Shortage (Best Laid Plans Book 2)

by Nathan Jones

  Trev nodded and started picking his way carefully down the slope, keeping behind cover, as Lewis did the same about twenty feet farther on.

  About halfway down he found a fairly good spot behind an uprooted tree, where he settled in with his rifle clutched to his chest while he waited for his cousin to get into position. The longer he waited the more he felt his heart pounding in his chest and his extremities starting to go numb as the reality of the situation washed over him. It didn't help that he could hear the bandits talking, and he poked his head around just enough to see the men behind the log. Their eyes were on the road below, where the refugees were just trailing into view.

  “Look, those trick or treaters are all dressed up like beggars,” one of the bandits said, eliciting a few chuckles. “Not very imaginative. Should we give them tricks or treats?”

  Trev gave a start of surprise. Was October already over? He hadn't realized today was Halloween.

  The bandit with the small machete was using the binoculars at the moment, and in response to his companion's comment pointed. “See that one? She's definitely got some tricks for us.”

  “Who?” the bandit with the group's only scoped rifle hissed back, peering through it.

  “That redhead in front with the parka and snow pants. I've got a treat for her, too. Dibs.”

  A few of the other bandits guffawed, although quietly. “What're you doing staking a claim when there'll be plenty to go around?” one asked.

  “That's what I'm calling dibs for. I want my pick of the best one.”

  “No way. We might want to keep some of these around for a while, unlike that last group, and you're always the worst about breaking your toys. You can have the old biddy next to her.” That caused another outburst of harsh laughter from the bandits.

  Shaking slightly with rage he was having trouble controlling at these awful words and the casualness with which they were being spoken, Trev glanced up the slope at where Lewis crouched behind a stump. His cousin was using it for the bipod of his rifle and sighting down his scope at the bandit ambush below. When Lewis noticed Trev looking his way his cousin gave him a doubtful look, still worried about the numbers, but Trev motioned firmly to go ahead.

  Then, galvanized by what he'd just heard, Trev raised his own rifle and pointed the crosshairs of the scope dead center on the back of the bandit who'd called dibs. Only taking a moment to calm his shaking hands and steady his aim, he held his breath and squeezed the trigger.

  His gun bucked in his hands and the bandit lurched forward. There was no sign of a wound, but somewhere among the folds of his heavy winter coat a small but deadly hole had punched through, possibly into a larger and messier hole on the other side.

  Tactically speaking he probably should've shot the bandit with the scoped rifle first, but after listening to that exchange he wanted to make sure this guy didn't walk away. He reset his aim and fired again at the same bandit's back as he slumped down, then swapped targets to the bandit with the scoped rifle who was just now whirling onto his back behind the log they'd been using as cover. The unkempt man searched desperately for where the shots had come from, but before he could solve the mystery Trev shot him somewhere in the torso, and with no other options he pulled himself over the log to hide behind it.

  Up the hill he heard Lewis's heavier .308 barking as his cousin took his own shots, and down below the bandit with a shotgun went down gurgling and clutching his throat. Either a lucky shot or the scope was aiming high.

  That was a good start, but unfortunately from there things went south. The remaining bandits also managed to get behind the cover of the log, one grabbing the shotgun from his fallen partner in crime as he fled. Two of the bandits, the ones without guns, apparently lost stomach for a fight against armed enemies hidden in the trees above. They unexpectedly broke free of the log, leaving their packs and weapons behind as they dashed wildly down the slope southwards to take them away from the fighting and the refugees both.

  That left three more, maybe only two if the bandit with the scoped rifle had survived his shot, but although Trev could hear them shouting he didn't see any targets as he whipped his scope back and forth. Then he heard some shots that weren't coming from his rifle or his cousin's, and to his horror he heard a high pitched whine and saw a white streak appear on the uprooted log directly in front of his face where a bullet had grazed it.

