Black Autumn Travelers Page 25

  “Shhhh! Shut the fuck up!” Cameron whispered loudly, drowned out by the old man’s admonitions.

  “BE GONE, DEMON!” The old man shouted again.

  Cameron’s hand fired the gun of its own accord.

  BOOOM!

  The rifle bucked and General Turd crumpled to the ground, landing face-first into sand and two weeks of pilgrim piss.

  “Fuck me!” Cameron swore as he turned and ran away, stumbling in and around ten thousand sage bushes, fleeing back into the night. His wounds screamed, but he pushed on, plowing through one sagebrush after another, his natural night vision hampered by the giant stain in the middle of his retina left by the muzzle flash. Eventually, he figured out how to run with his head turned three-quarters to one side, giving him a little window of peripheral vision. Encumbered with his backpack and rifle, Cameron went down hard on the ground, over and over, lighting up the still-healing holes in his chest with bright pain before his panic subsided.

  After he had run nearly a mile, Cameron slowed to a walk, listening for pursuers. He struggled for breath, his heaving lung jostling the scar tissue inside his chest. He heard increased commotion at the roadblock, probably the ambush crew rendering aid to their fallen leader, but it didn’t sound like anyone was on his trail.

  “That could’ve gone better,” Cameron whispered to himself, realizing how dumb it had been to imagine he could abduct someone without raising an alarm. He thought about it, and decided there were a hundred ways for that particular plan to go inverted and only a couple of ways for it to go right. Pulling espionage tactics from the History Channel probably wasn’t the best idea, now that he’d tried it. The enemy always had a vote and maybe shit usually went weird when kidnap or murder was involved. He would have to keep that in mind in the future.

  At least he had popped an old dude this time instead of a young buck. Tomorrow, maybe he would get to see the town’s Plan C. Cameron smiled and then broke into laughter, the tension of the last couple days bubbling into the night air. As his laughter subsided, and he heard it echoing off the unseen cliffs around him, he scratched his sweaty scalp, considering an uncomfortable possibility.

  Was some squirrely corner of his mind trying to get him killed, attempting suicide by revenge?

  If so, Cameron didn’t find the thought particularly alarming.

  14

  “Trudging slowly over wet sand

  Back to the bench where your clothes were stolen

  This is the coastal town

  That they forgot to close down

  Armageddon, come Armageddon!”

  Every Day Is Like Sunday, Morrissey, Viva Hate, 1988

  McKenzie Regional Hospital, McKenzie, Tennessee

  The nighttime nurse woke Mat and William at dawn. They had slept on the hard floor of the waiting room, the best sleep they’d had in days, with the dog having been taken in by the sheriff’s family for the evening. Sleeping on hard carpet beat sleeping on wet ground any day of the week.

  “Doctor Patel will be here in fifteen minutes, and I thought you’d want to clean up before he comes through to check on Caroline.”

  Mat thanked her and walked William into the bathroom.

  “Mat… how should I brush my teeth?” the boy asked. The magnitude of the disquiet undoubtedly faced by the boy suddenly struck Mat: dead parents, school gone forever, friends likely dead, sister suffering a horrible wound. Mat was the boy’s only protection―a tattooed, strange man he had only just met. He put his arm around William’s shoulder and pulled him to the sink next to him.

  “In the Army, we call this the field expedient toothbrush,” Mat held up his index finger and smiled. He opened his mouth and began rubbing his teeth and gums vigorously, pantomiming a real toothbrush.

  “What about toothpaste?” William smiled as he watched Mat goof around.

  “Toothpaste is for POGs, little bro,” Mat said with his finger still in his mouth.

  “What’s a POG?”

  “People Other than Grunts. Not you and me. We’re grunts. You can’t go through the shit we’ve been through and not come out the other side a warrior. You’re a field-hardened killing machine now, my little man.”

  William’s eyes brightened with the idea. “Are you training me to be a soldier?”

  “Absolutely. You’re on track to become one of the best of the best: an Army Ranger.”

