The Search (12 page)

     As he looked into Sarah’s eyes, she suddenly felt a sense of shame.

     “Nathan? Honey?”

     “Yes?”

     “I’m so sorry I tried to hurt you.”

Chapter 24

     Bryan was getting increasingly frustrated. After they left his hometown of San Angelo, they worked their way west. In every little town they stopped and asked if there was a clinic or hospital nearby.

     In nearly every case the answer was no.

     And in nearly every case, the townsfolk offered to help.

     “Who’s injured? I can have somebody run to get Hal. He’s not a doctor, but was a medic in the Army years ago.”

     Or, “Wait here. I’ll go find Sally. She’s a mom with seven kids. She’s used to patching people up.”

     Each time, Bryan said, “No. We’re looking for my wife. She got lost in the forest west of Eden. She was injured, and someone picked her up to get her treatment. But we don’t know where they went.”

     After his explanation, Bryan could see a consistent look of empathy in the townsfolks’ eyes.

     “I’m so sorry. I wish I could help.”

     Most of them offered to ask around, or to watch out for Sarah.

     And Bryan took them all up on their offers. He didn’t want to discourage kind people who were so willing to help him in his plight.

     But he knew it would be of little use. The telephone system in this part of Texas still wasn’t working. There simply weren’t enough surviving workers to man the operating systems. Nobody to maintain the lines. No one to talk to about signing up for service.

     There were a few people who’d foreseen a tragedy like Saris 7, or something else that would plunge the world into chaos.

     Before Saris 7 hit, they were called “preppers.” They were generally ridiculed for the efforts they took to stockpile goods and weapons and prepare for whatever crisis was coming.

     Before Saris 7 they were mostly considered lunatics or unstable.

     That all changed when Saris 7 hit the earth.

     After the collision, they were regarded as visionaries. The ones willing to share their provisions, or seeds, or security were regarded as heroes.

     The ones who said, “Go away. You could have prepared just as much as I did,” were considered spiteful and vindictive.

     But as a group, the preppers were good people. Even those who weren’t willing to share their provisions or ammunition were willing to help in other ways.

     Some by loaning seeds to less prepared citizens, with the promise of getting repaid after the first crop was in.

     Some by sharing their expertise: How to purify water for drinking. How to hunt or trap game. How to fish. How to can or dehydrate food during harvest months so it was still good in the dead of winter.

     And some preppers foresaw that communications after a worldwide crisis would be a major problem.

     Many preppers with the means and the foresight placed a ham radio in with their beef jerky, bullets and bouillon cubes.

     And many of them operated their radios each and every day, to help their neighbors in a variety of ways. To share the news about excess food or medicines that might be needed elsewhere.

     To send messages back and forth between family members who were separated by long distances.

     And to help find loved ones who had gone missing.

     Bryan and Bryan Too were driving through a tiny town called Bennett, which consisted of a single commercial street called appropriately enough, “Main Street.”

     There seemingly was nothing else there.

     But something caught Bryan’s eye as they drove through the little town on their way to Kerrville.

     A hand-painted sign hung with thumbtacks adjacent to an old mom and pop grocery store said:

HEADQUARTERS

CENTRAL TEXAS HAM RADIO NETWORK

     “Hold up. Turn around. Let’s go check that out.”

     Bryan Too pulled to the right side of the narrow street and made a U-turn. His wheels jumped the curb on the opposite side.

     “You know you can get a ticket for that, right?”

     Bryan looked at his driver and smiled.

     “At least you could in a previous life, when people still cared about stuff like that.”

     They parked the Humvee and walked inside the storefront.

     “Hello. Can I help you?”

     The man behind the counter was middle-aged, thin as a rail, and seemed friendly enough.

     “Hello. My name is Bryan Snyder. This is a friend of mine. His name is Bryan also.”

     “Steve Bastrop.”

     “Nice to meet you, Steve. We were driving by and noticed your sign. I’m hoping that maybe you can help us. What exactly is the “Central Texas Ham Radio Network?”

     “Well, it’s pretty much just as it sounds. It’s about two hundred ham radio operators who volunteer their time and equipment to help each other out, as well as the communities they live in, by sharing information.”

     “Really? We’ve got a ham radio back home, and I’ve never heard of you guys.”

     “We haven’t been off the ground for very long. Three months next week.”

     “So, how does it work?”

     “Well, we help in a variety of ways. Say, for example, our guy due west of here, near the New Mexico border. Last week they were hit with a vicious storm front. Golf-ball sized hail, driving winds which blew down a lot of structures and broke off a lot of trees.

     “We still had sunny blue skies, but it was headed our way. So he alerted us and we passed the word as best we could for everybody to cover their crops and batten down the hatches.”

     “Don’t you miss the days when everybody had a cell phone and it alerted you when bad weather was coming?”

     “Definitely. But I’m afraid those days are likely gone forever.”

     “Can you help find people?”

     “Oh, yes. That’s one of the more common things we do. Say, someone in Minnesota wants to know if his brother in Central Texas survived, so he monitors his ham radio… our volunteers broadcast several times a day that we’re the news and connection source for Central Texas, and eventually the guy in Minnesota stumbles across our broadcast. He asks if we can help him, so we ask him the last time he saw his brother, and get a full description.

