“They are a large group, we hear—hundreds strong, at least, with some type of Military backing,” said Cory. “We can’t completely rule out the possibility of Military vehicles, tanks, and some type of air support. We just don’t know, so we need to plan for everything.”
“Agreed,” said Mac, always feeling better overanalyzing a situation and grateful to have someone like Cory to remind him of that. “I love it when a plan comes together!” he said, borrowing a line from one of his favorite TV shows growing up.
“I pity the fool who messes with this Valley!” replied Cory, getting a laugh out of Mac.
* * * *
Mac wasn’t sure which plan the Council would be most comfortable with. He met with Cory again at the end of the afternoon.
“Okay,” said Mac. “Here’s what we do. We have been asked to submit three plans.
“Our bottom option, let’s say Plan 1, should be what we really want and nothing less.
“The next tier, Plan 2, should be Plan 1 plus something more, but not over the top.
“Plan 3 includes Plan 2, plus something crazy enough to make them feel comfortable with Plan 2 or 1. Make sense?”
“Sure,” said Cory. “If the lowest plan has what we want, we can’t lose.”
“Exactly. That’s what I love about the three-plan deal, especially when there are no rules ahead of time.
“Okay, Plan 1,” said Mac. “We beef up our guard presence from both groups on the north and south borders. The only likely way besides that is over the Rimrock, somewhere in the middle. They have a large group, making it easy to spot with a couple of forward observers, but that also means more people trying to take what we have fought for, more than once already. Right now, we have time—at least two weeks or more—and manpower. We don’t have to officially add to the security team, but we do need to pull some people off of other less-essential projects to help fortify the property.”
“What are you thinking?” asked Cory.
“For starters, we see who here can run the backhoes and tractors. We have some barriers to move and trenches to be dug. I want one all the way across the north end, just the other side of our current barrier, ten-feet deep and twenty wide. It doesn’t need to be pretty, just effective. I think one or two full-time operators can get it done in a week. The south end is quite a bit wider, and it can’t be done, at least not in the timeframe we have. On that end, we need enough old cars from the North Forty, and anything else we have, to funnel them into the middle. It’s a big project, but our current barrier isn’t good enough for a group like that. And last, the Rimrock cliffs create a natural barrier partway across, with only one road coming over the top. A pit dug on our side across the road should be sufficient. Of course, Lance and his group should have more info, having already faced them once, but I don’t want to wait until they arrive to start working.”
“Plan 2 is all that plus pulling any nonessential workers from tasks that are less than vital to life right now, like housekeeping and construction. I’ll talk to Rico about a delivery food service to bring food out to our workers who can’t make it up here for a meal.”
“What about Plan 3?” asked Cory.
“That’s Plan 1 and 2, plus we add frontline jobs for the Council. Most are up in age and won’t want to be involved physically, so they will likely settle on Plan 2. Anything I’m missing?” asked Mac.
“Just a daily checkup at the MacDonalds’ place—for a few weeks at least—so we don’t have a repeat of before,” said Cory. “I hope that Ralph guy is gone for good, but who knows? I want to make sure we are concentrating on only one hostile group at a time. Oh, and a shelter for anyone not participating, once it gets real.”
“That’s the easy part,” said Mac, realizing he had never shown Cory the wine and beer cellar. “The best part is, you can see it from your house, but I bet you had no idea it was there.”
“No way! Maybe out a side window or something?” asked Cory.
“Nope. Straight out the front living room window. You see it every day. Come on; I’ll show you.”
Mac took Cory back to his and Cameron’s place. “Hey, Cameron, come on out,” his dad called.
“Sure, Pops. What’s up?”
“Mac said there is an underground shelter we can see clearly from our front window. Have you ever seen anything?”
“Uh…well, I mean…”
“Spit it out, son.”
“Some of the teenagers showed me a few nights ago.”
“The wine and beer place?” Cory asked.
