A black cruiser was parked at a police station in the old town of Pueblo Colorado. The historic town center was now a small fort with walls. Multiple train lines still ran through the town on their way through the Rocky Mountains and this town lived by that traffic.
It wasn't a direct path across to California, but it was one of the more common ones to run by train. Train hopping was still one of the easiest ways to hitchhike undetected across the country.
James Marcel came out of the Sherriff's office and tucked his notepad back into his jacket. At home, he normally wore his standard dark blue uniform. Out here when he was hunting he wore a dark brown duck jacket and navy slacks. It looked like an old military uniform. Here he had no jurisdiction so he didn't want to look like he was trampling on anyone else's toes.
Thankfully the locals were more than willing to help. The Texas Rangers still held some reputation in the world. In the old days, they were known as dogged enforcers of the law. They had fame for catching Bonnie and Clyde and other ruthless criminals. Thankfully that still held over. It also meant that Marcel had to go above and beyond to uphold that image.
For him, that image was part of what drew him to law enforcement. As a kid, he had watched the old television shows before the networks and internet had gone down in the war. The glitz and glamour of the job hid the grit and hard work of actual policing. But that hadn't phased him. As he grew older he became to love the leg work that came with the job.
Why else would he get to travel across these different territories, wearing a gun, and driving a large black sedan? It wasn't sexy work when you did it, but it sure looked sexy from the outside. He found a sort of patient satisfaction in the job when his work paid off and another criminal faced the consequences. He regretted when one got out easy and faced the end of the barrel and lost.
The locals had informed him that no one had reported sighting Anthony Filoni. His image and the news of the jailbreak had already made it across the Rockies. Marcel assumed that meant it had made it across and into California by now.
While the war had taken out the internet some satellites were still in operation. Most police still relied on the radio. He had short-range and ham radio in the car. The previous night he had rigged up an antenna and dialed back into his home office.
They informed him that a car had been found across the Red River along with the corpses of two gang members and one cellmate of Anthony. Anthony himself and his accomplice were still missing. Internally he cursed whichever idiot jailer had allowed Anthony to share a cell with a known associate. Jail cell rules mandated that you kept defendants from being nearby. This kept them from building up a story and practicing a story.
He had passed on his information about his stops since he left in search of the men. He knew they had been on the run for over a month now, but they had ditched the van somewhere north of the old Oklahoma City.
They had also split up. Sightings of Calvin "Pudge" Larson were separate from Anthony. Pudge had traveled across the state in a diagonal. He took the more direct and less crowded route. Anthony had seemed to take the highway. Either they had two cars or some other plan to throw off the police. It was a good tactic. Marcel wished he had gotten permission to get a few trainees to follow him so they could have split. The problem was transportation. These old interceptors were few and far between. Allowing him to have this one was impressive.
Marcell took the car over to the propane depot near the trains and showed his official badge to the guard. He drove inside and parked next to the refill station. The man came out and Marcel handed him his badge and a letter from the local sheriff permitting him to refuel.
The starry-eyed attendant was mesmerized at seeing a real-life Texas Ranger and almost too quickly started refilling the tanks of propane hidden around the car. It could carry enough to travel almost 800 miles before refueling. It was just better to top off when he went through 2 of the 4 built-in tanks.
"Who you hunting mister?" The young man said while watching pressures and checking to avoid ice from forming on the hoses and tanks.
"Anthony Filoni, the man who broke out of Dallas." Marcel took off his jacket and threw it through the window into the passenger seat of his car.
"I heard about that! Do you think he came into our town? I heard they found a black Dallas service pistol out near colorado springs." The man got excited at the gossip.
"Yeah an HK Usp service pistol belonging to a Dallas PD officer was found but that's not conclusive. He could have paid someone off to drop it." Marcel shook his shoulder out and tilted his head as his body popped and cracked. "It's more common to travel by train."
"Really? You'd think the Pinkertons would keep you from doing that. I mean they ride every train right?"
The Pinkertons were private security. They had reformed after the war and sold their services protection the rail lines and air travel. They had never really disappeared before the war, they were just far less common. Their expertise meant they had a perfect position to resume their old wild west reputation. And if anything they had strengthened it. They were merciless detectives, they would hunt like old hound dogs. They also had a reputation as ruthless hunters and bounty hunters. Dead or Alive were both equal options in their mind.
