Fuel (Best Laid Plans Book 1)

by Nathan Jones

  * * * * *

  From what Sam could see the FETF convoy seemed to consist of 12 soldiers in the troop transport and the driver of the supply truck, who also seemed to be in charge: a short, slender bureaucratic looking man in a suit.

  At the moment the two trucks were still parked on the road in the middle of the camp, the soldiers deployed in a perimeter around them while the man in the suit spoke with a handful of refugees. The refugees were led by a man who was nearly as short as the bureaucrat and looked fairly nondescript. Considering some of the burly goons in the refugee group Sam wouldn't have pegged this guy as the leader, but he was definitely the one talking to the FETF agent.

  “Not sure I like that,” Anderson fretted, peering anxiously out at the trucks. “Talking to the refugees first is going to bias them, especially since the refugees aren't going to have anything good to say about us.”

  Behind the Mayor stood Catherine Tillman, Mitch Marsh, Bert Peterson, and Charles Mercer of the City Council. That was all of them now that the fifth council member, Tom Watts, had taken his family up to their cabin in the Manti-La Sal mountains earlier in the week. That had caused quite a stir in town, since they'd left quietly and no one knew about it until they were gone. Sam heard the councilman had left a note on his front door inviting the town to give his house to anyone who needed it, and that was that.

  “Don't be so paranoid,” Councilwoman Tillman said mildly. “FETF are professionals, I'm sure they'll take an unbiased stance.”

  “I hope,” Lewis muttered from his place beside Sam, for her ears only. “But professionals or not they're still human, and whatever the situation the plight of those refugees is going to tug at the heartstrings. Not to mention our government has a habit of taking from one group to redistribute to another.”

  Sam glanced at him in disapproval, then at the Stars and Stripes hanging from the building to the left of the roadblock. Anderson had put it up as part of the welcome to FETF to show that they were still fervent US citizens, and its raising had inspired an impromptu Pledge of Allegiance from the assembled townspeople. Sam had been one of the first to join in, and she noticed Lewis had as well, so his comment seemed a bit out of place. “That doesn't seem like a very patriotic thing to say.”

  Lewis tore his gaze from the trucks to look at her. “Don't get me wrong. I love my country, I love the people in it, and I love the community I live in. But the current government, or what's left of it after everything that's happened, has done a lot deserving of criticism. The first patriots had plenty to say about when any form of government becomes destructive to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

  Before Sam could respond, assuming she could think of anything to say to that, a shout went up from the crowd gathered behind the roadblock as the distinctive noise of engines roaring to life drew everyone's attention back to the FETF trucks. Aside from the drivers the soldiers had fanned out in front and behind the trucks and were escorting them toward the roadblock at a slow pace, weapons held at the ready.

  “You don't think they're going to attack us, do you?” Anderson asked nervously.

  “Looks more like they're afraid we're going to attack them,” the councilwoman replied. She turned to Turner. “Unless you really want to fight Federal troops and think you can actually win I'd do what you can to make our people at the roadblock look friendly.”

  The officer nodded and barked out orders, and the armed men at the roadblock quickly set down their weapons and moved to stand behind Turner. While they were doing that the Mayor and City Council members climbed over the cars to stand in front of them as a formal delegation.

  The FETF convoy stopped about fifty feet away and the bureaucratic man driving the supply truck got out and approached flanked by two soldiers. He came right up to Anderson's delegation and acknowledged them with a nod, but as he did his eyes remained on the roadblock, freckled face nearly as red as his hair in an expression of genuine anger. “Why are you obstructing this road?”

  To his credit Anderson held his ground. “Things are bad right now. The town has a right to secure its borders.” He stepped forward and held out his hand, doing his best not to loom over the smaller man. “I'm John Anderson, Mayor of Aspen Hill.”

