The Alpha Chronicles (31 page)

“Hop in. W
e’ll go look together.”

Nick floored the golf cart and never let off the accelerator, swerving the small machine around any curve or obstacle, Kevin hanging on to avoid being thrown overboard.

A few minutes later, they came to a stop in front of the school’s main building. Hopping up two steps at a time, Nick was relieved to hear Bishop’s voice at the top of the stairs.

“Hey, Nick…
Kevin… what are you guys doing here?”

“Everything okay over here, Bishop?”

Terri appeared at her husband’s side. “Everything’s fine, Nick. What’s going on?”

Nick explained the incident at the roadblock, watching Bishop’s reaction closely
. His friend was still handicapped, and Nick wasn’t sure how he would handle any sort of threat. Nick had to smile when Bishop subconsciously moved his hand to the .45 pistol on his belt.

“I can’t think of any A
rmy buddies who might be looking me up,” replied Bishop. “My name’s not that common, so it probably is the same Bishop.”

“Bishop, did they ever catch the guys who tried to kill you at Fort Bliss?”

Bishop shook his head as Terri moved closer to her husband. “Not that I know of. No one told me if they did.”

Terri added, “I didn’t hear anything about it while Bishop was in the hospital.”

Nick turned and looked outside, his body language indicating he was lost in thought. Finally turning back, he said, “It might all be innocent… and it might not. My biggest worry is that we don’t know where they are. They could be hiding anywhere right now. They could have crosshairs on this very doorway waiting for you to come out.”

Bishop responded
, “Alpha’s a big place to search. There’s still so much of it that is unoccupied. If I were a shady character, I could hide out for a long time in the shadows, and you’d never find me. If these guys have skills, they’ll be difficult to locate until they take action and show themselves.”

Nick nodded, “You’re absolutely right about that, buddy. Would you two mind hanging out around the church until we can find these guys? There’s no way we can protect you until we locate them and find out exactly what’s going on.”

Terri nodded, looking up at her husband. “He’s supposed to be resting anyway. This will give me an excuse to keep him in bed.”

“
I’m loving this,” grinned Bishop. “Maybe I should find those guys myself and pay them to stay quiet for the rest of the week.”

“Bishop,” Terri sighed, “Which arm hurts?”

Alpha, Texas

February 10, 2016

“Honey, I’ve got bad news, I’m going to become scruffy.”

Diana looked up from her desk and shrugged her shoulders. “That’s news?”

Nick snorted, “No, seriously, I’m not going to bathe or shave for a few days.”

Mayor Brown frowned, “Is this some sort of protest or hunger strike or something? I’m not going to shave until my mommy buys me a new whatever?”

Nick pretended to be considering Diana’s statement, then became serious. “I’ve been talking things over with Terri and Bishop. We think it’s time to address the Midland Station issue, and Bishop came up with a pretty good plan, but it requires me to avoid bathing for a while.”

“Where are you going to sleep while you stink? You’re not soiling my church.”

“I’ll find someplace to crash. Kevin didn’t seem to be all that concerned about keeping my company.”

“Kevin’s your son and family. He has to love you no matter what,” she teased.

Nick laughed and bent to kiss Diana’s cheek. “I just wanted to warn you.”

Leaving the d
eacon’s office, he found Bishop in the basement of the church, searching through boxes of clothing gathered for charity.

“You’re a problem,” he proclaimed
as Nick entered the room. “You’re too damned big. There weren’t that many guys in Alpha who wore a size 58 jacket.”

Shrugging, Nick proceeded to help Bishop search.

After an hour, the two men had finally collected an outfit both deemed acceptable for the mission. The pants and shirt could be from Nick’s normal wardrobe, but that’s where the similarities with his regular appearance would end. The skullcap was easy, as were the fingerless gloves. After digging through countless boxes, they had found a London Fog overcoat that would stretch across Nick’s shoulders.

“Not bad,” Nick commented as he looked at his reflection in the
mirror. “I look ‘swab’ and ‘de-boner.’”

“Now it’s time to season your outfit,” announced Bishop. Nick immediately became wary, Bishop’s tone sounding just a little too happy about the next task.

Nick retrieved his oldest, most worn pain of trousers and a shirt that already sported a few threadbare spots, while Bishop prepared for the ‘seasoning.’ Exiting the church’s front door, Nick found Bishop fiddling with a strand of para-cord at the back of a golf cart, the overcoat, gloves and hat lying on the ground beside him.

Bishop squinted
up at his friend, his voice demanding, “Throw your stuff on the ground. I’m almost ready.”

“What the hell are you doing, Bishop?”

“I’m going to show you how to accomplish the vagabond look. It’s the latest thing in Paris, I hear.”

Nick, shaking his head, heaved his pants and shirt onto the pile.

Bishop finished his task and then hopped in the driver’s seat. “Come on,” he motioned to his friend.

The next thing Nick knew, Bishop had turned the cart around and was speeding toward the pile of clothing. “What are you doing?” he shouted just as the cart ran over the attire. Thump. Thump.

