The Independents, page 1
part #2 of Holding Their Own Series
Holding Their Own II: The Independents
By
Joe Nobody
Copyright © 2011-2012
Kemah Bay Marketing LTD.
All rights reserved.
Edited by:
E. T. Ivester
Contributors:
D. Hall
D. Allen
www.holdingyourground.com
www.prepperpress.com
Other Books by Joe Nobody:
- Holding Your Ground: Preparing for Defense if it All Falls Apart
- The TEOTWAWKI Tuxedo: Formal Survival Attire
- Without Rule of Law: Advanced Skill to Help You Survive
- Holding Their Own: A Story of Survival
Prologue
The pilot looked at the fuel gauge on the cluttered dash of the small Cessna for the tenth time in the last few minutes. The needle seemed to be glued to the capital E, and he knew it wasn’t going to move, no matter how many times he checked. He considered the passenger in the front seat and shook his head – We’re not going to make it. Right on cue, the engine sputtered, spit, and then returned to its steady drone. It was an unwelcome validation that the gauge was neither broken, nor inaccurate.
After a minor adjustment to the rudder, he glanced out the side window at the desolate west Texas landscape below. A seemingly endless expanse of brownish sand accented with bleached, off-white rocks spread out below him. Small, random clusters of dark vegetation littered the ground here and there, but what really drew his attention were the angry, sharp-looking formations of grey and red rocks. His mind visualized their razor-like edges slicing through the thin skin of the aircraft. Despite being above it all, he could tell it was a harsh world down there. Even the hazy outlines of the distant mountains looked gloomy and foreboding.
He pushed down the panic that was growing in his throat and looked at the passenger. “Do you think that was him?”
The passenger was looking out his window, lost in thought. He surveyed the map resting in his lap, and then the pilot. “No way to tell. There was somebody down there for sure, but who knows. Can you get us down?”
One last check out the windows confirmed what they both already knew. The only place to set down was a thin strip of blacktop the charts indicated was Texas State Highway 98. The pilot grimaced and shook his head. “We don’t have any choice – here goes.” He adjusted the trim and steered the nose so it began to line up with the road below.
From their altitude, the roadway below looked like a piece of dark ribbon stretching to the horizon. As the front of the plane slowly aligned with the makeshift landing strip, the engine protested its lack of fuel by cutting in and out several times and then finally fell silent. The sound of air rushing past at just over 100 miles per hour was a poor substitute for the engine’s mechanical hum and reassuring vibrations. The pilot ignored the crushing pressure building in his ears, focusing on the white dashes that now cut the black road in half. Everything he had ever read or heard about landing without power came rushing to the forefront of his mind. He mentally ran through the checklist learned so long ago. He didn’t know the wind, and it was useless to radio a mayday – everything else had been done. He squeezed the controls and kept his eyes locked on the improvised runway ahead.
The passenger reached across, put his hand on the pilot’s shoulder, and spoke in a calming voice. “You’ve done well. No matter what, I want you to know that.” He then turned and looked at the girls seated behind him. He mouthed the words, “I love you,” and then said aloud, “We’re going to have a rough landing – better make sure your belts are good and tight.”
Despite the overwhelming whistling of the wind outside, everyone in the cabin could hear the whispered prayers coming from the backseat.
The plane was being pulled down by gravity, and the angle was bad. The pilot desperately worked the controls, trying to flare the nose. At the last instant, a pocket of thermal air nudged the powerless craft, causing it to miss its mark by only a few feet.
The small plane hit the pavement hard. On initial impact, the starboard landing wheel snapped off as the plane bounced back into the air. On the second touchdown, the uneven landing gear caused the nose to veer sharply right, and the port wing slammed into the ground. The cabin was heaved upwards as the plane rolled over, still traveling at over 70 miles per hour. The nylon seatbelts felt like they were cutting flesh, and the roar of tearing, screeching metal filled the air. Passengers who managed to keep their eyes open, would have noticed the landscape outside the front windows turn upside down, and then slowly roll back to normal. It took a full five seconds before the momentum bled off, and the plane skidded to a complete stop.