  He ducked behind cover, heart thumping. He'd only been looking at the top of the log, but maybe there was a hollow below it and the bandit with the scoped rifle was shooting at them from there? Or maybe he hadn't been looking far enough to either side and someone had shot at him from one of the ends.

  Either way he couldn't just sit here hoping for Lewis to bail him out or they were both dead. They'd taken out two bandits, maybe three.

  Trev took a deep breath, then burst from cover and sprinted back the way he'd come, staying behind some of the largest trees as cover. He heard more gunshots and flinched with every sharp crack, but he didn't get hit or see any sign of bullets coming near him, let alone hitting him. Did that mean they were going for Lewis?

  He ducked back behind the nearest tree and leaned out enough to check with his scope. From this position he was a bit higher up and had a better angle on the log, although he was also farther away. Just as he'd guessed he saw legs and the lower part of a torso sticking out from beneath the log, as if someone was beneath it shooting through a hole. He could see a bloody stain on his lower back and guessed this was the bandit with the scoped rifle.

  He aimed as high up the torso as he could, putting his crosshair's on the man's spine, and taking as much time as he dared he worked to line up the shot perfectly and remain motionless as he squeezed the trigger.

  A high-pitched scream tore the air and the man rolled out of cover, rifle tumbling from his hands as he writhed and tried to clutch at his back. He was kicking his legs so Trev must have missed the spine, but it still looked like a serious wound. He took aim and put another bullet in the man's upper torso, and as the man went still he had to content himself that three wounds were enough to take him out of the fight.

  As he was searching for another target he heard the differently pitched crack of the shotgun, and in the nightmarish seconds that followed he heard Lewis yell in pain.

  The sound was almost enough to make him freeze, but Trev grit his teeth in determination and kept searching, finding another bandit just in time for the man to point the rifle without a scope, some sort of bolt action, his way. Trev ducked behind the tree as the shot rang out. Then, praying that the man was slow with the bolt, he leaned back out and took aim. He saw that the man had dropped the rifle and was lifting that big .44, but he could only hope that at this distance through so many trees a pistol shot would take longer to line up than his scope.

  He took aim for the man's torso, watching the revolver's barrel shift over to point what seemed directly at him, and had to force himself not to yank the trigger and instead squeeze it calmly.

  His shot connected and the man dropped, thrashing in a way that suggested he wasn't going to get back up again as his revolver flew from his hand. Trev still lined up another shot just to be safe, after which the man went still. Then he ducked back behind cover, even though he didn't hear any more gunshots, and went so far as to bolt to another source of cover and lean out from it to check the log.

  There was no sign of the shotgun and Trev had no idea who'd been shooting it, but with some searching he was able to find five men down. Combined with the two who had fled that accounted for everyone. Trev took a moment to make sure they were all motionless, and as he did he worked to slow his frantic breathing and settle his nerves.

  The last few minutes had felt like a nightmare, half of it he barely remembered and half of it stuck in his mind with merciless clarity. He wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten from behind the uprooted tree to the second tree he'd taken cover behind, but he could still see the way that last rifleman had writhed on the ground after he'd sh
ot him.

  Even after satisfying himself that none of the bandits were moving he still did his best to stay out of sight as he bolted for the stump Lewis had taken cover behind. As he went he called softly, ignoring the danger of giving enemies a way to find his location, and to his vast relief he heard his cousin call back equally softly.

  He rounded the stump, already dropping to his knees beside where Lewis slumped. But as he landed next to his cousin he froze, horrified by the sight of blood-smeared snow as Lewis clutched his upper left leg with both hands and blood oozed around his fingers.

  “Did you get them?” Lewis demanded, somehow focused on the important thing in spite of his condition. “Are they all down?”

  Trev shook his head. “Two bolted like rabbits. Neither one of them was carrying a weapon, though, so they shouldn't be a threat. The others I checked after the shooting stopped and none of them were moving.”

  Lewis jerked his head towards the .223 Trev still clutched to his chest. “Check again.”

