Tread Fearless: Survival & Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 4) (39 page)

The kids thought he went for gas, but Mark wasn’t as hopeful. He thought the man clearly ditched them on the side of the road; sat them under an overpass, handed them a cheap emergency survival kit, and told them to sit tight.

Mark didn’t know what kind of man could do such a thing to such sweet young boys, but he wasn’t happy about it. Despite his own desire to move on without the kids, Mark saw the man, their father, as an incredibly selfish jerk for leaving them. And not just leaving them, but leaving them under a very dangerous highway during dangerous times. As far as he was concerned, if he ever saw the guy, maybe he’d break his neck as a favor to the human race.

CHAPTER 16

WRANGLERS

J
ohn heard his name and began pulling himself up from a deep and enjoyably peaceful sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed and comfortable. And now someone was calling his name, shaking his shoulder even, and saying something about the radio. “The radio?” he said, groggily.

“Pete’s been trying to raise you,” said Jenna. “We have company.”

John sat up, now fully awake, and asked, “What kind of company?” He saw light seeping in under the edge of the tarp and asked, now fully annoyed, “What time is it?”

“It’s after seven,” replied Jenna, ignoring his mood as she rolled up her sleeping bag.

“How long have you been up? You should have woken me when you got up,” he grumbled.

“John, honey, don’t snap at me. I was following Pete’s orders. I haven’t been up that long . . . just enough to pee.”

The radio squawked and Pete’s voice said, “John. You there?”

Jenna bent down and pulled John’s radio off the belt he had laying next to him on the ground. She handed it to him without saying a word. “Sorry, babe,” he said, before keying the mike to say, “I’m here, Pete. What’s up?”

“A white pickup. Two guys with at least one rifle. Sitting in the driveway trying to figure out what to make of us, it looks like,” said Pete.

“On my way. Let me know if they get out.”

“Roger that.”

“Another white vehicle? What’s up with all the white vehicles?” mumbled John.

“What was that?” asked Jenna, as she began to stuff her sleeping bag into its carrier bag.

“Nothing. We have company. I’m gonna go see what they want.”

“By yourself?”

“Pete’s got me covered. Besides, I’m not afraid anymore.”

“What do you mean, you’re not afraid anymore?” she asked, as she reached for John’s sleeping bag.

He began to tie his boots, then shrugged and said, “I don’t know. I’m just not afraid anymore.”

“I didn’t think you were afraid before,” replied Jenna, as she looked at him curiously.

“Yeah. I guess fear shows differently on different folks. But I was always afraid for you and the kids. Like Adam working with Pete, and Abby’s diabetes. Our food, water, fuel . . . that sort of thing. There’s a lot to worry about. But I don’t know . . . I’m not as worried about those things as I was before.”

When he finished with his boots, John stood up and lifted the heavy tactical utility belt to his waist. Complete with holstered weapon, knife, ammo pouch, flashlight, and other essential equipment, it was a comfortable sort of heavy, very reassuring, and something he’d grown accustomed to since the beginning of the disaster. But he stopped before latching the quick-release buckle and dropped it onto his sleeping pad with a thud. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and walked away with only the radio in his hands.

John blinked in the light and lifted a hand to his brow to shield his eyes. He saw the truck, a big white Dodge Ram, its front end coated with dried mud, parked and idling near the road at the entrance to the feed lot. He began walking confidently toward it.

The radio squawked to life and John heard Pete ask, “John! Why are you not armed?” And in the same breath he radioed Adam to ask, “Do you have visual on papa-bear?”

“Affirmative,” replied Adam.

John turned the radio’s volume all the way down and walked toward the truck. He kept his arms out to his side, palms forward. When he got to within twenty yards of the big truck, the driver began revving the engine. The heavy diesel engine rocked the truck on its tires. John didn’t understand the display, but he wasn’t worried. He continued walking steadily toward the truck.

The driver of the truck flinched first. He popped the truck into reverse and backed out. The truck’s four, oversized, knobby tires kicked up a spray of dirt and gravel as he fled. When the truck reached the asphalt, the driver rocketed forward to leave behind a cloud of white exhaust in its wake.

John shrugged and turned to walk back to the hay barn. Pete was down and walking toward him, tactical rifle at the ready, and looking a little upset. He held out his arms in supplication to Pete and asked, “Did they see you step out with your rifle?”

“Maybe,” said Pete. “What are you doing . . . going up to them without any weapon? Are you so eager to test your non-aggression theory?”

To John, he sounded more annoyed than concerned. John looked at him and said, “It’s not a theory. Morning Paul,” he added, when Paul walked up with his shotgun at the ready. “Is this a response exercise?”

“Not funny, John. Those guys were armed,” said Pete.

“I know,” he replied. “One rifle, in the cab, and it wasn’t pointed at me.”

“What’s going on here?” asked Paul, as he picked up on the tension between John and Pete.

Pete sighed and said, “John’s testing a new theory. He believes his abilities can save him, save us when the lead starts flying.”

John was hurt by Pete’s cynicism, especially on the tail of the spiritual experience from his recent fall. Still, he knew his friend didn’t mean any offense. Pete, he knew, took a bit longer to come to terms with change than he did. Paul looked at John and said, “He’s done pretty well for himself so far.”

