Holding Their Own VII: Phoenix Star (23 page)

Camp Pinion, New Mexico

August 1

“Terri?” he called from the parking lot. “Anybody home?”

The footfalls were clearly audible as someone inside the trailer moved. A moment later
, his wife’s face appeared at the door, and then she bounded down the steps and leapt into his arms.

“Well
, hello there,” a surprised Bishop greeted, easily lifting her in a hug.

“Oh, Bishop! I was really getting worried. You won’t believe what I found out about this place.” Her words were rushed, and he detected a hint of fear in her voice.

“Me, too. I’m still in shock over what I discovered on the mountain.”

Bishop quickly scanned the landscape
, wanting to make sure no one was within earshot. It would be easy to eavesdrop through the thin camper walls.

With Hunter b
eing snuggled, kissed, and flown around the camper like Superman (with his father’s arms for support), Bishop and Terri eventually managed to exchange what each had uncovered.

Both were taken aback by the other’s words.

“Worse yet,” Bishop announced, “We agreed to a meeting with the pastor this afternoon.”

“Oh, shit,” Terri remembered.

“Speaking of cursing…” Bishop grinned.

Terri flushed, quickly covering with, “Oh horse
feathers, I meant.”

“So the bottom line is we have a megalomaniac loose in the mountains of New Mexico,” Bishop offered
, keeping his voice low. “A well-funded, well equipped zealot who is using Christianity to manipulate a large group of followers.”

“But to what end?” Terri wondered.

“That’s unclear to me as well. Maybe he wants to start a new master race… it’s been done before, ya know,” Bishop speculated.

“No, that can’t be it. I saw people of all races in the camp. I don’t think skin color has anything to do with it.”

“It could be that we’re being a little too harsh on the man. Maybe he has all of those weapons for the worst-case scenario, and that’s all. He might not have any plans for expansion or domination, but just wants to hold this valley against the zombie hoards.”

Terri considered her husband’s analysis for a bit before responding. “That story doesn’t account for all of the food. If he had all that food, why were people going hungry in the town? If he had gasoline to haul all that stuff up here to the valley, why didn’t they run the water pumps and stay right where they were?”

Bishop nodded, conceding that there were still holes in any explanation they could come up with. “There’s only one way to find out. Ask the man face-to-face.”

Terri frowned, “I’m not sure I’d believe the answer.
I think we might get a half-truth.”

“That in itself would be at least a partial answer.”

Bishop heard footsteps crossing the lot a few seconds before Dean’s voice rang out. “You in the camper, the pastor can see you now.”

The stress of the pending meeting was already thick in the enclosed space, Dean’s tone adding to the foul air. “We are being summ
oned,” Bishop whispered.

Terri tried to make light, “An audience before the king.” Her nervousness still bled through.

“Let’s get this over with and get the hell out of here,” Bishop announced.

The rifle he had used for hunting was still in the camper, and he didn’t trust the flimsy door lock. Picking up the empty wea
pon, he said, “I’m going to secure this in the truck before we go.”

“Okay. Let me get mine too. After the wedding, I brought it in with me in case someone came by and tried to marry-off Hunter.”

Opening the camper door, he spied Dean and his two shadows, both young men in their early 20s and of heavy build. Bishop’s foot reached the first step when he heard a round being chambered in Dean’s rifle. He looked up into the barrel of the large caliber firearm. “Why do you have a gun?” the man challenged.

“I’m honoring my word, asshole.
Put down that pig shooter before I shove it up your ass. I promised to keep my weapons under lock and key, and need to secure this in my truck,” Bishop replied, anger filling his throat.

Dean lowered his aim, but didn’t unload the chambered round.
Shaking his head with a smirk of disbelief, Bishop strolled toward the pickup. He stopped when Dean made to follow. “What are you doing?” Bishop asked.

“I want to look inside
that camper shell. I’m in charge of security around here, and I don’t appreciate people like you having access to hiding places.”

Bishop railed, “People like me? Keep your nose out of my truck and camper. Our belongings are none of your business.”

“That’s for me to decide, Tex-ass.”

Bishop square
d up on the man, shoulders thrust back, balance shifting to the balls of his feet. He was trying desperately to keep his temper in check. That effort proved useless when Dean raised his rifle, an obvious move to aim the weapon at Bishop’s chest. It was a mistake.

Bishop stepped into the man, closer than the length of the barrel. Both of Dean’s
hands were holding the long gun; both of Bishop’s hands were free as he dropped his own useless weapon.

With his left hand, Bishop grabbed the barrel of Dean’s rifle and pulled. At the same instant, his right hand struck with the speed of an irate Diamondback.

The web between Bishop’s thumb and forefinger struck the larger man’s Adam’s apple with measured force. Pain exploded in Dean’s brain, his body trying to react, breathe, and turn away all at the same time. He lost his grip on the rifle, which now belonged to Bishop.

With both of his hands clutching his damaged windpipe, Dean was completely defenseless. Bishop
reversed the now-captured rifle’s course, butt-stroking his opponent hard in the stomach. Dean collapsed to his knees. In a blur of motion, Bishop draped the sling over Dean’s head, pulling the now-kneeling man sideways and using his body as a shield against the recently engaged guards. It was difficult to tell if the injured man’s wheezing was due to Bishop’s strike, or the rifle sling tightening around his throat.

