Payback: Alone: Book 7 Read online

  Skaggs walked backwards to the trailer, where his partner had just fallen asleep and was dreaming of an old girlfriend.

  Keeping his eyes on the sleeper, and on the three men walking toward them and still half a mile away, he kicked Rocky in the midsection.

  “Ow! Damn it! What in hell did you do that for?”

  “We got company.”

  Rocky scrambled out from beneath the trailer and stood beside his friend.

  “What do you think they want?”

  “Probably nothing. Probably just nomads going to a better place.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Come with me, and hold your tongue.”

  Skaggs led the way off the highway and into heavy brush just off the shoulder. It wasn’t as high as they were before, but they still had a commanding view of the rig and the Explorer.

  “Why don’t we just stay down there,” Rocky whispered. We weren’t doing anything wrong. Even if they’re cops, they ain’t got nothing on us.”

  Skaggs whispered back.

  “Of course they ain’t cops, dummy. There ain’t no cops anymore. I ain’t seen a cop in months. But if we stay down there and they happen to be the chatty types they might start up a long conversation with us. How you doin’, where you guys from, how’s your mama, where’d you go to high school?

  “Meanwhile they might wake up the guy in the truck. And we need to take him by surprise.

  “So just sit back out of sight and shut the hell up until they pass us by and they’re out of sight, understand?”

  “Geez, man. All I did was ask a simple question. You don’t have to bite my head off.”

  “Oh, will you shut up?”

  “Okay, okay.”

  If the three approaching men saw them and wondered why they suddenly disappeared they gave no indication. They didn’t spread apart and crouch low, their weapons drawn, as though they suspected an ambush.

  In all likelihood Skaggs and Rocky weren’t even spotted. They walked past, carrying on a casual conversation in lowered voices.

  Skaggs and Rocky, lying flat in the brush, thought they’d passed them by completely.

  Then one of the men spotted the inflated air mattress beneath the trailer.

  Apparently he liked it.

  For he crawled beneath the trailer far enough to grab a corner of it and dragged it out.

  As he unplugged the valve and the mattress started to deflate, Rocky began to rise and object.

  It was only Skaggs’ hand on his shoulder that prevented him from doing so.

  Still, he wasn’t happy.

  “But… it’s mine,” he wimpily said in a pitiful tone.

  It was not unlike a small boy who’d just lost his favorite toy to a bully.

  “Oh hush,” Skaggs whispered with considerable agitation. “We’ll get you another one.”

  “But… it was mine.”

  The nomads continued on their way and were soon out of sight.

  The look on Rocky’s face was equal parts pout and sadness.

  Rocky had always had a sensitive side. And even though he was actually older than Skaggs, Skaggs had always treated him as a little brother.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Skaggs told him as they made their way back to the blacktop. “I’ll stand watch for our guy in the sleeper. You crawl into the back of the trailer and see if there are any air mattresses inside.”

  Only one other time, in the late afternoon, did the pair have to retreat to their brushy hideaway. A lone walker came from the east. He carried his rifle at the ready, which was a bit unusual, and walked with a determined cockiness. It was almost as though he were looking for someone to pick a fight with.

  The pair passed on the opportunity and hid in the bushes until he was well in the distance.

  By that time it was almost dark.

  They didn’t expect to wait much longer.

  Chapter 35

  Dave was actually awake when the angry walker went by, but wasn’t aware of his presence.

  He’d awakened a few minutes before and saw it was still daylight. Then he checked his watch and determined he had about two hours left before the sky would start to darken.

  He was hungry.

  But he was still sleepy too. For several minutes he debated whether to get up and eat.

  As the man itching for a fight walked by the tractor, sleep won out and he slowly let himself drift off again.

  When he awakened again it was pitch black in the box.

  This sleeper wasn’t equipped with an opaque skylight, as many of the newer ones were. This one was old style, as dark as one might find locked inside a tin can.

  It was good for helping a driver sleep during daylight hours, but really sucked when that same driver had to wash up or get dressed. For he required some kind of light to do either.

  Dave was still hungry.

  But now he was something else as well. He was overcome by an overpowering need to empty his bladder.

  He didn’t even put his boots on.

  Likewise his gun belt and rifle were left behind.

  As was his habit, he didn’t expect to be gone long, and wouldn’t need any of those things.

  Normally when he woke up in such a state he merely opened up the sleeper’s hatch and crawled down to the pavement, relieved himself against the tractor’s wheels, then crawled back in a couple of pounds lighter and a whole lot more comfortable.

  And that’s exactly what he did.

  Only this time, his left foot had no sooner hit the pavement than a gruff voice behind him said, “Freeze, mister. If you don’t want to die today, I suggest you don’t move a muscle.”

  Dave was startled, but was good about keeping his cool under stressful situations.

  And he most certainly didn’t want to die today.

  “No problem. Exactly what is it you want?”

  “I’ll ask the questions, Mister. You just give me the answers I want to hear and we’ll part company still friends.”

