Free Alone, Book 3: The Journey by Darrell Maloney

temporarily on top of his head. He reached over to his backpack and removed the road atlas, then removed a small flashlight from the breast pocket of his camouflage jacket.
         The atlas was still turned to the page reflecting I-35 between San Antonio and Austin, so it took no time at all to find his present location. All he did was run his finger along the highway until it crossed Highway 150.
         He studied the map and saw that he could head northwest on county roads until he connected with Highway 281.
         Highway 281 was familiar to him. He’d spent some time training at the Air Force base in Wichita Falls, in the northeastern corner of Texas. While there, he used Highway 281 to drive to and from San Antonio on the weekends.
         He knew that it, like I-35, headed north, was well-maintained, and less traveled.
         It would add some extra miles to his journey, but would be a good way to bypass Austin.
         He just hoped it wasn’t blocked as well.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 17
     
         Dave’s stress level went up tremendously as he traversed the narrow road. The terrain grew more hilly as he headed east, and the road wound back and forth like a snake on a Sunday stroll.
        The hills and turns combined to make this stretch of road potentially more dangerous than the interstate.
         If there were a roadblock, there was a good chance it would be sitting just on the other side of a turn or just over the crest of a small hill.
         He might not see it until he was right up on it. And the soldiers manning it would very likely see him at the same time.
         Dave did what he saw as prudent.
         He slowed down again, to fifteen miles an hour. And he kept his eyes glued not only to the road, but to the horizon beyond it, for any hints of the light that might indicate another roadblock might be ahead.
         And, although he didn’t realize it until quite some time later, he quit singing as well.
         Driving through the hill country at low speed also presented another danger.
         This part of rural Texas consisted mostly of ranches, since the soil was for the most part too rocky or too infertile to plant crops.
         Most of the ranches had cattle, and therefore employed ranch hands to manage their herds.
         The ranch hands were, for the most part, the last of a dying breed.
         The true American cowboy.
         And they generally rode horses while performing their duties.
         Dave assumed that some of the larger ranches retained their ranch hands after the blackout. After all, they’d need help protecting their large herds of beef from poachers. And a large ranch was capable of growing crops on a limited basis to feed the hands, and to house them and their families as well.
         Dave suspected that many of the ranchers invited the ranch hands and their families inside the ranch after the blackout and became small communities unto themselves.
         The problem that presented to Dave was that there were certainly cowboys, on horseback, riding the fence lines in this area, on the lookout for poachers or other aggressors.
         And while Dave doubted that any of them were watching out for blacked out SUVs creeping down the country highway at a snail’s pace, it would certainly get their attention as he rolled by.
         And a man on horseback could certainly keep pace with an SUV driving fifteen miles an hour.
         Or even pass it, get in front of it, and bring it to a stop.
         For Dave to get through this leg of his journey would require more luck than skill.
         But Dave’s luck was about to run out.
         He just didn’t know it yet.
         Dave kept a keen eye on the highway in front of him, as well as the rear view mirror above his dashboard.
         Neither would have helped him spot the cowboy, riding a big bay in Dave’s