Alone: (Book 12): A Long Road Home, page 1
part #12 of Alone Series
ALONE
Book 12:
A Long Road Home
By Darrell Maloney
This is a work of fiction. All persons depicted in this book are fictional characters. Any resemblance to any real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Copyright 2019 by Darrell Maloney
This book is dedicated to:
Edwin Deady
Casey Everett Westling
Tyson Horn
Rebecca Vance
Helen Fisher
Shirley McGinn
Vicki Sullivan
Lynn Goodrich
Brynda Willis Porter
Cathy Howat
Donna Lane
Thank you all for everything…
The Story Thus Far…
When we last left Dave Spear he was on the move again.
This time he was headed south toward Texas.
And this time was different than all the others for a couple of reasons.
This time he wasn’t alone.
He’d accomplished his goal: he’d reunited with his family.
This time the trip was with all of them. They were together again. And that by itself made this a joyful excursion. Not one filled with dread, doubts and fears, as all the journeys before it had.
And this would be the last.
Dave and Sarah had met with Karen in secret just before they left Ely. Karen’s kids had been sent outside to play, Lindsey and Beth as well.
The three adults spoke frankly and accepted the realities of the new world.
Karen had no desire to move to Texas.
Ely was her home, and had been for many years. She lived there, and she wanted to die there, just as her husband did.
She was in no big hurry to die, but when she went she wanted to be buried next to Tommy. That was, she felt, where she belonged for all eternity.
By his side.
Her sister Sarah, though, wanted to live in Texas.
Their lives had been in turmoil since the blackout started, and would never be the same again.
To the extent possible, though, she wanted things to be the way they once were. She wanted to go back to her home in San Antonio and to pick up where they left off.
And besides… how could anyone possibly pass up the opportunity to live in San Antonio? Why, it was the prettiest and the friendliest place on God’s earth.
The three of them… Sarah, Dave and Karen, understood there was a possibility they’d never see each other again.
They hoped that wasn’t the case, of course, but knew it could happen.
The only way to avoid the possibility was for one of the sisters to give up their hopes and dreams. And that wasn’t going to happen.
So they parted ways with pained hearts and a promise to one another.
When and if it became possible once again to travel quickly and efficiently… and safely, since travel was still a risky endeavor…
If and when it became possible again, Karen would bring her kids to San Antonio to visit.
Or… Sarah would take her family and head north.
Perhaps at that time they’d revisit the possibility of one or the other relocating. Perhaps circumstances and attitudes might change by then.
In the meantime they’d part ways and start putting the pieces of their lives together again.
And so it was that Dave and Sarah set sail due south toward Texas.
With them went Lindsey and Beth, their daughters.
Also along for the ride was old Sal D’Ambrosio, who’d given up on ever seeing California or his brother Benny again.
And he was okay with that. Any sadness he felt was overpowered by anticipation.
He’d been to Texas but never to San Antonio.
He was looking forward to seeing the Alamo City and settling there.
Dave told him the house next door was once occupied by a wonderful family, the Castros, who’d abandoned it forever when they struck out to find their relatives.
Dave described the house to the old man. Still fully furnished and decorated in the Hispanic cultural style Sal loved.
It sounded like a wonderful place to spend his last years.
And so close to little Beth, who’d won his heart months before.
Lindsey too, was growing close to Sal, and he was easily able to convince himself they were his granddaughters.
It wasn’t meant to be, though.
On the way to Texas Sal rode ahead on his go-cart. The go-cart Dave had procured for him because he wasn’t physically able to walk the thousand-plus miles to his new home.
A shot rang out and Sal tumbled off the tiny machine.
He was felled by a coward’s bullet.
He was instantly killed, but his death wouldn’t go unavenged.
Dave went to one knee and returned fire.
The bad man went down, wounded but still alive.
His chances of getting away were foiled.
Dave ran up on the man, and had a big decision to make.
He wanted to finish the job; to kill him outright. But his family was watching.
How could he pretend to be an honorable man, at the same time letting his daughters see him murder a man in cold blood?
But how could he let this man shoot down Sal like a mad dog and go unpunished?
It seemed there was no middle ground; it had to be one or the other.
And now… the 12th installment of Alone:
A Long Road Home
Chapter 1
Dave took a knee to take out Sal’s shooter.
It wasn’t a sure shot.
Especially since he’d run over a hundred yards to close the gap.
Yes, his target was closer when he pulled the trigger.
But it was anything but an easy shot.
Dave’s adrenaline was pumping. He was short of breath. He was trembling with rage.
There was nothing easy about it.
Still, the assailant went down with one shot. He fell out of Dave’s view over the crest of the hill.