  The FETF official reluctantly took it, looking as if he wished he could wash his hand afterwards. “Riley Ferris, Federal Emergency Task Force. I've been assigned to be administrator to this area.” His expression darkened further. “Why is there a camp with hundreds of starving people less than a mile from your town?”

  “That would be us securing our borders,” Officer Turner called from his place behind the roadblock.

  Ferris turned to look at him. “And you are?”

  “Randall Turner, contracted police officer for Aspen Hill.”

  “I see. So you should know that it's illegal to obstruct a roadway and restrict US citizens from traveling on public property.” Turner opened his mouth to reply but Ferris spoke over him, nearly at a shout. “I'm not stupid, I know why you're keeping the refugees out. That's a lot of mouths to feed with no hope of new supplies coming in any time soon.”

  “I'm glad you understand,” Anderson said, looking relieved.

  The FETF administrator turned back to him. “I do. I just don't agree. I've been interviewing people in the refugee camp, and wasn't I surprised to learn that many of them are people my colleagues up north sent south to Aspen Hill as part of the FETF emergency plan that's been in place for years.”

  The Mayor gave the people behind the roadblock a helpless look. “The town voted not to accept the refugees.”

  Ferris straightened to his full height, barely coming up to Anderson's chin. “You don't get to vote on breaking Federal mandates! Your city accepted money as part of the program. In what world do you think it's legal or for that matter honest to sign up for something and then after you've received all the benefits arbitrarily decide you don't want to keep your end of the bargain?”

  Anderson opened his mouth to make some feeble protest but Ferris talked right over him. “Either way it doesn't matter. I'm here to make sure the residents of Aspen Hill and the refugees are all taken care of until order is restored. I've been put in charge of this area, so you and your City Council and your police officer and his little militia will all be reporting to me.” He waved at the roadblock, then back at the two vehicles he'd come with. “And the first thing you're going to do is tear your illegal road blockage down so I can drive this relief truck full of food into your town.”

  The mayor nodded, shoulders sagging slightly in defeat, and motioned to Turner. Immediately a dozen men leapt forward to pull the cars aside, helped by the two soldiers who'd come with Ferris. As they did the FETF administrator questioned Anderson and the City Council about the state of the town, and when he learned about the town storehouse he announced that it would become the FETF base of relief efforts. From that point on all his questions focused on what supplies the town had managed to scrape together.

  Sam alternated watching them talk and watching the roadblock go down. At her side Lewis did the same. He hadn't said anything since Ferris's arrival, but with each moment he was looking grimmer and grimmer. “Aspen Hill's in big trouble,” he abruptly whispered. “That man's going to ruin us.”

  She shot him a disapproving look. “Don't you think you're being a little harsh? Sure, Mr. Ferris may be turning the town on its head a little, but he genuinely seems to care about the refugees. I think he means well.”

  The tall young man shook his head. “I strongly disagree. But even if he did mean well it doesn't matter, does it? We all know what the road to hell is paved with.”

  Sam decided to not even bother responding to that. As they watched with the rest of the growing crowd of townspeople the roadblock was fully dismantled and the trucks driven slowly through.

  “One last thing before we go check out this unauthorized stockpile of yours,” Ferris said, dusting his hands off as if he'd taken part in tearing down the obstru
ction. “I've been instructed to begin a food for firearms program. Inform your people that for the next week they're encouraged to turn in any firearms they own. They'll be given a week's worth of food for each one. I'd say that's a fairly good deal.”

  “In what world?” Lewis muttered beside her, almost to himself. Sam kind of had to agree: without weapons how would they defend the town, or hunt for that matter? Not to mention most guns cost way more than a week's worth of food.

  “In these desperate times there might be some willing to take that deal,” Turner allowed reluctantly. “But I won't be, and I'll encourage my people not to either. We need to defend the town.”

  The FETF administrator's eyes narrowed. “No, you don't. I've been assigned to oversee this area and I won't tolerate a militia. They're all the protection you need.” He said that last as he jerked a thumb towards the dozen soldiers he'd brought with him.

