He recognized it.
A memory hit him hard and furious, causing him to stop.
Two people. Early sixties. A door slammed. Someone spoke to him. Stay the night. We can offer a cooked breakfast in the morning. Allow us to repay the favor.
Then the memory faded.
He turned away from the RV park and rode down the driveway.
There was an old beat-up blue truck out front and smoke rising from behind the home. It smelled like someone was having a BBQ. As he got closer, he expected someone to notice and come out armed. Nope. He brought the horse over to a grove of trees and tied off the reins to a branch before pulling an AR-15 around and approaching the house. He kept the rifle low and skirted around the L-shaped abode, keeping his back to the stucco wall. Colby stepped over plant pots and listened intently.
He could hear conversation. Low.
Laughter followed. At the corner of the house, he sliced-the-pie, moving his head from 12 to 3 to get a better look. That’s when he saw them. The same couple from the flashback. The older guy was jabbing at meat on a BBQ while the woman was laid out on a pool chair, sipping on a cocktail with a book in hand.
Colby stepped out, coming around the corner, barrel pointing at the man. A glance, and he dropped the metal spatula. “Easy does it,” Colby said. The woman removed her sunglasses and looked at him. Her eyes bulged, her mouth widened.
“You!” she said.
SEVEN
Merced County
“You know me?” Colby asked as he approached, his gaze bouncing between them.
The fear in their eyes was palpable.
The woman’s hands were trembling. Her partner cautiously moved across to her and took her hand. They both looked like typical retirees, sensible clothing, comfortable. He was large, well-built, wearing cream-colored pants and a dark shirt with boating shoes, and she wore a colorful blouse with shorts and flip flops. “It’s all right, Delores. Please, you’re scaring my wife.”
“I said, do you know me?!” He raised his voice.
“Of course.”
“How?”
They gave each other a confused look. “You don’t remember?”
He shook his head. “Just tell me what you know,” he replied. He heard movement off to his left, and Colby turned the rifle toward the open door only to see an older girl come out. Red hair, late teens, dressed in dark clothes. Almost goth in appearance. She looked familiar too.
“Don’t shoot her. Please. She’s our granddaughter.”
“That true?” he asked.
Her eyes darted then she nodded.
“Get over there with them. Anyone else inside?”
“No.”
He slid the door to the house closed and then told them to take a seat. His heart was thumping, his gaze searching for threats. “How do you know me?”
“Four days ago, you arrived here. We helped you,” the man said.
His eyes bounced between them. “Help? What do you mean?”
“Please, would you just lower the weapon?” the man said. Colby hesitated, then lowered the barrel but was ready to lift it again if they tried anything.
“I happened to be driving by when you were walking toward the town.”
“Was I alone?”
“Yes. You had a gas canister in hand. You had broken down a few miles south of here. I offered you a ride, told you that gas stations were still offering gas at a crazy price in canisters, but it was better than nothing.”
“Then what?”
“I brought you back to our home for a meal. I said you could stay for the night.”
That flashback, that memory confirmed he was at least telling the truth.
“Did I stay?”
“No, you said you needed to get back to your truck. I offered you a ride, but you opted to walk. That was the last we saw of you.”
He couldn’t remember any truck or arriving at this town, but he remembered their faces. It all seemed like a blur.
“Did I get gas?”
“Yes. You griped about the price. Then again, so did I, but we were lucky to get any. The owner used some contraption to hand-pump it all out. Kind of clever. Not that money is of much use now.”
“Did I say where I was heading?”
“North, I can’t remember the town, but you said you were from L.A.”
“Los Angeles?”
He nodded. “You’d been on the road for two days. Said it was bad out there.”
“Did I give my name?”
His eyebrow shot up, and he looked at his wife before answering. “Yeah. Colby.”
“My name’s Colby?”
“Colby Riker,” his wife added.
“Riker. Riker,” he said under his breath several times as if it could unlock the memories. It didn’t. He brought a hand up to his head, feeling dizzy.
He staggered a little.
“Are you okay?” The man took a few steps forward, and Colby raised the rifle again. He stuck out his hands. “Whoa, friend, I’m not looking to harm you. Let me get you a drink. You’re probably dehydrated.”
“I’m fine. Stay where you are.”
“All right. All right.” The man wrapped his arm around his granddaughter.
Colby jerked the rifle toward the RV park. “You know anyone called Bill Manning? Goes by the name Spider?”
He caught the woman look at the guy.
“No, we don’t. Listen, how about I get you that drink?” He took a few steps.
“I told you. Stay where you are.” He still wasn’t convinced he could trust them or anyone for that matter. “That truck out front, is it working?”
“It works, but there is no gas in it.”
He didn’t believe them.
“Get me the keys.”
“Why? I just told you that...”
“Get me the keys.”
He nodded, and Colby stepped out of the way and followed him into the house,