The desert didn’t notice the wreck, nor did it care. The small cloud of dust, already settling around the crumpled airframe, was of no consequence. The shallow trenches created by the skidding metal would be refilled by the winds within a season. Even the repeating hiss…hiss…hiss…of a fluid dripping onto the hot engine manifold meant nothing to the desert.
Chapter 1
Bishop stood looking at the rim of the box canyon wishing the plane would magically reappear. When it didn’t, he tried tilting his head slightly in a vain attempt to detect engine noise. The sky was empty, and the desert was soundless. The aircraft had clearly made two direct passes right over the ranch, and his mind was working overtime trying to figure out if they could’ve really seen anything from the air. Bishop meandered into the middle of the ravine, trying to imagine what could be recognized from above.
The camper rested partially underneath an outcropping of solid rock and the canopy of a young pecan tree. A thick film, caused by years of windblown sand, covered the once shiny aluminum skin. Directly behind the camper was the pickup truck. Most of it was obscured by the overhang as well. Besides, the truck was even dirtier than the camper and would probably be difficult to detect from the air. An old camouflage net was strung between the truck and the camper. Bishop had put it there for shade more than concealment. Under the net were two worn, folding lawn chairs with green and white nylon webbing that was beginning to unravel.
Opposite the camper, separated by a flat area of bare sand, was the canyon wall where the Bat Cave was located. A naturally formed rock room created by thousands of years of erosion, its almost constant temperature enabled the couple to carefully store bits of food, tools, and equipment salvaged from their Houston residence. As with its sibling formation, which hid the camper, the sheer cliff face curved inward at the base, creating an area completely hidden from above. A spring dripped constantly from the overhang into a small pool of solid granite. Bishop had dammed the natural drainage creating what they called the hot tub. Both the spring and the entrance to the Bat Cave were difficult to detect from ground level, let alone a fast moving airplane hundreds of feet in the air.
Downslope from the hot tub was their garden. While it was barely sprouting any green at the moment, Bishop wondered if the straight rows of plantings could be spotted from the sky. No doubt the soil was darker, as it was irrigated from the hot tub, but was that enough to cause an aircraft to hone in on their ranch?
A slight rustle from behind signaled Terri had joined him. He recognized the familiar sound of her bare feet on the hard-packed desert floor. A moment later, she exhaled a sigh as she leaned her body against his back. Her fingers interlocked across his chest in a gentle hug, and her head peeked over his shoulder. “What’s the matter, Bishop? I mean…besides the obvious.”
Bishop’s voice relayed frustration. “I’m not sure I need to check on the plane. I don’t think the pilot could see anything. I mean, look around…what could he have identified from the air?”
Terri released her hug and moved around to look at her husband’s face. While she expected to see concern, his face showed anger. When he finally made eye contact, her expression made it clear she didn’t quite follow his thinking.
His tone softened. “I don’t want to leave you here alone unless it is absolutely necessary. I’ve taken enough risks lately, and my luck isn’t going to hold out forever. I want to stay here, dry the meat, eat dinner, and then count the stars before going to bed. Remember? We were going to find Orion’s Belt tonight. I was looking forward to that.”
Terri rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Bishop, if you’re sure you won’t be worried about someone sneaking up on us, I’m cool with your staying here. I just thought we would both sleep better if you checked things out.”
Bishop shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting with the rifle slung across his chest. His gaze shifted from Terri’s eyes to the point in the sky where the plane had disappeared and then back again. The isolation of the ranch was their single greatest peace of mind. Now, without warning or reason, someone had trespassed. At least that’s how he felt about it. Terri and he were the only people who knew the ranch was here – at least until now. Stealth was always the best defense, and now their cover was blown.
