much malnutrition as those folks inland. For sure, they had better access to water and food,” the Texan noted. He spied two boys, the oldest no more than 14 or 15 years old. Both had what appeared to be very expensive fishing poles, complete with shiny, new-looking bobbers drifting on the reservoir’s surface.
“I have to say that equipment looks a little out of place,” Bishop observed.
“I wonder if they’re biting today,” Grim whispered, suddenly mesmerized by the thought of getting a line wet himself.
Bishop, sensing his friend’s distraction, decided to play along, “I don’t see a stringer, but it could be in the water. Sounds like you are more interested in baiting a hook than walking point.”
Grim retorted, “Well, it has been a while since I landed a big one, but it can wait. What’s the call, boss?”
Bishop frowned, “Notice the fishing tackle? Those look just like the fancy, stainless steel reels we have on our rental boat. I wonder where those young men acquired such expensive equipment.”
“You’re not thinking those two are part of the crew that ambushed the convoy?”
Shrugging, Bishop said, “There’s no way to know. Hell, you and I have both seen child warriors in several parts of the world. Why should our post-apocalyptic environment be any different than Africa or the Middle East? I want to have a chat with those fishermen, but I don’t want to freak them out. Any ideas?”
“Terri?” Grim suggested with hesitation. “We can cover her approach. A woman wouldn’t be as frightening.”
Bishop’s first flash was to reject the idea, his mind justifying that it was too risky for Terri to make contact with the unknowns. Then honesty reared its unwelcome head, the Texan realizing that his initial reaction had more to do with his wife being right about joining the team than there being any true danger. Finally, professionalism won out. They had a job to do, and Terri was the best tool.
“I want you, Butter, and Kevin on a three-vector spread covering her approach from every possible angle. Do it,” he barked, clearly still uncomfortable with exposing his wife.
“We’re on it,” Grim answered without further comment, immediately moving to execute Bishop’s order.
Bishop gave his people plenty of time to get into position before explaining to his wife the exact route she was to take and how it was all going to go down. “If either of them pulls a weapon, you go prone and stay that way – there will be a wall of lead flying over your head. If they run, let them go. If they appear hostile in any way, shape, or form, hurry like hell back the exact path you took in. I’ll be within 50 yards of you at all times. Got it?”
“You’re really uptight about this, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am … but we would take the same precautions no matter who was encountering strangers.”
She seemed to accept the explanation, and without another word, handed Bishop her rifle and headed for the two boys. “Terri,” Bishop whispered, “I love you.”
Stopping, she pivoted and returned to him. “Am I allowed to kiss the team leader?”
“Only you.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” she giggled and then gave him a peck on the cheek. “See you in a bit.”
“Do you have your pistol?”
“Of course,” she smirked as she made her way through the rocks.
“See you in a bit.”
As Terri wove her way toward the shoreline, she found it difficult not to look for the guys. Not once did she hear Bishop, see Grim, or detect any of the other SAINT members. It was discomforting in a way.
Despite all of her bravado, Terri was nervous about the encounter. The last 100 steps passed quickly as she practiced her Spanish greeting over and over again. The distance closed, and before she knew it, she was standing 20 feet behind the two boys on a slight rise.
“Hello, there,” she called out in the foreign tongue. “Are the fish biting?”
Both of the youth were startled by the sound of
“I have to say that equipment looks a little out of place,” Bishop observed.
“I wonder if they’re biting today,” Grim whispered, suddenly mesmerized by the thought of getting a line wet himself.
Bishop, sensing his friend’s distraction, decided to play along, “I don’t see a stringer, but it could be in the water. Sounds like you are more interested in baiting a hook than walking point.”
Grim retorted, “Well, it has been a while since I landed a big one, but it can wait. What’s the call, boss?”
Bishop frowned, “Notice the fishing tackle? Those look just like the fancy, stainless steel reels we have on our rental boat. I wonder where those young men acquired such expensive equipment.”
“You’re not thinking those two are part of the crew that ambushed the convoy?”
Shrugging, Bishop said, “There’s no way to know. Hell, you and I have both seen child warriors in several parts of the world. Why should our post-apocalyptic environment be any different than Africa or the Middle East? I want to have a chat with those fishermen, but I don’t want to freak them out. Any ideas?”
“Terri?” Grim suggested with hesitation. “We can cover her approach. A woman wouldn’t be as frightening.”
Bishop’s first flash was to reject the idea, his mind justifying that it was too risky for Terri to make contact with the unknowns. Then honesty reared its unwelcome head, the Texan realizing that his initial reaction had more to do with his wife being right about joining the team than there being any true danger. Finally, professionalism won out. They had a job to do, and Terri was the best tool.
“I want you, Butter, and Kevin on a three-vector spread covering her approach from every possible angle. Do it,” he barked, clearly still uncomfortable with exposing his wife.
“We’re on it,” Grim answered without further comment, immediately moving to execute Bishop’s order.
Bishop gave his people plenty of time to get into position before explaining to his wife the exact route she was to take and how it was all going to go down. “If either of them pulls a weapon, you go prone and stay that way – there will be a wall of lead flying over your head. If they run, let them go. If they appear hostile in any way, shape, or form, hurry like hell back the exact path you took in. I’ll be within 50 yards of you at all times. Got it?”
“You’re really uptight about this, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am … but we would take the same precautions no matter who was encountering strangers.”
She seemed to accept the explanation, and without another word, handed Bishop her rifle and headed for the two boys. “Terri,” Bishop whispered, “I love you.”
Stopping, she pivoted and returned to him. “Am I allowed to kiss the team leader?”
“Only you.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” she giggled and then gave him a peck on the cheek. “See you in a bit.”
“Do you have your pistol?”
“Of course,” she smirked as she made her way through the rocks.
“See you in a bit.”
As Terri wove her way toward the shoreline, she found it difficult not to look for the guys. Not once did she hear Bishop, see Grim, or detect any of the other SAINT members. It was discomforting in a way.
Despite all of her bravado, Terri was nervous about the encounter. The last 100 steps passed quickly as she practiced her Spanish greeting over and over again. The distance closed, and before she knew it, she was standing 20 feet behind the two boys on a slight rise.
“Hello, there,” she called out in the foreign tongue. “Are the fish biting?”
Both of the youth were startled by the sound of
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