Shortage (Best Laid Plans Book 2)

by Nathan Jones

  They couldn't go back to Fairview. Only starvation waited for them there. So they'd just have to be careful as they checked this out.

  It didn't take long to climb high enough up the slope to clearly see the ground below the log and what lay there, and once she'd gotten a good look Jane paused to tuck a strand of red hair behind her ear. It was that or scream out loud at the sight of bodies. These men had definitely been the targets of the gunshots, and by the looks of it things hadn't gone well at all for them.

  The moment she got her shock under control she immediately dropped into a crouch, yelling to her companions. “Get down!” As they hurried to comply she felt her heart in her throat, expecting a shot to ring out at any moment. She'd been afraid this was what they'd find when they investigated the gunshots, but since they had to follow the road right beneath the spot there hadn't been much choice but to either check it out or go back the way they came.

  Whoever had the skills and firepower to take out these men could just as easily attack her group, so Jane couldn't think of much to do aside from confront the problem directly. “Hello?” she shouted, cautiously climbing the rest of the way up to the log but keeping it between her and anything higher up. “Whoever you are, we're friendly!” She really, really hoped the people she was talking to could say the same.

  Uneasy seconds passed. Jane tried shouting a few more times, trying to get a response, but there was only the eerie rustle of wind in the trees around them. Finally Tom awkwardly climbed his way up to her on the steep hillside, still doing his best to stay low. “Think they're gone?”

  Jane gave him a dubious look. “You think whoever it was would just shoot a bunch of guys then walk away?”

  She almost yelled at the fool when he abruptly snapped his arm up over the log and into view of the hillside above, waving frantically. No gunshot sounded, and after a moment he slid over to a different spot and cautiously poked his head up, doing his best to see without exposing himself too much. “Two dead up there. That makes five when you add them to the three on the slope below the log, and none of them have guns. Also some of their coats are gone. I think whoever killed them has already been and left.”

  That made sense to Jane, considering the man she'd seen had probably been looting the bodies. And since no one had fired a shot at them yet and they'd given some fairly good opportunities for that she figured it was as safe as she could hope for. So she also cautiously lifted her head above the log, looking the two men over. Almost immediately she gasped, eyes locked on one of the men slumped against the log farther down. “That's Dad's snowsuit!”

  The reason leadership of the group had fallen into her lap was because the former leader, her dad Mitch, had gone out scouting a few days ago and hadn't come back. He'd had the group's only large caliber rifle with him, a good bolt action .30-30 with a scope, along with the black and gray camouflaged snowsuit she was looking at now.

  When he'd disappeared there'd been no sound of gunshots or anything else to suggest what had happened to him, and since they didn't know exactly where he was scouting they couldn't really go looking, either. Especially if there were enemies lurking up on the mountainsides to the left and right of the road, since that would mean either leaving the group vulnerable to attack or putting the searchers into the same danger her dad had run into. And he was lifelong gun nut and a pretty amazing shot.

  She'd tied her stomach in knots worrying about him ever since, checking the hillsides to either side for his return as much as for signs of enemies. Now, looking at his winter gear on a dead man's body, she finally had to accept the horrible truth she'd resisted all this time.

  Her dad was dead.

  The breath went out of her in something between a gasp and a sob, and Jane curled herself up behind the log in a fetal position, doing her best not to make any noise. Her world was crashing down around her, but that didn't change the danger she and the others were in. A few moments later she felt strong arms around her, as Tom mumbled awkward but sincere condolences.

  He should've known her better than to offer her any comfort, since her usual response to these kinds of situations was to seek solitude. But maybe he was doing it for his own sake as much as Jane's; he'd been her dad's close friend for years. Either way in her current state it was hard not to snap at him.

  She firmly pushed the older man away and stood, throwing caution to the wind. They'd seen no sign of whoever had killed these men, and anyway the enemy of her enemies was her friend. She hoped. Drawing her Glock she began cautiously checking the bodies. They all seemed to be dead, their wounds taken during the firefight.

  Jane had a hard time feeling sympathy for their fate after what they'd done to her dad, especially since a quick look down at the road confirmed what she'd feared during the climb, that this was an ideal spot to ambush anyone passing below. These men had been planning to attack her group same as they'd attacked her dad, she was sure of it, and with his rifle and whatever weapons they'd already had it would've been a massacre.

  No gunshots rang out from their hidden benefactors as she made her way over to the man in the snowsuit, trying to hide how it made her skin crawl to see a face other than her dad's wearing it. A closer inspection of the body confirmed that on top of the bloodstains from the two bullet wounds he'd taken there was also a torn patch and a much larger bloodstain on the suit's back, as if from a stab wound.

  That seemed confirmation enough of Mitch's fate. Jane went very still, unable to look away from the torn patch for what could've been seconds or minutes.

  Sometime later she pulled herself together to find that Tom and Alvin had gathered the bandits' packs and any other useful gear they'd been carrying to bring back to the group. There was valuable stuff there, even a little food in the form of cans of beans and jars of peanut butter. Tom even convinced her to let his son have the snowsuit, and in spite of the thought of being torn with grief every time she looked at it Jane had to admit that the young man needed the warm clothing, so she agreed.

