***
Through the scope he saw his target. Slowing his breathing, he took aim waiting until the image in his scope lifted his head before he pulled the trigger. Across the clearing, the four-point buck jerked sideways, stumbled a few steps then dropped to the ground not knowing what had killed him. Hathaway watched through the scope for a few more seconds to make sure the buck stayed down then stood up and moved down the hill. He had spotted a game trail the previous day on the way back from chopping and gathering wood. Setting out just before dawn, he had found it again and scouted for a good hide. It was bitterly cold this morning, evident from the ice that had formed on the lower part of his balaclava. His footsteps crunched loudly as he walked towards the deer.
Stopping to scan the area visually and then through his ACOG scope, he listened for any sounds that weren’t part of nature. Slinging his rifle, he dragged the carcass to a spot under a tree, used his boot to scrape out a hole in the ground then tossed a strand of 550 paracord over a branch. Tying one end to the rear legs of the deer, he hoisted the animal up, tied off the loose end and then began gutting out the deer. When he was finished, he scraped the dirt back over the hole that now contained the internal organs of the animal. Skinning it, he proceeded to cut it into sections and place them on the poncho he had pulled from the small patrol pack he wore. Closing the poncho and wrapping it with 550 cord, he used the snow to wash his hands free of the blood then blew on his hands to warm them before slipping his gloves back on. He worked quickly as he was getting that uneasy feeling he used to get when he was deployed. That feeling that told him he wasn’t alone. Adjusting his rifle so it was easily accessible; he shouldered the burden and began the trip back to the cabin.
The hike back down the hill was a little awkward balancing two hundred pounds of raw meat across his shoulders on a winding and steep trail. What caused him the most problem was the constant feeling he was under observation. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he came to the edge of the tree line. Stopping to adjust his load, he surreptitiously looked around, catching movement in the corner of his eye. Whatever it was, it didn’t move like an infected. As clear and crisp as the day was, if it was an infected, he would have smelled them a long time ago. He walked a little further then stopped when a branch snapped off to his left. There were two of them, whatever they were.
Stepping behind a large tree, he dropped the poncho then moved stealthily into concealment and waited. A slight noise to the right, the whisper of cloth on branches followed by the muffled crunch of a footstep in the snow indicated that whoever was stalking him had grown impatient and was moving quicker. A shape moved between the brush and overhanging trees. It was a man bundled up for the weather and carrying a scoped rifle.
A second shape appeared from the brush and the two stepped closer and spoke quietly before the first one gestured towards the general area that Hathaway had disappeared into. Hathaway watched all this from his position of concealment. He waited until the intruders stepped close enough together then he leapt from cover. With a leg sweep he took down the larger of the two, rolling him over onto his stomach, putting his knee to the back of the man’s neck and pointing his M4 at the smaller form.
“Hold it!” Hathaway called out as the smaller form fumbled to bring the hunting rifle around. His command froze the person.
“What do you two want?” he asked.
“Nothing mister,” the man on the ground grunted out. “We just wanted to see who you were. We ain’t seen anyone in months.”
The smaller figure that Hathaway had in his sights was visibly shaking either from the cold or fear or or a combination thereof. Both were dressed in brown, insulated Carhart jackets, the lower part of their faces were wrapped in thick, wool scarves, knit hats on their heads and gloves on their hands.
Whoever they were, they were prepared for the weather, most likely they had come from a house or farm nearby.
“Why didn’t you just say something instead of stalking me?” Hathaway asked.
“We didn’t know if you were friendly or not,” the man said, turning his head and spitting out a mouthful of snow.
“I let you up; you drop your rifles and back away. Then we’ll have a little talk,” Hathaway directed.
“Yeah, sure,” the man Hathaway was kneeling on agreed readily. Hathaway stood up and stepped away keeping his rifle pointed at both as the smaller figure dropped the rifle and ran over.
“Dad!” he young boy said helping his father to his feet. Hathaway mentally shook his head in disbelief. This man had almost killed his son with his stupidity.
“The rifles as we agreed,” Hathaway reminded them. The father nodded his head then took his rifle and dropped it in the snow next to his sons before stepping back two steps.
Hathaway relaxed slightly but still wary.
“Okay. I kind of get why you were hesitant to approach me but why did you try to follow me?” he asked.
“We wanted to see where you were going. We were afraid you were one of those contractors,” the man replied. “Or someone worse,” he added.
“Contractors?” Hathaway asked.
“Yeah, a couple weeks after the world ended, a group of private military contractors came through here on their way to Cheyenne. They said they were here under FEMA’s orders. The mayor talked to them and then they shot him and took all the supplies they could carry. They took women right off the street and shot anyone who objected. Then they took all the fuel they could find,” the man explained. “It was fast. Like less than an hour and they were gone. When we saw you, we thought you might one of them or from another group,” he said.
“Well, I’m not a PMC, I am or used to be,” Hathaway corrected himself. “Part of the Idaho National Guard.”
“Idaho? What brings you all the way over here?” the man asked.
