I leapt up on the Cadillac at the gate and casually strode across its hood. “Insurance, Jerry. It’s a dangerous world we live in.”
*****
There were thirty vehicles in the convoy.
Most of them were the wheeled variety, but there was one Abrams tank, a couple of mobile Howitzers, and four Bradley fighting vehicles. I also counted eight Humvees, six M35 deuce-and-a-halfs, five armored personnel carriers, and four HEMTT cargo trucks. The line of vehicles came to a halt in front of the settlement’s main gate as I turned southward and began walking down Highway 281.
The plan was to stroll casually by and turn left at the southeast corner of the wall. I saw no reason why the Army, or Marines, or whoever it was would be interested in a lone traveler, even a well-armed one. This was Texas, after all, where firearms were as common as cowboy hats.
So when a Humvee’s passenger door opened a few feet away and a soldier spilled out, carbine trained in my direction, shouting at me to get my fucking hands in the air now, I froze in genuine shock.
“I said get your goddamn hands up!” he yelled when I didn’t move. Slowly, I did as ordered.
“Turn away from me.” The soldier said. I tried to read his nametag, but his arms covered it.
“What’s this about?” I asked. “Why are you-”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he screamed, going red in the face. “Turn around now!”
“Johansen,” a sharp voice said to my right. I turned to see who had spoken and saw a man in fatigues approaching. He had a captain’s insignia on his uniform. “Lower that weapon right now.”
“He’s armed, sir.” The soldier, Johansen, said.
“Yes, and if I were in his place, I would be too. Now lower your weapon, Sergeant.”
Johansen complied, glaring daggers at me. The captain stepped closer and reached out a hand. “Sorry about that. The sergeant here is a little overzealous at times.”
I shook the offered hand, not taking my eyes off Johansen. “You don’t say.”
Johansen’s already red face darkened. Beside me, the captain said, “Name’s Morgan. Insert joke here.”
It was inappropriate, but I chuckled, finally looking away from Johansen. “Captain Morgan?”
The officer smiled. “Yep. I’m a real hit at parties.”
“You a deserter?” Johansen growled.
I looked back at him. “What?”
“How’d you know he’s a captain? He never identified his rank.”
I pointed. “It’s right there on his uniform.”
“How do you know what a captain’s bars look like?”
“My old man was in the Army.”
“Mmm-hmm. And where did you get that M-4?”
I looked down. “It was a gift.”
“Mind if I take a look?” Morgan asked.
I handed it to him. He glanced at the manufacturer’s stamp, then handed it back. “Rock River Arms. I hear they make good stuff.” He shot a pointed glance at Johansen, who looked crestfallen. If the gun had been made by Colt, it would have looked bad for me. I was in Army surplus tactical gear, after all, and was old enough to have enlisted in the Armed Services. But Rock River Arms did not make M-4s for the military, that was Colt’s job, thus invalidating Johansen’s suspicions.
The sound of doors opening and boots hitting the ground echoed around us. I glanced up and down the convoy to see soldiers exiting vehicles and starting the process of setting up a perimeter. A few of them started heading in our direction, no doubt intent on speaking with the captain.
“Are you in charge of all these guys?” I asked.
Morgan’s expression sobered. “Sadly, yes. We’re a bit of a rag-tag contingent, you might say. Came up from San Antonio, what’s left of it, anyway. Where are you from?”
“Houston, originally,” I said, seeing no point in lying. “Not much left there either.”
“So I heard.”
“How bad did San Antonio get hit?” I didn’t think it was a good idea to let on that I already knew, considering the hijinks my father and the other guys got into less than twenty-four hours ago.
“Bad. We were part of a larger force along Highway 46. Tried to keep the infected from spreading north.” He shook his head. “Didn’t last long. What you see here is a big chunk of what survived.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He nodded, eyes fixed in the distance. “After the retreat, we got orders to head north to Colorado Springs. Supposed to look for survivors along the way, ask them to come with us, render what assistance we can. Can you tell me anything about this place?” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the wall of RVs.
I thought of Jerry’s wounded arm, and Travis’ prone form just inside the gate, and wondered how to play it. After a few seconds, I said. “My best advice is to watch yourself around these people.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“I came here to trade some ammo for water. Things were friendly enough at first, but then the guy who runs the place tried to shake me down. Said he used to be a cop, wanted to search my stuff. I told him to go fuck himself and went to leave, and he had one of his guards draw down on me. I got a buddy out there with a scoped .308 watching over me. He shot the gun out of the guy’s hands while I used the distraction to deal with the leader. I was just leaving when you guys showed up.”
“I’m sorry,” Morgan said, eyes narrow with suspicion. “Did you say there’s a sniper in the hills?”
“Yep. Marine Force Recon, old friend of my father’s. We’ve been traveling together since Houston, looking out for each other. Figured it would be best for him to hang back in case these people weren’t as nice as they seemed. Turned out to be a good idea.”
The captain looked at Johansen, then back at me. “I don’t suppose he would mind coming down and having a talk with us, would he?”
I shrugged. “Not sure. I can go ask him, though. He might, he might not.”
“Kid,” Johansen said, “if we have to hunt him down, he ain’t gonna like it.”
I shot him a level stare. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Johansen,” Morgan said, glaring, “why don’t you go somewhere and make yourself useful?”
The sergeant looked like he was going to say something else, but when he saw the impatience on Morgan’s face, he bit down on it, gave a curt, “Yes sir,” and stalked away.
“I suppose if your friend was a threat to us,” Morgan said, “Johansen would no longer be among the living. Is that a fair assumption?”
I nodded. “I would have said something when he was pointing his gun at me, but to be honest, I was too surprised. What’s that guy’s problem, anyway?”
“I don’t know. Too much testosterone? Maybe his parents didn’t hug him enough? Honestly, though, he probably just had you pegged for a deserter. We’ve been having problems with that lately.”
“Do you think it occurred to him if I was a deserter, I wouldn’t go strolling by an Army convoy in my tactical gear? Wouldn’t it have been smarter to—oh, I don’t know—change into civilian clothes?”
“Things like that don’t always occur to Sergeant Johansen. He’s not what you might call quick on the uptake.”
“I gathered that.”
Morgan sighed, took off his helmet, and ran a hand through a thick mop of short black hair. His face looked mildly sunburned and he was sweating in the heat. “About your friend, the Marine. If he shot someone, I’m kind of obligated to investigate. Was anyone killed?”
“No.”
“Any serious injuries?”
“Not sure. I put the hurt on the guy who tried to stop me from leaving.”
“How bad?”
“He was unconscious last I saw him.”
Morgan cursed softly. The quartet of men who had been walking toward us from the front of the column finally arrived. They came to a halt behind the captain, eyeing me suspiciously. “Okay,” he said, “here’s what we’re going to do. Turn your weapons over to these men here. We’ll conduct an investigation. If everything is how you say it is, you’ll be free to go.”