by Nathan Jones
Nuclear winter was a daunting prospect, and their suffering was far from over. But Trev thought they were ready for it. Whatever the future brought, things would only improve from here.
Epilogue
New Beginnings
Pete hissed slightly as he peeled back the bandage. It was sticking to his leg, and he had to spend almost a minute mustering his courage before he could tear it off in one go.
That opened the wound, of course. Why wouldn't it? Fresh blood began trickling from the through and through, a stark contrast to the blackened crust of dried blood already there. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the rag out of the pot of boiling water he'd just removed from the fire, then slapped it down where the bandage had been.
For a moment his vision went white with pain, and he slumped back gasping against the tree he was sitting against. Maybe he shouldn't have messed with the bandage, but it needed to be changed regularly, didn't it? Anyway he'd also needed to make sure the wound wasn't showing any signs of infection. It was swollen, sure, and throbbed with every heartbeat, but he hadn't seen any of the ugly black veins that indicated blood poisoning.
Once he was able to move again he dropped the old bandage into the boiling water, watching the liquid go from clear to red from crusted blood. He poked at the stained cloth with a stick to clean it out as best he could, then lifted it free and hung it over one of his tent's stake lines to dry. The tent itself he'd already taken down and packed away, just in case he needed to move, but the hanging line had been useful for keeping any cloth he sterilized away from dirty surfaces until he used it.
He never thought he'd make it this far, almost to the Colorado Rockies. But it turned out that once he'd managed to sneak past the front lines the blockheads got a lot less vigilant, confident they controlled the territory. It had given Pete plenty of opportunities to hit at them, although he'd had to pick his battles carefully to make sure he never bit off more than he could chew.
His friends all called him reckless, but he'd showed them. They'd be proud if they could see him now. He'd made it almost three hundred miles in about a month, going along Highway 191 then Highway 40, picking off blockheads as he went. He had to have taken out dozens by now, and none had ever gotten close to catching him as he fled or went to ground.
That is, up until those two yesterday. Who would've thought anyone would be that vigilant while taking a piss during a random rest stop? That guy's off the cuff shot from almost three hundred yards had to have been pure luck. After all, nobody aimed for the thigh, did they? Thoracic cavity shots was what Pete had been taught.
At least the truck had driven off rather than sticking around to fight, giving him time to hastily bind the wound and limp his way out of there. And just as luckily he hadn't seen a blockhead truck since. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the convoys were all driving east instead of west, now.
Had his friends won? Good for them if they had. That meant Alice would be able to head home and take care of the sheep he'd given her before leaving. Maybe she and Rick could become shepherds now, make the switch over from the herd of goats the Watsons had needed to slaughter over time to feed their family through the hard times. Pete had eaten more than one meal from their table, a kindness he'd never be able to repay now.
His two best friends being together wasn't something Pete liked to think about, not after the hopes he'd had for his own life with Alice. But if it meant a better future for her he could live with it.
Assuming he lived.
While he waited for the bandage to dry he finished off the last of the leftover rabbit he'd bagged the morning before his failed ambush. It wasn't nearly a meal, and he was going to have to worry about food soon, but it took the edge off the gnawing pain in his belly.
He must have dozed off after that, because when he woke up it was to a low rumbling that immediately set his senses on full alert. Truck engines.
With a groan he grabbed the bandage, now dry and stiff, and hastily wrapped and tied it around his thigh, gritting his teeth at the pain. Then he levered himself up using the stick he'd selected out for a crutch, favoring his leg as much as he could, and hobbled along the steep game trail that led over the rise to the cliff overlook he'd used for yesterday's ambush.
It hurt more to settle down in his hiding place there than it had to get to his feet in the first place, and he was sweating profusely from the strain and discomfort by the time he panned the road to the west with his rifle's scope. He could see small black specks approaching on the highway, getting closer by the second.
There were trucks coming, all right. A whole convoy of them. But more importantly, they looked American.
Pete felt a surge of elation. So the blockheads were running, and even better his side was in pursuit! Now if he could only get down to the road, he might not die from his own carelessness up in these mountains.
He awkwardly slung his rifle back over his shoulder, then hurried back to his camp as fast as his wounded leg would allow. He knew he shouldn't be on it, but if he could get help it would be worth it.
Back in his camp he dumped the pot of water, now cooled, over the last coals of the fire, then began stuffing things into his pack as quickly as he could. He was glad he'd packed away his tent now, and all he had to do was rip the stake and tent line free and stuff them in too.
Standing up under the weight of his pack was almost beyond him, and he nearly lost his balance on the crutch and toppled onto his face. But somehow he stayed on his feet, and with one plodding step after another he limped the other way down the steep trail to where it wound down to the road.
It wouldn't be the end of the world if this convoy was gone before he got down. He'd watched a dozen blockhead convoys pass during their retreat, and if the military was hot in pursuit then these trucks would only be advance scouts. Even so, he went as fast as he could just in case he was wrong.
By pure willpower and a bit of luck he managed to burst out into sight of the road just as the last vehicle passed by. For a horrible few seconds he thought he hadn't been seen, and he struggled to wave with his free hand as he kept hobbling towards the road, hoping to maybe catch the eyes of someone looking through a driver's or passenger's side mirror.
Then the last truck screeched to a halt and soldiers in familiar uniforms poured out the back and from the passenger's side, rifles trained on him.
“I'm American!” he called, keeping his free hand well away from the rifle slung on his shoulder. That was no guarantee the soldiers wouldn't shoot him, and a part of him wouldn't have blamed them if they had. He'd faced that dilemma before, the struggle to make sure caution didn't overpower his desire to not kill an ally by accident.
