Rise From The Ashes: The Rebirth of San Antonio (Countdown to Armageddon Book 3) (6 page)

     Everyone in the compound knew that Robbie generally called between two and three p.m. on even numbered days.

     And on this even numbered day, most of them huddled behind Hannah at the security desk, waiting for his call.

     At two
fifty, the call finally came.

     “
Hannah, this is Robbie. Got your ears on?”

     “I’m here, Robbie
. Go ahead.”

     “Just wanted to give you John’s status. I delivered the meds to his hospital room as soon as I got them. I went by there this morning to check up on him. There’s no change so far, but the doctors are optimistic. They say that now that he’s getting his full course, chances are very good the infection will start to clear and he’ll come out of his coma.”

     “Thank you, Robbie, for that. And God bless you for keeping me informed. I have to ask another big favor of you.”

     “I’ll try. What do you need?”

     “Scott, the man who brought you the amoxicillin, is missing. He never came back home two nights ago. We’re worried sick that something may have happened to him.”

     “When should he have returned?”

     “He should have been back just a few hours after he left you. Some of us are afraid he may be injured or wounded, and in need of help. Do you remember hearing any gunshots in your area after he left you that night?”

     “I don’t remember. But I hear gunshots every night of the week. You know that. I’ve learned to tune them out most of the time, unless they’re very close or directed at me.”

     “Is there anything you can do to search the area behind Scott’s house, where the power lines are? He would have been heading north.”

     “Yes. I’ll take a drive there this afternoon. Is there a road under the power lines?”

     “Yes. That’s the road we took to get up here. Hold on a minute. His girlfriend Joyce wants to talk to you.”

     “Robbie, this is Joyce. I know you’ve got your hands full down there, and I wouldn’t ask for your help, but we’re desperate.”

     “It’s okay, Joyce. He brought the medicine that’s going to save my best friend’s life. I’ll help any way I can. I never saw the vehicle he was in. Can you describe it for me?”

    
“It’s a four wheel drive Gator. It’s a utility vehicle made by John Deere. Green in color. It’s like a quad runner on steroids, with a very small pickup bed in the back.”

     “Okay, I’ve seen those. The grounds crew at the Alamo Dome use those when they’re setting up for the rodeo each year.”

     “Our worst fears are that he was shot and the Gator was taken from him. If that’s the case, he may be laying out there somewhere wounded and in need of medical attention.

     “Our best case scenario, the one we’re really hoping for, is that the Gator broke down and he couldn’t get it running, and that he’s walking back.”

     “Not a problem. I’ll watch out for the Gator. If I see it broken down, I’ll just head north until I come across him.”

     “No, I’m afraid it’s not that easy, Robbie. He won’t travel during the daytime. He knows it’s too dangerous. He’ll hide in the brush and sleep during the day, and then resume his travels at night.”

     “It’ll be hard to find him if he’s sleeping in the brush.”

     “We’ve thought of that. But here’s how you can find him. As you drive north under the power lines, you’ll periodically see a black trash bag. Those are his emergency food and water caches, in the event he had to walk back. He was going to drop one of them every ten miles or so. If the first few bags you come across are empty, that means he went past that point and took the water and food out of the bag.”

     “Okay.”

     “When you come to a bag that still has water and granola bars, that means you’ve passed him. He hasn’t made it that far yet.
”

     “Okay. When I get to that point, if I yell for him is he likely to hear me?”

     “Maybe, but maybe not. If he’s close by he might. But that’s a ten mile stretch where he could be hiding. He has night vision goggles. If you write him a note and attach it to the bag, you can tell him to wait there for you. Then you can come back in the night and pick him up.”

     Robbie’s heart sank, but he didn’t say anything. He hated all nighters. Especially as tired and overworked as he was. But he’d do whatever he could to help. He’d tell Scott in the note that he’d pick him up in the hours just before sunrise. Then he’d go in a couple of hours early to do it. He’d lose a little sleep, but since his
wife died he didn’t have much of a life anyway.

     “Okay, let me get off of here and head out that way. John told me you guys want to keep your location a secret, and I think that’s a good idea. If I find him I’ll bring him as far as he’ll let me, without telling me where you are. If I can’t find him I’ll call you back later tonight or tomorrow and let you know that too.”

     There was a third option, that he’d find Scott’s body. But he intentionally didn’t mention that.

-9-

     Robbie left John and Hannah’s house and got back into his squad car. He called in to report that he was back on duty, and asked if he had any calls.

     “Negative. All’s quiet in your sector.”

     The timing was good. The afternoons were usually relatively slow. Suicide calls, mostly, until darkness. Then the thugs started to come out. This was definitely the best time of day to go search for a missing guy on a John Deere Gator.

     The scrap of paper with Scott’s address was still in the cup holder of his patrol car from two nights before.
3064 Royal Valley Drive. That was a good thing. Robbie had a good memory, and probably could have found his way back even without the help, but as tired as he was, his memory might fail him.

     He turned onto
Royal Valley Drive and drove up a steep hill that seemed to go on forever.

     As he came up to 3064
, he slowed, and noted how different the house looked in the daytime. He also noted that it was the second two story house from the corner, and was the color of a Coors beer can.