Pete turned to face Paul and said, “Yes. For himself. But for all of us? Seriously? Do you think he can stop a gang of armed people from
wiping us out . . . by himself . . . with his abilities?” With each break in his sentence, Pete held out his rifle in what John called “armed punctuation.” Pete only did it when he was agitated, and with whatever was in his hands.

“Pete,” said John, as he rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m not asking you to change. But I am asking you to trust me.”

Pete dropped his head briefly and then looked John in the eyes. After quickly brushing his nose with his hand, he said, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just . . . I don’t know. I’m not as trusting as you are with your . . . Oh, never mind. Those guys were trouble, John. I think we should pack up and get moving before they come back with reinforcements.”

John nodded and said, “I agree. But I’m surprised you let me sleep as long as you did.”

“It wasn’t my intent,” said Pete. And then added sheepishly, “I fell asleep.”

“Well, nothing came of it. We’re safe, and we’ll be ready to roll in an hour. Let’s get something to eat. There’s water boiling, and instant oatmeal waiting,” said John, cheerfully.

“I see that the extra sleep was good for you,” said Pete.

“It was. I recommend the same for you. Maybe we should stay here a little longer,” teased John.

“What? No, we need to roll,” replied Pete. “This place stinks – literally. And we’re probably still being hunted. With these low clouds, I’m thinking the rotary air support will be grounded till noon. We can make some good distance from here by then.”

“What do you say, Paul? Do you agree?” asked John.

“I’m ready to roll. I think we can be gone in less than an hour.”

“Alright then. Let’s eat and roll,” said John.

The company was packed and ready to roll. The three vehicles, inspected and topped off, were sitting ready in their convoy movement
order, pointing toward the road. John, Pete, Paul and Bonnie were gathered around the hood of the Suburban, looking at maps and discussing their route.

Jenna was just finishing up loading the Suburban, and everyone else was milling about, practically dancing and obviously excited to be moving again. Everyone but Abby. John’s young, teenaged daughter was sitting in the driver’s seat of the Suburban, digging out a small black bag from her larger backpack.

John waved to her when she looked up, and he wondered if she managed to pick up on his connection. It always intrigued him how some people could sense when they were being watched, and then make direct eye contact with the individual looking at them. He hoped it was possible anyway.

Abby waved back and smiled. She had just finished checking her blood sugar, and was preparing to give herself an insulin correction. John marveled at her strength and resolve, and dreaded the day when he would begin to feel the weight of her medical needs more directly.

They still had a three-month supply of insulin. And as long as the little electric cooler continued to function, John figured he had plenty of time to come up with more. Still, he reluctantly accepted the inevitable fact that one day her insulin would run out. It hurt too much to think about it now. And until then, he would stay focused on getting the company to their destination.

Once there, he would make it his personal mission to find Abby more insulin. Even if he had to travel across the country. One way or another, he would find a way to watch his daughter become a wife and mother. He owed her that much.

Pete was talking about how they could avoid Amarillo, and cut across Texas and into New Mexico before heading northwest into Colorado. Their destination was still many miles away, but it felt good to consider their progress. The company had traveled almost half the distance already, and if the second half went as well as the first, then they’d be at their destination in about a day or two.

“Incoming,” came over John’s radio. Everyone around the map heard the transmission and looked up. John and Pete turned to look up at Adam to see him pointing east from his position in the upper levels of the hay. “Report,” said Pete, with his radio already to his lips.

“Looks like three vehicles coming our way. The first vehicle is that white truck that was here this morning. There’s two more trucks behind it, one tan and one green. Both look like they have someone riding in the back, and they’ve got scoped hunting rifles,” replied Adam.

“Good report. Stand by for further orders,” said Pete.

“Wilco,” replied Adam.

Pete lowered the radio and called for Corbin and Marcus. He just managed to position them before he ordered the women and children to take cover behind the dually, which was still almost entirely under the hay barn.

The Dodge Ram pulled in and came to a stop almost exactly where it had sat earlier in the morning. The other two pickups pulled up along each side, bracketing the white truck. The two men riding in the truck beds stood up and rested their hunting rifles on the roofs of their respective cabs as soon as their trucks came to a stop. It all looked very orderly and trained to John.

Paul must have felt the same way because he said, “Looks like they’re expecting trouble.”

John nodded and said, while unlatching his tactical belt and handing it to Paul. “Hold this for me. I’m gonna go talk to those guys.” He then turned to Pete and said, “Stay here, Pete. I’ve got this. And please don’t point anything at them.”

“The boys will have you covered,” Pete replied, defensively.

“I’m fine with that. But we don’t need to escalate this thing. Let me go talk to the boss and I’ll be right back.” With that being said, John walked past the van, and in the same presentation of non-aggression he displayed earlier that morning, he spread his arms and displayed his palms forward.

But when he was about half the distance to the trucks, something strange happened. While he was walking, John just sort of slipped out
of himself to continue walking out-of-body. He turned to see his body standing still, as if it was frozen in place.

He was about to return to his body, but realized that with time standing still, he wasn’t in a hurry. When he looked around, he saw that nobody was moving. Like him – like his physical body – everyone was frozen in place and time. So John continued forward, and quickly examined the six men who presented such aggression against the company.