Castroville: Countdown to Armageddon: Book 7 (10 page)

     At another point her inability to sleep the day before caught up with her and she dozed off. She wasn’t sure whether she slept for ten minutes or four hours. Briefly, she panicked and thought it must be getting close to dawn. And that would have meant that Randy had been gone all night.

     And that wouldn’t have been good. Not when his last words to her were, “I won’t be long.”

     Just as her worry was getting the best of her, she heard the lonely call of a whippoorwill.

     It was the first such call she’d heard in two days. And she knew it was him.

     She ignored it, as were her instructions. After the second call, five minutes later, she called out to him.

     “It’s clear. Come on in.”

     Randy walked into camp, took off his backpack, and sat it in front of a boulder. Then he sat down and rested for the first time since he went after the first hood.

     “How’d it go?” Sara asked.

     “Very well. Six men down. That evens the odds, just a bit.”

     “You didn’t kill them, did you?”

     “No. I took them down one at a time, then gagged and tied them in the woods. It was like taking candy from a baby.”

     “Why, Ranger Randy… you’re such a goody-two-shoes. What in the world would you know about taking candy from a baby?”

     He smiled.

     “You’re absolutely right. I’ve never taken candy from a baby. But I’ve heard that when mean people such as yourself take candy from babies it’s a pretty easy task.”

     It was her turn to smile.

     “Actually, I have taken candy from my baby. But not to eat it. I took it away so it wouldn’t ruin his teeth. Candy from a baby wouldn’t be very appetizing anyway. It’s usually all sticky and gooey with baby slobber and carpet fuzz.”

     “Life must be a real chore with you for a mommy.”

     “What? What do you mean?”

     “Well, a baby has few things to really look forward to each day. A dry diaper, a hug now and then. And I don’t think an occasional piece of candy is too much to ask for. For one who lives such a humdrum existence, that is.”

     “I won’t argue that point. But there isn’t a dentist in the whole of Kerr County. If I let my child get a cavity, knowing full well he’d have to suffer because there was no one around to fill it for him, I wouldn’t be much of a mother, now would I?”    

     “I don’t know. I had a good friend who had a bad cavity a year ago. There was no dentist within a hundred miles. But there were lots of horses.”

     Sara was puzzled.

     “Horses? What good is a horse when you have a toothache?”

     “A lot of good, if you know what you’re doing. You tie a string around the tooth, then to a horse’s saddle horn. You slap the horse’s rump real hard and make him run. That’s all it takes.”

     “Seriously?”

     “Yeah. And you can do it anywhere. Even on the prairie. You don’t have to find a town or a dentist. It’s called taking care of oneself. Independence. And freedom. You don’t have to be at the mercy of some guy in a white coat just because he has a piece of paper with his name on it hanging on the wall somewhere.

     “Yes, it gets a little bloody. And it helps to give the patient a healthy shot of whisky both before and after the procedure. But it works. I’ve seen it done.”

     “Sounds like the cure might be worse than the illness.”

     “Nope. Toothache is gone. The bleeding stops after a few minutes. All you have to do is clamp down on a teabag. Tea has a natural ingredient that promotes clotting and stops bleeding. Even the swelling goes down after a day or two.”

     “Randy that is wrong on so many levels.”

     “Why?”

     “Well, first of all, who carries teabags as they travel from town to town?”

     He reached into a saddle bag and took out a small zip-lock bag full of Lipton teabags, then tossed it over to her.

     She wasn’t convinced.

     “And I’m not putting my son through that. He’s not even three yet. It would be mean and cruel.”

     “Meaner than making him suffer a life with no candy? Meaner than making him suffer with a toothache?”

     “And you’re saying I should give my child whisky? Are you insane?”

     “Probably.”

     “I think you are. I’d never put my son through the pain of jerking his tooth out.”

     “Hey, pain is what makes a boy a man. It would put hair on his chest.”

     She sensed something in his voice and walked closer to him. For the first time, she could see his face in the darkness. He was grinning from ear to ear. He’d been joking with her the entire time.

     “Randy, you’re a putz, you know that?”

     “I’d have to say maybe on that one, since I don’t know what a putz is.”

     “Really, why do you travel with tea?”

     “Because I like tea. Sometimes I have it instead of coffee.”

     “You never cease to amaze me.”

     “Good. Then I’m doing my job well. God sent me down here to keep your silly little self out of trouble, and then to amaze you whenever possible.”

     “When are we setting out again?”

     “In about ten minutes. As soon as I finish catching my breath.”

-19-

     Robbie didn’t just steal food and bottled water from the neighborhoods around Brackenridge Park and the old San Antonio zoo.

     He stole weapons and ammunition too.

     His latest cache was taken from a looter, in broad daylight, on Broadway Avenue about three blocks from the zoo.

     But Robbie didn’t feel bad about shooting the man dead on the sidewalk and leaving him there to die.

     Because the looter was stupid.

     Why else would he be walking down a public street carrying a long soft canvas bag that obviously held weapons?

     Robbie didn’t know where the weapons came from. Didn’t care, really. But when the man came walking toward him, carrying a bag with three rifle barrels protruding from the unzipped end, Robbie actually got chills.

