Holding Their Own VII: Phoenix Star (6 page)

The GPS indicated they were getting close to I-40, the thick red line of the major artery slowly scrolling down the small screen in the dash. When they were ten miles out, Bishop let off the gas and coasted to a stop.

The sun would be rising in a few hours, and he was beat. Terri’s rhythmical breathing and tilted neck indicated she had succumbed to exhaustion a few hours ago. Hunter was out as well.

Bishop was tired, hungry, stiff, and sick of driving. He’d kept their speed below 35, conserving precious fuel and giving him every chance of spotting an ambush, highwayman, or other ne’er-do-well. It was also boring as hell, especially when driving through scenery that failed to inspire.

He’d been looking for a lane, side road, or other location to turn off the pavement, but nothing had presented itself for the last hour. Not that there was any traffic or civilization to be worried about. Still, he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable in such an open space.

A quick check of the truck and camper uncovered no concerns. The tires appeared to be wearing evenly, and the hitch was secure. Addressing his rumbling stomach became the next order of business.

He didn’t want to set up the camper just yet. The noise and movement would disturb Terri, and the young mother needed her rest. Besides, he wanted some place to hide their campsite, and so far, the surrounding territory wasn’t cooperating.

The food bins inside the pickup’s shell had been divided into two categories – perishable and not. Letting food spoil would be inexcusable, so the order in which they consumed the fare was pragmatic and had little to do with appetite or the food pyramid.

Pulling out a plastic bin, he spotted a small bag of apples, several freshly dug potatoes, and a plastic container of green beans, no doubt grown in one of the many gardens that now occupied every open parcel of ground around Alpha. The earthy smell of the small red tubers made his mouth water.

His pack contained a German Infantry stove, a small metallic device that when folded was about the size of a deck of cards. Designed for use in the field, the unit took little space and was so simple it rarely malfunctioned. He would have some fried potatoes!

A jug of water allowed a sparing rinse and scrub, his fighting knife making quick, clean slices through the skins. He decided to mix in the beans. A feast!

He used the large pan from his mess kit, mixing the potatoes and beans together. They had learned a hard lesson about salt, packing several pounds for the trip. He quickly seasoned the dish with a pinch of the sprinkles from a large plastic bag of the granular mineral. Someone, somewhere in Alpha, had discovered a cache of small pepper packets that had once been passed out in fast food restaurants. Terri had bartered for a few handfuls to spice what were often bland creations.

Pausing to yearn for fresh onions or a slice of bacon, he shrugged and ignited a small cube of chemical fuel under the stove.
You can’t have everything,
he mused.
We should be thankful for this.

It took three fuel packets to heat the bean-juice to a boil and soften the potatoes to his liking. He used a fourth to heat coffee water while he arranged his apple slices and again salted the main course.

Using the tailgate as his dining table, Bishop savored the first forkful of the hot dish. A door opened, signaling Terri was awake and saving him a decision on whether or not to bother her. “Are you cooking something?” she asked, meandering to the back of the truck while rubbing sleepy eyes.

“Welcome to Bishop’s Desert Grill,” he greeted. “Beans and taters are the special of the day, madam.”

They shared the fork, each taking turns eating directly from the pan. Separate plates and utensils meant more dirty dishes and less available water. They giggled, both trying to eat the other’s bites, a few of the contests ending in a playful nudge, others in a kiss.

They finished eating, each taking pulls from Bishop’s Camelbak to wash down the meal. Terri couldn’t sample his coffee due to the caffeine and the pass-through to Hunter. Bishop carried the pan a few steps into the desert and used sand to clean the surfaces, following up with a conservative rinse and rub from the jug.

The couple relaxed a moment to digest their meal, sitting on the tailgate, holding each other, and gazing at the stars. Terri squeezed a little closer to her mate, nuzzling Bishop while he tried to locate the Big Dipper. “Do you really think we’ll find a good home?” Terri ventured, her mommy-mind unable to dismiss the topic.

“There has to be some place that isn’t complete chaos out there. Even if we’re isolated, as long as we are safe and have plenty to eat, I’m cool.”

Terri considered her husband’s statement for a bit before responding. “That works for a while, but eventually we are going to need other people. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a mountain woman, married to a mountain man with a life that borders on antisocial.”

Bishop nodded, “I doubt there’s another Alpha out there. Remember the last time the Colonel was in town? He basically told us as much. Will we find another Meraton? Probably not, given the amount of fuel we have left. I think our best bet is to stay away for a while and let Nick work to clear my name. Let things settle down. My greatest hope is that we can return to West Texas one day soon.”

“You’re right,” Terri sighed. “I just want the best for Hunter. I want him to go to school and have friends – a normal childhood. My mind is conflicted by different priorities these days.”

“I’m only going to drive until we have used half our fuel. I want to save the other half to get home. We’ll cross that bridge when…,” Bishop paused, a pained look crossing his face. “We can go back, Terri. We can go back right now. I can fight the charges against me. In a way, I’d welcome the opportunity to face my accusers.”