     Robbie could see the tall power lines behind the house. Now all he had to do was find an access road to get over to them.

     As he drove away from 3064 Royal Valley Drive, Scott lay unconscious on the living room floor, his breathing labored and shallow. He’d lost an awful lot of blood and was near death.

    
Robbie drove up the street, looking for a turnoff toward the power lines. As he drove, he formulated a game plan. If he did indeed find the Gator broken down and abandoned, he’d continue north underneath the power lines and check the black plastic trash bags as he went. Once he found the full one, he’d double back, and use the police car’s public address speaker to announce, “Scott, this is John’s friend Robbie. I’m here to help you.”

     He knew that if Scott was within a quarter mile of the car, he’d hear him and come out of the brush. And that would save Robbie the trouble of having to come back at night to pick him up.

     He’d make the announcement continually, and drive slowly enough to allow Scott time to wake up and come out of hiding. And on the odd chance they didn’t hook up, the note would be on the bag directing him to stay put and wait for Robbie to come for him before dawn.

     It was a brilliant plan. He congratulated himself for thinking of it.

     Two blocks farther up the street, there was a break in the houses and a gravel road that headed off toward the power lines.

     A small white sign with blue lettering announced:

     Bexar Metropolitan Power Company. Keep out.

     Robbie turned his patrol car and drove slowly up the gravel road.
After forty yards, it connected with a narrow paved road that headed north underneath the high tension lines.

     Driving beneath the huge towers was intimidating, but he suspected it would have been much worse if he had known there was power coursing through the wires overhead.

     As he drove slowly north, he kept watch on the backs of the houses, trying to determine which one was Scott’s. If he was attacked, it might have happened before he drove off on his Gator. That might be where his body was. Robbie hoped that wasn’t the case. But that’s where he’d begin his search.

     There it was. A two story house
, second house from the corner, the color of a Coors can. Robbie suddenly got thirsty for a cold beer. It had been a long time since he’d had one.

     As he looked at the house off in the distance, he saw something. It was pure luck that he saw it. The scrub brush blocked most of it. But there, forty y
ards away, directly behind Scott’s house, there was something somehow peculiar about the fence.

     It appeared to be missing a couple of pieces.

     Robbie parked his cruiser and walked through the area to the fence. As he walked, he continued to look through the brush for a body, or for signs of a struggle. He saw neither.

     When he got to the
fence, he saw that two of the fence slats had been ripped off and left laying on the ground.

     A looter, he’d suspected, too lazy to hop the fence.

     But then he noticed something even more peculiar. One of the slats still attached to the fence, the one adjacent to the hole, had blood on it.

     Whoever pulled those two slats off the fence and squeezed through the hole was injured in some way.

     Robbie Benton wasn’t a small guy. He was bulky in the manner of someone who’d lifted weights most of his life, and was born with naturally broad shoulders.

     Plus, he’d added bulk that morning when he donned his bulletproof vest and service belt.

     There was no way he was going to fit through that small hole in the fence.

     But he figured, what the hell? The damage was
already done. So he grabbed the top of the next picket and pulled hard on it until it separated from the cross pieces. He laid it on the ground and grabbed the next one. Then one more.

     Now it was more accommodating for a man of his size. He s
queezed through the fence, drew his service weapon, and keyed his microphone.

     “Northwest, this is Charlie one-nine.”

     “Go ahead, Charlie one-nine.

     “Show me at three oh
six four Royal Valley Drive, at the rear of the house. I’m out of my unit, investigating a possible prowler and a report of a missing person.”

     “10-4. Do you need backup?”

     “Not at present.”

     Robbie noted that the sliding patio door had been left completely open.

     It wasn’t an uncommon thing for prowlers to do. Especially when they weren’t sure if the house might be occupied. They wanted a quick getaway in case they encountered an angry homeowner with a weapon.

     “SAPD. Come out of the house, do it now!”

     He listened closely for any sign of movement or any conversation inside the house. He half expected to hear the sounds of someone opening the front door and bolting through it.

     Had that happened, he wouldn’t have given chase. The SAPD had shifted its focus from capturing petty criminals to helping the community survive. Looters were everywhere, and the vast majority of them never hurt anyone. They were just doing what they had to do to
stay alive.

    
Not hearing any sounds within the house made Robbie a bit more confident it was empty, and he moved closer for a better look. That’s when he saw Scott, through the open patio door, lying unconscious on the living room floor.

     “Northwest, this is Charlie one-nine.”

     “Go ahead, Charlie one-nine.”

     “Do you have a unit with a paramedic on-board near my location?”

     “Any unit with a medic, respond to three oh six four Royal Valley Drive, see Charlie one-nine.”

     “Charlie three-one, rolling, five minutes. Is Charlie one-nine the patient?”

     Robbie keyed his mike.

     “Negative. Patient is a civilian. I believe he’s the man who brought the medicine to save John Castro.”

     The paramedic got on the radio.

     “What’s his condition?”

     “Unconscious. Bullet wound to the upper shoulder. Not bleeding at present, but his clothing is soaked. He’s breathing, but just barely.”