     Could it really be that easy?

     It was. The man walked past him without so much as saying a word. He looked like a junkie. And that added up, because a lot of weak people turned to drugs in the aftermath of the blackout. It was a good way to escape the realities of the harsh new world. A way to feel good again, if only until the dope started to wear off and they needed another fix.

     The dope did strange things to their minds. It convinced them that even the most bizarre behavior was not only acceptable but expected.

     And it taught them it was okay to do whatever they had to do to get that next fix.

     Stealing wasn’t only okay in their minds. It was downright mandatory. And it was okay to walk the streets of San Antonio with their loot, as they went to visit with their dealer to exchange the loot for another baggie.

     It all made sense to Robbie. It explained the bag of guns. The glazed over look in the man’s eyes. The way the man never even acknowledged Robbie’s presence as they passed within ten feet of one another.

     Not only was the man stupid. He was a drug user. And that, in Robbie’s mind, meant that he deserved to die.

     It had been incredibly easy. The man didn’t even seem to know that Robbie was there. So when Robbie drew the service revolver from his holster… the one that still belonged to the SAPD, the man didn’t run. Didn’t call out.

     Didn’t even see Robbie as Robbie turned and caught up with him.

     And seemingly didn’t even feel the three shots fired into the center of his back by the insane former cop.

     The man fell to the pavement and let out a moan, but not much more. Frothy blood instantly poured from his lips, his eyes still glazed and blinking.

     Robbie stood over him for a moment, watching the bubbles form at the man’s lips and wondering whether he should put him out of his misery.

     He decided against it. The bullet might come in handy later on. And besides, it was more fun to sit there and watch the life slowly draining from the man’s body.

     And he deserved no mercy.

     Because he was stupid.

     And because no one had mercy on Robbie Benton. They shunned him. Called him crazy. Were combing the streets looking for him.

     Robbie had gotten back to his feet after a couple of minutes and picked up the bag.

     It was much heavier than it had appeared. Robbie discovered that it not only held three rifles, but several boxes of ammunition as well.

     He’d smiled. The mission he’d been on when encountering the man – to return to his murder victim’s house to bring back a backpack of bottled water- was now forgotten.

     He could always do that later, he’d decided, and headed back to the zoo with his new weapons instead.

     Once back at the elephant enclosure, he took his booty out of the bag and examined it closely.

     A Remington 30.06 and two AR-15s from the Colt Manufacturing Company. Nice ones too. One had an attached scope, and both were in immaculate condition. They’d obviously been taken from an owner who cared for them.

     In the bottom of the bag were six empty magazines, eight boxes of ammunition, and a handful of loose bullets.

     Robbie smiled as he pushed round after round into the magazines. In his mind he could see the faces of the people he expected to share the bullets with.

-20-

    Randy took the lead, Sara just behind him. They made their way through the woods until they were adjacent to the barn, a hundred yards in front of them.

     Sara couldn’t make it out. Randy could barely, in the distance, even though the cloud cover hadn’t lifted and it was still very dark

     Sara wished there’d been a moon up above the clouds to lighten them a bit. Then it occurred to her that the darkness was their friend. That if they couldn’t see the bad guys, the bad guys couldn’t see them.

     Randy held a finger to his lips. From there on out he wanted total silence.

     They crept slowly, low to the ground, until they were forty yards from the barn.

     A sole watchman sat in a wooden arm chair just outside the barn door. He was leaned back, the back of his head resting on the weathered wood of the barn wall, his cowboy hat tipped low.

     He was softly snoring.

     That part made Randy smile.

     Their luck was holding. But Randy was careful not to get his hopes up, nor to become overconfident. Lady Luck was fickle, and could turn on them with no notice at all.

     He crept up to the sleeping cowboy until he was right over the top of him.

     Then, in one fluid motion, he quickly lifted the man’s Stetson with his left hand and came down hard with his right.

     His right hand held his billy club.

     Randy knew that the top of the skull was harder than the back. He swung a little bit harder than he normally would have, and hoped it wasn’t too hard. He didn’t want to kill this man, or to give him a concussion. All he wanted to do was to knock him cold for a few minutes.

     He slowly dragged the unconscious man around the side of the barn to where Sara and his backpack were waiting.

     Sara already had his rope and duct tape out of the bag and waiting for him.

     He noticed that his length of rope had gotten woefully shorter after tying up the other men a couple of hours before. But he had enough for this one, and they might be able to find another roll in the barn.

     The duct tape would work too, in a pinch.

     Sara wrapped the tape around the man’s head three times. The first course ran tightly through his open mouth to restrict his tongue. The second and third courses covered his mouth completely, but left his nose exposed.

     It was a trick Tom had taught her several months before. She remembered laughing and asking him, “Now how often do you think I’ll find need to gag a man so he can’t cry out?”

     Tom had looked her in the eyes and responded, “Hopefully you’ll never have to. But if you’re gonna be my deputy someday, it’s my job to teach you everything I know. You never can tell what tricks of the trade may come in handy to keep you alive.”