     “He might say his brother’s name is John Smith, and he gives us his address. So we try to determine which of our operators is closest to that address and see if they’re willing to go and look for him. If they can find him, they either use their radio to let the two brothers reconnect, or at least send the guy in Minnesota a message. It may not be the message he wanted. It may be a message that his brother didn’t make it. But at least he won’t have to wonder anymore.”

     “So, maybe you could help me find my wife. She’s missing and we have reason to believe she’s injured. And that somebody picked her up and took her to a hospital or a clinic. Or maybe to a doctor’s house. We just don’t know where.”

     Steve took a pencil and a blank form from beneath the counter and filled it out as he asked questions.

     “What’s her full name, including her birth name?”

     “She was born Sarah Anna Speer. Her married name is now Snyder.”

     “Age?”

     “Thirty two.”

     “Height and weight?”

     “Five feet three. Around ninety pounds or so.”

     “Hair and eye color?”

     “Long brown hair, brown eyes.”

     “Last time you saw her, and the location?”

     “Seven days ago, in the woods northeast of Junction.”

     “And you’re sure she’s not still in the woods?”

     “Yes, we’re sure. We had a large search team and a bloodhound. He lost her scent on a roadway. The handler said she got into a vehicle or on a horse.”

     “What was she wearing?”

     “A gray jogging suit. And a white t-shirt that said, ‘Hot Stuff’ in pink letters.”

     “Does she have any distinguishing marks? Scars? Tattoos?”

     “She has a small scar over her left eye she usually tries to cover with makeup. She got it when she fell off her bike as a little girl.

     “And she has the tattoo of a bluebird on her right shoulder.”

     “You said she was injured. What was the nature of her injuries?”

     “We’re not sure. We were finding drops of blood in the woods. They also disappeared at the roadway where the dog lost her scent.”

     “Where can we reach you if one of our operators finds anything?”

     “We have our own ham radio back home. It’s monitored twenty four hours a day. Just tell them you have a message for Bryan Snyder and they’ll find me. The frequency is 106.47.”

     “Since you have a ham radio, would you be willing to join our radio network? You might be asked to help others in a similar situation.”

     “Sure.”

     “Okay. What I’ll do is pass this information on at five p.m. That’s our daily broadcast time, when all of our operators tune in to share information. It works just like the police when they do an all-points bulletin, or APB. All of our operators will write down the information about Sarah and they’ll spread the word to as many people as possible. They’ll also visit any doctors they know of in their area, and any clinics or hospitals they have access to. If they find her, they’ll get the information back to me here, and I’ll get ahold of you.

     “There’s only one other thing I want to ask from you, Bryan. I’m going to write down my frequency number on my card so you can notify me if you find her yourself. That’s so I can get the word out to our operators. Otherwise they may search for months for someone who’s already been located, when they could be putting their resources elsewhere.”

     “Of course. I’m really glad I’ve found you guys.”

     “Good luck in your search.”

Chapter 25

     Bryan headed for the door, then stopped and turned back.

     “Hey Steve, can I use your radio for a few minutes to check in?”

     “Sure. It’s in the back room. There’s coffee back there too, if you guys want some. My neighbor got some beans off the internet before Saris 7 hit. She grows it in her greenhouse. Best coffee in Texas.”

     “Thank you.”

     Bryan settled into an office chair in front of an Icom model IC-7851 ham radio and studied its options. It was a much higher tech version than the one he was used to.

     He tuned in the frequency for the compound while Bryan Too looked over his shoulder.

     “Hey, you guys, this is Bryan. Who’s at the desk?”

     “Hey, Bryan, it’s Sami. I only want to talk to you if you have Sarah by your side.”

     Bryan was crestfallen.

     “I’m sorry, Sami. I was hoping you were going to tell me that someone brought her home.”

     “No, honey, I’m sorry. I sure wish I could. We’ve got people scattered all over the place looking for her, though. Marty got the marquee at the truck stop working and has all the information about her for anyone driving by. He has volunteers going to all the farms and ranches east and west along Interstate 10. Brad and most of the guys are out doing the same thing in our area. There’s only a few of us left here. We’ll find her, Bryan. Don’t you worry.”

     “How about you, kid? How are you holding up?”

     “Well, you know, I have good days and bad days. It helps when I stay busy, so I’ve been manning the security station a lot.”

     “I’m sorry I missed John’s funeral. You know I loved him.”

     “I know you did, Bryan. I think everybody did. We laid him under that oak tree at the edge of the orchard. He told me one time that it reminded him of a tree he used to climb as a boy. And that it would be a good place to spend eternity. When I’m not at the desk, I spend a lot of time out there talking to him. I know he’s resting peacefully. And that helps a lot.”

     Bryan got the sense that Sami was close to tears, and changed the subject.

     “What’s the latest on Hannah?”

     “Mark’s here now. You want to talk to him?”

     “Sure.”

     “Bryan, you doing okay?”