“Idaho Falls was overrun. We pulled out with the initial idea of looping around and heading back north towards Boise. Things got… a bit confused after that,” Hathaway stated shaking his head. “Boise is gone along with Idaho Falls,” he added.
The man and his son were silent, thinking about what Hathaway had said before he spoke.
“I guess that means that the infection has spread a lot further then what was reported.”
“It did,” Hathaway agreed.
“I’m Ben, Ben Atkins,” the man said removing his glove, pulling down his scarf and extending his hand. “This is my son David. We live just a little ways south of here.”
Hathaway shook the man’s hand.
“Glad to meet you, I’m Sarge… Alan,” he caught himself. Atkins cocked his head a little at Hathaway’s slip then grinned.
“Times have changed for sure,” Atkins stated. The former National Guard sergeant nodded. He noticed the younger Atkins glancing at the wrapped poncho.
“When was the last time the both of you had a solid meal?”
Their silence was enough to let Hathaway know it had been some time.
“There’s plenty of meat to last all of us for a while. Come along with me and I’ll see that you get a decent meal.”
“I… I don’t know what to say,” Atkins stuttered. Before he could say anything more, Hathaway picked up one of the dropped rifles and worked the bolt, the chamber was empty. He quickly checked the other one, empty as well.
“You were walking around with empty rifles?” Hathaway asked incredulously.
Atkins looked at his son then back at Hathaway and shrugged sheepishly, reaching into his coat pocket and showing the former NCO the three bullets he had. Hathaway noted the calibers on the side of the rifle he still held.
“We might have some ammo you can use,” he said handing the rifle back to Atkins. Back at Etna, he had found a couple boxes of ammo in the back of a drawer. Not knowing why, Hathaway had slipped them into his pack before leaving. He checked the poncho then pulled it back over his shoulder. Standing up he looked at Atkins and his son.
“You’re welcome to come with me. That’s
about the best offer you’re going to get,” he said before heading back to the cabin.
Atkins looked at his son then at the retreating figure of Hathaway. He reached down and picked up his son’s rifle then slung both weapons over his shoulders and followed the large figure that was receding in the distance. David hesitated then ran to catch up with his father.
***
Hathaway glanced back over his shoulder and saw the Atkins following him, grinning, he turned back forward. The weight across his shoulders was soon forgotten.
What am I going to tell Brandon?
As he approached the cabin, he saw movement by the garage. That would be either Valdez or Axtell. They must have seen him coming back and noticed the other two. He stopped walking allowing the Atkins to catch up with him.
“Why’d you stop?” Ben asked a little out of breath.
“I have some friends in the cabin and by now they noticed that I brought company back with me,” Hathaway replied. “Don’t make any sudden moves and don’t touch your rifles,” he cautioned.
The figure by the garage remained where it had been. Hathaway knew that whoever it was had their rifle at the ready and was looking at them through the scope.
“Sergeant?” Axtell called out from somewhere to his left. Good, they had split up to catch any potential hostiles in a crossfire.
“It’s me, Ax! These are friends! Tell Valdez to stand down!”
Axtell stood up from his hide, rifle at the ready and turned to the house. Using his left hand, he tapped the top of his head three times before he turned back to his sergeant, still wary. Hathaway dipped his head at the younger soldier and nodded for him to approach. Axtell nodded but remained at a distance, following the trio back to the house.
Hathaway walked to the garage and shrugged the poncho to the ground. Standing back upright, he stretched his shoulders to relieve some of the stiffness before he turned to Axtell.
“Ax, this is Ben and David Atkins, our neighbors to the south.”
Axtell nodded a greeting, studying the new arrivals intently.
“They’re staying for dinner,” Hathaway added.
“What?” Axtell asked shocked. “But… the captain… what about?”
“What about the captain?” Hathaway asked.
“She…I… we…” Axtell fumbled the words.
“I’ll square it away, corporal,” Hathaway said reassuringly. “Trust me.”
Opening the garage door, he dragged the poncho inside. Ben stood outside in awe, staring at the Hummer that filled most of the space inside.
“Is that a real Hum-Vee?” David asked.
“Sure is,” Hathaway replied.
“The contractors I told you about drove SUVs. Probably armored,” Ben stated. Hathaway nodded; he had seen plenty of private contractors during deployments. It had seemed that the Pentagon was increasing the outsourcing of military operations at about the same time he was leaving Big Army. PMC’s were the way to go as far as the top brass was concerned. Overall, it made sense to use contractors that way there were no training or logistic costs. A private contractor was deniable, and not subject to the UCMJ.
Hathaway placed the poncho wrapped deer into the propane powered chest freezer at the rear wall of the garage, before indicating that they should all go inside. The Atkins seemed hesitant at first until Hathaway stepped in with Axtell bringing up the rear. Introductions were made all around with the father and son gravitating towards the fireplace and warmth. Brandon pasted a smile on her face, shook Ben and David’s hands then looked quizzically at Hathaway.
“Sergeant, a word,” she said as she crooked her finger at Hathaway. Once they had stepped out of the main room and into a bedroom, Brandon closed the door and faced the NCO.
