Lovett
Fitts
Husband
Hardin
Bonner
SNEAK PEEK
BOOK FOUR
CHAPTER
The cold ate at our bones as we trudged into the wind, ice forming in patches on the thick layers of clothing as we pushed further into the forest. The graveyard silence only broken by our ragged breathing and the occasional thunder of dropping tree limbs as the winter’s grasp overpowered the ragged pines that still stood in defiance of the unseasonable temperature. It was eighteen degrees below zero as I followed along with the war party out on our trek.
I felt better on the snowshoes this time, having spent the better part of a week getting accustomed to the odd feeling of walking around with my feet stuck in what still felt like a pair of beartraps. Of course, we didn’t have snowshoes in this part of Texas, or any other part as far as I knew, but the several of our outdoorsman books offered up multiple designs, and we had plenty of willing hands looking for something to occupy their time as the weather kept us indoors for days at a time.
“Here’s the blaze,” Pat said softly, his voice muffled by the ski mask he was wearing. He gestured at the barely visible scratch he’d left on one of the tree trunks from his earlier patrol, and we fell back into our marching order. We skirted the obvious path, picking our way through the jumble of fallen tree limbs and drifted snow that to me resembled the detritus left over at the bottom of a hill after a landslide, but the obstacles were everywhere, stretching to the limits of my vision in the forest.
We all wore the black ski masks, making us look more like bank robbers than vigilantes, but the coverings were crucial to keep our flesh from freezing. We took care of our masks, washing them and taking pains to carefully dry them without damaging the fabric. The same with our clear plastic goggles, which we had to handle with care as the low temperatures made the plastic hard and brittle. Such things were vital in this new world and hard to replace. At least some of the more industrious household troops managed to knit a few replacement masks, but I didn’t know what we would do once the last of the goggles became unusable. We couldn’t exactly mold new ones, and finding such items in trade or as salvage was becoming more and more difficult. As with many things, I imagined we would just have to make do with what we could make or find. These days, that was a constant mindset. Recycling was more than a lifestyle in our community, it was a means of extending our survival.
Our community. Such an odd thing to think about, since we’d all been separate homesteads just making our way in this crazy new world. Then the snows started.
In some parts of the country, getting snow flurries in the first week of September might not have been such a shocker. I’d seen it myself. In Alaska. Not in Southeast Texas. By this time in December, we never had snow like this in living memory.
“How much farther?” Wil asked. From his soft, conversational tone, he wasn’t complaining, merely looking for clarification. Wil was one of our shooters designated as a sniper, so he was probably looking for a place to set up.
“We’re close,” Pat replied carefully, his voice, like Wil’s, pitched low to avoid carrying in the wind. “Five hundred meters or less on a direct bearing.”
Wil bobbed his head, then replied so we could all follow the thread of conversation.
“I’ll angle off at a 45. Use that clump of brush there. Hold up here and give me ten before you approach.”
We all checked our watches, and Pat made a point of giving the hack as the minute hand swept by. We were using analog watches, and mine at least had a timer function but no chime. By now, all of us had adopted something similar, as timing could be crucial for some of our operations. Despite what I know knew was rudimentary tactical training, I worked hard to catch up with the others in our group who had the background and experience to find such things second nature.
Even my brother Mike fell back into his military training, and these days I saw little of the lackadaisical, sloppy school teacher he’d morphed into over the years. Now he was a hard man once again, mentally and physically, and despite the extra gray that now colored his hair, I suspected he was more fit these days than even when he was still on active duty in the Army. He certainly wasn’t carrying any extra weight. None of us were. Days of hard work and monotonous meals made certain of that fact.
Mike now bumped my shoulder, the heavy layers of sweaters and coats I wore over my body armor making the slight impact little more than a tap.
***************
“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion,” Pat recited coldly, and I gave a low chuckle of appreciation despite myself at the quote. I nodded to my brother-in-law.
“Well played,” I admitted.
The others gathered around our fireless camp gave me a curious look.
“I didn’t know Pat was a fan of Blade Runner,” I explained.
“Not really, but I can identify with some of the characters,” he explained, his face going expressionless once again. “Roy for one.”
This time, I didn’t think he was joking.
Tertiary Effects Series | Book 3 | Bite of Frost Page 40
