Tread Fearless: Survival & Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 4) (9 page)

But first things first, he had work to do in Austin. He had to find the woman in his vision; the woman who looked eerily like Lisa. He
just hoped it wouldn’t result in a wild goose chase around or through the unfamiliar city. Dead reckoning would only get him so far, and if he wanted to continue avoiding the heavily populated areas, he needed to find a good map. Of course, his search for the woman might draw him into the heart of the city. And if that was the case, then he would find a place to stash the bike and go light and on foot.

As for risking further travel during daylight hours, Mark decided to avoid it as much as possible, but traveling at night, without a map, and on back country roads, would more than double his travel time to his intermediate destination, which was Pete’s place. He figured he could reach Pete’s in about two days, but the reality of it was probably more than twice that, and that excluded his search for the woman.

The mysterious woman had to be found. Mark made it his mission, and he didn’t care how far or long it would take him. He had to find her, not only for the sake of his sanity, but to redeem himself of Lisa. By rounding off his travel desires with a dose of reality, Mark controlled his impulse to keep peddling past Austin, and to head toward the city in a northwesterly direction at the first possible opportunity.

Mark pushed his bike up the road and stopped next to the still and now unconscious white man. Without checking for a pulse, Mark knew the man was dead. In a way, Mark was almost happy for him. The man was now free of his troubles, of the chaos brought about by the crazy disaster. Mark longed for the same freedom when he thought to take his own life, but the woman, the vision, it changed everything for him in a moment.

After dragging the two bodies off the road, Mark peddled on. He did as promised, and left the revolver with the white guy even though it would no longer help him. Mark would have kept it if it was in better shape, but it was old and splotched with rust, and not worth the weight it would add to his load. But he did keep the useful ammo and
empty casings. Their weight was inconsequential given their future barter value.

Mark spotted a still smoldering wreck of a ranch home on a distant hill, but he felt no desire to go investigate. However, he was keeping an eye open for a possible cache site, or someplace to stash his gear before venturing into the city on foot.

After turning left on Satterwhite Rd, yet another indiscriminate and seemingly isolated country road, Mark believed he was finally traveling in the right direction. But when the road took an unexpected ninety-degree turn to the northeast, he groaned and peddled hard up the steep grade before him. When he reached to top, he paused to catch his breath and look around.

The ground on which he stood was just high enough for him to see the tops of the tallest buildings in Austin, but better yet, it laid out the entire valley before him. Mark saw a freeway in the distance, about two miles away. At first he was confused about his location, so he removed his compass and looked north with the needle. It wasn’t Interstate 35 as he first thought, but rather some other major roadway that probably connected to I-35.

He didn’t see any movement on the freeway, but he removed a set of small binoculars from a saddle bag and had a look around anyway. About a mile down the road he saw another intersection that would take him due north, toward the city. After scanning the horizon one last time, Mark stowed his gear, took a drink from one of his water bottles, and remounted his bike.

Other than a barking dog, Mark heard nothing to indicate the presence of people nearby. In fact, he was surprised he didn’t see more people out and about. A part of him was fine with that, because the last thing he wanted was another fight with local desperate folks; it felt strange to peddle so close to a major city and not see another living soul. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew he’d find out soon enough.

Mark reached the intersection and looked at the road sign. “Turnersville Rd S,” was printed in black letters on a faded white metal
plate. Before him the narrow unmarked road rose slightly upward as it climbed another length of rolling ridgeline. He was thankful it was October and not August, or he would have been overly exhausted at the exertion of climbing the recent set of hills in the heat. As it was, the day was clear and warm, in the upper eighties by Mark’s reckoning, and it began to wear on him. He also wanted to stop for lunch, but he wasn’t about to do it in the open, and certainly not in the middle of a rural intersection.

