Lamp Black: Second Edition, Disaster, Preparedness, Survival, Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 2) (48 page)

Large groups of people were seen standing around bonfires that were burning freely in the parking lots of every fast food franchise
or restaurant they passed. Even more chaos raged in and around the popular Hillsboro Outlet Mall. Pete knew it was a popular shopping destination. Every time he drove past the mall it was filled with shoppers, and it was still busy, only now it resembled Baghdad in 2004. Looting and violence had turned the place into a war zone. The scene, eerily illuminated by the headlights of stationary vehicles and fires, revealed merchandise strewn across the parking lot. Broken windows, overturned cars, and fistfights, contributed to the hellish nature of the environment. As if the disaster itself wasn’t enough.

“What?” Bonnie asked.

“I didn’t say anything,” answered Pete.

“Yes you did,” she persisted.

“OK, maybe I did. I just don’t understand how people can lose control like that,” replied Pete.

Pete and Bonnie sighed in relief as soon as they left the interstate. Passing through Hillsboro only served to elevate Pete’s concern about passing unmolested through Fort Worth. If a small community like Hillsboro could fall prey to complete and utter chaos, then he could only imagine how crazy it would be in Fort Worth. He wondered if Bonnie was thinking the same thing.

Southbound vehicle and foot traffic on I-35 was also picking up, which told Pete that people finally figured out which way to run. That’s why he wanted to use route 81 and avoid the split all together, even if it meant backtracking a little.

“Pete, I need to pee again. What are the chances of stopping soon?” asked Bonnie

“Really? You just went . . . what, about an hour ago,” said Pete.

“More like two hours ago,” said Bonnie, “and if you don’t pull over soon I’ll pee my pants.”

“OK. All right, I got it,” said Pete, with mild irritation. “We’re never going to make it if we have to stop every two hours,” he grumbled.

“Don’t be a jerk. And we’re not in a hurry. Besides, I know you don’t want to rush blindly into trouble,” replied Bonnie, using one of
Pete’s own sayings while completely ignoring his quarrelsome tone. “It would be nice to have a toilet,” she continued, “but just a little privacy will do. I don’t want my backside displayed to the entire world.”

“You got it, sweet potato,” said Pete, in a not so endearing manner.

“Pete, will you please stop calling me that?”

“I don’t know what you’re getting all riled up about,” he asked.

“I’m getting riled up because I have to pee,” replied Bonnie, with irritation edging into her voice. “Turn left on 4247. It looks like there’s a creek bed about a quarter mile to the west. I can find a place there.”

Pete surrendered to Bonnie’s absolute dominance over their priorities, and obediently followed her instructions to the creek bed. He also wanted a place that would afford them privacy, but not one that would take them too far from their route, or put them on someone’s private property. Pete saw another vehicle make the same turn behind them. He sensed something was up, but pushed it down as paranoia. But what bothered him was that they left the main road for a smaller ranch road, one that wasn’t even painted with a center line.

“Turn right . . . there,” said Bonnie, but Pete turned left. “I said right, Pete, not left.”

“I know, Bon, but I have a funny feeling about the car behind us. Just humor me for a second. I’ll turn around up ahead,” replied Pete. When Pete turned left, heading south, which was the opposite direction they were traveling when they picked up the tail, he watched to see if the car followed.

“Yup, we’re being followed,” said Pete. Bonnie turned to look out the back window and Pete stopped her. “Don’t turn around, Bonnie, I don’t want them to know we’re on to them.”

The car quickly gained on them and began to match the truck’s speed. It approached to within a car length and held that spot for a quarter mile. Frustrated, Pete slowed the truck and moved to the side to allow the driver to pass. The maneuver worked. The driver began to pass, but when he was adjacent to Pete, he slowed to match Pete’s speed once again.

To Pete’s surprise, the vehicle was a dark green, Hill County, Deputy Sheriff’s cruiser. Pete slowed again, but continued to roll forward as he lowered his window. “Can I help you, officer?” yelled Pete.

“Where you folks headed?” yelled the deputy from the cruiser’s open passenger window. The man spoke in a lazy, back country drawl as he leaned slightly to his right to get a better view of Pete. The height advantage gave Pete a clear view of the cruiser’s interior. Empty beer cans and food packaging littered the floor. A cigarette dangled from the officer’s lips, and several day’s growth of beard covered his face. During normal times, the deputy’s appearance would have raised several red flags, but Pete rationalized his concerns away. Given the ramifications of the disaster, he assumed the deputy probably hadn’t slept in several days.