  “All the same,” Turner replied solidly, “I think I'll just hold onto my firearms, thanks.”

  “Yes, you will,” Ferris smiled thinly. “As the town's sole police officer you're now under my direct command, as dictated by the Federal Emergency Martial Law Act. As for everyone else in this town, including your wannabe soldiers, the food for firearms program is just the carrot. If they haven't turned their weapons in by the time the week is up they get the stick: their weapons will be confiscated without reimbursement and they'll be put on a FETF watch list.”

  “Well I've seen enough,” Lewis abruptly said, turning away.

  “Where are you going?” Sam asked, startled.

  “Back home. Got some work to do.” He held out his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Sam. Take care.”

  “You too,” Sam said, firmly returning the handshake. He seemed a lot more decent than she'd expected after hearing Mandy's tales about his cousin, and after spending some time with him a niggling part of her wondered if the refugee woman wasn't lying about her deal with Trev like Lewis insisted. It seemed like a horrible thing to lie about, but then again it was Mandy saying it.

  She watched him walk away, winding his way along side streets to make his way northwest of town while circling well around the refugee camp. After the camp sprang up she knew Turner had collapsed the patrol routes to run just beyond the town's limits, but even though Lewis lived beyond the roadblock the patrols still watched that area. Mostly to keep a close eye on the refugee camp, which made an odd patrol pattern that ran off the road for a ways around and beyond the refugee camp in a wide perimeter. But the important thing was that in spite of living out of town he wasn't going into possible danger. At least she hoped: things were about to be turned on their heads and there was no guessing what might happen next.

  As the convoy made its way towards Tillman's, dragging most of the crowd in its wake, Sam made her way over to Turner. “If the roadblock is down does that mean my shift is over? I want to go tell the Larsons what's going on.”

  He sighed. “Looks that way. I guess these guys are in charge of securing the town now.” He glanced back at the refugee camp, frowning. “You know, in a way it's almost a relief to not be responsible for it anymore. These professional soldiers are much more qualified for the job.”

  Sam nodded uncertainly and quickened her pace to outdistance the slowly moving trucks, making her way down Main towards Tillman's and her home a block away.

  Ferris had just blithely announced he was taking over the town storehouse for his relief efforts, and it was obvious those efforts would focus on the refugees. What did that mean for everything the people of Aspen Hill had gathered at that location for their own needs? Was he taking it just like that, without a word of protest from anyone? Would those who'd donated be able to come and reclaim their things rather than see them go to feeding refugees the town couldn't possibly hope to support?

  In spite of the supply truck she had to wonder if the “aid” Ferris had brought was really going to help at all, or just make things worse like Lewis predicted. She didn't like to think ill of the government, especially not when they were the only hope of putting things to rights, but she kind of wished Aspen Hill had just been left alone.

  For the first time since arriving in Aspen Hill with Matt she was truly worried about the future. She hoped he'd come home soon: even if having him around couldn't logically change much about their situation it would be a huge weight off her shoulders.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Homecoming

  Matt had talked things over with Trev, April, and Terry, and even knowing it would slow them down significantly they'd agreed it was a good idea to leave the highway past Helper and follow back roads, some little better than dirt tracks leading to and from the foothills below the Manti-La Sal mountains, the rest of the way down to Aspen Hill.

  Knowing about the refugee camp outside town they couldn't be certain what the situation would be like after being gone for nearly two weeks, and after everything that had happened they didn't want to take any chances. They'd approach the town from the northwest or even due west, in a direction where it was very unlikely they'd meet anyone else.

  So the morning of the third day after reaching Trev's cache, the 23rd since the attack and the 12th since leaving town to find April's family, they guessed that they were within a few hours' walk of home and set off at a brisk walk along the dirt road. Even the children seemed to have a spring in their step, walking without complaint. Little Paul still needed to be carried frequently, but Aaron seemed to have gotten used to walking and with three solid meals a day was doing a good job following behind with one hand holding the wagon for hours at a stretch.