Bishop didn’t answer, but spun the wheel sharply and floored the accelerator pedal, clearly lining up for a second pass. Timing it perfectly, he peered at Nick and mouthed the words, “thump thump,” precisely as the wheels passed over the now flattened clothing. Bishop’s face lit in a smile at his impeccable rhythm. Nick just shook his head.

Spinning the cart around again, Bishop waited until just the right moment, and sang “Shave-and-a-haircut…
.” thump thump.

Nick couldn’t help himself and started laughing at the ridiculousness of his friend’s behavior. “You’re a child,” was his only comment.

“I’m just happy I get to sleep with my wife the next few days. Normally, I’m the one who gets filthy, grimy, and smells to high heaven. It’s one of the few benefits I’ve discovered to getting shot.”

Bishop stopped the cart and bent to examine the results of his handiwork. The pile looke
d like it had seen better days. The next step was to tie the individual items to the para-cord at the back of the cart. “We’re going to drag them around for a while… maybe find some mud… maybe a good spot of oil on the parking lot.”

By the time the men returned, the drag-along articles were well soiled and actually looked aged. Nick shook his head, “I’m not even going to ask how you thought up this trick. I don’t want to know.”     

Six blocks away, in clear view of the church, Mitchell lowered the binoculars from his eyes and turned to one of his men.

“Well, well,” he started. “The my
sterious Bishop does indeed tread this earth. He and that big dude are tooling around the parking lot on a golf cart.”

“They’re doing what?” The bored private asked.

Dismissing the question, Mitchell ordered, “Get your shit in one bag, and instruct your ass-buddy to do the same. I want to put a couple of rounds into this guy and get him to talk. Try to hit his legs if possible. No head shots… at least not ‘till we get what we want.”

Nodding, the ex-private went to get his friend who was taking a nap at the back of the house.

While he waited, Mitchell thought through his plan. The Army deserter really only wanted to talk to Bishop, but had gathered enough Intel to know his mark was most likely going to be a hard case. They had also heard various details about Bishop being injured – something about a shootout with kidnappers. A couple of people even claimed his left side was paralyzed.

Mitchell thought there was a good chance the rumors were true given their target had been holed up in the church since they had arrived in town.

Once they had discovered his hideout, moving into an empty house with a full view of the church’s compound was easy. The three men had taken shifts during the day – two of the intruders talking to a few citizens around town - one man always watching the compound.

Now it was time to move. He only need
ed to keep Bishop alive for a minute or so, Mitchell’s experience being that dying men answer questions truthfully.

Looking up, Mitchell observed
his two comrades loading magazines. He checked the church again and saw no activity. “He’s gone inside again, but that don’t mean anything. We’ll just go in and get him. Like I said, no head shots.”

Everyone nodded
in agreement, and then Mitchell led the three-man team out the front door.

Bishop started to se
t his rifle in the golf cart and reconsidered. Despite Nick’s warning of strangers in Alpha inquiring of his whereabouts, his left arm was still practically useless. He had snatched up the weapon more from habit than anything else.

Looking at his watch confirmed he was late for his date with Ambassador Terri
, so he decided to take the long gun along for the ride. Besides, he mused, he couldn’t let his best girl think he didn’t love her anymore. “Shhhhhhh,” he held his finger to his lip while looking at the rifle, “We don’t want Terri to know about our feelings for each other.”

The .45
ACP on his belt provided a little more confidence.

Zipping
along to the courthouse, Bishop was considering Terri’s new role when three holes appeared in the Plexiglas windscreen, closely followed by the distant sound of gunshots.

Bishop cranked the wheel hard left, the maneuver pulling his body across the seat just as sparks flew off th
e cart’s roof pillars, the sound of screaming ricochets filling the air.

Slamming on the brake, Bishop grabbed the rifle with his good arm and rolled out of the vehicle, scrambling madly for a nearby elm tree. Cra
cking rounds passed over and around his body as he made for the protection of the trunk.

Bishop’s entire left side was throbbing, the emergency movement and use of that arm generating debilitating waves of pain. With a grimace, he chanced a glance around the trunk, the exposure answered with shards of bark stinging his cheeks. Small eruptions of dirt nearby announced
his attackers were trying to keep him pinned down – and they were succeeding.

Se
tting down the rifle, Bishop pulled the .45 from its holster and flipped off the safety. Faking a peek around the left side of the tree, he quickly rolled right and snapped three shots where he thought the shooters were located, pulling back just as two incoming rounds thwacked into the old elm.

During the brief exposure, he caught a glimpse of one assailant, the man shooting over the hood of a relic car 100 meters away. The pistol shots were worthless at that range – a realization that caused him to glance
longingly at the rifle lying beside his leg.

Long ago, the instructors at HBR had made every contractor execute what they termed “
wounded shooter” drills. Unpopular with the less-experienced personnel, the exercises encompassed shooting, reloading, and remedial action drills while only using one arm/hand.