“I need y’all to pull over,” said the officer.

“Did I do something wrong, officer?” asked Pete. “I’m a ten-twenty-two.”

“And I’m a ten-four. Now stop yur damn yappin and follow me,” hollered the deputy.

Pete suppressed anger over the deputy’s rudeness and unprofessionalism.
A ten-four, really?
He was beginning to realize the deputy was either drunk, a fraud, or both. What cinched it for Pete was that the deputy made the stop without using his roof lights. Apparently, this deputy didn’t want to attract any attention. Despite the man’s official badge, Pete sensed they were in grave danger.

The deputy lumbered out of the cruiser and flicked his cigarette to the ground. When he paused to snuff out the smoke, which Pete felt was another uncharacteristic trait of a real law enforcement officer, he slowly moved his pistol to his left hand and let it rest between the car door and his leg. “Pete, what the hell are you doing?” hissed Bonnie.

“Shut up, Bonnie. I’ll explain in a minute. Just don’t say a word,” hissed Pete in reply.

“Evening. I’m deputy Morales,” said the man as he approached the truck’s window. “Can I see your driver’s license and insurance?”

“Sure thing officer, let me get it for you.”
Morales?
Thought Pete,
what an idiot
. The Morales surname didn’t fit the description of the man standing before him. And when he approached the truck straight on, and at the driver’s side, Pete was convinced the man wasn’t a cop. He moved all wrong, without caution.

With as calm a face as he could muster, Pete asked, “Can you tell me what I did wrong?”

“We received a call that there was a truck in the area . . . it was filled with stolen goods.”

“Stolen goods, huh?” asked Pete. “What kind of stolen goods?”

“Um, somebody robbed a house not far from here, after they killed the whole family. I’m gonna need you to follow me to the police station for questioning.”

“Follow you?” asked Pete.

“What? Do you have shit for brains? Yes, follow me! Now where’s your driver’s license!”

“Right here,” said Pete, and he switched the pistol to his right hand, raised it above the edge of the window, and shot the deputy in the center of his chest.

Following the shot, several things happened at once. The deputy went flying to the ground and landed, spread eagle, in the plowed ash on the road; Bonnie screamed; and Pete jumped out of the truck to disarm the cop impersonator. “Bonnie!” he yelled, “Please stop screaming. He’s not dead. He was wearing a vest.”

Pete holstered his pistol and knelt next to the unconscious man. He quickly removed the officer’s duty belt, complete with a Glock 22, taser, pepper spray, handcuffs, and flashlight. Pete took the cuffs from the duty belt before stashing it under his tarp, and then he rolled the man over onto his stomach and cuffed him. Lastly, Pete searched his pockets. Finding the man’s key ring, he stood and went to check on Bonnie. She was sitting on the floor of the truck, and crying softly to herself.

“Bonnie, it’s OK. The guy was wearing a vest. He’s not dead. He’s just unconscious. He hit his head pretty hard when he fell, but he’s alive,” said Pete, in an effort to calm and sooth Bonnie.

“You just shot a cop!” screamed Bonnie at the top of her lungs.

“He’s not a cop! And quit screaming at me,” responded Pete, trying to remain calm, but very much on the verge of screaming back. His blood was up, and he was trying to think about what to do with the unconscious cop imposter. “I need you to drive the truck . . . to follow me. Can you do that, Bonnie?”

“How do you know he’s not a cop?” she managed, through heavy, gasping breaths.

“Slow down your breathing or you’ll hyperventilate,” said Pete.

Bonnie returned to the seat and buried her face in her hands. After a few controlled breaths she said, “Damn you Peter, you scared the crap out of me. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking the only way to get out of this situation was to control it, and the only way to control it was to eliminate the person who had control,” replied Pete, with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

“You could have warned me,” she said.

“There wasn’t time. I didn’t know he was a fraud until just before I shot him. Remember, Bonnie, I was an MP for twenty-some years. I know what cops say and do. This guy,” said Pete, as he pointed to the man at his feet, “was a lie from the start. He was trouble. I wonder how many other people he pirated since the disaster began?” added Pete. “I’m actually glad I neutralized him.”

