And the other half wondering what happened; what went wrong to make her sister delay her return, to stay the night somewhere.

  By the end of the second day Angela would have faced reality. She’d know then she was all alone in the world.

  Too small and too vulnerable, she wouldn’t go out in search of food herself.

  Instead, she’d sit alone in the house and cry. And she’d ponder her future.

  She was smart enough to realize how bleak it was.

  Kristy had warned her since the blackout began she was never to be caught alone outside the house.

  That she probably wouldn’t survive the first day.

  “It wouldn’t just be the men who would kill you,” Kristy told her time and time again. “Even the teenagers who roam the streets in gangs would see you as an easy victim. Hell, even the women marauders would too.

  “The men, though… they’d be the worst. Many would want far more from you than your food. And there are things which are far worse than death.”

  Kristy’s intent during those conversations was to scare her sister into never leaving their house alone. And in that respect it worked.

  The problem was that if something ever happened to Kristy, that house would become her sister’s own death house. She’d either stay there until she starved to death or use her sister’s spare revolver to shoot herself in the head.

  Kristy would do her best to make sure neither of those things happened, but the only way she could do that was to stay alive herself.

  So she was as cautious as could be, and that realization drove everything she did. That was why she almost never smiled, unless it was with one of the few people she felt safe with.

  That was why she always wore her war face when out in public. Why she scowled at people, even when they appeared to pose no threat to her.

  It was why her default answer, regardless of the question, was “no.” Because she was always afraid that to agree with anybody on anything might make her appear weak or vulnerable.

  It was why she went into a house one way and left another.

  Why she walked carrying her AR-15 in both hands. What the military called in “the ready position.”

  Her left hand held the hand guard, or the piece directly beneath the barrel.

  The butt of the rifle tucked into her right armpit, her forefinger rested on the trigger guard. Her rifle was always locked and loaded, a bullet in the chamber, the safety always off.

  To take a life she had but to raise the rifle and move her finger to the trigger. In a split second she could blow away a potential attacker.

  And she wanted the whole world to know it.

  Chapter 25

  Of all the ways Kristy was building her street sense, the most important one to her was her projection of toughness.

  She firmly believed that the meaner, the more bad-ass she looked, the less likely anyone would try her.

  No one told her that.

  She’d decided it on her own, the first few times she went out with her backpack to scavenge for food. It seemed so many years before, but was really just a few months.

  She’d seen them out there. The men who looked as though they’d kill you for no reason.

  She did the same thing everyone else did.

  She avoided such men like the plague.

  If she saw one walking down the street toward her, she crossed to the other side. Just like everyone else.

  If she couldn’t cross the street she turned down a side street. She actually went out of her way and detoured, rather than deal with a man (or a woman) who terrified her.

  A couple of times, early on, her efforts to flee did her no good.

  “Stop right there!” the bad man might yell. Or “Hold up. I wanna talk to you.”

  Given such orders she’d wanted to run, but wouldn’t dare.

  She might outrun the man, but she wouldn’t outrun his bullets.

  Both times she was robbed of the food she carried, but knew it could have been much worse.

  As time went by she worked on her angry persona, her mean face and her bad attitude.

  After awhile she noticed a lot of people crossing the street when she walked by. To get out of her way.

  She liked the sense of power it gave her.

  There’s an old adage that goes one must be careful not to get ahead of himself.

  For often we do not know enough to know what we do not know.

  Such was the case for Kristy.

  Kristy was much too young to have heard an old country music classic as she grew.

  The old song was called Don’t Take Your Guns to Town. A mother trying to raise a young man to adulthood had her hands full. He was now armed and convinced he was the biggest and the baddest man around. He was headed to town and insisted he take his guns with him.

  His mother knew it was a foolhardy gesture and pleaded with him to leave his guns behind.

  He didn’t know enough to know what he didn’t know.

  She did, though.

  She knew there were always men out there looking for bragging rights. They wanted to be known as the fastest gun in town, and they sought out men they could defeat in a gunfight.

  On that fateful night the mother lost the argument to a headstrong and very stubborn boy.

  But he lost too.

  He lost his life.

  The dynamics in San Antonio a year and a half after the world went dark were eerily similar.

  Kristy projected an air of toughness.

  She came off as someone who could handle herself, with or without a gun.

  But there would always be somebody tougher. Somebody who was anxious to prove it.

  As she walked down the alley after leaving the death house Kristy heard something behind her.

  A rustling in the weeds.

  Once upon a time she’d have written it off as a stray dog, maybe a cat.

  But all the neighborhood’s pets had either been killed for their meat or had starved to death. There simply weren’t any left.

  Knowing that, she understood the implications.

  She knew immediately she was in trouble.

  She turned quickly around.

  He was in the shadows cast off by a high fence. It was hard to make out his features.

