignment?” she asked, trying hard not to sound overly tentative.

Without pause, Bishop’s response shocked his wife. “Yes. If Nick can provide a rather lengthy list of items, I think my team is about the best the Alliance can muster at the moment. The more I think about Diana’s little game of spy versus spy, the more it makes sense to me. Besides, I love staying on this boat, and it will take a while for Alpha to gather that many replacement truck drivers and rigs. I figure we can all lounge around in luxury until they do, and Diana will pick up the tab.”

It was rare that Terri couldn’t read her husband like a book. “What’s the real reason, Bishop?”

With a shrug, the Texan retorted, “Like I said, we might as well enjoy ourselves while we can. I can’t think of alternative SAINT mission that would include such nice digs on the taxpayer’s credit card. Why not take advantage of the perks when we can?”

“Bullshit,” Terri countered, her hands flying to her hips. “Spill the beans, tough guy. Spit it out.”

The Texan interrupted the tickle fight and held his son up as if making a presentation. In a voice laced with emotion, he admitted, “This is the reason why I’m taking the job. This little guy right here. I made up my mind as soon as we started playing a few hours ago.”

“Hunter?” Terri frowned, unable to connect Bishop’s dots. “Our
son
is the reason why you’ve decided to go to Mexico?”

“Yes,” her husband answered in his most serious tone. “Seeing that little one die in the village yesterday reminded me of something an old ranch hand told me when I was a kid,” he paused to kiss Hunter on his forehead before continuing. “Did I ever tell you about Stubby?”

Terri frowned, “Stubby? No, that name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Stubby had lost an arm in Vietnam. I asked him once if he regretted being drafted and having to go fight in Southeast Asia. He said he had volunteered … signed up on his own accord.”

“Wait a second. You had a war hero who had lost a limb, and you guys called him Stubby?” Terri asked, not quite believing her husband’s tale, and definitely not seeing what it had to do with Mexico. “What a bunch of assholes.”

Shaking his head, Bishop said, “There you go again, flying off the handle. We had called him Stubby since high school because he was just over five feet tall, not because of his wounds. Anyway, I asked him why he had joined the Army. He said he went off to war so his sons and grandsons wouldn’t have to, and he had no regrets. That child that died in your arms could be Hunter in a few years. If we don’t take care of molehills before they become mountains, our child may have to go and wage war on some distant battlefield. I have a really bad feeling about the storm that is brewing south of the border, and I think Diana and Nick are right. It’s better to nip this thing in the bud rather than stand back and watch it blossom into a really big problem. Seeing Hunter today reinforced those thoughts. I now understand Stub’s logic.”

Terri tilted her head and smiled, quickly moving to her husband’s side. “It’s times like these that remind me of why I love you so much,” she responded softly. “You are truly a good man.”

The Texan blushed, but only a little. “And you’re
truly
a special woman. That’s why I want you to go along with us. I need you on this little excursion. I need someone who speaks the language and whose judgement I know that I can trust.”

For the second time in only a few minutes, Terri found herself completely surprised by Bishop’s words. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I know you’re a little taken back by my invitation, but it’s true. We’re going to be heading into unexplored territory, and I want you by my side. In all the Alliance, you’ve got the best head on your shoulders when it comes to this sort of thing. I want you there beside me. I think it improves our odds.”

Her only response was to kiss him on the cheek, and then she sprang, tackling Bishop and reigniting the roughhousing. The houseboat soon filled with the cackle of laughter and joy, sounds of a happy family playing together.

Hunter, as usual, emerged victorious.

May watched her mother patching the bullet holes in the recovered houseboat, the glistening white gel coat in stark contrast to the sagging, leather-like skin of Hannah’s arm.

“You’re not that old,” she whispered in a low tone, not intending for her mother to hear.

Indeed, Hannah hadn’t weathered the downfall very well. The daily stress of survival, loss of a husband and daughter, and the ongoing saga of life had aged the woman well beyond her years.

May acknowledged that part of the reason for her mother’s premature aging was the cigarettes. Everybody knew smoking was bad for the lungs
and
the skin, especially when people had do go to extreme measures to satisfy their habit.

The youngest sister could still remember waking up one morning to find her mother missing. After touring the marina while desperately calling her mom’s name, she spied a lone figure roaming in the distance, wandering around what had once been a small, roadside tavern. For a moment, she had thought her mother had finally gone insane with grief over April’s disappearance.

As she approached, she was relieved to find Hannah meandering around the parking lot, a plastic trash bag in her hand. “Mom, what are you doing? What’s wrong?”

“I’m gathering up cigarette butts,” came her matter-of-fact reply. “People liked to smoke and drink, and I’m finding hundreds of stubs around here. I’m going to dry out the tobacco and roll my own.”

