and took the blow on the crown of the head. “The bones in
the front of your skull are really thick,” he explained. “The bones in your
hand are really small, thin, and long. No way to win that one.”
Years later, Gramps
added a new rule. “Once you have a man backing up, don’t give him time to
recover; stay after him until you take him down.” Stryker wondered why the
rules were added when they were, and again considered the man who had raised
him. A kinder, gentler man he never knew; but there was also a warrior side to
his character that was always present, like a spark that could, at any time,
explode into a raging fire.
He drove through
the gate and saw a beat-up F-150 parked beside his house. The bed was covered
with a tarp. He jammed on the brakes, grabbed his M-4, and jumped out of his
Jeep. He looked through the scope and saw a man sitting on the rocking chair of
his house. Something about the man tickled his memory. He looked again. Then,
he moved forward, gun up, and walked toward his house.
He was furious at
the intrusion, at the idea that anybody thought they could occupy his house and
not face the consequences. As he grew near, the man raised a beer bottle and
shouted, “About time you got home, Stryker. Been waiting for hours.” He looked
more closely at the man, noted the ponytail and bearded face, and then a
glimmer of recognition passed through his brain.
“Sergeant Keynes?”
“The one and only.”
Stryker lowered the weapon and joined him on the porch
“You’re alive!”
“Last time I
checked.”
“How the hell did
you find me?”
“Went to Pendleton and
got your separation address. I figured that the only things that were going to
live through the plague was you, me, and cockroaches.” He took a deep pull from
the beer bottle, burped, and then added, “you don’t seem happy to see me.”
“More shocked than
anything.” He walked over to where the small man sat perched on a chair,
plucked him out of it, and embraced him in a fierce hug, then noted that he
seemed even smaller and much more frail then that last time they were together.
He set the sergeant down and looked at him with a question mark in his eyes.
Keynes looked away
briefly, took a breath, and said, “Lung cancer. Diagnosed over two years ago. I
got through the chemo before everything went to crap, so who knows.”
“Sorry.”
“Not a problem. I
just have one last thing I have to do before I go.”
“What’s that?”
“My granddaughter
called me from Baton Rouge last week. I have no idea how the call came through.
I left my cell phone on the charger. I don’t know why, after all this time, but
yesterday it rang. It was my granddaughter and she was calling to get help.”
“Tell me more.”
“In a second. Did
you lose your wife and kids?”
“Yes. You?”
Sarge nodded his
head. “They all died. I buried my daughter and son-in-law on the way here. They
lived in Yuma, Arizona. I don’t know why I bothered to stop. My daughter and I
had a falling out a few years ago. We didn’t even see each other for two years
before the disaster.” Sarge wore a grim expression as he said it, as if he was
still trying to remember what went wrong between him and his daughter.
“Where were you
living when the plague hit?”
“On a small ranch
outside of Fallbrook, California.” Stryker wondered how they lost touch of each
other when Sarge had only been an hour away from San Diego, but decided to get
back on point.
“Tell me what’s
going on with your granddaughter.”
“Her name is Erin
and she and her sister, Haley, were students at LSU. Apparently, they had some
campus police and ROTC units that protected the campus. So there were a few
survivors of the plague. They didn’t let anyone near the place. I guess the
guards got the plague, and it was overrun a few days ago by some gang. They
killed all the male students and captured the females. They’re selling the
females to the local men and Erin was
the front of your skull are really thick,” he explained. “The bones in your
hand are really small, thin, and long. No way to win that one.”
Years later, Gramps
added a new rule. “Once you have a man backing up, don’t give him time to
recover; stay after him until you take him down.” Stryker wondered why the
rules were added when they were, and again considered the man who had raised
him. A kinder, gentler man he never knew; but there was also a warrior side to
his character that was always present, like a spark that could, at any time,
explode into a raging fire.
He drove through
the gate and saw a beat-up F-150 parked beside his house. The bed was covered
with a tarp. He jammed on the brakes, grabbed his M-4, and jumped out of his
Jeep. He looked through the scope and saw a man sitting on the rocking chair of
his house. Something about the man tickled his memory. He looked again. Then,
he moved forward, gun up, and walked toward his house.
He was furious at
the intrusion, at the idea that anybody thought they could occupy his house and
not face the consequences. As he grew near, the man raised a beer bottle and
shouted, “About time you got home, Stryker. Been waiting for hours.” He looked
more closely at the man, noted the ponytail and bearded face, and then a
glimmer of recognition passed through his brain.
“Sergeant Keynes?”
“The one and only.”
Stryker lowered the weapon and joined him on the porch
“You’re alive!”
“Last time I
checked.”
“How the hell did
you find me?”
“Went to Pendleton and
got your separation address. I figured that the only things that were going to
live through the plague was you, me, and cockroaches.” He took a deep pull from
the beer bottle, burped, and then added, “you don’t seem happy to see me.”
“More shocked than
anything.” He walked over to where the small man sat perched on a chair,
plucked him out of it, and embraced him in a fierce hug, then noted that he
seemed even smaller and much more frail then that last time they were together.
He set the sergeant down and looked at him with a question mark in his eyes.
Keynes looked away
briefly, took a breath, and said, “Lung cancer. Diagnosed over two years ago. I
got through the chemo before everything went to crap, so who knows.”
“Sorry.”
“Not a problem. I
just have one last thing I have to do before I go.”
“What’s that?”
“My granddaughter
called me from Baton Rouge last week. I have no idea how the call came through.
I left my cell phone on the charger. I don’t know why, after all this time, but
yesterday it rang. It was my granddaughter and she was calling to get help.”
“Tell me more.”
“In a second. Did
you lose your wife and kids?”
“Yes. You?”
Sarge nodded his
head. “They all died. I buried my daughter and son-in-law on the way here. They
lived in Yuma, Arizona. I don’t know why I bothered to stop. My daughter and I
had a falling out a few years ago. We didn’t even see each other for two years
before the disaster.” Sarge wore a grim expression as he said it, as if he was
still trying to remember what went wrong between him and his daughter.
“Where were you
living when the plague hit?”
“On a small ranch
outside of Fallbrook, California.” Stryker wondered how they lost touch of each
other when Sarge had only been an hour away from San Diego, but decided to get
back on point.
“Tell me what’s
going on with your granddaughter.”
“Her name is Erin
and she and her sister, Haley, were students at LSU. Apparently, they had some
campus police and ROTC units that protected the campus. So there were a few
survivors of the plague. They didn’t let anyone near the place. I guess the
guards got the plague, and it was overrun a few days ago by some gang. They
killed all the male students and captured the females. They’re selling the
females to the local men and Erin was
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