Their lives had been so tranquil since arriving at their sanctuary. The harrowing trip across Texas to get here had left its scars and shadows, but the routine of surviving was slowly healing them both. Desert living was tough on Bishop and Terri. While they had good water, some supplies, and the old camper for shelter, it still took all of their energy to provide just basic food and security.
The ranch had been their permanent residence for two months now, and some days had been more challenging than others. When Bishop originally inherited the property, he envisioned a remote hunting retreat where he could spend many uninterrupted hours honing his skills. Terri had pictured a rustic hideaway, absent the daily frustrations of city life. For all that the weekend escape had meant to them, the ranch was never intended to be more than a temporary refuge. When terrorist attacks pushed an already crippled United States over the edge, the couple had initially tried to stay in their suburban Houston home. A few weeks after the local government ceased to exist, it become clear they couldn’t sustain any longer in suburbia. Food was running short, neighbors were beginning to turn on each other, and martial law had been established in the city limits. The radio broadcasts sought to calm an out-of-control population with the announcement that soldiers would be establishing order and taking control of Houston. But the young couple had no interest in exchanging their family table for work camps and food lines. Deciding the Army’s solution didn’t sound very palatable to them, Bishop and Terri hurriedly packed as many supplies as they could fit in the truck and set out on their own.
Bishop looked at his wife and nodded. “You’re right, as usual. I’ll go check it out. I need to get some gear together.”
Bishop strode deliberately toward the outcropping, which signaled the entrance to the Bat Cave. He opened the heavy steel door, salvaged from a grain hauler, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the shade. The cool air inside was a refreshing change from the dry heat of the desert. Leaving the door ajar illuminated a path to a far corner where his gear was stored. He needed to start thinking about what to take with him.
The light from outside dimmed slightly as Terri entered the rock room. Bishop looked up and smiled as she came to watch him get ready. She could clearly see from his actions that he was uptight and knew instinctively he was worried about the baby and her. A warm feeling went through her thinking about Bishop being protective of their expanding family. In a way, it was cute and made her feel good inside. On the other hand, she worried it might cloud his judgment. Before everything had gone to hell, the stereotypical father-to-be was humorous. Bringing home a new baseball glove, expecting the newborn to be ready for a game of catch was funny then. Now, Terri wasn’t so sure. If Bishop made decisions based on unrealistic concerns about the baby and her, this new world could instantly deliver a dose of harsh reality. I need to reassure him, she thought. He’s not even aware he’s doing it.
Terri walked behind him and rested her chin on his shoulder. When he glanced at her, she cleared her throat and declared, “Bishop, I need you to get me some pickles and ice cream before you go.”
He stopped working with his equipment and flashed a puzzled look. “What? Are you serious?”
Terri put on her best indignant face when she countered him. “Yes, of course I’m serious! I’m pregnant, and it’s my God-given right as a spoiled American woman to crave pickles and ice cream. If you really love me, you’ll go find me some.”
He shook his head and started to laugh. “Very funny Terri, where the hell would I find…” She overrode him with a raised voice. “I don’t think it’s funny at all! You’re not the one who has morning sickness now and stretch marks in her future. I want chocolate ice cream and dill pickles.” Her hands came to rest on her hips and her chin jutted out, daring him to challenge her.
Bishop was stunned and started stuttering, “Where…I don’t…how…”
Terri turned her back to him, mostly because she was pretending to be mad, partly because she was having trouble keeping a straight face.
Bishop quickly turned and followed, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Baby, please don’t be upset. You know if I could go get you anything…anything in the world, I would. There’s no way I can find pickles and ice cream, just no way. It’s just not reasonable.”
Terri sighed loudly and looked up at the ceiling, still keeping her face away from her husband. “Nikki Morrison’s husband went several times in the middle of the night to get her peppermint ice cream when she was pregnant. He had to drive clear across town and never complained. I guess he loved her a lot.”