  “Okay.”

  Dave didn’t know for sure. But he had the distinct impression at least one gun was aimed at his head or back.

  Maybe more.

  And under such circumstances it was his best option to be agreeable.

  “Is there anybody else in the truck?”

  “No sir. Just me.”

  “You got any gold or silver?”

  “I have a couple of coins and a gold chain in my right front pocket.”

  “Anything else in that pocket?”

  “No sir.”

  “Take out your coins and chain and drop them to the ground.”

  Dave started to move.

  “Slowly!”

  “Yes sir.”

  Thus far it had been Rocky handing out the instructions.

  And he thought he was doing a pretty good job. Especially since these two didn’t rob people very often.

  In Skaggs’ mind, though, he was moving way too slowly.

  Dave had just dropped his valuables to the ground and was awaiting his next instruction when he was suddenly hit very violently across the back of the neck with a tire iron.

  He immediately went to the ground, out like a light.

  Rocky was just as surprised as Dave was.

  “What in hell did you do that for?” he demanded of Skaggs. “He was complying.”

  “I know he was,” Skaggs said as he rifled through Dave’s pockets and came up with a set of car keys.

  “I just didn’t want to wait all damn night to get the hell out of here.”

  Chapter 36

  Dave didn’t start to stir until many hours later, when the mid-morning sun began to bake his face. He cracked open one eye, only to quickly clamp it closed again. The brilliant sun was just too much to handle all at once.

  He turned his head away from the sun and felt a stabbing pain on the back of his skull.

  Skaggs had hit him way harder than he had to.

  He was lucky he didn’t have a broken neck.


  He did have a slight concussion. But that would heal over the coming days.

  He had the confusion which usually accompanies such an injury.

  But that too would pass.

  Lastly, he had tremendous pain. His vision was blurred.

  He felt nauseated.

  And he wondered what in heck had just happened.

  He remembered a few things, although he wasn’t sure whether he dreamed them.

  Logic would dictate they weren’t dreams, for he certainly was no longer in bed.

  But logic wasn’t a thing which registered in a man whose brain was badly bruised from a brutal attack.

  There was… a voice. A voice from behind him, from a man he couldn’t see.

  It was dark… he thought, and he’d climbed out of the sleeper to… do something…

  Then it all came to an end.

  That was all he remembered.

  From the pain on the back of the neck he was able to determine he’d been struck. He was sure of that much, anyway.

  And he’d remembered from his Marine Corps days, when they taught him first aid and “buddy care”… that head injuries sometimes resulted in blood clots.

  It was a rather odd thought to suddenly pop into his mind, as he slowly sat himself up. As though his brain was trying to warn him of an impending danger.

  But that was the way the mind worked.

  In any event, the thought wasn’t there for long.

  Sitting up was a mistake, for his body was too badly damaged for such an affront. It was too soon for that. His body simply wasn’t ready for so monumental a task as becoming upright.

  It rebelled and sent Dave a message. A very distinct and indisputable message.

  That it wasn’t ready to get up.

  Not just yet.

  His vision darkened in a great pool of swirling black.

  He passed out, then crumpled to his side and went down again.

  At least he didn’t hit the back of his head again.

  He came to again several hours later. This time it was another kind of pain which had brought him around. For his face was on fire.

  It was late afternoon this time. His face had been in the sun for hours now and was lobster-red. It hadn’t blistered, for God had mercy on him and had given him a partly cloudy day.

  But it would burn like sin for a couple of days and be tender to the touch for several more.

  He was aided to some degree by a kindly passerby who encouraged him to sit up and move.

  “You’ve got to get out of the sun,” the man told him. “Or you’ll die.”

  With monumental effort on both their parts they managed to get him into the shade, leaning against the same huge tire he’d have pissed against if he hadn’t been knocked cold.

  He no longer felt the need to piss, but he vaguely felt that his pants were cool and slightly stiff.

  The body has a way of taking care of its own needs when one is unconscious.

  The kindly man placed a bottle of water in Dave’s hand and encouraged him to drink.

  “I know you’re thirsty,” he said. “But don’t gulp it or it’ll come right back up. Take tiny sips at first until you can tolerate it.”

  The man said he was once an Army medic. Had probably stomped on the same sand in Iraq as Dave. Yet many days later Dave would still struggle to recall his name.

  “I’m going to leave you here in the shade. You’ll be okay, but you need to rest and you need to rehydrate. I’m leaving you two more bottles at your side. Don’t even think about getting up and moving around until all three bottles are gone. You’ll know you’re hydrated enough when you feel the need to pee again.”

  In the foggy and painful world that was Dave’s mind he found the strength to eek out a “thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it, friend. Good luck to you.”

  He cursed the sun and felt more pain than he’d ever felt before. Between his head injury, his burning face and arms and his rebellious muscles, he wanted to pass out again.

  He longed for the relief that unconsciousness would bring him.

  But his mind was beginning to clear.

  And his mind told him he wouldn’t get to his daughter by sleeping off his injuries.