  Mat grinned. Over the last few days, he had grown to like the little dude. William took orders well and looked for work around camp—the first qualification of a special ops warrior.

  If you were the kind of guy who waited to be told what to do, you would never survive the military selection process. If you were the kind of guy who looked for work and got it done, you might just survive to become a top-tier operator. Young William was the second type of guy, and Mat could definitely work with those raw materials.

  Doctor Patel stuck his head in the bathroom. “Let’s go check on your sister.”

  The trio walked into her room, the nurse in tow. As they filed in, Caroline looked their way with a beleaguered smile.

  “Good morning, boys. You coming to see the Bride of Frankenstein?”

  The doctor gently pulled back the lower third of her sheet to examine the leg, and his chest visibly deflated. He held back the sheet for Mat to see, defeat painted across his brow.

  To Mat, the wound looked much better than before but, as he focused on the margins of the wound, he could see the reason behind the doctor’s despair. The blackish color and dark blisters had renewed their assault on her tissue, nibbling at the edges of the ruthless debridement from the day prior.

  Doctor Patel let the sheet fall back in place. “We still have work to do, young lady,” was all he could say, unable to hide his disappointment and concern.

  After some touches and kisses, the men retreated into the hallway while the nurse helped Caroline with her morning ablutions.

  “What the fuck, Doc?”

  The doctor looked at the floor and rambled. “I can’t remove any more tissue. I probably took too much as it was, and her vascular system isn’t strong enough in that region to deliver the antibiotics. The Clostridium has probably become systemic. We didn’t have a way to run the skin culture, so I couldn’t be sure. We need to get her to the medical center or a hyperbaric chamber…”

  “Doc. Stop. What are you saying? In simple language?” Mat interrupted.

  “I’m saying that she needs an amputation to save her life. I’ve never done one and we lost contact with the medical center in Paris six days ago. The Clostridium infection is more aggressive than I’d hoped. We’re fighting to save her life at this point.”

  Mat ran his hand through his hair and exhaled hard. He looked at William. “I’m guessing the sooner you amputate, the better, right?”

  “Yes, but I’m not prepared to conduct an amputation.” The doctor’s voice trailed off.

  “Sack up, Doc. Pull yourself together. Do you or don’t you know how to perform the surgery?” Mat couldn’t say the word “amputation” again and not start to crack.

  “I know how. I practiced on cadavers. It’s a high-risk procedure, with even higher risk given the limits of our medical equipment at this facility.”

  “Can you do it?” Mat looked him directly in the eyes.

  “Yes. I believe I can,” the doctor shot a glance at the boy. “I would prefer that you tell her, though.”

  Mat stared into the smooth, olive skin of her elegant face. He considered her perfect nose, delicate eyebrows, and almond-shaped eyes. He could spend a lifetime looking at that face, even in the morning, even in the hospital, even terrifyingly sick.

  “Here’s the problem,” Mat began, holding her hand and peering into her eyes. “I’ve found the girl of my dreams, but I’m not quite done with my bucket list. I’m so close. Unfortunately, there’s just one last little thing to clear up before I abandon my freedom and tie myself down to a single woman…”

  Caroline smiled big, showing
her teeth, rolling into Mat’s joke. “And what’s that one, last, little thing, if a lady might ask?”

  Mat gave William a half glance then leaned in toward Caroline to whisper. “I gotta do a one-legged girl.”

  Caroline’s eyes brimmed over with tears. Her beautiful smile held, her suspicions confirmed. “Is that right? And how do you propose to go about that, given the circumstances?”

  “Well, Doctor Patel and I have worked out what you might call a win-win.” A giant tear rolled from the corner of Mat’s eye and hit her hospital blouse with an audible pat.

  “Ah, I think I see. She reached up and put her hand on the back of Mat’s neck. “Then let’s do what needs doing.”

  “Caroline, it’s a risky surgery. I’m with you no matter what, but you should know that this one’s a doozy. Even in the best of times—my buddies who lost limbs—it’s a game-changer.”