Her challenge had the desired effect as Bishop spun her around and looked her square in the eye. His voice was firm. “You can’t compare our current situation to Mitch Morrison’s little late night jaunts to a nearby Walgreens for ice cream. In case you haven’t noticed, things are a little different now. Show me a frigging Walgreens, and by god I’ll bring you back enough ice cream to sink a battleship. That’s not fair, Terri. I can’t spoil you the way I want to. The world has changed, and while I love you more than anything, I can’t just simply…”
The corners of Terri’s mouth showed just enough of a smirk that Bishop stopped. Her eyebrows raised just a little, and when he saw the twinkle in her eyes, he realized he’d been had. He smiled, shook his head, and looked down at her feet. “You got me.”
Her voice softened, and she put her hands on his face. “Baby, the world has changed. Our roles have to adapt. It’s so sweet that you want to protect me every moment of every day, but you can’t. I’m a big girl. We made it this far because we trusted each other’s instincts. Don’t change that – it works.”
Bishop nodded and seemed to be studying his feet. Terri wanted to reinforce her message. She smiled and rubbed her tummy in small circles. “This is a baby, not Kryptonite, so don’t let it weaken you,” she continued in a steady and reassuring voice. “You have to go see who was in that plane. You have to trust your judgment.” She paused and smoothed his tousled hair with her deft fingertips. “I’ll make your favorite soup when you get back, and then we’ll find Orion’s Belt. I’ll wear my pistol and stay close to the cave while you’re gone. I need to see how much food we have left in here anyway.”
Terri’s words seemed to calm him. Bishop reached up and pulled down a laminated set of papers hanging on the wall. He kept an inventory of all of his equipment along with his DOPE, or Data on Previous Engagements, next to the tools. He didn’t know how far away the aircraft was, so he intended to pack for an overnight stay in the desert. It had been months since he had done this, and he knew from experience that everything needed to be planned out in detail. The plastic-covered paper had lists of gear and the time it took to do everything from making a meal to cleaning his rifle. He opened a small box on the makeshift workbench, pulled out a clean piece of paper, and began writing out a plan.
Terri padded over to his side for a closer look. A mischievous smile crossed her lips as she asked, “Isn’t this like packing for a vacation? Just throw everything in you might possibly need and go? Why do you keep all those lists anyway?”
Bishop laughed and kissed her on the forehead. “Well, just like our vacations, there isn’t room for everything. Don’t you remember having to repack about ten times whenever we decided to get away for the weekend?”
She playfully swatted him on the arm and feigned a hurt look. “It wasn’t ten times, Bishop.” Terri paused briefly before continuing. “Seriously though, how come you keep all that information?”
Clearly lost in thought, Bishop paused and then inhaled deeply. “Did I ever tell you about Mr. Franklin P. Mossback?”
Terri shook her head and giggled. “No, Bishop. I’m sure I would remember a name like that.”
He stared into space for a moment before pulling more equipment from the rock wall. He glanced at his watch and turned to Terri. “I bet the plane tried to land on the highway, and I want to get there when the light is at my back. I’ve got some extra time before I need to leave. So let me tell you about Mr. Franklin P. Mossback, Senior Geologist, HBR.”
“Several years ago, before you and I met, I received my first assignment at HBR where I was going to be in charge. HBR had won a contract to explore for natural gas in a remote location known as the Tri-Border Area, in South America. Quite the little cesspool of criminal and terrorist activity, it was basically a disputed border region between Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay.”
Terri interrupted him. “Terrorists in South America? Are we talking about Islamic terrorists or rebels?”
Bishop shook his head, “Both . . . and much, much more than that. There were drug cartels, Chinese mafia, homegrown syndicates - you name it. If you were into money laundering, drug shipments, gunrunning, or general mayhem, you had to have an organization in the area to be considered an A-player. It was kind of like a United Nations for the underworld.”