  He did that on purpose.

  “How you doin’, honey?”

  A shudder went up her spine.

  His tone and his words told her he probably wouldn’t settle for just the food.

  He’d likely take something far more valuable from her. Something teenage girls tend to hang onto as long as possible, for it can only be taken once.

  He stepped out of the shadows, and she was surprised to see he wasn’t armed.

  Kristy was.

  She raised her rifle in his direction, at the same time removing her finger from the trigger guard and placing it on the trigger itself.

  A smarter man would have changed his plans.

  A smarter man would have run away.

  This wasn’t a smart man.

  He didn’t back off.

  He didn’t move away from her.

  No, this man did something which caught her totally off guard.

  He laughed at her.

  You see, he’d seen Kristy around the neighborhood.

  He knew she was building a reputation for being a hard case and someone to avoid.

  But he considered himself tougher.

  He was the modern day version of the gunfighter who shot poor Billy down for taking his guns to town.

  He wouldn’t stand for a woman, and a young one at that, to rule his streets.

  “What are you gonna do with that, honey? Are you gonna shoot me just for being friendly?”

  She wavered.

  She knew it wasn’t right to shoot an unarmed man.

  But she couldn’t just walk away. He was bigger and stronger than she was. If she turned her back on him he’d surely pounce and wrestle her to the ground.

  He’d rape her, rob her of her food and take her guns as well.

  She was in a tight spot.

  Chapter 26

  Kristy’s head started to spin.

  Her tough exterior started to melt away, and threatened to expose the little girl still living inside her.

  She was getting ready to lose it all.

  She might even lose her life; for once she was at his mercy he was capable of doing anything.

  He held both hands out in front of him in a futile effort to show her he meant no harm.

  She knew better.

  He took a step toward her.

  She raised the rifle and aimed it directly at his chest.

  “You’re a trigger pull away from dyin’ mister.”

  He laughed again, but this time with a bit less confidence.

  “You’re a sassy one, girlie. But you don’t have it in you to shoot an unarmed man. Why, that’s murder. Even in Texas. I hear tell they’re hanging murderers now. Findin’ ‘em guilty and then draggin’ ‘em out of the courthouse to the hangin’ tree. Is that how you want to die, honey?”

  “Take another step and you’ll see hell before I will.”

  She tried to sound tough. Tried to show him she was still in control.

  But she was failing miserably.

  Her voiced cracked and wavered.

  But if her courage was failing her, her instincts weren’t.

  She found it incredibly odd a man… any man… would be on the streets as dangerous as they were completely unarmed.

  Her gut told her to watch his hands and not his face.

  He was ugly as sin, but it wasn’t his face which would kill her.

  If death came to Kristy on this day it would come by his hands.

  He stopped advancing.

  His courage was waning as well.

  He thought this girl would buckle and let him have his way with her, figuring rape was better than dying.

  She was tougher than he thought.

  He was starting to rethink things.

  He lowered his hands and reached behind his back with his right hand.

  A second later the hand came back, this time holding an eight inch Bowie knife.

  They were still eight yards apart.

  Why he didn’t close more ground before going for his weapon was his last mistake.

  Perhaps he thought she’d freeze when his Bowie suddenly appeared.

  Perhaps he was just too stupid to be believed.

  She didn’t freeze.

  She fired.

  The bullet entered his chest just to the left of his heart and traveled completely through his body, dragging jagged bits of rib bone with it.

  It wasn’t an instant kill shot, for she’d missed the heart.

  But it was a mortal wound.

  The man fell backward to the ground, his knife flying.

  He cursed her.

  “You stupid bitch! You shot me! I was just tryin’ to be friendly and maybe share some of your food. You didn’t have to shoot me. I wasn’t gonna hurt you.”

  He was short of breath. His left lung collapsed, he couldn’t suck in enough air to talk.

  He examined the bloody mess the front of his shirt had become.

  “You gotta help me,” he pleaded.

  “You’re beyond help. You’ll be dead in a few minutes.”

  He realized she was right, and a terrified look fell over his face.

  He was not a good man.

  He’d murdered, raped and pilfered since the blackout.

  Like many men not hindered by a moral compass, he saw that as the easiest way to survive.

  No one would miss him when he drew his last breath. In fact, many would welcome it. The humans would recognize his death as a good thing, for it would make the streets of San Antonio just a little bit safer.

  The scavengers… the turkey buzzards which circled overhead looking for a few scraps of putrid meat to eat… they’d view him as modern day Americans view a Thanksgiving feast.

  But without the football game to follow.

  Kristy?

  She looked down at the man in horror.

  Not because she was in fear of him.

  Not any longer, for he’d been finally and permanently neutered.

  No, the horror she felt was because of what she’d done.

  She’d never before taken a human life, and the whole thing terrified her.