The soldiers didn't relax. “What are you doing alone in the Colorado Rockies, kid?” their officer demanded. A lieutenant, he thought.
“Fighting blockheads, same as you.” Pete waved vaguely to the southwest. “I started out down in Emery County. I was part of a group of volunteers fighting along Highway 31.”
The man paused, looking skeptical. “Serving under Sergeant Ethan Davis?” he called doubtfully.
Pete blinked in surprise. He supposed the guy would have a reason to know who was where if he'd been in the loop, but that group along the highway had only been a few dozen soldiers. Hardly enough to be general knowledge. “Yeah, and Corporal Williams in 2nd Squad.”
Against his best efforts his strength finally gave out, and Pete barely had time to shove his crutch out of the way as he slumped to the ground, groaning in pain. The lieutenant looked suspicious rather than sympathetic, but at least he motioned for his men to lower their weapons.
“I have bad news for you then, kid. The blockheads wiped out most of 2nd Squad and executed Corporal Williams and two of his Marines about three weeks ago.”
Pete didn't think he'd cared about any of the people he'd fought beside, so it surprised him to feel a sense of loss at that. And fear. “What about a group of volunteers from a town called Aspen Hill, le
d by Trevor Smith and Matthew Larson?”
The soldier's eyes brightened. “Are you from there? Do you know Lewis Halsson?”
“Know him?” Pete grinned in spite of the pain throbbing up his leg. “He's one of my best friends.”
The lieutenant motioned to one of his men and the two started forward, slinging their rifles over their shoulders. “The legend himself. Did you know he wiped out hundreds of blockheads in a landslide during the last battle?”
“I didn't, but I can imagine. I'd hate to be that guy's enemy.” Pete stretched to retrieve his crutch and struggled back to his feet, barely managing it before the soldiers reached him.
The officer offered him a shoulder, as well as his hand. “Lieutenant Faraday.”
Pete gratefully accepted both. “Pete Childress.”
Faraday's grip was firm. “What're you doing all the way out here, Childress?”
“Taking the fight to the enemy. Things were going too slow back along 31.”
The lieutenant exchanged amused, slightly incredulous looks with his subordinate. “Most of us who saw fighting thought things were exciting enough.” He pointed down the road. “We passed two dead blockheads a few hundred yards back. Your handiwork?”
“Yeah.” Pete grimaced. “They were stupid enough to think it was safe to relieve themselves out in the middle of nowhere.” He gestured to his leg. “I was stupid enough to think it was safe to shoot at them while they did it.”
“I wouldn't feel too bad about it. Those commandos in camo bandannas are nasty pieces of work. I've had more than a few run ins with them.” Faraday motioned towards the truck. “What do you say, kid? Let's get that wound looked at and get you a meal, clean clothes, and a chance to wash up.”
A surge of relief swept through him. He'd expected the offer after the lieutenant's friendly attitude, but in the last few months he'd learned not to hope for anything. “Sure. Will you let me join you?”
The officer motioned, and the other soldier came around to Pete's bad side and took his crutch, then got a shoulder under his arm. The two men began half-carrying him towards the truck as Faraday answered. “The war's not even close to over. If you want to sign up the more the merrier.”
Pete nodded his thanks, and with the help of the soldiers was lifted up into the back of the truck. They laid him down on a bench, and a medic peeled away his freshly applied bandage and checked out his wound. Another soldier offered him a flask of something stronger than water for the pain, and Pete gratefully gulped down a few mouthfuls before breaking into a coughing fit. A few of the men chuckled, although not in an unfriendly way.
A minute later the truck's engine rumbled to life, and the vehicle lurched into motion beneath him.
The end.
Afterword
It's with a bit of a pang that I write these final words, to sum up the wonderful experience that has been writing this series. A story that began with a simple concept, with a goal of hopefully giving readers some insight into the precarious nature of modern existence, and how easily it could all fall apart. And maybe inspiring them to make whatever preparations they felt prudent. I've enjoyed exploring interesting ideas, and looking into the reality of situations I've barely considered before now. And I've grown to love the characters in these books.
It's been a major project, and I've benefitted greatly from the support of family and friends whose love and encouragement has kept me going. They've all been wonderful, and I consider myself blessed to have each and every one of them. I would like to thank in particular a certain few for specific help with this project:
My brother David, whose research into preparedness and related issues makes anything I've done look like a walk in the park, and whose own efforts have provided the inspiration for many of my ideas.
My brother Seth, who was willing to tackle technical issues I simply don't have the head for; thanks to his efforts the formatting looks fantastic, and other worries were solved with ease so I could focus on my writing.
My dad, who encouraged me to clean up my initial draft of Fuel in a way I'm more comfortable with, and with whom I've had many insightful conversations about society and potential ways it could collapse.
My mom, who always took the time to ask me about the progress of my writing. It inspired me to keep going, without ever making me feel any pressure to do more than I was doing.
My sister Shellie, who's always been happy to have long conversations about the intricacies of storytelling and the joy of creating fictional worlds. We've bounced a lot of ideas off each other, and discussed plot lines and story elements ranging from the awesome to the silly.
My aunt Edie, who's taken the time to read all of my books and has encouraged me from the beginning. She's always been an example of the strength of family ties, and of their precious value.
Last of all, I would like to thank all of you readers who've stuck with me through Best Laid Plans, and those of you who took the time to provide feedback. It's my hope you've enjoyed reading the series as much as I've enjoyed writing it. And while this series is done, as for now is the world it took place in, I have more series planned, delving into the genres of Science Fiction and Fantasy that I also have a deep love for.
I hope to see you there.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Afterword