Marcel nodded at the young man. "I know that they do everywhere but Texas territories. So I bet there are some places they don't besides there. And besides that, a real hardened criminal will know that and work around it. Filoni is a hardened criminal with a serious past. I appreciate your enthusiasm but make sure you stay away from him. If you see him report it to the law and they will get it back to me."
"Not a problem sir, I know I'm no lawman. I'm happy here pumping gas!" The young man beamed and wiped frost off the fill hose.
A buzzer went off to indicate that the tanks had equalized pressure, interrupting their conversation. The young man reached over and shut off the valves as he waited for the tank to suck the pressure back in just a little bit. He then disconnected everything and verified it was sealed before he left. He nodded to Marcel before he walked back into his office. The conversation was over just like that.
It was more than just a chance to pass the time though. He was thinking about all the ways that someone like Anthony Filoni would have to travel to avoid people like him. Word was that he was heading towards California. Informants had passed along the information to DPD. The real question became was he heading there directly, and why? Or did he have accomplices along the way to meet somewhere besides?
There was nothing but wide open space between Dallas and California. That was a lot of caves, houses, shelters, and fields to check. It was easy for one man to get lost if he played his cards smart. Avoiding cities was his best bet. If he had backup from someone else getting him out of sight was easy. Then he could disappear to a whole other state without so much as a trace.
The gun in Colorado Springs was his last bit of relevant information. Most officers would immediately start scouring the area for other clues. And that is just what the local police did. They had extended a welcome to the Ranger out of courtesy. It just felt too obvious. Fort Carson was there along with the old American NORAD base.
It was sometimes smart to head towards the cops, but this was dangerous heading towards military installations. Colorado Springs had the manpower and militia power. One wrong step and he would be sniffed out by sheer numbers.
Marcel got in the car and fired the big v8 up. The propane system quieted it down a little bit and gave the motor slightly less power than the old gasoline systems did. An interesting fact of this world was that Rotary motors became popular. They ran exceptionally well on propane and other compressed gasses. Their need to be constantly oiled became their only downfall. You had to keep a large stock of refined oil on hand. They found homes in transport companies between large cities where speed was important. Rotary modified vehicles hauled mail and other deliverables as needed. Trains and the few running semis carried more but traveled slowly and required an escort.
The world had changed and for those who remembered the old world, it was a stark reminder of the relative comfort before everything went to shit.
Marcel got out his trusty Mapsco and opened it to Colorado. A cartographer the Rangers employed had marked out sections of known damaged roads. Marcel plotted a trip north from Pueblo to Colorado Springs. If the roads were good it was only a few hours drive. That would give him time to think about his next step. Does he head towards California? Or does he turn his eye back towards his last confirmed sighting?
The thought of the L.P. Hotel lingered in the back of his head. Had Anthony fed them wrong information and headed back towards the Wichita crater? Maybe he fled north towards the old Canadian border. They still had whole wild expanses of land open to hide in. Did he have everything he wanted and was just out to retire?
Marcel dismissed that idea almost as quickly as it came into his head, Filoni was the kind of person who was in this for the fun. He was sure that no amount of riches would convince him to pull out of the game.
What if the whole plan was to lead them off and he was headed to St. Louis? Getting to the great Mississippi would give him multiple ways to escape. What did he know about Filoni? He assumed he had a gang of some kind. He had at least one friend so it wouldn't be out of the ordinary to have more. He knew that his crimes in Texas seemed almost like he was on vacation. What could he have been doing there besides?
Texas still had a manufacturing section along with agriculture and beef. The old port of Houston still ran full time. Now it went inland where the city had been cratered out by bombing. Austin was walled off and covered in radioactive materials. Dirty bombs in the capital had made it a wasteland to everything but roaches and wildlife.
Marcel sighed as he pulled north out of town and sped up along the roadway. He rolled the windows down and took a deep breath of air. The wind blowing from the mountains was crisp in a way that you couldn't get anywhere else. The cold wind from the granite rocks woke up your senses, almost as if the mountains wanted you to remember where you were.
The cool air and the road put his mind to work. He plotted out every option he could think of. Having to think like a hardened criminal was dangerous. Many lawmen fell into corruption when they saw how easily the system could be manipulated. He had his reputation to uphold. He couldn't be tempted by quick riches or hot women. He let his mind go through every option he had while he made his way towards Colorado Springs.