Watching her mother unwrap hundreds of little tubes of tobacco … each and every one having been in some stranger’s mouth, made May gag. All the while, Hannah seemed unfazed, even giddy at the prospect of once again enjoying the sensation of hot smoke and nicotine. After two days of drying the scraps of brown leaf in the sun, her mother produced the thinnest paper available, twisted a pinch, licked the roll like a cowboy on the range, and lit the makeshift coffin nail.

Now, today, the grotesque habit didn’t even phase Hannah’s youngest daughter. May had aged as well, morphing into something that neither her parents, nor her sister, would ever have expected.

“Apocalypses have a way of doing that to people,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, mom. I have to do what I have to do.”

Stepping closer and speaking up so her mother could hear, May said, “I’m going out with Ricky in a while. Do you need anything before I leave?”

Hannah turned to study her youngest, “Are you sure you two are only going fishing? Something about that boy bothers me. He has too much meanness in his eyes for such a young man, and he’s way, way too comfortable with that fancy gun of his.”

“Mom, you’re such a worry wart,” May countered, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “Rick and I are going to go fishing, and that’s all there is to it. Besides, having a bunch of armed men around seems to be the norm these days,” she added, nodding toward the Alliance men on the next pier.

“They’re here for a good reason and are professional soldiers. Rick is just a kid from Del Rio who stares at your boobs way too much. Besides, I thought you were a little enamored with that big one from Alpha. He seems like a nice boy. Big as a mountain, but a gentle soul if I’m reading him right.”

“Butter? Oh, I like him just fine, but we’re just friends. Besides, he’ll be leaving in a few days.”

Hannah shrugged, returning to her task.

April stared at her mother for a time, a melancholy fog rolling in, eventually dominating the youngest daughter’s mood. “I know worrying about April is killing you, mom. I’m going to find her,” she whispered. “And then I’m going to bring her home, no matter what it takes.”

Turning away, April noted the sun’s position. It was time.

“I’ll be back in a few hours, Mom,” she informed her mother. “If my bike doesn’t break down again.”

“Be careful, sweetie,” Hannah answered. “Please don’t be out too late after dark. You know how I worry.”

May entered the warehouse and scanned the interior, the muzzle of her 12-gauge in unison with her sweeping eyes.

“It’s okay,” a familiar voice sounded from the darkness. “There are only Quakers here.”

May acknowledged the voice by lowering her weapon and continuing down a narrow passage toward the interior.

Rounding the final corner brought the low, yellow hue of several candles perched on a ragtag assortment of old saucers and pans. Strings and gobs of old wax drippings signaled the age and usage history of the lighting.

One by one, May glanced at the pale expressions brightened by the dim illumination. Each one represented a tale of horror, heartache, and woe. There was Ray, her second in command and the group’s best shot. Martina was next, her mother having been taken the same day as April. A series of anguished faces appeared, over 30 pairs of tormented eyes staring back at their leader.

A meeting of all the members was dangerous but necessary. Every second they spent in the same location increased the chances of their discovery and capture – an event that would ultimately lead to a ghastly, excruciating death. May, knowing that time wasn’t on their side, got right down to business.

“There is going to be a second convoy to Mexico,” she announced in a loud and clear voice that was laced with disgust. “Evidently, our friends in the U.S. didn’t learn their lesson the first time.”

The news brought a low murmur from the gathering, some of the hushed voices angry, some surprised. None were happy.

“This second procession will meet the same fate as the first,” May promised. “This time, we will need to be far, far more cautious. The Alliance of Texas will be guarding this second shipment, and they will be expecting trouble. We’re going to have to get creative this time.”

“Do you know when they plan to move?” a question fired back. “Are you sure this isn’t a trap to draw us out?”

May grunted at the inquiry, “No need to worry, my friends. My source is a young man who is quite enamored by my charms. He is a naïve, muscle-bound buffoon. He will tell me anything I want to know. In a few days, I’ll have their itinerary, route, and the full composition of their security precautions.”

Again, the room was filled with rumblings and whispered comments, but May ignored them. “So far the Alliance doesn’t know of our existence. Our efforts to keep a low profile have been successful, but that won’t last long if we become careless. The team they have dispatched to Amistad is led by some very competent individuals. They are no fools and are very capable. We should not underestimate them.”

“And you’re sure they’re not siding with the U.S.A. and the Copperheads?” sounded the same inquisitive voice from the darkness. “How we can be sure they aren’t the enemy?”

It was a common question and summarized the ongoing debate that had divided the group for the past few months.

The Copperheads had been named after the segment of the white U.S. population who supported slavery before the American Civil War. The parallel was undeniable. Just like the Deep South in the early 1800s, an entire economic infrastructure had blossomed around the slave trade. Those who benefited and supported indentured servitude were assigned the snake-like moniker.

The Quakers who traveled to the New World existed on the opposite side of the spectrum. From the very beginning, their leaders spoke out against the practice of slavery and were the first to formally organize political groups of abolitionists. They played a key role in the Union’s anti-slavery sentiment and were considered enlightened by most of Europe and the northern states.