“Yes, Dad,” he replied sheepishly.
“What do they do in there?” he asked, not having to be a cop but only a dad to figure it out. “Okay, we will talk later about this. I guarantee it!”
“That settles it,” Cory said to Mac. “It seems I’m the only one who hasn’t seen it.”
“It’s over there,” said Mac, pointing to the faded red wooden door, looking more like a part of a retaining wall than anything else. They walked over to see it. “We can fit everyone in here, but it will be tight,” he continued, opening the door and walking down the cement stairway.
Cory observed the inside, walking around impressive wine- and beer-brewing setups that looked as though they were monitored daily.
“I’ve never seen the door open,” remarked Cory, “so there is another way in, right?”
“Two ways actually,” replied Mac. It was built as a storm shelter, or maybe a bomb shelter, in the 1940s. It’s as solid as you can get without having a container sunk twenty feet underground.”
“Hmm,” said Cory, thinking out loud and finally answering. “I like it—three ways out and hard to spot. I don’t want us to end up like the Branch Davidians in Waco. Most of them were trapped when it happened and couldn’t get out if they wanted to. So why would Lance and his group fight all that way to get here, knowing the minute they do they will face a group much larger than the one that nearly took them out?”
“I’ve asked myself the same question and even spoke to Bill and Sharon about it. Their answer made a lot of sense. He’s promised those traveling with him a safe place their kids can grow up in and will not starve trying to do so. They already have a good taste of what’s out there on the road, and they are willing to fight for freedom. There’s no getting around that now, wherever somebody ends up. The only alternative is the FEMA camps, and there is certainly no freedom there.”
“That makes sense,” said Cory. “The same reason I brought Cameron out here. What do you think our chances are?”
“Without the Colonel’s help, not good, I’m afraid. Let’s pray he shows on game day and fight like heck if he doesn’t.”
* * * *
Mac and Cory were up early the next morning, reviewing the plans one more time before meeting with John, Bill, Samuel, and the Council at 9 a.m.
Patty’s smothered burritos killed this morning, and Rico didn’t mind taking a back seat.
Mac and Cory pitched Plans 1, 2, and 3. The Council started with Plan number 3, voting it down, as Mac knew would be the case. There’s a reason the Military has an age limit on new recruits.
Plan 2 got the most votes, with Council members seeing the need to divert nonessential jobs to security temporarily.
“Everyone wants clean clothes and a jammed front door unstuck by maintenance,” said Mac, “but we only need them for a few weeks at most. It is a small sacrifice for a shot at saving our Valley.”
John took a final vote and officially declared Plan 2 a go. Mac, in true fashion, didn’t stick around to hear a change of heart.
“Let’s go. Let’s go,” he said to Cory after thanking Rico and Patty for an awesome breakfast.
* * * *
They garnered the old crew and reached out to new recruits. They were not at liberty to tell everything of what they knew was coming—only a watered-down version, citing a need for increased security over the next few weeks.
Every tractor, backhoe and shovel was accounted for an
d moved into precise locations for imminent work. Mac personally marked each trench to be dug and entrance to be blocked. He spent the night at Sarah’s, telling both her and his dog Bo that he may be heavily occupied for a week or two, maybe more if it came down to it.
“Be careful,” Sarah told him, with one hand on her stomach. “I know we can’t just sit back and wait to be run over by some crazy dictator, but we also need you back with us. You can’t raise a family if you’re lying in a ditch somewhere,” she added.
“I will do what needs to be done to keep you, our baby, and those in this Valley safe—nothing more, nothing less. It is all one and the same now: all for one and one for all. I will be the sacrifice if it comes down to it, but I’m praying it won’t.”
“Me too, Mac. I…we, I mean, pray every day: ‘Protect these people, all of us, every last person in this Valley.’”
