Death Comes Calling (Ranger Book 3) Page 3

  He should have stopped then and there. But he couldn’t. He was committed. He had no Plan B.

  If he didn’t take the shot, if he merely left to come back another day, the major would question the kid. He’d know someone tried to set him up.

  He’d put two and two together and come up with Steve.

  And he’d either be on his game, or he’d go looking for Steve instead of the other way around.

  Neither was an acceptable prospect.

  So Steve had to go ahead with his plan, like it or not.

  He trained his sights on the front porch of the little old lady’s house. With any luck he still had a couple of minutes to calm himself down and regain his composure. Hopefully the major was taking a nap. He’d have to wake himself up and then put on his clothing. Tie his shoes. Ask the boy why in hell he was banging on his door.

  No such luck. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the Ranger and the boy scurrying across the yard adjacent to the old lady’s house, heading her way.

  “Damn.”

  Still, he was committed. He had to take the shot. He had no other choice.

  Steve was sprawled out in the prone position, the front grip of his rifle resting upon the crest of the house. As Shultz stood in front of the woman’s door and knocked upon it he struggled to keep his sights aligned on the back of Shultz’s head.

  It wasn’t easy. No matter how much he tried to hold steady it kept wandering on and off his target.

  Finally, it seemed to settle.

  Now was the time. He pulled the trigger.

  But the trigger held fast.

  “Damn it!”

  He’d forgotten to release his safety.

  He struggled to keep sights on target while he released the safety with his thumb.

  Maybe his luck was beginning to turn. The little old lady was taking forever to answer her door. Major Shultz was standing perfectly still in the same position, completely unaware he was making Steve’s job ridiculously easy.

  Steve held his breath and pulled the trigger a second time.

  And his luck had indeed changed.

  The shot was a tad off center and a tad lower than he wanted.

  But it was indeed a kill shot.

  Shultz’s skull was ripped apart, his body instantly crumpled. His blood spattered all over the still-unopened door.

  Shultz fell to a heap in front of the door and Steve smiled.

  Then he moved the rifle’s sights to where the boy was an instant before.

  But the boy was nowhere in sight.

  Chapter 7

  Randy had gotten to know the group of Texas Tech students while helping them gather produce from the city’s supermarkets.

  It wasn’t his idea.

  The Tech Rodeo Team and the Agricultural Department had hatched the idea and had gone to the Rangers for help.

  The idea was to gather seeds from the rotted produce and to preserve them.

  Fall was coming quickly to Lubbock, Texas. Planting season was long over.

  But after what promised to be a brutal winter was over, the citizens of Lubbock who were lucky enough to survive would need a new source of food. The supermarket shelves would be long empty by that time. The tractor trailers and food distribution centers which would provide the city’s secondary food source would likely be thinning as well.

  The city had already appointed block leaders for every block of residential homes from one end of town to the other. They’d already met with their block leaders. Already provided them with a limited amount of still-working tools.

  Specifically pull-start chain saws and tillers. Those who weren’t sure how to use the tools were provided training.

  The plan was for all available ground to be turned into farm land.

  In the spring, agricultural students would distribute the seeds to each block and show the residents how to plant them. How to care for them. How much water to give them, and when to harvest them. Finally, how to can them so the crops would last all year round.

  The appointed block leaders would be responsible for coordinating all the farming efforts to make sure everything got done, and that the crops were equally divided among the block’s residents.

  But there were many obstacles to overcome.

  Human error. Human laziness or carelessness. The possibility of a late freeze. A shortage of tillers and chainsaws, which had to be shared between blocks. A shortage of fertilizer and pesticides.

  The biggest problem to overcome, though, would be a lack of water.

  Lubbock didn’t get a lot of rainfall and was prone to weeks on end without precipitation.

  When it did rain, though, it tended to rain in torrents, the excess water gathering in playa lakes which would overflow their banks. Then the rain would leave and the lakes would slowly start to dry up again.

  When Lubbock was founded its first cash crops were peanuts and potatoes. The soil was fertile and loose and perfect for below-ground crops.

  Later, though, cotton became king in the Lubbock area. The above-ground plants needed irrigation, which for decades was obtained from the Ogallala Aquifer located a few hundred feet beneath the farmlands.

  The problem was that the irrigation pumps were located too far outside of town to do the residents any good, and most of them no longer worked anyway. New wells couldn’t be dug because drilling equipment no longer worked and couldn’t be transported to where it needed to be.

  The playa lakes which collected periodic heavy rainfalls seemed the perfect solution. At least for some residents.

  Those residents who were lucky enough to live within close proximity to such parks would be able to use the lakes as an irrigation source.

  Those who lived too far away from the lakes had to use other means.

  The Tech Rodeo Team had used several old fashioned covered wagons to gather the rotted produce for the Agricultural Department. Once that was done they shifted their efforts to the next phase of their project:

  Gathering empty trash cans, storage containers, and anything else which would catch and hold rainwater.