  Trev nodded and rose, positioning his rifle on the stump to peer through the scope. In a way it was almost a relief to turn his attention to something besides the terrible sight of his injured cousin bleeding into the snow, although he knew he couldn't afford to waste any time. Still, he also had to be careful. So it was only after almost thirty seconds of checking that he ducked his head back down behind cover. “All clear.”

  Lewis suddenly hissed in a breath, hands around his leg clenching until the knuckles started to turn white. “Man that hurts,” he panted. “And the other two aren't trying to sneak back or get above us?”

  “I didn't see them but I seriously doubt it. Going by the last time I saw them they looked like they didn't plan to stop running until they reached Huntington.” Trev left the gun on the stump and fell to his knees next to his cousin, feeling sick as he stared at the wound. He could see it wasn't good. “How bad is it?”

  After sucking in another breath through gritted teeth Lewis answered with a grim smile. “Well I've got a thigh full of buckshot, but on the plus side I was beyond effective range so it didn't tear my leg to shreds.” He took his hands away from the wound for a second, frowning at it. “It doesn't look like anything's spurting either and I haven't bled out, so I don't think he hit any vital areas.”

  Trev couldn't stop the tears that filled his eyes. “This is all my fault. I shouldn't have-”

  “I'm the one who got cocky with my body armor and had my leg sticking out of cover like an idiot,” his cousin cut in. “Anyway we don't have time for that. We need to act fast, so do exactly what I say.” Trev nodded and blinked a few times to clear his eyes. “Okay. First, we bind my wounds tight to slow the bleeding as much as possible. That's as much as we can do until-” he suddenly swore, face twisting with a sudden jolt of pain, then with some effort continued. “Until we can get back to the hideout where I've got tools to dig the pellets out and treat the wounds.” He paused for another labored breath and to collect himself, then gave Trev a serious look. “Next you need to go collect all the bandits' weapons.”

  Trev nodded in realization. “In case their two friends come back while we're trying to get you to safety on your wounded leg.”

  “Or if the refugees turn out to be dangerous.” Lewis closed his eyes slowly and motioned to his leg, an invitation for Trev to begin.

  Trev quickly removed his coat long enough to strip off his shirt to tear into strips for bandages, then carefully cut away the left leg of his cousin's pants above the wound. It looked ugly, at least 3 pellets that he could see and the flesh already swelling and bruising, and he quickly folded up the bloody pant leg as a pad over the area then bound it tightly with the strips.

  By the time he was done treating his cousin as best he could Lewis was looking pale, and Trev knew he didn't have much time to waste. He got up and turned to head down the mountain, but before he'd taken his first step his cousin reached out and grabbed his ankle to stop him.

  “Watch out for any of them pretending to be dead so they can shoot you before you know you're in danger,” Lewis said soberly. “Keep your .45 handy just in case.”

  Trev paled slightly. He hadn't even considered that possibility. But he did as his cousin suggested and left his Mini-14 behind on the stump, taking out his Glock and holding it ready as he moved cautiously down the mountain. He constantly roved his eyes over the bandits as he hurried to the first and quickly patted him down, removing his weapons. The moment he was done he hurried to the next one and repeated the task.

  Five minutes later Trev finished collecting the guns and other weapons from all but one of the bandits, including the shotgun wedged underneath the body of the man to the far right end of the log. The last man he checked was still alive, although he was unconscious from loss of blood and would be dead soon.

  Trev patted him down like the others, doing his best not to be seen from the highway below, and left him there. Then, satisfied he had everything that could be a danger to him and his cousin as they made their escape, he returned to a hiding spot behind the log and piled the weapons on a heavy coat he'd stripped off one of the bodies. He spread another heavy coat across the top and used their belts to tightly tie the bundle, which he slung over his shoulder.

  After that was done he straightened for just a moment to peer south, making sure the two bandits who'd escaped weren't in sight and the coast was clear.

  There was no sign of them, but he did see two men and a woman from the refugee group crossing the bridge over the river below and peering up in his direction. They must have heard the shots and had found the courage to investigate them. As he watched the redheaded woman leading the group reached down to draw the pistol at her hip.