“You’re awful sure of yourself. I hope you’re right . . . for both our sakes,” said Bonnie, as she slid into the driver’s seat and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

“I know I am,” said Pete. “Just follow me . . . but first let me put this guy in the cruiser’s trunk.” Pete walked to the cruiser, and after fishing the captured keys from his pocket, he unlocked and opened the trunk. The spring-loaded hinges lifted the lid and Pete involuntarily stepped
back. Without turning, he called to his wife, “Bonnie . . . come here. You need to see this.”

Pete’s eyes remained fixed on the contents of the trunk, but he knew when Bonnie arrived because he heard her gasp. He turned to her, and then quickly reached up to remove her hands from her face. “It’s OK,” he said.

“Who is that?” she asked, with horror in her voice, and etched deeply across her face.

“I believe that’s the real Deputy Morales,” replied Pete, releasing her hands from his, and without another word, Bonnie turned around and went back to the truck.

With the cruiser’s trunk occupied, Pete’s only option was to stuff the unconscious imposter onto the backseat. Though, given the circumstances, he would have been more than happy to drag the cop-killer from the cruiser’s bumper. Pete closed the truck, walked over to the man, and tapped him lightly on the head with the toe of his boot. The man moaned and Pete rolled him onto his back. First one eye, and then the other opened. “Good,” said Pete. “You’re awake. You say one word and I’ll shoot you. You try to fight or run, I’ll shoot you. In fact, if you don’t do exactly what I say . . . I’ll shoot you. Now stand up!”

“I can’t breathe . . . my chest . . .” gasped the man.

Pete reached down and ripped open the man’s shirt. He then reached inside the shirt and released the Velcro side-straps of the ballistic vest. “Thank you,” gasped the man.

“Shut up!” commanded Pete. “Now stand up!”

“I can’t,” he whined.

Pete rolled him onto his side and told him to bring his knees to his chest. The man complied, and Pete helped him stand. After locking the man in the backseat of the cruiser, Pete returned to Bonnie to assess her frame of mind. “Are you OK?

“I’m fine,” she said from behind the truck’s steering wheel. She didn’t turn to look at Pete when she answered.

“Let’s go to that creek bed you mentioned earlier. I think we can come to terms with our situation from there . . . you know, think things over a bit. Are you sure you’re able to drive?” he asked.

“I can drive,” answered Bonnie, and she stared the engine as if it proved her ability.

Pete stepped up, onto the truck’s running board, and turned her chin to face him. He kissed her forehead and said, “I know that wasn’t easy for you, and I’m sorry I yelled at you, but we were in a great deal of danger just then.” Pete studied her eyes and saw that she was with him. “I love you, Bonnie. Now stay close. I’m going to turn the cruiser around, but I won’t drive away until you’ve completed your turn. OK?”

Bonnie nodded and asked, “Pete?”

“Yes?”

“What’s a ten-twenty-two?”

“It’s police ten-code talk for orders to disregard,” replied Pete.

Bonnie nodded and said, “I’m ready when you are.”

Pete quickly turned the cruiser around and watched through the rear-view mirror as Bonnie made several turns to do the same with his big truck. She didn’t like driving it, but hardly complained when the purpose was obvious. Pete was starting to think his truck was a magnet for trouble, which he didn’t like one bit. Either that, or it was Bonnie always needing to pee. He suspected the former, and wouldn’t dare mention the later for fear Bonnie would worry about her bladder even more.

One of the reasons he kept the load in the back of his truck below the bed rails was to not attract too much attention. He figured driving with stuff piled high on the back would attract a lot of attention. He never thought the truck itself would be the attractor. He didn’t know why the cop killer singled him out, or what plans he had for them if he succeeded, but he was determined to find out.

Pete tried talking to the man while he drove, but he refused to answer any of Pete’s questions. Pete was fine with that. He planned to dedicate much more time and energy to a proper interrogation once
they reached the creek bed. It was only a matter of time before he learned what he needed about the man and his mission. The problem was doing it in such a way that wouldn’t upset Bonnie.

The idea that he was back in Afghanistan lingered in his mind. Even the dusty gray ash around him reminded him of the desolate Afghani plains. Pete wasn’t sure why those feelings and memories were welling up, but he had an idea why. During his last tour, just before he was to redeploy back to the states, Pete shot and killed a contracted Afghani linguist. The man was a trusted agent, someone who had been vetted and certified as an ally, but then turned on his American sponsors during a meeting.