Mark shoved off and began climbing the moderate grade after shifting down to a lower gear to better handle the weight he was carrying and towing. At the top of the grade he saw a large electrical substation sitting in a large clearing off to his left. He didn’t know much about substations, but it was one of the biggest ones he’d ever seen. Given the size and energy demands of Austin, Mark wasn’t surprised to see it sitting there, but he was surprised to see a guard detail posted within the razor wire topped fence.

He didn’t know how many men were guarding the substation, but he counted three. And though they were dressed in civilian clothes, all three were armed with rifles. The man at the gate, who was also closest to the road where Mark was peddling by, eyed him suspiciously with his weapon at port arms. Mark offered a casual wave, but the man didn’t reply.

The man’s reaction told Mark a lot about the atmosphere in the area. He was glad to see an organized guard detail, but that didn’t mean he’d be welcome in the area. Mark briefly considered turning around and taking a different route, but he decided against it. He was tired of climbing hills, and this was the last hill he would climb before finding a place to stop and eat.

When he crested the next hill, he saw a man and a woman standing at their fence along the road. They watched Mark approach and eyed him suspiciously. Mark waved to them too, and this time the woman waved back, but the courtesy seemed to annoy the man and he scowled at her.

The man was well-armed, with a scoped hunting rifle over his shoulder and a pistol on his hip. He didn’t look the least bit interested in talking to Mark, so he just kept on peddling. Mark noticed a radio on the man’s belt, and heard the man break squelch as soon as he rolled past.

Mark realized that whoever was running security in the area was doing a pretty good job of it, and he cursed himself for being so careless. He figured the guy at the substation must have radioed everyone about his presence, and he wondered if he’d be allowed to pass through the area unmolested. His question was answered when he crested yet another hill and looked down at an intersection.

One man stood in the middle of the intersection, but Mark knew he wasn’t the only one. The vegetation on all four corners of the intersection was thick with dense, green brush and trees, and most likely concealed one or more additional men as backup. Without pausing, Mark continued down the short incline and braked the bike to a stop ten feet shy of the man’s outstretched arm. He figured if he didn’t show any fear or suspicion the local security wouldn’t consider him a threat, or at least they wouldn’t think him dangerous despite the fact that he was well armed.

“Hold it right there, sir,” commanded the portly, middle aged man dressed in denim pants and a dark-green, buttoned-down shirt. A shiny piece of metal was clipped to his shirt pocket, but it didn’t look like a badge to Mark. The man’s right hand was resting on the butt of a pistol hanging from what looked to be a black, law enforcement service belt. That didn’t make the man a cop, for anyone could buy such hardware, but the man did have the bearing of a law enforcement guy, so Mark stopped and set his feet to either side of the center bar of his bike.

Mark heard rustling in the bushes to either side of him, and acting as if he didn’t hear a thing, he said, “Good day to you, sir. I’m just passing through . . . I mean no harm to anyone.”

The man cleared his throat and responded politely, “That may be so, but if it’s just the same to you I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“OK,” shrugged Mark. “I was about to stop for lunch anyway. You mind if I step off this bike?”

“I do. Now hold steady . . . I’m gonna call out the boys,” said the man.

Mark nodded and the man hollered, “Come on out, boys!”

Two men stepped clear of the bushes and onto the road at either side of Mark. Another man emerged from the bushes at the corner, behind where the man in the road was standing. Mark wasn’t sure if there were more, but it didn’t matter. The three additional men were all armed, two with shotguns and one with a scoped long rifle. The shotgun guys to either side of him were ready for action, but the rifle guy looked relaxed and at ease. His rifle remained slung over his shoulder as he came up to stand next to the portly man.

He allowed his mind to run through an attack scenario, but he didn’t plan to use it. Four-to-one odds weren’t good, but he figured he could manage if he needed to. But he also knew that these guys could have blasted him already if they wanted to. The best way to deal with this situation was to play it cool, and that’s exactly how Mark went forward.

“My name’s Mark . . . Mark Phillips,” said Mark, as he nodded to the men around him.

