The opportunity came when Susan caught up with a group of survivalists, all headed for what they called a rendezvous. She followed them to a tiny ranching town called Falcon. It had been important once because of its location at the intersection of two railroads. But those days were over. So the town was of little interest to the Chimera, making Falcon the perfect spot for a rendezvous.
At least two hundred people were present when Susan arrived, and she was pleased to discover that there were all sorts of things for sale. That included handmade pack frames, women’s clothing, and boots. Thanks to the pouch of silver dollars, Susan was able to purchase everything she needed without sacrificing the .45 or any of her precious ammo. And she was pleased to acquire two hundred rounds for the Reaper.
Having obtained the items she needed, Susan left the rendezvous before dark. Half the crowd was rip-roaring drunk by then and she wanted no part in what was to follow. As an unaccompanied female, she was something of a target, and had already been forced to deal with half a dozen come-ons.
That was why Susan left Falcon quickly. She kept her eyes peeled as she hurried up the road and made for the first firing position she saw. The water tank sat atop wooden stilts, which were at least twenty feet tall. A maintenance ladder led upwards and she hurried to climb it. Once on the walkway that circled the metal tank, Susan shucked her newly acquired pack, took the Fareye, and lay flat. Then, using the rifle’s scope, she looked back towards the edge of town.
It wasn’t long before a couple of people pulling a cart on bicycle wheels came her way. They were talking to each other, completely oblivious to the danger above as they passed the water tank and continued on their way. Then a trio of horsemen galloped by in the other direction. They were late, but clearly determined to take part in the rendezvous before it melted away.
A full five minutes passed after that with no sign of pursuit. So Susan was just about to pack up and leave when one of the men who had come on to her appeared. He was armed, but wasn’t wearing a pack, which seemed to suggest an errand of some sort. Of course that didn’t mean he was looking for her, since there were lots of other reasons why he might venture out.
But if the man wasn’t looking for her, then why was a bloodhound straining at the leash in his hand, and leading the way? Susan remembered the big animal now. It had been with the man, sniffing around her ankles, as he invited her to have a drink with him. Something that seemed innocent at the time but took on added significance as the beast bayed and towed its master along.
As the twosome made a beeline for the water tower, Susan was well aware of the fact that many months had passed since she’d fired a rifle. But the skills learned as a little girl, and subsequently honed by the Freedom First instructors, were there waiting to be used.
With no crosswind to speak of, and the air relatively dry, all Susan had to do was squeeze the trigger. The Fareye produced a loud report. The bullet knocked the man’s right leg out from under him, and he went down hard. The dog stopped, circled back, and stood next to its master.
Susan could have killed her pursuer, and probably should have, but was satisfied to shoulder her pack and hurry down the ladder. By keeping the tower’s stiltlike support beams between her and the wounded man, she hoped to prevent any possibility of return fire.
The man was about three hundred feet away. He had a bushy beard, wild uncut hair, and was dressed in denim overalls. And he was tough. Having secured a makeshift pressure dressing with a blue bandanna, the man was back on his feet. Or foot, since he couldn’t put much weight on the other one. “I’ll find you!” he shouted. “And when I do, you’ll wish you had never been born.”
Susan stopped in her tracks, uttered a sigh, and turned back towards the man. Then, having moved to the left in order to get a clear shot, she raised the Fareye. The man could have fired at her then—but was using his rifle as a cane. So Susan shot him in the head and was already turning away as the body fell. Some people are just plain stupid. That’s what Dad said, and he was right.
After securing supplies in Falcon, Susan headed north through Limon and Last Chance, Colorado, to U.S. 36. It paralleled U.S. 40 to the south, but was likely to be less traveled by both humans and the Chimera. That made it ideal insofar as Susan was concerned. Of course, “less traveled” didn’t mean safe. Far from it.
A pair of Howlers had picked up Susan’s trail just west of Atwood, Kansas. It had taken eight long hours, and all the skill she possessed, to establish an ambush, and to take the lion-sized beasts down.
Then, a few miles east of Norton, Susan had been forced to take shelter in a line shack for two days due to heavy rains. Although that had been good in a way: she had taken the opportunity to bathe in a nearby stream, wash both sets of clothes, and fine-tune her gear. That included converting Brewster’s western-style holster into a shoulder rig.
Once the weather cleared, Susan returned to the road. She spotted the jagged top of the defense column seven days later. The tower grew steadily taller as the afternoon wore on. She was a quarter-mile away when the sun began to set.
Having scanned the area for a good ten minutes to determine that the way was clear, Susan passed through a hole in what had been part of the perimeter fence, and crossed a fire-blackened defense moat.
From there it was a short trip up an embankment, through a gap between a couple of gun positions, and into the debris-strewn area that surrounded the column’s sturdy base. Tons of material had fallen from above. The only sounds were generated by the eternal whine of the prairie wind, her own footsteps, and the rattle of metal treads as she climbed the stairs. She could not help but think about the others who had made the same journey and were almost certainly dead. If not as a result of the battle that had rendered the column impotent, then as a result of some other fight, as the Chimera systematically pounded North America into submission.
But after a good night’s sleep, and with the sunshine angling in from above, Susan was in a good mood as she rolled out of the bag into the chilly air and went about her morning routines. All of the metal surfaces around her were covered with a layer of glittering frost. Water was limited to what she had in two Army canteens, but she was used to such inconveniences, and it wasn’t long before she was dressed and cooking breakfast over a can of Sterno. She still had plenty of oatmeal, but was running low on everything else. That included tea, which she missed very much.
Once the meal was over and her gear was packed, Susan took the Fareye and made her way over to the east side of the deck. It had been too dark to scan the surrounding countryside the evening before, but now she could see for many miles.
Just before President Grace’s death, and over the objections of those who spoke for Freedom First, the Grace administration had not only constructed defense columns like the one Susan was standing on, but so-called Protection Camps as well. They were small towns, really, in which hundreds of thousands of displaced citizens could be housed, and kept under control.
The city of Concordia had been host to such a camp, and as Susan swung the Fareye from left to right, she could see what remained of it. Hundreds of barrack-style buildings were all set up on a grid, complete with little parks that were positioned with checkerboard-like regularity. The open areas were overgrown now, but Susan could imagine children playing in them, as their parents looked on.