And Dave did something really stupid. Something that, if it wasn’t for sheer luck, could have spelled disaster.
He knew his shot might have gone wide or high. He knew it might have missed the heart. He knew the man might still be alive.
And even worse, the bastard might still be able to return fire.
Despite his wound, Sal’s killer might well have the upper hand.
If he was still alive he had natural cover that Dave didn’t have. And he had the high ground.
The smart move would have been for Dave to reduce his own visibility. To get off the highway and into the heavy brush. Then to close ground between them. To ensure his target was dead.
In Marine Corps combat jargon, to “neutralize the threat.”
Dave had been in combat. He’d been shot at. He’d killed men and saw friends die.
He seldom lost his head, but he did this time.
He broke one of the cardinal sins of combat. He left an enemy to tend to a friendly, without knowing whether that enemy was alive or dead.
It was stupid.
It could have cost him his life.
He was lucky.
Instead of working his way up the hill, instead of verifying his kill, he went instead to Sal’s side.
His friend wasn’t moving.
His chest was covered with blood.
Dave said, “Oh, Sal…”
It might have been viewed as sorrow, but really it was the start of a command.
“Oh, Sal… don’t you dare die on me.”
He only got half of it out, though, before he got a sick feeling in his stomach.
He went through the motions, even though he knew it was a lost cause. He ripped Sal’s shirt open, started chest compressions, even knowing he was wasting his time.
Sal’s heart was shredded.
He stood and ran to the man who’d taken his friend’s life.
He was in a rage. He wanted to strangle the man who’d taken his friend. But he caught himself before he went too far.
He realized that half a mile away, from the crest of the next hill, his family was watching in horror.
The wounded animal who lay on the highway bleeding profusely from a mortal wound and cowering before him would have to wait. He needed to vent some of his rage. Only then could he keep from ripping the man to shreds.
He grabbed the rear of the go-cart’s frame and pulled mightily. The accelerator which had been jammed beneath the guard rail came free. The roar of the engine ceased. The drive wheels stopped spinning.
A second mighty yank and the machine itself was free.
It weighed almost as much as he did, and was ungainly. But that didn’t matter, and it didn’t slow him down, for he had to release some of his rage somehow, against someone or something.
He gripped the frame of the machine even harder and, in the same way a discus thrower heaves a discus, he spun his body halfway around and heaved the go-cart over the guardrail and into the deep canyon below.
He couldn’t see it, but heard it bounce from one boulder to another. The gas tank ruptured and a plume of black smoke rose from the canyon floor.
The go-cart would never be ridden again. Nor would it ever endanger another innocent driver.
He picked up the shooter’s rifle and slung it over the guardrail. Took the pistol from the man’s holster and did the same with it.
Chad Smith saw Dave above him, though it was getting increasingly harder to focus through glassed and sticky eyes.
He could only manage a few meager words, in a weak and trembling voice.
“Help me,” he pleaded. “Please help me.”
Dave looked at the man’s chest. Although he’d missed the heart, it was definitely a mortal wound.
In a big city, when the power was still on and vehicles were still running, a fast-acting ambulance crew might be able to dress the wound in time to rush him to a trauma center and save his life.
But the power was off, possibly forever.
Ambulances no longer ran. They were a hundred miles from the nearest trauma center, and it was almost certainly closed anyway.
Dave had no sterile dressings or bandages. Although he’d received extensive training in the military to deal with combat wounds… what the Corps called “buddy care,” he had nothing to work with.
Moreover, he had no desire to try.
In response to Chad’s pitiful cries Dave removed his Bowie knife from its sheathe on his belt.
He held it to the man’s throat.
Pressed hard enough to draw a drop of blood and make the man wince in pain.
He said, “I’ll help you, you son of a bitch. I’ll help you go straight to hell.”
But he stopped short.
He was ready and willing to plunge the knife into the man’s neck, slice open his jugular vein. Perhaps even sever his head and sling it into the canyon.
He stood over the man and debated.
On the one hand, what he was pondering was murder.
He wasn’t a perfect man by any means. And he’d killed several times, either because his country told him to or because his conscience convinced him he had to. Either to save his own life or his family’s.
But there were some lines he’d never crossed.
Murder was one of them.
On the other hand, he was a believer. He knew in his heart of hearts that God was omnipresent; He was up there watching. That He knew everything.
If that was true then God knew the evil that was in this man’s heart. And surely He would forgive Dave for taking his life.
It wasn’t often Dave faced a dilemma he didn’t immediately have an answer for.
All his life he’d considered himself a decision-maker extraordinaire. He had a reputation in the Corps for seldom being wrong, seldom regretting the choices he made.