  “I can do it. I’ve got some good stuff to live for.” She pegged Mat’s eyes with hers, then reached for her brother with her other hand. “Good stuff.”

  “So, yeah.” Mat sniffed and blinked away his tears. He knew the passing nature of this world—a world where life was no longer assured. He felt a last internal wall crumble in the urgency of this moment. “I should probably tell you. I’m pretty sure I love you.”

  “Pretty sure, huh?” Caroline pulled his head down until they touched foreheads. “We’ll work on that.” The couple embraced, Mat leaning in more and more until he was almost in her bed.

  “I should get started,” Doctor Patel interrupted. “The anesthesiologist is ready.”

  Mat stepped back and William took his place beside her, crying into his sister’s neck.

  “It’s all good, Will. It’s going to be fine,” she said as she caressed his fine, brown hair.

  1300 West and Field Avenue, Colorado City, Arizona

  Cameron lay on a gentle rise between two big washes, shaded by a clump of prickly tamarisk. By setting the old rifle in the crook of one of the bushes, he could surveil the west side of town. That morning, he had finally spotted the blue Cadillac Escalade, and it had vanished toward this area. The location of the prophet’s home could be reduced to just a couple of options, and Cameron thought he had it pegged to one, high-fenced compound.

  He didn’t know for sure if he had killed the general from the night before, but he chalked it up as another mark on his totem anyway. He carved a notch in the stock of his Mosin-Nagant for every pilgrim he smoked. By his count, it was five.

  Still surviving on the water, food, and equipment he had taken off the dead horsemen four days prior, Cameron knew he would need to steal more supplies to keep up his rampage. He was about out of water.

  Observing the twin towns of Hildale and Colorado City proved challenging because of its fences and walls. Many homes had seven-foot walls or fences protecting those inside from prying eyes. Most of them were white vinyl fencing, common in suburban America. No doubt, the fencing had been a defense strategy against government authorities who had periodically raided and incarcerated polygamists in the towns since the 1950s.

  Looking through the scope of the rifle exhausted him. With only one eye working, and holding the weight of the rifle, he could only glass for a couple of minutes at a time before being forced to rest his eyes. He had discarded a cheap pair of binoculars he pulled from the backpack of one of the horsemen. Now he regretted it. Using two eyes to surveil—and not having to manipulate the heavy rifle—would have made this process ten times more comfortable.

  While he rested his eyes, Cameron saw motion at the gates of one of the fenced compounds. He jumped on the rifle scope and watched as the blue Cadillac Escalade pulled out, the gates closing behind it. Dollars to donuts, that would be the Prophet’s personal enclave, housing “His Holiness” and his multitude of wives.

  “Bingo,” Cameron whispered. Now he had a target. Next he needed a plan.

  McKenzie Regional Hospital, McKenzie, Tennessee

  Mat and William talked quietly in the waiting room, as though whispering might help the doctor concentrate in the operating room far down the hall. It had been two hours since they had begun Caroline’s amputation, but Mat didn’t know how long an operation like that was supposed to take. This whole excursion—from Baltimore to now—made him wish he had known more about medicine and trauma. Maybe if he had known more about how to clean wounds or how to spot infection, he could have acted more quickly and could have saved Caroline’s leg.

  Mat knew a lot about combat, and he even had training in combat first aid, but it hadn’t been his specialty, especially not in situations where a trauma hospital was more than a Blackhawk ride away from the area of operation. He had trained as a breacher, the guy who blew open doors and exploded whatever needed exploding.

  While Mat chatted with Will, he mentally scrolled through the decisions he had made over the last five days and second-guessed every one of them. He hadn’t even heard of “gas gangrene” before Doctor Patel said those awful words. Mat guessed people would be hearing lots of medical terms almost lost to civilization. Words like cholera, blood poisoning, amputation, maybe even polio and mumps.

  The more Mat chatted up young William, the more he liked the kid. Mat hadn’t seriously thought about having children. He figured himself for too big of a shit-show to father kids. Plus, why give up his prolific “dating life” for a life of white picket fences and mowing the lawn on weekends. Who the hell would do that? He thought it was Stalin who once said it: “Quantity has a quality all its own.” Mat had applied the motto to women and it had almost satisfied him. Close, but no cigar. Never had Mat been happier to have failed.