  As she and Alvin packed up the first load of supplies to bring to the group Tom went to investigate some footprints he'd discovered in a shaded and snowy part of the hill. While he did Jane gave the clearing behind the log one last look.

  “It's hard to believe that this could've been us getting robbed or even massacred if these men had had their way,” she mused to herself.

  Alvin heard her and shivered slightly. “Are you sure you saw someone?”

  She gave him a surprised look. “Of course I did. The guns are gone, right?”

  The young man nodded. He looked almost like a kid, or at least more of a kid, as he glanced around uneasily. “It's just, well, it's Halloween, right? And you always hear old Native American legends about haunted mountains and ancient curses. Maybe some spirit sensed their evil intent and took them out.”

  Jane chuckled, trying to hide her sudden uneasiness. “The Spirit of Huntington River?” she asked. She glanced up at the early afternoon sun. “Come on, it's broad daylight. Don't try to spook me with ghost stories.” In spite of her flippant response she found herself thinking back to the man she'd seen. He'd been so silent and had disappeared so suddenly, but he certainly hadn't been see through!

  “If it's a ghost then it's one that bleeds,” Tom abruptly said, picking his way across the clearing. “There's a stump up there with a lot of bloody snow around it. Either the bandits had someone up there or our friend got hurt protecting us.”

  Jane hesitated, torn. It seemed pretty clear the “spirit” didn't want anything to do with them, and seeking him out to offer help might just cause trouble. It was probably better to thank their good fortune and be satisfied with her dad's death avenged, small consolation as that was in her grief.

  “Let's get this stuff back to the group,” she said, starting down the slope. The other two were quick to follow.

  * * * * *

  It took almost twice as long to get Lewis back to the hideout as it had taken for them to trail the bandits, eve
n at the leisurely pace the seven men had set. Trev had hurried as much as he could without jarring his cousin's wound, but all the time he'd secretly dreaded what would happen when they got home.

  He would have to dig the pellets out of Lewis's leg, clean the wounds, then bind them up again. It wasn't squeamishness that worried him but that he would do something wrong and worsen his cousin's condition. Or, even worse, would discover that the wounds were more severe than they'd thought and there was nothing he could do. After convincing his cousin to protect the refugees he would never forgive himself if Lewis suffered permanent injury because of it.

  He managed to manhandle Lewis up onto his bed, then hurriedly got a fire going from the banked coals in the stove and gave it plenty of fuel. As he was waiting for the small space to warm up enough to strip his cousin out of his winter gear Lewis murmured something about livestock antibiotics in one of his totes, and Trev hurriedly dug around until he found them and gave his cousin the recommended dose for humans, which naturally Lewis knew.

  There were more serious painkillers there as well, but since Lewis had already taken some and anyway needed to be lucid to talk Trev through the process he insisted he'd hold off unless the pain grew unbearable.

  Under his cousin's guidance Trev quickly got out the small bag of medical tools and spread the ones he'd need on a clean cloth, dousing the forceps and smallest retractor with rubbing alcohol. He then unwound the makeshift bandage and wiped down the area around the wound, then doused it with rubbing alcohol as well.

  Then he brought the lantern over and turned it up all the way, along with giving Lewis a flashlight to further illuminate the operation. The last step to prepare was to wash his own hands thoroughly and douse them with more alcohol. And finally, with some reluctance, he hesitantly set the forceps to the first entry wound.

  “Don't just dig around in there,” his cousin warned. “You could do more damage. But don't be afraid to get in and get hold of the pellet.”

  Trev wasn't sure how to follow those seemingly contradictory instructions, but he hesitantly explored down into the wound with the forceps until they hit an obstruction and couldn't go any farther. Even if he hadn't felt it he would've known from Lewis's sudden intake of breath. Feeling as clumsy as if he was trying to thread a needle with numb fingers, he did his best to work the tips of the forceps around the obstruction and get a tight hold of it, then as slowly and carefully as he could he eased it out.

  It was the pellet, intact. Trev breathed a sigh of relief and set it on the cloth. Using a small bladder and hose he thoroughly flushed out the wound with more alcohol, pinched it tightly closed between thumb and forefinger and dabbed it dry with a swab, then taped it. That was as much as they could think to do so he moved on to the next one.

  The second pellet was a bit trickier, unfortunately, because it had fragmented inside the wound. Trev had to dig around to find the pieces, all the while his cousin grit his teeth and clenched the flashlight and the side of his cot with white knuckles. In a way it was good Trev had done this one second, because he had the first pellet as an example and could guess at how many pieces there were. When he was as close to certain he'd gotten them all as he could be, and anyway didn't dare do more digging, he flushed out that wound as well and taped it.

  Fortunately the third pellet was intact when he pulled it out, although the sudden welling of blood frightened him. It wasn't spurting, at least, so there wasn't much to do aside from flush it out as best he could, pinch it closed, swab it as dry as possible, and tape it as well.