She shook her head, the reaction strong. “No. If it were a normal situation involving just you, an accuser and the search for justice, I wouldn’t have wanted to leave. But that’s not the case. There’s a war involved, a conflict that a lot of people are willing to sacrifice one man in order to avoid. There’s also the reconstruction of one country and the freedom of another region at play. Whoever set you up was powerful… very powerful, and they aren’t playing by the rules. We did the right thing. There’s no way you would have gotten a fair trial in any venue. Let the dust settle – the truth will come out.”

Bishop wasn’t sure. “And if we get killed out here in the badlands, was justice served? What if Nick and Diana lose control of the Alliance? Is the price for all that we have built worth my freedom? Will Meraton be better off without Pete and the market? I would sacrifice my life for what we were creating back there. Hell, I almost did several times. Why is this any different?”

Terri reached up and touched her husband’s cheek, admiration causing her heart to swell. “Your honor and willingness to sacrifice are a big part of why I love you. They are core definitions of a good man. But in this case, you can’t win, my love, and you’re being naïve if you think you can. You would be throwing your life away. Don’t you realize that? If you were convicted, even wrongly so, then the leadership of the Alliance would be considered polluted and corrupt. Everything we have accomplished would be questioned. If you were found innocent, then we’d still be viewed as tainted – only protecting our own. Whoever dreamed up this little false flag knew exactly what they were doing. The only way out is to let emotions die down… give it some time, and let the truth come out in a natural way.”  

Bishop’s expression flashed respect for Terri’s words, but he was still skeptical. “I’ve never been keen on politics. Never understood most of it. I’ll go with what you think is best. But if you change your mind, I’m willing to turn this truck around and head home. I’ll gladly face the music.”

Terri smiled, but it wasn’t bright. While her husband’s use of the phrase ‘home,’ had reminded her of the hope they shared to return one day, she was still troubled by circumstances out of their control. After all, this was the second time they had abandoned their residence just to survive. Now, they had no choice, but to place their faith in the hands of people they trusted and God. That was the best option, and she prayed they wouldn’t encounter anything that changed that.

With a belly full of warm food, Bishop found himself getting sloppy with his diligence. He needed sleep and was frustrated by the lack of a suitable spot to set up the camper.
The sun will be cresting soon – maybe it will be easier to find some place in the daylight
, he reasoned.

They were within a mile of interstate I-40, and he convinced himself that the interchange would be one of those remote exits that didn’t house any gas stations, shops, or stores.
No need to stop and scout ahead
, his tired mind justified.
Maybe there will be a lane or abandoned restaurant we can hide behind.

It was purely by chance that he recognized the outline of the truck stop’s sign against the background of the still-dark sky. The presence of even the most innocent remnants of civilization caused him to let off the accelerator and begin coasting. When the headlights illuminated a slight discoloration in the road, he hit the brakes. It probably saved their lives.

The front wheels became airborne as they cleared the edge of the ditch, gravity quickly pulling them down. Two feet behind the front wheels, the frame grounded with a horrible noise and forced an abrupt stop. Both Terri and he were slung forward from the motion, their bodies now straining against the seatbelts. The unsecured contents of the cab flew forward, a box of supplies hitting Bishop in the back of the head just as his skull was rebounding off the steering wheel.

The camper jackknifed, the hitch unable to deal with the unbridled forward momentum. Twisting on its A-frame, the front edge of the trailer slammed into the truck’s bumper, snapping the ball and joint connection with a loud crack and finally coming to rest on its side.

Hunter screamed at the same time Terri’s shout of “Shit!” echoed through the cab. She could only see dirt and part of the drainpipe through the front windshield, the downward angle of the truck keeping her pinned against her belt.

Hunter was her first thought, her hands seeking the infant’s body in the dark cab. Fighting down the terror that was welling inside, she suppressed the urge to immediately release her baby’s restraints. The child was upset, but seemed secure in his car seat. Then her thoughts turned to Bishop.

He was slumped over the steering wheel, the glow of dash lights making his posture seem twisted. He wasn’t moving. “Bishop!” she shouted, louder than intended. “Bishop, are you okay?”

He groaned, moving his head slightly and then stopping. “What the fuck…,” he whispered and then tried to move again. “Give me a minute…. Is Hunter okay…? Are you okay? Why is he screaming…?”

“I think we’re fine back here. Tell me what you feel.”

It all started rushing back into his stunned brain. The discoloration of the road. A tarp across the ditch? The signpost in the sky. A trap!

“Terri… hurry… someone set a trap. Get your rifle and get out. I can’t move just yet… dizzy… don’t let them get close to the truck or we’re screwed,” he managed.

She didn’t comprehend at first, unsure of what he was talking about and unclear if she had heard him correctly over Hunter’s vehement protests. She couldn’t get her seatbelt buckle to open. Something was wrong. Her shoulder was throbbing, and her leg was bleeding. She had to get Hunter free of his seat and comfort him. She had to take care of Bishop. She was confused, in pain, and scared to death.