  Chapter 27

  Lilly gave Dave and Beth a grand tour of the town. They stopped by Joey’s Co-op Diner and were greeted by Joey, the owner and operator.

  Dave expected an amateurish operation run on a hope and a prayer when Lilly told him Joey’s staff was made up totally of cowboys from nearby ranches, who donated their days off in exchange for free meals.

  “Most of the ranches have bunkhouses where the cowboys live, and they eat there as part of their pay,” Lilly said. “Each ranch is different, but most have growing operations so they have a steady supply of produce. And of course, they raise whatever stock they eat, or trade with other ranchers who might raise something different.

  “For example, the 3 Bar W Ranch is exclusively a swine operation. Before the blackout they had their own pork jerky processing plant. They distributed their jerky all over the country and it won awards every year.

  “Now most of their employees have left for greener pastures and they only produce a small percentage of what they once did. But they still raise plenty of swine that they trade for beef or chickens. They sell stock to places like Joey’s for meal chits for their cowhands.

  “And yes, the 3 Bar W still calls their men cowboys even though they wrangle pigs instead of cattle. They say that pigboys or pighands just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

  “I tend to agree with them.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” Dave said, “If the ranches have the livestock and the produce to feed their own men, why do they bother donating beef and swine for chits?

  “I mean, why send their men into town to eat and have to compensate the eateries for their meals, when they could just keep them on the ranches and feed them themselves?”

  “Well, some of them do. But most of them have found that their cowboys are a restless bunch. I mean, they ride range or ride the fence line for five straight days or nights.

  “The last thing they want to do on their days off is stay on the ranch. They want to get away from the ranch and burn off some energy. So they ride several hours to Blanco or to one of the other small towns around here.

  “They spend their two days off at the pool hall or at the bar getting drunk or stupid or courting some of the local girls. They’ll stay the night with Mrs. Montgomery or crash on somebody’s couch and then head back to their ranch late in the afternoon on the second day.

  “You see, most of the ranches in the area are dry.”

  Beth said, “Then what do the cows drink?”

  “Not water, honey. They’re dry in that there’s no liquor around. Most of the ranchers don’t allow beer or liquor on their ranches because it’s caused so many problems in the past. So if a cowboy wants a drink or two on his day off he has to ride into a town that has a bar.

  “Same is true if they want to spend time with a woman. Mrs. Montgomery hosts dances every Monday, Wednesday and Friday nights so that no matter which two nights a cowboy gets off he’s likely able to go whirl his favorite girl around the dance floor.”

  Dave observed that as much as the blackout brought sweeping and generally dismal changes to central Texas, some things stayed pretty much the same.

  “I think it’s pretty much always been that way for the working ranches around here. Cowboys have always worked hard for their pay, and have always gone to the nearest town to spend part of it to have fun and unwind.”

  “Exactly,” Lilly said. “They don’t drive their pickups back and forth anymore, and they don’t have as much time in town since riding in on horseback is a slower process.

  “But you’re right. The process is much the same as it was a hundred years ago. Only the names and faces and circumstances have changed.”

  “When do we get to go meet this Mrs. Montgomery I’ve heard so much about?”

  Lilly smiled and led the way.

  “How about now? No time better than the present.”

  Chapter 28

  They could have saddled horses before they left Red’s, but Blanco was a small town and it was a nice day for walking.

  After they left Joey’s and covered a couple of blocks Beth asked how much farther the boarding house was.

  “See that large house on the hill up there, straight ahead about half a mile? That’s it.”

  “Oh, that’s not far at all,” Beth noted.

  “That’s the nice thing about living in a small town. No matter where you’re going it’s close by.

  “Of course,” Lilly said, “we need to turn here and go down Maple, so we can detour over to Elm.”

  That seemed very odd to Dave.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, why take a detour if the boarding house is straight ahead?”

  “That’s right. The last time you were in town you didn’t hang around long enough to meet Luke.”

  “Luke?”

  “Luke is one of our town eccentrics. Some call them oddballs, but I think that’s a bit harsh. Luke is a wonderful man and one of my very best friends. Red’s too.

  “It’s just that… well, Luke has a different way of looking at things.”

  “How so?”

  “Luke’s been a nudist as long as I or anyone else can remember.”

  A light came on in Dave’s head.

  “Ah… yes. I seem to remember Red mentioning him in passing. She said there was also a woman who wore a bathing suit in the dead of winter to shovel snow from her walk, and another who hung clothes hangers on every branch of her oak tree too.”

  “Yes. They’re all good people who think outside the box. But they’re harmless so the town just lets them be themselves.”

  Now Beth was curious.

  “Dad, what’s a nudist?”

  “It’s someone who doesn’t wear any clothes, honey.”

  Lilly knew an explanation was in order so she took control of the conversation.

 

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