  Last of all he used proper bandaging to wrap the wound again, then helped his cousin strip down to his boxers and zipped him into his sleeping bag. “We'll need to check the wound again in a few hours but it should heal well,” Lewis muttered, looking drained but still alert. He sucked in another sharp breath. “Although I wish it was later and I felt tired enough to sleep. This pain is killing me.”

  Trev brought a bottle of water for his cousin, who gulped it down and then leaned back on his pillow. “Guess you won't be going out trick or treating, huh?” he said, trying to lighten the mood. The relative ease of the operation and the knowledge that the wounds really weren't too serious filled him with a tremendous amount of relief.

  Lewis snorted. “I completely forgot today was Halloween. Too bad we don't have any candy.”

  “I don't think anyone in a costume is going to be ringing our doorbell looking for a treat.”

  “I hope not.” His cousin closed his eyes. “Although speaking of which, I think you should patrol around the hideout just to be sure for the rest of the day. Especially along the logging road. Try to hide the tracks you made dragging me here, too.”

  Trev jolted to his feet. He'd completely forgotten they might still be in danger. “Right. You'll be okay in here?”

  Lewis waved at his leg. “I'm not going anywhere. Maybe I'll get lucky and fall asleep, but if not I can always browse my book of edible plants.”

  Nodding, Trev hurriedly shrugged back into his coat and retrieved his Mini-14. He'd probably want to clean it soon since it had been fired, but for now there was decent chance he'd be firing it again before too long.

  He stepped out into the late afternoon sun and immediately started up the hill to cover their tracks.

  Chapter Four

  Trick or Treat

  As a young child Matt remembered dressing in a costume and going out with his dad to trick or treat at all the houses in Aspen Hill he could manage to visit before his dad got sick of the long walk and insisted it was getting late.

  About the time he started to feel he was too old for it the custom changed and the town organized a Trunk or Treat activity along Main Street where all the parents would bring their car around and park them in a line so the kids could get their candy in safety. Matt had always thought that took the fun out of things and was a bit overcautious for a quiet town where everyone knew each other, but he supposed people had gotten more suspicious while he was growing up.

  There'd be no Trunk or Treat this year. If anyone had candy they wouldn't be giving it out to a bunch of other people's kids while their own went hungry, but most people didn't since Ferris and his goons had altered their inspections. Two weeks was too lenient, it seemed, and now they were confiscating any food they found. They justified it with their ration line, but it was looking less and less like organizing relief and more and more like outright theft.

  At least they still only inspected houses when the owners gave them permission, holding the daily rations as the carrot, but there was no telling how long that would last. Matt had heard from a few people that food wasn't the only thing the soldiers were taking anymore, and if their restraint was slipping in that area it was only a matter of time before they kicked down the doors of the few people who refused inspections.

  There was also the fact that refugees were starting to make themselves more at home around the town, wandering the streets begging or offering to work for food, or hinting at even more questionable services. Most of Matt's neighbors who had fruit trees or berry bushes they still hadn't harvested were discovering that the uninvited guests had no qualms with walking right into their yard and picking the unripened fruit, getting belligerent or even violent if the owners tried to stop them. Matt had spent the last few days with his family digging up the garden for every single scrap of edible plant matter in it before the refugees hopped their fence as well.

  So needless to say no parents were comfortable taking their children out to seek out candy, and it was shaping up to be a pretty miserable Halloween. The only bright point was that Ferris had announced that any children who came to the storehouse that evening would receive a chocolate bar, and in an attempt to brighten spirits around town many parents were dressing their kids in costumes for the event and trying to make it an informal party.

  Matt was well aware that Ferris's chocolate was an obvious ploy to regain some scraps of goodwill from a town that was quickly becoming hostile to the presence
of him and his shoulders. That didn't stop him from agreeing to join April and Terry in escorting his nephews to get their chocolate. His sister had managed to scrape together some costumes out of the clutter in their parents' attic, and in spite of the grim mood around town it did make Matt smile to see the boys looking so happy and excited.

  That wasn't the only thing that made him smile, though. He'd been trying to find ways to take Sam out on “dates” without putting her in danger, an increasingly difficult task, but tonight was a perfect opportunity. The dark-haired woman had used a bit of twine to turn her bedsheets into a simple ghost costume, while Matt had dusted off his old high school basketball uniform. They were now walking hand in hand beside April and Terry, while Aaron and Paul kept running ahead as far as they could get away with before their mother called them back. For a while Paul had insisted on riding on Matt's shoulders, but after watching his older brother running around he'd gotten too excited and had practically jumped off before Matt could lower him to the ground.

  It was a chilly evening, no surprise for the end of October, and Matt couldn't help but worry about what the cold portended. That and the fact that his basketball costume wasn't meant for cold weather and he was slowly freezing. He used the cold as an excuse to put his arm around Sam, who saw through his motivations and turned to grin at him through the small face hole she'd managed to finagle without cutting the sheets.

  “I should've been a blanket ghost,” she teased. “We could've been a two-headed one and you wouldn't be trying so hard to put up a stoic front about not shivering.”

  “It wasn't this cold when we left to pick up the boys,” Matt defended, but from the laughter of his sister and her husband he had a feeling public opinion wasn't on his side.