“What the hell are you doing? We don’t know anything about these people yet you bring them inside our perimeter and invite them to dinner,” she said angrily.
“Ma’am,” Hathaway said, taking a position of parade rest. “During my recon of the area in search of food, I encountered two indigenous personnel. They were out hunting for food. By the looks of it, they haven’t had a decent meal in weeks,” Hathaway said in a clear voice while staring at a section of wall above Brandon’s head.
“Sergeant, this is the most reckless thing I’ve ever seen you do,” Brandon said as she paced the small room. Hathaway stifled the grin that was attempting to break out on his face. Brandon hadn’t known him long enough to put this event into any category of recklessness.
“Captain, ma’am, we know next to nothing about this area. We don’t even know how many people are still alive that may be living right next door,” Hathaway said. “Besides, it’s always best to foster goodwill among the indigenous population. Hearts and minds, ma’am.” he added. He kept his thoughts about hearts and minds to himself. In his experience, you grabbed the indigenous personnel by the balls and their hearts and minds had to follow.
Brandon stopped her pacing and looked at him, blinked a few times as she thought about what he had said, and then nodded.
“All right. I understand. Next time, and I’m sure there will be a next time, you inform me of any policy changes before they happen.”
“Fair enough, captain,” Hathaway said, still fighting to control the escape of a grin. He couldn’t help but think that she had done a pretty good job of dressing him down for his actions.
“It would appear we’re having guests for dinner. Make sure the men are on their best behavior,” Brandon said before leaving the room. Hathaway smiled as she left, happy with the knowledge that she was finally accepting command of the unit.
***
Dinner was nothing special. MREs heated on the fire as they sat around in a semi-circle warming up from the frigid temperatures outside. It was evident that the Atkins had been down to their last food reserves by the way they dug into the entrees and their gaunt appearance once divested of their heavy winter clothing. Between mouthfuls and chewing Ben told his tale of how he and his son had come to be where they were.
“We were living in Smoot, that’s a little town south of here,” he explained when he saw the blank looks. “Since David’s mom died a few years back, I thought it was time for a change of scenery. My parents had a place outside of town. I grew up there.” Ben ate some more before continuing. “I moved to Cheyenne, you know bright lights, big city kind of thing. Met his mom there,” he said looking over at his son. “She was killed in a car accident when David was eight. We moved back to Smoot when he was ten. Been there ever since.”
Brandon looked at David; the boy appeared to be about 13 or 14.
“When all this happened,” Ben said looking around. “We hunkered down and waited it out. Then these contractors came through. Said they were working for FEMA to maintain order until the military could be brought in.” Atkins shook his head slowly. “It didn’t seem right. They seemed to be running from something. What, I don’t know. But, they were in a rush to get wherever they were going.”
“How long ago did they pass through here?” Brandon asked.
“Maybe two, three months ago,” Atkins replied. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been keeping track of the time since this happened. It just didn’t seem to be all that important,” he admitted.
“I understand, Mr. Atkins,” Brandon said.
“Call me Ben, you say Mr. Atkins and I look around for my father,” Atkins said jokingly.
“Okay Ben. How many people do you think are left in this area and why haven’t the infected hit this place?” Brandon asked, unconsciously leaning forward.
“I don’t know how many are still left. Beside David and me there’s the Simmons, they have a spread a little west of our place. I think maybe the Hendershot’s are still here. I really don’t know how many folks are hiding out. I was more concerned about finding food and keeping our heads down then keeping track of who was still alive when the dust settled,” Atkins said looking at the floor.
“What about the infected?” Brandon pressed
him again.
“I don’t know why we didn’t see any out here. Before the TV went out, that’s all they talked about. Cheyenne had a bunch and so did all the other big cities. I’m thinking that we didn’t get any because we’re smacked right up against these hills and there’s nothing around for miles. Every town around here had a population of less than a thousand. Maybe that had something to do with it. This is flyover country, nobody ever comes through here unless they’re lost or passing through to someplace else,” he added. “Wyoming is the least populated state per square mile,” Atkins said with a shrug. “Maybe that had something to do with it.”
Brandon caught Hathaway’s eyes as she leaned back. It was starting to make sense. From the data she had worked on while inside the Dupont Federal Center, this outbreak appeared to have originated and been totally focused on major population centers. She stared off into the fire, thinking.
As dinner was finishing up, it was decided that the Atkins would stay the night then set out at first light for their home. Valdez and Axtell would split the night shift. Hathaway made an excuse about taking fire watch even though both corporals knew that it was the responsibility of the one on duty to make sure the fire stayed going. Hathaway understood more of Atkins’ actions but was still wary of him so he was going to play it cautious and see what happened. Ben and David were given blankets and bunked down in front of the fire while Hathaway wrapped himself up in his poncho liner and sat against the wall by the hallway. His rifle was leaning against the wall next to him and under the liner out of sight; the Colt 1911 was in his right hand. He hadn’t stayed alive this long without being cautious.
***
Up From the Depths: Book 4 Movement to Contact Page 7