  The time with the dog, William, and Caroline had opened his eyes. It had taken the Apocalypse for him to understand the metronome charms of depending on others and having them depend on you. It reminded him of being on a squad in the military, only having a wife and child felt sweeter, almost spiritual in nature. Mat found himself suspecting that he might have been born for this—the good knight protecting his family. He smiled to himself, still chatting with William, as he contemplated the radical turn his heart had taken.

  Doctor Patel came through the double doors, looking uneasy and doing a hand-washing motion, probably from having just used the alcohol hand cleanser. Mat tried and failed to interpret the Doctor’s body language.

  “Mat, Will. I’m so sorry, but your sister—and, er, girlfriend—she didn’t respond well to the surgery.” Mat’s eyes went wide and he stood. Will hovered in his chair. “Caroline, er, didn’t survive the procedure,” the doctor muttered.

  “What the fuck do you mean?” Mat barked, louder than he had intended.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but we did everything we could, but given the stressed state of her immune system and the compromised nature of the arteries feeding the site of infection… we kept losing the attachment points of the vascular system, receding into the tissue around the joint and given the position of the wound, being that it came so proximate to the joint…”

  “Doc!” Mat yelled, looking back and forth between William and the doctor. “We don’t understand what you’re trying to tell us. Speak English, please.” Mat regretted the insult right away, but his desperation overwhelmed any such concern.

  “She’s gone. I don’t know what else to say. She’s gone… I’m so sorry. My condolences to you both,” Doctor Patel muttered as he retreated through the double doors.

  “What did he just say?” Mat begged William. The boy’s face had gone white.

  “Mat, I think Caroline died.” William burst into tears, curling into a ball in the chair, the last of his strength abandoned.

  Mat choked, then sobbed, then wrapped himself around William, overflowing the hospital chair, crying into the boy’s hair.

  The two sat like that, curled around one another in the hospital waiting room, until the nurse came and led them outside the clinic, then down the street, and into a small home that had been offered to them by the town.

&n
bsp; Mat didn’t really know where he was, and he allowed it, allowed himself to be lost in the arms of a town he didn’t know. William was his only anchor, the only point in the universe that presently mattered to him.

  Mat and William stayed lost, marooned on a strange couch, in a strange town, fed by strange people, for a long time.

  15

  “When I looked out the window

  On the hardship that had struck

  I saw the seven vials open

  The plague claimed man and son

  Four men at a grave in silence

  With hats bowed down in grace

  A simple wooden cross

  It had not epitaph engraved

  It had no epitaph engraved

  Come on down and meet your maker

  Come on down and make the stand.”

  The Stand, The Alarm, Declaration, 1984

  Elm Street and Field Avenue, Hildale, Utah

  Before dawn, Cameron stole a set of pilgrim pants and a shirt off a clothesline. Someone had left them out overnight. Except for the missing black hat, he looked the part of a priesthood contender.

  Despite the botched kidnapping at the roadblock the night before, Cameron concocted another complex scheme to disrupt the FLDS town. This time, he was going straight to the top, intent on putting a bullet in the head of the FLDS prophet. He convinced himself that odds were better this time around but, truth was, he didn’t really care. With his wife and kids a lost cause, Cameron felt content to “wing it” and let the chips fall where they may.

  He couldn’t shake the conviction that winging it had worked so far because he had been snipping at the margins of the community. Today, he would walk straight into the hornet’s nest.

  His plan relied on the pilgrims’ strange fixation with big gardens. Owing, perhaps, to their doomsday cult, the FLDS surrounded their homes and their residential neighborhoods with miniature farms. Every compound either contained or bordered on an orchard or a garden. While the huge homes had little in the way of architectural style, they had lots of small outbuildings holding grain, fertilizer, and the sundry tools of farm life. Cameron saw dozens of places to hide inside the otherwise Spartan town.