  With great effort he stumbled to his feet.

  And he got his wish and passed out again.

  When he awoke again it was dark.

  He wasn’t sure what happened. In the days and weeks ahead he’d go over it many times, and still wouldn’t be exactly sure what went down.

  All he knew for sure was that he was on a mission. That he had to force himself to retrieve his weapons from the sleeper cab. He had to crawl himself back into his Explorer. And he had to get down that highway. Before the sun started to rise again.

  He had to do all that. To get closer to Beth. To get her away from the evil people who’d taken her.

  To get her home again.

  It took him a full twenty minutes to crawl himself back into the sleeper cab. Once there he felt around in the dark and found his AR-15. Then his gun belt and backpack.

  He dragged them to the doorway and dropped them onto the pavement below, then dropped himself.

  It was at that point he reached into his pocket for his keys.

  When he realized they weren’t there, everything suddenly made sense. His mind suddenly found clarity and he wailed.

  “No! No!”

  He left his weapons behind and stumbled to where the Explorer once sat, and he hit his knees and cried.

  Not for himself, but for little Beth.

  And he felt for the very first time he might not be able to save her after all.

  Chapter 37

  By the time the sun’s first rays broke in the eastern skies behind him Dave had covered only four agonizing miles.

  He’d walked, stumbled and crawled his way along, only stopping occasionally to drink water.

  And he’d begrudgingly done that, and only because he knew he’d pass out again if he didn’t.

  He cursed anything and everything… the animals who’d stolen his vehicle… the pain he felt… the sun which had further assaulted him.

  The only one he didn’t curse was God, and that was because he still needed His help.

  Instead, he prayed for mercy. Again, not for his own sake, but for Beth’s.

  At mid morning he was still moving, and at a little faster pace.

  Dave wasn’t a man who typically wore hats. Years before he’d bought into his grandmother’s contention that men who wore hats all their lives eventually went bald because their follicles couldn’t breathe.

  But his sense of reasoning was coming back and he knew he was in danger of falling out again from heat exhaustion.

  He begrudgingly picked up a baseball cap lying next to a man who’d been shot dead some days before. Not through the head but in the back, by a cowardly bushwhacker.

  He figured the man would no longer need it.

  And while he’d never been a Dodgers fan, the cap would provide his head the shelter it needed from the unrelenting sun.

  It occurred to him he was moving at the pace of one of those zombies in all the movies he used to watch. Slowly, deliberately, one painful step at a time.

  Even worse, he’d had to stop frequently to rest.

  For when he started feeling dizzy and seeing stars, he knew it was either take a break or pass out again.

  And if he passed out again he might not wake up for several more hours.

  At mid-afternoon he crawled into a Walmart trailer. It had already been picked through, but not too many times. He could tell that because the pile of merchandize on the highway behind the trailer- those items deemed unworthy to previous looters, was barely three feet high.

  He needed bottled water. That was his primary goal, for he knew he’d be going through a lot of it. Secondarily were shoes… any soft shoe.

  For his combat boots were wearing blisters on his feet.

  And one thing he didn’t need at thi
s point were foot sores which would slow him down even more.

  The last thing he was looking for… nutrition… wasn’t necessarily a desire but rather a need. Without calories to sustain him and help him press farther, his body would slowly grind to a halt.

  Ten minutes later he’d found all those things plus one more.

  He’d seen a lot of nomads pushing baby strollers down the highways of late.

  Very few of them contained babies, but rather water and rations and anything else they needed but didn’t feel like carrying.

  Dave had thought the sight of them ridiculous at first, but couldn’t find fault in their resourcefulness.

  They weren’t unlike the urban dwellers who lived in close proximity to supermarkets and were pushing shopping carts through city streets each and every day.

  Like it or not, he was one of those nomads himself now.

  It made sense, therefore, for him to adopt some of their practices and habits.

  Shortly after he was back on the highway again, sporting a brand new pair of Nike running shoes.

  In the stroller, where a baby’s butt would normally rest, was a case of bottled drinking water. Atop it was a case of Wolf brand chili. No beans, Texas style.

  He fully expected to use his combat boots again at some point. They, their laces tied together, were looped over the handles of the stroller and rocked back and forth with each step he took.

  By nightfall he was exhausted and justifiably so.

  His mind was clearing, but many things were still foggy.

  Had he really met a man who said he used to be a medic, or was that something he imagined?

  If it was real, he’d ignored the man’s pleas to stay where he was and to rest.

  And if that were the case, he hoped it wasn’t a mistake which would come back to haunt him.

  The medic, if he was real, simply didn’t understand Dave’s plight. That he had a young daughter out there… somewhere, who was in dire straits.

  A daughter he’d crawl through burning desert sands, if that’s what it took, to get back.

  He thought about other things as well.

  He wondered how he’d blundered. How the man or men who attacked him had known about the Explorer. He thought he’d remembered looking up and down the highway when he’d parked it, to make sure no one had been nearby.