The two men accompanying Dean found themselves looking into the muzzle of their boss’s rifle with Bishop hiding behind
a gasping, kneeling body.

“Put those weapons down, boys.
Set’em down real slow-like,” Bishop hissed.

The younger men were stunned. Only a second before
, their boss and ex-football coach had been in complete control of the stranger. They glanced at each other, unsure of how to react. Terri’s voice convinced them, strong and steady from the camper’s door.

“I’d do what he says,” she said, working the charging handle on her AR15 and leveling her aim. “I’ve seen him get mad before
, and it’s not pretty.”

“What’s going on out here?
” came a new voice, Pastor Pearson appearing at the edge of the lot. “You men… all of you… Please! Put those guns down.”

The preacher walked in front of Dean’s two helpers, pushing down their rifles. He turned to Terri and said, “Please, everybody settle down.”

And they did. Terri lowered her AR at the same time Bishop let Dean’s head out of the sling. The big man almost fell onto his face, ending up on all fours with a heaving chest. His breathing was labored and raspy.

Glancing at Bishop with a grimace, Pearson moved to Dean’s side, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and asking, “Dean… Dean
, are you all right?”

“He probably can’t say much right now,” Bishop answered, his tone
cold. “But he’ll be fine in a day or two. I didn’t strike to kill.”

There was anger in Pearson’s eyes when he glanced up at Bishop. For a moment, the Texan thought he was going to join the fray, but it passed. Turni
ng to Dean’s assistants, he instructed, “You two – come over here and help him to the infirmary.”

Terri
had stepped down from the camper’s stair, visually checking out her husband but finding no injury. She threw him a glance that said, “Now you’ve gone and done it,” but then smiled, her eyes saying. “But I understand why.”

Bishop picked up his own rifle, unsure what the preacher’s reaction would be. He was glad the magazines were still on his vest.
His hand rested there.

“I’m sorry about all this,” Pearson turned and said. “Dean has been on edge lately, and I’m not sure why. I did
not
want him to provoke you in any way, shape or form.”

Bishop nodded, his expression making it clear he wasn’t taking the matter too seriously. “Terri and I represent an unknown, and a lot of people can’t handle change or the unfamiliar. I give you my word, sir, I didn’t initiate that scuffle.”

Waving off Bishop’s words, Pearson also tried to make light of the situation. “Oh, I know Dean. I have no doubt he tried to establish himself on some machismo hierarchy. I’ve been working with him on tolerance and not always judging people so harshly. But then again, there have been times when his attitude has saved lives. Again, my apologies.”

“No problem, P
adre. Would you like to delay our meeting until the morning?” Bishop offered, a slight gleam of hope leaking through.

The pastor thought carefully about his response. He knew Dean would be charging like a
n offended bull after he recovered. He decided it best to conduct the meeting now. “I’d prefer we continued with our plans. That is, if you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” announced Bishop. “Let me secure th
ese weapons, and I’m good to go.”

A few minutes later
, the couple again found themselves in the pastor’s office, settling into the guest chairs as Pearson rolled up behind his desk.

“I suppose, given the incident a fe
w minutes ago, my question why you are so anxious to leave our camp is no longer necessary,” the preacher opened.

Bishop grunted, “Actually, P
arson, that had nothing to do with it. I worked in security before everything collapsed, and I can relate to Dean’s attitude. While he showed a lack of experience, I understand his motivations.”

Terri spoke up, “I also have some experience with local
ized government, even after society slid over the edge. There are two basic methods I’ve seen employed to reorganize and recover – one works and the other does not. I believe you’ve invoked the weaker of the two.”

Pearson’s eyebrows shot up at Terri’s statement. “I’m sorry… I don’t understand. Could you expand on that,
please?”

“I’ve seen local leadership that believed people’s liberties should be restricted. They implemented rules and regulations that sacrificed freedom
in exchange for order and control. On the opposite side of the spectrum, I’ve watched two communities that embraced initiative and personal freedoms. The autocratic attempt failed while the latter succeeded. The towns that expanded personal freedoms are approaching a standard of living close to pre-collapse levels.”

The pastor clasped his hands at his chin, digesting Terri’s statement. “So the country is reorganiz
ing. I’ve wondered about that…. We’re so isolated here and receive little outside news. I thought it would take longer.”

Bishop noted the man seemed disheartened by the news that
people were recovering.
What an odd reaction
, he thought. Deciding to test the man, he offered, “A few places are doing quite well, but they’re the exception, not the rule. I recently traveled across part of the country, and most of the US is still a no-man’s land. The federal government is trying to jumpstart things by focusing its resources along the Mississippi delta, but it’s not going well.”

Pearson immediately brightened at Bishop’s explanation, seemingly happy that the recovery was stalled. He switched his gaze back to Terri and asked, “The examples you’ve seen of people doing it the wrong way… what were their goals? What were they trying to accomplish?”

“Food,” she answered simply. “Most of the population is starving. Eating is the top priority almost everywhere.”

Their host leaned back in his chair, his gaze focusing on a point in time and s
pace somewhere above his guests’ heads. It was as if the man fell into a trance.