  Randy had gotten on Major Shultz’s bad side during a Ranger muster and was punished by being assigned to a rodeo team gathering detail for five days. His role was to provide security for the team so no one attacked them and tried to take away their horses.

  For in post-apocalyptic Lubbock horses were a very valuable commodity.

  After the five days were up, Randy still provided security for the team. But not every day. He went on a regular rotation with other Rangers, and drew the detail every few days.

  The other seven duty days he spent his time trying to find the man or men who murdered his partner several weeks before, and assisting the city’s residents in their efforts to survive from one day to the next.

  Randy knew the general area his partner’s assassins were hiding out, but was so far unsuccessful in finding them.

  But he would. There was no doubt in his mind.

  While serving his five day penance Randy had become friends with the team members and looked forward to seeing them again every few days and catching up.

  It so happened that on the day Major Shultz was murdered Randy was with a team in central Lubbock, distributing garden hoes and fifty gallon plastic garbage cans.

  They’d already made two loads that particular day.

  They’d delivered them to block leaders along 16th Street, working their way east from University Avenue.

  Their instructions to each block leader were exactly the same: Each home would receive ten containers: five for the front yard and five for the back.

  Team leader Brandy Martinez said, “For those houses with rain gutters, clog up the gutters at each end so the rain doesn’t get washed down the downspout and into the yard. Use wadded up plastic grocery bags or something else that will clog the downspouts so that the water collects in the gutter alongside the roof of the house instead.

  “Take the five containers and space them evenly along
the front of the house. Above each container, use a hammer and a nail to pound a couple of holes into the gutter. Use a large nail so the holes are fairly large.

  “Then do the same thing along the back side of the house as well.

  “For those houses which do not have rain gutters, hammer two by fours along the roof’s edge with a two inch gap between them. Those will help channel the water. Place the containers on the ground beneath each gap.

  “Tweak the system during the first couple of rainfalls. If you notice some containers are filling more slowly than others, or are larger, pound extra holes above them.

  “The idea is to retain as much rain as possible close to your crops, where you can utilize it as needed between rainfalls.

  “Don’t forget to cover each container tightly when you’re not using them, so the water doesn’t evaporate before you need it.”

  As Brandy gave her lecture over and over again to block leaders, Randy stood back and admired her. Not only was she a dedicated and dynamic leader, she was becoming a good friend.

  It was after they’d emptied their load on 16th Street and were making their way back to the Home Depot that a frantic voice came over Randy’s radio.

  “Help! Help! Oh, dear God, somebody help me!”

  It was the voice of Major Shultz’s wife.

  Chapter 8

  The radio call was truly heart-wrenching.

  Randy knew Cathy Shultz, having socialized with her and her husband at Ranger cookouts and promotion parties. But her voice was so full of anguish and terror he didn’t recognize her at first.

  Not until she identified herself and described the chaos.

  Mrs. Greeley finally answered her front door right after Major Shultz fell to the floor of her porch.

  To her credit, she tried to do something to help him. She’d been retired for many years, but had been a nurse for a long time before that. She still remembered how to administer CPR, and exposed herself to her own personal risk in an effort to do so.

  It didn’t take her long to realize it was a waste of time. The wound was mortal. The major couldn’t be saved.

  It was Mrs. Greeley’s screams which alerted Cathy Shultz. Screams which could quite literally be heard a block away.

  Oddly enough, neither woman actually heard the shot. Gun shots were so commonplace now the average person’s mind just tuned them out.

  Had she heard the shot, Cathy might have suspected an ambush. But instead, she thought Mrs. Greeley’s house might be on fire. Or that she was being attacked by marauders. She went running, not to find out if her husband was okay, but to help Mrs. Greeley with whatever her own crisis was.

  She was understandably terrified when she got to the old woman’s house and saw the carnage which lay before her.

  The major’s radio was still attached to his belt, as it always was. A Ranger commander is never off-duty even on his “day off,” and he kept his radio turned on twenty four seven. The only time it was ever off was for brief periods twice a day when he swapped out a weak battery for a fresh one.

  Cathy wasn’t adept at radio protocol or radio discipline.

  All she knew was that she needed assistance, and she needed it immediately.

  Ranger Sergeant David Gillespie sat at the base station at Company C in downtown Lubbock.

  He recognized Cathy Shultz’s voice immediately, even before she identified herself, and got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “My husband, they’ve killed him,” Cathy wailed. “Please. Send someone.”

  Gillespie tried his best to keep a level head. Even as he asked the question, he dreaded the answer, prayed he was wrong.

  “Mrs. Shultz, is that you? Is Major Shultz the victim?”

  “Yes. He is. Please send someone to help.”

  Randy was stunned. So was every other Ranger in Lubbock.

  Gillespie was able to keep his composure. He could have looked up the address, but that would have wasted precious time.

  “Mrs. Shultz, what’s your location?”

  “We’re at a neighbor’s house. The shooting took place here. The address is 3700 Ridgemont.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. All Rangers, stop what you’re doing and converge on that location. Report in individually when you’re on the scene.”