This time he was stumped.
He turned and looked back at the road behind him.
Sarah and Beth were nowhere in sight. Beth had run into the high brush in a panic and Sarah was chasing her down.
Lindsey was still on the highway, looking in Dave’s direction. She was frozen in place at the spectacle taking place in front of her. She was panicked and very close to going into shock.
No, he couldn’t consult Sarah; Sarah had her own crisis to deal with. And even if she’d been standing there beside him he wouldn’t burden her with this decision to make. It was his choice and his alone.
As Chad Smith begged for his life Dave knelt down beside him again.
He’d made his decision.
Chapter 2
Dave grabbed the collar of the man who’d murdered his friend.
He tugged and said, “Let’s go, you bastard.”
The man was crying. Begging. Afraid for his life.
In Dave he had a very unsympathetic audience.
What Dave lacked in sympathy he made up for in insistence.
He used one arm to drag the man, half out of adrenaline and half out of rage.
Chad helped as much as he could, simply because he had no choice. It was obvious he was going into the brush on the side of the road with Dave whether he wanted to or not.
Perhaps it would be less painful if he complied.
He half-crawled and was half-dragged across the rough pavement.
Once upon a time the Highway Department brought in huge mowers several times a year to cut down the high weeds along the highway right-of-way.
That was in the old days.
When the tractors ran.
When the drivers were still alive.
When the Highway Department still existed.
These days the sides of the roads were left to nature’s devices.
And the weeds were waist-high.
A few feet off the highway Chad lost sight of everything except the weeds and the cloud of dust he was kicking up.
“Where are you taking me?” he demanded.
Dave wasn’t in the best of moods, nor was he in the mood for idle conversation.
“Why the hell do you want to know? It’s not like you have a choice.”
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“Might as well. You’re dying anyway, you mother…”
Dave didn’t finish the last word.
It was a common term; one which had become almost mainstream even before the blackout, and one Dave still used occasionally himself when he was enraged.
But he was a father and he tried to be a good one.
It wasn’t a term a good father would use.
Especially when his or somebody else’s kids were within earshot.
He tried not to use it.
He didn’t always succeed. But he did make an effort.
But then again, what did it matter?
He was getting ready to commit murder. Using a word once banned in polite society didn’t seem much of a thing anymore, now did it?
They were ten yards into the brush when Chad had an epiphany.
Why was he helping the man who was almost certainly going to murder him? Why make it easy on him? If it was to avoid making him angrier, or to try to get on his good side, perhaps he should accept that neither was possible.
If the man towering over him was already angry enough to kill him it seemed to him that he probably wasn’t going to let him go and let bygones be bygones simply because he decided to walk to his execution.
Why should he help him then?
He stopped crawling and planted himself in the dirt.
Dave placed the Bowie knife once again on Chad’s throat.
He didn’t say a word.
He was still out of breath from running half a mile to Chad’s side, then dragging a man twenty pounds over his own body weight for thirty yards.
Still, he didn’t have to talk.
The knife at Chad’s throat did all his talking for him.
“Go ahead,” Chad said. “If you’re gonna kill me anyway, why in hell should I help you?
“My life ain’t worth living anyway.”
Chapter 3
Dave walked out of the brush a few minutes later and stumbled down the highway toward Sarah and his daughters .
The girls were openly bawling.
Sarah was trying hard to hold herself together, but was failing fast.
Dave held her close.
The girls went to them, needing to be included.
They wrapped their arms around their parents, but were careful to avoid Dave’s hands and the front of his shirt.
He didn’t even know they were covered in blood.
He didn’t know until he brought his right hand up to touch his wife’s hair, then noticed with some horror the blood he was sharing with her.
He stepped away from her. Hid his hands behind his back.
It did no good. Sarah saw the look upon his face and reached for the hair.
She was puzzled to find it was sticky.
Then she looked at her fingers.
She looked to Dave, still puzzled, until she realized what it was.
And what it meant.
Beth stopped sobbing long enough to ask, even while terrified of the probable answer, “Daddy… is Grandpa Sal dead?”
“Yes, honey. I’m sorry. He is.”
Beth started wailing again.
Lindsey held her.
Lindsey wasn’t as close to Sal, as she’d only known him for a few weeks. He was a nice man and was kind to her. But he didn’t have the history with Lindsey that he had with little Beth.
Lindsey would have learned to love the old man eventually, just as Beth had done.
But thus far she just hadn’t been with him long enough.
In addition to that Lindsey was more woman than girl.
She realized it was her place, more than her mom or dad, to be the rock her little sister needed her to be.
