Tread Fearless: Survival & Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 4) (29 page)

“They’re kind of hard to avoid if you live in Texas,” replied Mark.

Lauren grunted and said, “You’re grumpy?”

“Am not. I’m just trying to concentrate,” said Mark.

“Well don’t hurt yourself,” said Lauren, and she pulled out a paperback book with a sigh.

“What’cha reading?” asked Mark, without taking his eyes from the binoculars.

“Nothing you’d want to read,” she said.

“Map reading?”

“What?”

“I don’t want to read about map reading,” said Mark.

“It’s not about map reading. It’s about traps, snares and pathguards,” she said.

“Pathguards?”

“Yes . . . early warning, booby-traps, pits . . . and that sort of thing.”

“Dale Brown?”

“Close. Dale Martin. You heard of him?”

“I have. We received training from him in the service. He’s pretty good. Got something here,” said Mark. Lauren dropped her book and took a knee next to Mark. He handed her the binoculars and said, “See the middle window, just to the right of that big elm there, by the house?”

“Hmm, you’re right. Someone just opened a window. Any idea how many people are there?” she asked.

“Not yet, but someone’s home.”

“Want me to take over?”

“Sure,” said John.

After fifteen more minutes of watching the house, they identified at least two occupants, both of them teenagers, and both armed, one with a shotgun, and the other with a pistol, and a small one by the looks of it. Mark could only guess what it meant, but he decided to venture toward the house in the open, and not make a big deal about their approach. “Don’t you think your rifle might scare them a little?” asked Lauren.
Mark agreed, so he removed it from his shoulders and strapped it to the top of his bike trailer. It wasn’t as close at hand as he liked, but he knew he could get to it pretty quick if needed. Besides, he had his pistol.

After lifting the bikes over the fence, Mark and Lauren began walking casually toward the house, as if they meant only to pass through the area. When the smell of decay from the first dead cow reached them, Lauren began to gag. They moved to the right of the downwind reek, and approached the bloated cow at an oblique angle to the wind. “Look at this,” said Mark.

“Looks like someone took the leg with an axe,” said Lauren. “Why would someone take just a leg?”

“Someone who doesn’t know anything about butchering cattle . . . look here. You see this?” asked Mark, as he pointed to a small hole by the cow’s ear.

“A shot in the head for a leg?” stormed Lauren. “Who would shoot a cow in the head, hack off a leg, and then leave the rest of it here to rot? A cow this size could feed a dozen families for a week or more.”

Mark looked toward the house and said, “That’s a good question. Looks like a small caliber weapon too, like a twenty-two. I wonder . . .”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Just thinking the owner might have done this himself, is all,” said Mark, as he resumed pushing his bike toward the house. Their route across the five-acre field was a zig-zag pattern as they tried to avoid the other rotting carcasses. And in each case, the dead animal was shot in the head and missing a back leg. And the cuts were always to the hip.

The sight of the slaughter did nothing to distract from the smell, but it did make them wonder what was going on. Mark was familiar with the smell of death and decay, but it was never easy to breathe. He tried to avoid breathing through his nose as much as possible, and wished for some mentholated ointment to use on his upper lip. He read somewhere that that would do the trick, override the sickly-sweet rotting smell, but he never had an opportunity to test it.

When they were about half way across the pasture they heard two quick pops, followed by a zip and a whine. “Get down!” yelled Mark.

“Are they shooting at us?”

“Does it matter?” snapped Mark.

“I think it does,” she snapped back. “That didn’t sound like much of a gun.”

“Enough to kill you with a lucky shot, so stay down,” insisted Mark, as he began to low-crawl to the bike trailer.

As he reached for his M4, Lauren shouted, “Mark! Don’t!”

“I’m not gonna let them shoot at us all day. I’ll just lay down some covering fire so you can make your way to the left, over there, to that roll of hay,” he replied with a nod to indicate the direction he intended.

“You know they’re not shooting at us. Besides, they’re just kids . . . and probably scared,” she said.

The crack of a screen door slamming shut focused Mark’s attention back to the house, and he saw a very large German Shepherd sprinting quickly toward them. “Sage! Get back here this instant!” came a woman’s voice from the house. It was a young voice, not a girl’s, but not an old woman’s either. To Mark she sounded like she was in her late teens or early twenties. He saw her take cover behind a tree with a shotgun in her hands, and her dog continued to run into the pasture without her.

Mark reached for his pistol, and again Lauren said, “Mark. Don’t. I’ve got this,” and she reached into her cargo pocket. With a plastic baggie of beef jerky in her hand, she pulled out a large piece, knelt, and said, “Hey, Sage. Here boy.”

To Mark’s surprise, the big dog not only went to Lauren, but he did so with his tail wagging, as if returning to a friendly master. The dog eagerly accepted the treat, and the warm affection Lauren gave him. In moments, Sage was on his back letting Lauren rub his belly. But when Mark stood up, Sage jumped to his feet, and with his hackles raised, growled menacingly at Mark.

“He can tell you don’t like him,” said Lauren.

“I don’t like him?” exclaimed Mark. “I’d say it was the other way around.”

“Just relax. He can feel your tension,” said Lauren, in a cooing voice as she rubbed the dog’s thick neck fur. Sage turned and licked her face. “You didn’t grow up with dogs, did you?”

“It’s that obvious?” quipped Mark.

“Sit down and I’ll bring him to you.”

Mark complied and took a seat as ordered. She then walked over to Mark, handed him a piece of jerky, and motioned for him to offer it to Sage. “Here Sage . . . good boy. I’ve got a treat for you,” said Mark. The dog’s deep and throaty bark knocked Mark back with surprise, but the dog came over and accepted the treat in a wolfish grab, and immediately returned to Lauren’s side.