* * * *
Mac dug the Rimrock trench himself. They were short on heavy-equipment operators, and it brought him back to easy days in his mind. He learned to use this equipment as a teenager and skipped more than a few school days to earn extra money—paying for his car, insurance, gas, an occasional date, and mostly helping his mother out with monthly expenses. She never knew he skipped school and would have had his hide for it, but she was grateful for the extra help and it meant more to him than she would ever know. Minutes blurred into hours, and half days slipped away from him.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Twenty-five
Saddle Ranch
Loveland, Colorado
Sharon and Karl made their way to Mabel’s house with homemade mint tea. Sharon knocked on the front door, not seeing her on the front porch, like always.
“Mabel,” she called. “Are you in there? We have mint tea. It’s not Starbucks but Karl thinks it tastes like it.”
With no answer, Karl tried the front porch door, finding it opened a crack, and pointed to a half-covered meal on the front-porch table, ravaged by one or more critters.
“Mabel, I’m here with Karl. I’ll have him wait out here. I’m coming in.”
Sharon reached the door of the back bedroom, past the open bathroom, with no sign of her friend.
“Mabel,” she said, knocking on the bedroom door. “It’s me—Sharon. I’m coming in.”
She slowly turned the handle, hearing a faint voice from inside.
“Oh, Mabel,” Sharon said, seeing her under heavy covers, sweating and frail. “Mabel, how long have you been in here like this?”
“A day…maybe two. It’s hard to tell,” Mabel replied.
“Someone is supposed to check on you when they deliver each meal. It looks like you never even touched anything.”
“Oh, sweetie, I feed half my dinners to the animals anyway. Everybody is always checking on me, but you’re the only one who brings me mint tea…. I’m dying, you know—headed up to the Pearly Gates,” she said, with a deep cough.
“I’m sure we can get one of the doctors from the West to come take a look at you. You will be feeling better in no time. I’ll be back in just a few with one of them.”
“Wait,” said Mabel, with a firm grip on Sharon’s arm. “I have dreams,” she said softly but clear as day, “but not in the night.”
“Daydreams?” asked Sharon.
“Yes, I suppose so…or visions maybe. But they are straight from on high—that, I know.”
“Let me just get the doctor up here,” said Sharon, “and we can finish this talk later. Or I can get Karl to go.”
“This is no talk, sweetie; this is a confession. I won’t be here when you get back. My body will, but my Spirit is headed up, and sooner than you think. So, sit with me and listen closely to what I have to tell you. I told you before that I have a deal of sorts with God, always have. He was going to take me yesterday right out on my front porch, but I wouldn’t go without talking to you first. Stubborn as all get out, I suppose,” she added, laughing—the slow deep kind that ends up in a coughing fit.
“Now listen, child, and hear every word. You have taken care of my earthly body and been a better friend to me than anybody I can remember,” she added, not taking her hand off Sharon’s wrist.
“They’re coming...”
“Who’s coming, Mabel?”
“Those who don’t believe in our God. There is a man who goes by the name of Baker. I see him clear as day. He wants what you have.”
“You mean what we have?”
“No, sweetie. He and his bad men want what you all have here in this beautiful Valley. The women and children are just along on the ride but will flood the Valley like locusts on a farmer’s last crop. He aims to put an air strip—like used to be here many years ago—right out in the fields. They are not coming as you think—through one of the borders already guarded.”
Mabel paused, coughing hoarsely.
“You can take a minute,” offered Sharon, “or we can discuss this later.”
“There is no later for this,” said Mabel, looking her in the eyes.
“They will pour over the Rimrock like locusts, from one end to the other—in vehicles, helicopters, horses and on foot. A thousand or more zombies of sorts looking to devour the land and everything on it.”
“When will they come?” asked Sharon, knowing Mabel couldn’t know about the man called Baker.
“At first light, when the birds stop singing. When the deer are agitated and the rabbit runs for its hole. It starts with a rumble, like a thunderstorm echoing across the Valley. Lightning will fill a cloudless sky until you aren’t even able to hear your own thoughts.”