The man in the road began to advance forward while saying, “I’m Deputy Fuller, and these men are part of my security detail. I don’t see the point in introducing them to you now, but if things go smoothly then who knows.”

“Right,” replied Mark. And he added, “Who knows?” with a shrug.

The man next to Fuller stepped forward, hand extended, and said, “I’m Ed Patten. I’ve also been deputized by the Travis County Sherriff.”

Mark reached out to shake the man’s hand and Fuller snapped, “Ed, this is my operation. You’re working for me today.”

Ed ignored the comment and shook Mark’s hand. He turned to look over his shoulder at Fuller and looked back at Mark before saying, “We take turns being lead around here. Go ahead and step off your bike so we can have a chat.”

Mark nodded and said, “Sure,” and then swung his leg over the main center bar. When both feet were on the ground, Mark asked, “Do you
wanna talk here . . . in the middle of the road . . . or someplace more comfortable?”

“Well,” said Ed, “there’s not much trouble with cars around here, not with the fuel rationed and all . . . but our truck’s just around the corner. I think we should go there and sit on the tailgate for a spell. Sound good to you?”

“It does, actually. Thanks for the offer,” answered Mark.

“Don’t mention it,” replied Ed, and he turned to walk away, willingly exposing his back to Mark.

Mark pushed his bike along beside Ed and waited for the questions to begin. He actually preferred dealing with the sullen and moody Fuller than with the smooth talking Patten, but he had to admit, Patten’s method would be way less stressful and much more productive. When Ed didn’t ask a question during the walk to the truck, Mark asked, “Were you a cop before the disaster?”

“Huh? No, not me. I was a warehouse manager in north Austin. But Fuller . . . now he was a reserve deputy. And that makes him a little haughty at times,” said Ed with a slight rise in volume.

“I heard that, Patten,” remarked Gary, as he followed a few steps behind Mark’s bike trailer.

“I wanted you to hear it, Gary. Greg would give you more leadership time if you weren’t such a grumpy ol’ turkey.”

“Oh, and you’re better than me now?” challenged Gary.

“Not better . . . just different. Anyway,” said Ed. “So Mark, where you from?”

“San Antonio,” replied Mark.

“And where you heading?” asked Ed, as he reached the truck and released the tailgate. He leaned against the dropped gate and motioned for Mark to join him.

Before jumping up on the tailgate, Mark leaned his bike against the truck and said, “Well, I’ve got friends up north. One lives in Belton . . . and the other up near Fort Worth.”

“You’ve got some nice hardware on you . . . you former military?”

“Yes,” replied Mark, as he settled onto the tailgate. “Infantry, then Special Forces as an NCO. Did a few years and got out with a back injury. Been working for the VA at ‘Bamcee’ since then.”

“Bamcee?”

“Sorry,” replied Mark. “Brooks Army Medical Center . . . B . . . A . . . M . . . C. Have you heard of it? I helped wounded veterans transition into civilian life.”

“I have now,” smiled Ed. Then he sighed and looked Mark over as if trying to read his body language. Mark looked him over in response and was about to ask a question when Ed cleared his throat and said, “It’s been really crazy around here, what with all the hungry people and all. What’s it been like down in your neck of the woods?”

“I can’t speak for the city, but it’s been crazy for me. Problems in my neighborhood. Gangs taking over. Lots of shootings and such. They killed my girlfriend . . . it’s why I left,” said Mark, as he stared off into the distance. It was then that he noticed Deputy Fuller providing over-watch for Ed. Mark didn’t see the other two guys, be he assumed they were pulling security back at the intersection checkpoint.

Mark had a lot of questions for Ed, but he knew well enough to give the man time to ask his own questions first. When Mark looked back at Ed, he said, “I’m sorry to hear about your girlfriend. We’ve lost a lot of good people around here too. It’s been really hard to keep up with the burial details in fact, but we’re managing . . . cleaning the place up more and more every day . . . restoring order and all that.”