  It was a chilly morning, an unpleasant reminder that Halloween was only a couple weeks away and autumn was marching on to winter. They'd all broken out jackets or sweaters last night and were still wearing them, waiting eagerly for the sun to warm things up to more comfortable levels.

  Two hours into the walk with only a few more hours until noon there was still little sign of that, and Matt shivered and pulled his hands into the sleeves of his jacket, wishing he'd thought to bring something warmer. “Cold today.”

  Trev nodded grimly. “Could be fluke bad weather, or it could be a sign of early winter. Just what we need.”

  Matt decided it wasn't worth the effort to get on his friend's case about the doom and gloom. “I feel bad for all the people up in the FETF camp, and for that matter in the refugee camp just outside of town. I wonder if they've given any thought to just how bad winter's going to be with nothing but a tent. The cold might kill more of them than hunger.”

  “To be honest I wonder if the townspeople have thought about it,” Trev answered bluntly.

  Everyone gave him a surprised look. “In Aspen Hill?” April asked, frowning. “What's there to think about? Everyone has a house.”

  His friend shrugged. “They do, but most houses aren't even all that well insulated these days. What makes them a shelter is the gas and electric heating. I think a lot of people who've always relied on that are going to be awfully surprised at how quickly their houses lose heat once it cools down, and how hard it is to heat up all that open uninsulated space to tolerable levels.”

  Matt frowned, thinking of his conversation with Lewis weeks ago. “Your cousin mentioned something about that too. You really think houses will be that useless?”

  “Oh they'll still be better than tents, but if you've looked closely at any winter power outages that lasted more than a few days you'll see a surprising amount of suffering among unprepared residents. Even deaths.”

  “But Mom and Dad have a wood stove,” April cut in, looking worried.

  Trev nodded. “Which might literally be a lifesaver. It might be smart to take a bit of time away from finding food to make sure you've got a decent woodpile, and that you use any spare blankets or carpets or packing foam or whatever to better insulate the room with the stove. You might all end up sleeping in there when winter really sets in, and spending your days there too.”

  “Meanwhile you'
ve got an underground shelter with your own stove and a nice big pile of firewood,” Matt pointed out. He was ashamed to admit it, but he was almost indirectly asking if his family might be able to move into the shelter if things got bad.

  His friend got the hint. “That's really something I don't have much say in.”

  “But you helped Lewis build the place,” Matt protested.

  Trev shrugged. “Sure, I helped my cousin build the shelter with unpaid labor. But he owns the land and bought all the materials. I'm almost a guest myself. Besides, you know how he feels about keeping quiet about the place and avoiding notice.” He fell silent after that and Matt didn't press the issue.

  An hour after that they came in sight of Aspen Hill nestled between the hills to the southeast, and with a bit of cheering made their way down the hillside they were on, follow a winding road through dense thickets of scrub oak and other underbrush.

  They were only a few miles out of town, excitedly talking about reunions with family there and finally having a warm bed to sleep in and a safe place to stay, when they rounded a bend to see five men on the road ahead.

  Matt immediately slowed, wary. He assumed the group was a patrol from the town, since he couldn't imagine who else it would be this close to Aspen Hill, but at the same time he didn't recognize any of the men. They were all unshaven and wearing dirty clothes, as if they'd been out here a while, and all but one of the men were taller than him and much larger. Three were also carrying aluminum baseball bats, and from their expressions they weren't interested in a pick-up game.

  It was a bit of a relief to see that the single short, skinny man in the group, who was fairly nondescript with brown hair cut short and also the only one without tattoos on his arms, seemed to be the leader. He had both hands thrust deep into the front pockets of his baggy jeans, but he took one out to motion to the others. As they started forward he used that hand to wave cheerfully. “Hey guys!” he called.

  Matt waved back cautiously. “Hey! You from Aspen Hill?”