Sharon sat speechless, not questioning what she was hearing but simply frozen, unable to process a response.
“Don’t be afraid, for God is with you. He will tell you when it’s time and send others to help. This is His Valley, and He will make sure it stays that way.”
“How do we protect it? How do we defeat them?” asked Sharon.
“Burn it!”
Mabel took one shallow breath, closed her eyes, and her hand fell from Sharon’s, resting gently on the bed.
“Mabel, Mabel…are you still with me?” asked Sharon, watching a faint glow rise towards the ceiling and beyond.
“Mom, is everything okay?” asked Karl, standing just inside the front door.
“Yes, Karl. Mabel has passed.”
Dr. Melton personally checked her an hour later, making the official time of death 3 p.m. The following day, a service would be held for the oldest resident to be laid to rest in the Valley cemetery.
Sharon spoke with Bill about her conversation with one of the best friends she had ever known.
“I’m sad to see her go, but I was there with her and that’s what matters most.”
“We need to gather tomorrow morning for another meeting,” said Bill.
* * * *
They had the usual crew assembled for the news Mabel had shared only yesterday. Sharon told the story exactly as she remembered, ending with the ominous command.
“Burn what?” asked one of the Council to the others.
“Why would we burn our homes?” asked another. Most held up their arms in a questioning stance.
Bill whispered something to John and Samuel before addressing the group.
“Mac,” he asked. “Do you have any questions for Sharon or any of us here about what we have heard?”
“No, sir, but I would like a few minutes to speak with Cory and then use the easel board, if that’s okay.”
Everyone in the room shook their heads yes, with Mac and Cory disappearing outside for ten minutes. There would be no breakfast served to the small group this morning. It wasn’t that kind of meeting, Bill told Rico when he asked about it last night.
* * * *
Mac and Cory were on the same page with security defense. Mac took to the board, drawing a few landmarks, including the Pavilion with the “You’re Here” designation you might see at a mall kiosk or National Park trail. The dome Chapel, Green Mountain, and t
he Rimrock also were marked.
“Our current borders are here, to the north, and here, to the south,” Cory pointed out.
“Mabel left us a message that can be interpreted in several ways, I suppose,” continued Mac. “I’m not sure how she could have known Baker’s name, but she did. What she said makes sense about them coming over the Rimrock, from one side to the other. Why bring a thousand people through one chokehold, or barrier in our case, when you can fan out and hop from one valley on the other side of the Rimrock to another here, where we stand?”
“Why don’t they just take the valley on the other side?” asked a Council member.
“It’s too big to defend,” said Cory. “It runs nine miles from Big Thompson Elementary School up to Masonville, and then splits two ways. There is a small river running through it, but damming it upstream is not hard to do. The long valley also lacks much of a barrier on the Loveland-facing side, and therefore is open to multiple points of attack. Plus, even if they did settle there, we would never have another day’s peace in our Valley, being so close to them.”
“That’s what we believe she meant by her statement ‘Burn it,’” added in Mac. “She wasn’t referring to Saddle Ranch or the West community’s homesteads or fields, but to the Rimrock itself. We have had our share of forest fires over the years here, with most up on Green Mountain. The keys are controlling the spread and hoping the wind is in our favor. It may be a long shot, but it could be the only option.”
“What exactly are you saying?” asked John.
“We are suggesting a controlled burn across the Rimrock, away from this Valley. There are enough bushes up there to keep a flame, but not enough trees to make an inferno, like on Green Mountain. We use the tractors to build a fire road across the entire Rimrock, like they do fighting forest fires. Timing is everything, though. Too fast, and they come over when it cools—not fast enough, and they will already be on our side. If anyone has a better idea than Mabel, please let me know,” Mac said.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Twenty-six
Raton Pass, New Mexico
Next World Series | Vol. 5 | Families First [Homecoming] Page 21