  Trev ducked back down and scuttled across the clearing in a crouch, then began climbing up the hill to where his cousin waited.

  “What is it?” Lewis demanded, painfully craning his neck to peer down the slope behind Trev.

  “Refugees on their way to see what's going on.” Trev slung his .223 over his shoulder, then the G3, noting that in spite of Lewis's state not a drop of blood had touched it. Finally after a quick check around to make sure he hadn't left anything he crouched and did his best to help his cousin to his feet, offering him his free shoulder. “Do you need a crutch?”

  “It's not too far up to the road. If you can get me there you should be able to drag me the rest of the way. It'll lead anyone following nearly straight to our hideout, but we'll worry about covering our tracks once we get closer.” Lewis set his mouth in a thin line and hopped up the slope, doing his best not to put weight on his leg. Trev stumbled forward as well, nearly losing his balance in the slick deadfall, and his cousin hopped again.

  Somehow they managed to make their way up through the trees along the steep slope, laboriously climbing over deadfall and through densely clumped blockages of evergreen branches. The entire time Lewis hissed out quick, labored breaths and his face got paler and paler. It seemed like an eternity they stumbled along, and Trev even heard a few shouts from the refugees now far below them. He ignored the noise, although with every step he expected to hear a gunshot from the redheaded woman's pistol to accompany it, or maybe a bloodcurdling shriek as one of the two remaining bandits caught up to them and attacked from behind a tree.

  Neither of those things happened. Maybe the investigating refugees saw the scene of the ambush and decided to get out of there before they were next, and for all he knew the two remaining bandits might still be running south like he'd assured Lewis.

  At last they reached the road, and Trev felt a bit less urgent as he used some straight sticks to splint Lewis's leg. Once he'd done the best he could they rested it on the bundle of coats and bandit weapons and tied it tight. Lewis, true to his penchant of always being prepared, had popped a few painkillers he'd had in his pouch and was slumped in an awkward laying-down position on the road, face still pale.

  Trev felt like a bit of a jerk as he pulled his cousin's arms up above his hea
d and tied his wrists-over the sleeves to avoid welts-to the stock and barrel of the G3, but he couldn't think of any other way to pull him. Thanks to a week of pulling wagons it didn't feel particularly tiring dragging his cousin's weight over the dirt, grass, and for some better stretches snow, pulling him along by the weapon's strap. It also wasn't nearly as quick as he would've liked and left a huge flat track behind them, but there wasn't much he could do about that aside from frequently check their back trail to make sure nobody was sneaking up on them.

  He wasn't sure he was mentally ready for another fight, but he knew he had to be for his cousin's sake.

  * * * * *

  Her group had immediately scattered in all directions when they heard the gunshots. Even after realizing that none of those shots seemed to be aimed at them and two men were fleeing south along the river everyone remained in cover, doing their best to hold a heated whispered debate about what to do. Most had wanted to just turn back and look for another way to go, while others insisted that gunshots or not Highway 31 was the only way to go and they had to find a way forward.

  Jane Mathers had had de facto leadership of the group fall into her lap, just when she was least emotionally and mentally prepared to take it on, but there was no choice but to rise to the challenge. So she convinced middle aged Tom Harding, the only other person in the group with a gun, in his case an old .22 rifle, to come with her to check the gunshots out. When Tom agreed to go 15 year old Alvin, his son and the only other man in the group, insisted on coming as well.

  She thought she'd seen hints of movement around the log on the slope above, although everyone had been so worried about hiding for the first few minutes that nobody had seen much, and by the time they calmed down the gunshots had ceased.

  Although she was afraid it was suicide to check it out, especially as they crossed the bridge and she saw a man duck out of sight behind the log before she'd even managed to draw her pistol, she knew that if they didn't their forward progress would cease. At that point they'd either have to backtrack and find another way or go all the way back to Fairview.