the long journey home that had tested her tenacity for life and her will to see her family one last time. Tammy had fought off carjackers twice with a Taser Travis had given her for self-defense. She had been raped by a gang of escaped convicts south of San Antonio and narrowly escaped with her life as they slept. Near Austin, Tammy had traded her wedding ring at a fill-in station for a tank of gas.
Still, she had almost never made it back home. Her left eye was blinded by the blast and she grew sicker and sicker every mile she drove. By the time she was twenty miles from Waco, she could hardly see three feet in front of her and had trouble staying awake. But she had made it and, in Travis's mind, that made her as brave and resourceful as any soldier he had served beside on the battlefield.
Tammy lasted for five days – two days in and out of consciousness and three in a coma. After her death, Travis and Johnny had buried her beneath a pecan tree in the field out back. Both grieved her death, but it was the boy who took it the hardest. Many a night Travis woke up to find Johnny's bed empty and searched the property to find him lying on the mound of his mother's grave. He began to refuse food and his weight began to drop. Travis knew if he didn't do something fast, he would be digging another grave beneath the pecan tree.
One night, over supper, he asked Johnny a question. "If we could go anywhere in the world, where would you want to go?"
Johnny didn't have to think twice. "The Happiest Place on Earth."
Travis understood why he had picked that particular spot. Their trip to Florida had been one of the happiest times of their lives. In his mind's eye he could picture Tammy and Johnny, a few years younger, laughing and smiling as they rode ride after ride.
They had packed Travis's Ram pickup with provisions and every gun he owned, then headed east the following morning. They did okay until they reached a rest stop off Interstate 10 just west of Mobile. Travis had gone into the restroom to take his morning shit, leaving Johnny in the truck with his .44 Magnum. When Travis had finished he returned to find that some crazy
Cherokee in war paint had gutted and scalped his son right there in the parking lot. The Indian had raised the .44 toward Travis, but the ex-Marine had moved in swiftly and opened his throat with the blade of his K-Bar. Afterward, he had buried poor Johnny in a grove of maple trees near some picnic tables, then decapitated the damn redskin and left his head on a signpost as a warning that he would never let anyone get the drop on him again. He had arrived at the rest stop as Travis Harvey, but left as a bitter hard-ass known only as Waco.
Although he had no idea why, he continued onward to central Florida. Maybe it was to put as much distance between himself and Texas as possible… or maybe it was to fulfill a wish that his son had never gotten the chance to live out. Outside of Tallahassee, Waco had come across a family being terrorized by a gang of black-clad vampires in Alice Cooper makeup. The Texan had brought the attackers down with the .44 within a matter of seconds. When he had asked the Andersons where they were headed and the little boy said "The Happiest Place on Earth!," Waco had agreed to accompany them there. By the time they reached Ocala they had picked up Trixie Bass, Thomas "T.P." Rawlings, and Emery Taylor. All three had been heading for the same place. Soon, a wagon train of three – the Anderson's minivan, Trixie's VW Bug, and Waco's truck – was headed down Interstate 75 for Orlando, dodging burnt-out vehicles and radiation-mutated alligators the size of Cadillacs .
When they finally reached the theme park, they were surprised to find that they were the only ones there. The place was completely deserted. Waco had hotwired a boat and the seven had crossed a lagoon to the main park.
Stepping onto Main Street was like crossing through the Pearly Gates. They had the Happiest Place
Still, she had almost never made it back home. Her left eye was blinded by the blast and she grew sicker and sicker every mile she drove. By the time she was twenty miles from Waco, she could hardly see three feet in front of her and had trouble staying awake. But she had made it and, in Travis's mind, that made her as brave and resourceful as any soldier he had served beside on the battlefield.
Tammy lasted for five days – two days in and out of consciousness and three in a coma. After her death, Travis and Johnny had buried her beneath a pecan tree in the field out back. Both grieved her death, but it was the boy who took it the hardest. Many a night Travis woke up to find Johnny's bed empty and searched the property to find him lying on the mound of his mother's grave. He began to refuse food and his weight began to drop. Travis knew if he didn't do something fast, he would be digging another grave beneath the pecan tree.
One night, over supper, he asked Johnny a question. "If we could go anywhere in the world, where would you want to go?"
Johnny didn't have to think twice. "The Happiest Place on Earth."
Travis understood why he had picked that particular spot. Their trip to Florida had been one of the happiest times of their lives. In his mind's eye he could picture Tammy and Johnny, a few years younger, laughing and smiling as they rode ride after ride.
They had packed Travis's Ram pickup with provisions and every gun he owned, then headed east the following morning. They did okay until they reached a rest stop off Interstate 10 just west of Mobile. Travis had gone into the restroom to take his morning shit, leaving Johnny in the truck with his .44 Magnum. When Travis had finished he returned to find that some crazy
Cherokee in war paint had gutted and scalped his son right there in the parking lot. The Indian had raised the .44 toward Travis, but the ex-Marine had moved in swiftly and opened his throat with the blade of his K-Bar. Afterward, he had buried poor Johnny in a grove of maple trees near some picnic tables, then decapitated the damn redskin and left his head on a signpost as a warning that he would never let anyone get the drop on him again. He had arrived at the rest stop as Travis Harvey, but left as a bitter hard-ass known only as Waco.
Although he had no idea why, he continued onward to central Florida. Maybe it was to put as much distance between himself and Texas as possible… or maybe it was to fulfill a wish that his son had never gotten the chance to live out. Outside of Tallahassee, Waco had come across a family being terrorized by a gang of black-clad vampires in Alice Cooper makeup. The Texan had brought the attackers down with the .44 within a matter of seconds. When he had asked the Andersons where they were headed and the little boy said "The Happiest Place on Earth!," Waco had agreed to accompany them there. By the time they reached Ocala they had picked up Trixie Bass, Thomas "T.P." Rawlings, and Emery Taylor. All three had been heading for the same place. Soon, a wagon train of three – the Anderson's minivan, Trixie's VW Bug, and Waco's truck – was headed down Interstate 75 for Orlando, dodging burnt-out vehicles and radiation-mutated alligators the size of Cadillacs .
When they finally reached the theme park, they were surprised to find that they were the only ones there. The place was completely deserted. Waco had hotwired a boat and the seven had crossed a lagoon to the main park.
Stepping onto Main Street was like crossing through the Pearly Gates. They had the Happiest Place
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