  Randy looked to Brandy, unable to utter a word.

  She could see the agony in his face. Words weren’t necessary.

  Without being told, she turned her rig around and headed back toward the Texas Tech stables.

  She knew that Randy’s mission had changed. He could no longer provide her team armed escort.

  Not on this day.

  He had someplace else to be.

  She also knew that university officials would not allow her team to be on the streets without a Ranger escort. It was just too dangerous for them, with marauders on the prowl looking for horses to steal.

  “Go, Randy,” she said. “We’ll be okay. We’re only a few blocks from campus, and we’ll go directly there. Let us know what’s going on when you can.”

  She’d never met Major John Shultz. But she could tell from the dazed look on Randy’s face that he was more than just Randy’s commanding officer. He was one of Randy’s good friends.

  Randy hesitated for just a moment, then turned Trigger and galloped off toward Ridgemont.

  Only when he was out of view of his friends did he allow a single tear to form.

  Chapter 9

  The crime scene was a pitiful sight.

  Randy was still at least half an hour away when the first Ranger arrived.

  His name was Ranger Zachary Chandler. He was new in the company, having been transferred in from Austin to replace Tom Cohen. Tom was Randy’s best friend and partner who himself was gunned down not long before.

  Cathy Shultz, dressed in pink, sat on Mrs. Greeley’s front porch. What was left of her husband’s head was cradled in her lap and she was covered with blood.

  She lifted a tear-stained face to Ranger Chandler and said simply, “They’ve killed him.”

  Ranger Chandler was a student of history and grew up in Dallas. He couldn’t help but take note of the similarities between the present crime scene and another, in downtown Dallas, more than fifty years before.

  They were the same sorrowful words Jackie Kennedy had uttered when her husband was gunned down in 1963.

  It took almost an hour for Lieutenant Davis to arrive. He had to ride the entire length and breadth of Lubbock, since he lived on the opposite end of the city.

  He’d wanted to command a Ranger detachment some day. But not now, and not this way.

  But as Shultz’s second in command, he was now in charge.

  By the time he arrived at the scene, most of the other Rangers were already there. Major Shultz’s head had been wrapped in white gauze. Not because anyone thought it might help him, but rather to hide the fact a good portion of his skull was missing.

  The body had been wrapped in a favorite comforter, one his grandmother had made for him when he was a boy.

  It was now covered with blood, but he was beyond caring.

  The body still rested on Mrs. Greeley’s porch, but was now stretched out as though he were lying in state. The porch itself had been cleaned of the blood and other bits of carnage that told what had happened there.

  Cathy Shultz had been taken back to her own home, where she was surrounded and protected from further insult by close friends. They held her, cried with her, cursed with her.

  And reassured her that despite her protestations to the contrary, she was not alone.

  Lt. Davis spoke to Mrs. Greeley, who was able to offer him little.

  She’d opened the door, she said, to find the major already dead, having just fallen in front of the door. She’d felt faint and almost passed out, but was able to avoid it by reaching out and grabbing the door frame for support.

  The only thing she saw out of the ordinary was a boy, running away from the scene, already a couple of house
s away.

  No, she told the lieutenant. He didn’t appear to have a gun.

  Yes, she said. She’d seen him around the neighborhood, but didn’t know his name or where he lived.

  No, she never sent for Major Shultz and didn’t have a clue why he came knocking on her door.

  The major was obviously set up.

  But by who? And why?

  Lt. Davis stood on Mrs. Greeley’s front porch and looked outward. There were a hundred different places a sniper could have nested, hiding in wait for the major to come along. Was the boy involved, maybe as bait? Maybe the boy lured him there. Or maybe the boy wasn’t involved at all. Maybe he was just walking down the street and witnessed what happened, then decided it was a good time to get the hell out of Dodge.

  He needed to go speak to the widow. But first, he had to act like a commander.

  His men were milling about, not knowing quite what to do.

  None of them had ever worked a homicide scene before. If they had, they’d have known not to touch anything. They’d have left the body where it fell and cleared everyone away from it.

  They certainly wouldn’t have cleaned the body or wrapped it, nor would they have cleaned up the scene.

  They did it partly because they knew no better.

  But mostly they did it out of respect for their fallen leader. For to a man, they loved John Shultz. He was more than a commander and a friend. He was like a brother to each of them. He was one of them.

  “Gomez, Swain, Martinez… search the other side of the street. The house directly across and three houses on each side. Focus on the back yards. Take your time. Look for anything that might tell us where our shooter was. Fresh cigarette butts, clean water bottles or soda or beer cans. Especially large caliber shell casings.

  “Take your time and be thorough. If you find anything, don’t touch it. Come and find me and let me know.

  “Don’t go into any of the back yards until you knock on doors to make sure nobody lives there. We don’t need anybody else to get shot today. Any questions?”

  There were none.

  “Okay. Go. Swenson… Mason… did you copy those instructions?”