They saw the girl step from behind the tree, and Lauren said to Mark, “Now treat her nice too. We may just get the shelter and water we want.”

Mark grunted and waved to the girl. She waved back and began walking toward them. The shotgun was no longer being carried at port-arms, but the girl’s finger stayed close to the trigger. Mark respected her for that, and said, as sweetly as possible, “We’re sorry to have bothered you. We’re heading north, trying to stay off the main roads. Was wondering if we could have some water for the road?”

“I’ll do you one better,” said the young woman, with a slight drawl, as she stared intently at Lauren. “I’ll feed yawl dinner. I’ve never seen Sage take to someone like you before, miss.”

Mark offered another grunt and said, “Well, we appreciate anything you can offer, but you don’t have to feed us. We’re just looking to rest a bit before we continue on our way. By the way, my name’s Steve, and this is Julie.”

“I’m Casandra, but my friends call me Cass. You can call me, Cass if you’re friendly,” she offered intently.

“Are you alone, Cass?” asked Lauren, which was a question only she could ask. Mark knew that if he asked that question, it would have raised
some immediate suspicions. Mark was also pleased Lauren fell in line with their cover names, and that she did it without even batting an eyelash.

“Nope. My little brother’s at the house. He’s the one that fired the warning shot. I was watching you folks from the front door when Sage shot past me and charged out here.” She eyed Mark’s and Lauren’s firearms and said, “And thanks for not shooting him. He’s a good dog.”

“You can thank her,” said Mark, nodding toward Lauren. “I didn’t know she was a dog whisperer.”

Cass smiled at Lauren and said, “Well then, follow me to the house and we’ll see what we can do to help you on your way.”

They talked while they walked to the house. Mark quickly learned that Cass, nineteen, and her younger brother, Charlie, seventeen, had been alone since the eruption, which was now more than six days past. Their parents were out of town on business when the eruption occurred, and they hadn’t heard from them since. Not that that was a big deal to either of the mature teenagers, for they were accustomed to being left alone for a week or more at a time. Managing the ranch was no big deal for either one, alone or together, but there was still worry in her voice at the mention of them.

According to Cass, her dad sold farming equipment, so he traveled a lot, and usually always took their mom along. When asked about their well-being, Cass informed Mark that they were doing pretty good, but they were having trouble with people from the neighborhood, and she pointed off toward the middle school. She said someone was “wasting” her cows, and Mark knew exactly what she meant.

When they reached the house, Charlie was as pleasant as his sister, and right away he apologized for shooting at them. While standing on the front porch, he said, “We’ve been having problems with the neighbors, and dad’s gonna go ballistic when he gets back. Those were prime
steers those idiots killed. Heck, we’d give ’em one if they just came and asked. Better than wasting all that good meat.”

“Why don’t you guys harvest it right away?” asked Mark.

“We did, three of them anyway,” said Charlie. “But we can’t keep the power running. And what we saved is already starting to spoil. Everyone we know around here has left, so we can’t even give it away. And me, I’ve eaten so much beef I’m crapping stakes.”

“Charles Williams! We will not have that kind of talk around here! And in front of company?” snapped Cass, with shock and embarrassment.

“Sorry, Cass. It’s just that daddy’s gonna have my ass . . . sorry. I mean my butt, for this loss,” replied Charlie, as he wiped sweat from his forehead with a blue bandana.

The conversation continued on the front porch, and the story of the Williams children continued to unfold. In the hour that rolled by, Mark and Lauren learned almost everything they could about the teenagers and their parents. But when it was their turn to tell their story, neither Mark nor Lauren offered anything in terms of real information. They stayed generally neutral and ambiguous about the details of their journey, and did so for reasons they weren’t exactly sure of.

For the most part, Lauren let Mark do all the talking because he seemed the most comfortable with fabricating a fictional story about the two of them. She attributed it to his army training, but didn’t understand how lying came so easy for him. Still, for whatever reason, Lauren also felt the need to protect their identities as much as possible. It didn’t matter that the kids weren’t a threat, she knew they could be questioned, and the less they knew about them, the better off they’d be.

One thing Mark did explain was that they were planning to travel at night, and that they wanted to rest for a few hours. Cass and Charlie understood, and opened the hay barn for the travelers at their request. Cass politely offered up her parent’s bedroom, but Mark insisted on not intruding, and told them he preferred to stay with his equipment. They did, however, accept a shower, so Charlie went and started the generator.

With hot food on the grill, Mark approached Charlie with an idea; a plan to mitigate their losses to the leg-stealing cow waster. Charlie liked the plan because he had no idea how they were killing his cattle so quickly and quietly. So, with Cass’ approval, the two men made plans to address the problem, one that Mark committed to help them resolve before they left, even if it took a few days.

Clean, and with full stomachs, Mark and Lauren went to the barn and slept soundly on a tarp dropped over a loose pile of hay. Mark didn’t worry the least bit about sleeping because Sage took up position next to Lauren. At first, Mark didn’t understand the instant connection between Lauren and the dog, but when he saw a picture of the Williams family, he immediately noticed how much Lauren resembled Cass’ mom. That didn’t explain the depth of the bond, for Lauren had to smell different to the dog than did Mrs. Williams, but it did help ease his mind on the subject.

As for the dog, Mark knew he would alert them to company no matter who it was, and for the first time he actually wished they had a dog to take along with them. A four-legged companion of Sage’s quality would be a welcome and formidable asset to their little group, and he wondered if Cass would be willing to part with him. He then chided himself for being such a selfish pig. Cass and Charlie probably needed Sage more than they did, and with that thought, Mark drifted off to sleep, content for the first time since losing Lisa to sleep safely and securely in the company of strangers.

CHAPTER 12

EVASION