Nuclear Winter (Book 1): First Winter

by Nathan Jones

  Usually she brought Jim or Alvin or both with her, to help out carrying back any game she brought down, or to run back to a good radio spot if they were out of range and call for help if she'd bagged something larger like an elk. More importantly, she was teaching the two young men skills they'd need to survive.

  But all that was for another day. Today his chores were done and he'd kept his schedule clear, so to speak. He was ready to go shell hunting.

  He sought out his wife, who was finishing her own chores, and gave her a hand so she'd be done quicker. “Ready for another vacation?”

  She grimaced. “I'm not sure I'd call the first one a “vacation”, spending the day pedaling up mountain roads then helping tow back hundreds of pounds of cast iron and elk.”

  He just grinned wider. In spite of her complaint he knew she liked getting out with him on their own for longer than a few snatched minutes here and there. “But the parts in between were fun, right?”

  Jane finally grinned back. “Unless you have a repeat performance in mind, I'm not sure whether to call this business venture of yours that might not go anywhere a vacation, either.”

  Lewis blinked. He actually hadn't considered this trip as another chance to enjoy some much needed intimacy, mostly since they weren't exactly going to a secluded spot. Not that he wasn't willing to entertain the idea: he really needed to finish their room sooner rather than later so they wouldn't have to resort to things like this.

  He cleared his throat. “Anyway I've already got Chauncey sending out feelers on the equipment and other supplies we'll need. These days they're guaranteed to be costly, but as long as today goes well the return on investment could be enough to make us rich all on its own.”

  His wife leaned against him as they started for their bicycles, his still with the trailer hitched up ready to go. “Believe me, I understand the idea of taking useless trash people are literally walking all over and turning it into one of the most valuable commodities around. If you can manage it . . . you may have the best instructive books and audio guides in the world, but you've never done this before.”

  True. But he hadn't let that stop him from doing anything else he'd needed to learn to do. “Even if we can't get the equipment or I turn out to be completely inept, if we sit on these for a while people will eventually realize their value, and then we can sell what we gathered to people who actually can do it.”

  It would be a shame to do that, giving others profit he could've been making himself. But it was comforting to know today wouldn't be a complete waste of time even if things didn't pan out.

  They stopped for a second at the family's cabin to let their parents know they were heading out, and while Jane waited Lewis popped into the large tent they were using as a temporary town hall to remind Matt, Trev, and Chauncey of his plans.

  “I can't tell if it's a genius idea or a complete waste of time,” Matt said. “But either way be safe. The military's doing a good job securing the road for travelers, but you can never be too careful.”

  Trev looked a bit glum as he clapped Lewis on the back. “Wish I could come along, but I can't justify taking a whole day twice in less than a week. Guess I have to be satisfied with a steady job that sometimes gives me a meal, while you're off chasing get rich quick schemes.”

  Lewis grinned. “Get rich quick schemes that'll help the whole town, if things go well. But don't worry, this is just the first step. There'll be plenty of chances for you to join in if you want to be a partner.”

  His cousin finally grinned back. “Have fun picking up litter on the highway, then.”

  “I can't wait.” Lewis went over to shake hands with Chauncey, confirming that the retired teacher hadn't heard anything back yet on the needed equipment, then rejoined Jane and hopped on his bike.

  They went east rather than west this time, making the mostly downhill trip to Aspen Hill Canyon, then down through it to the old town. It was a fast trip and they made good speed, although picking their way over the hill of loose boulders and scree where they'd dropped the cliff onto the road slowed them down as much as usual. The delay was even more depressing when he considered that every mile going downhill now would be agony coming back uphill. Thanks to that time constraint they didn't stop at their former town or the shelter and continued on to Highway 6, traveling north.

  Since they'd gone after the bike trailer they already had some idea of what the former blockhead territory looked like now. Even so it was sad to see Helper burned to the ground the same way Aspen Hill was.

  From the scattering of tents outside the charred area it looked as if some of the residents of the town who'd fled the blockheads were trickling back to their land, if not their homes. Lewis hoped they managed to find some way to eke out an existence and survive the winter after they'd lost so much, but he didn't risk stopping to talk to them and continued on.

  It was a long trip, even on a bicycle, but eventually they reached their destination. And it was pretty immediately apparent when they'd done so; the spot where Colonel Grimes had held Highway 6 against almost constant blockhead attacks was literally a war zone.

  Even with both sides now gone the evidence of it remained everywhere. There were abandoned sandbag fortifications lining the highway for miles, or at least piles of dirt where sand had been poured out so the bags could be reused elsewhere, all facing each other across a no man's land.

  Debris was piled up to create obstacles on the hillsides to either side, along with more dug out emplacements with sandbags or piles of sand. There was also evidence of crude booby traps neither side had bothered to take down for the garbage that made up their parts; strings of cans designed to rattle if disturbed, pitfalls covered by sticks and leaves over sagging frames, things like that.

  It was almost creepy in a way, to see an area that had been of vital strategic importance not long ago now completely abandoned. He and Jane had passed the blockhead graveyards on the way here. Endless rows of poorly marked graves, or even filled in trenches for mass graves when the dead became too numerous to give them proper burials. Lewis had no doubt they'd find something similar for US casualties if they kept going up the road.

  But now only the dead remained to indicate the massive bloodshed that had taken place in this area over the course of the blockhead siege. This had been one of the bloodier locations for the fighting, where the military had fought tooth and nail to prevent the enemy from getting a road that would've vivisected and isolated the US forces to the north and south, making reinforcements or other aid coming from either side impossible.

  A loss here probably would've meant losing the entire war, and both sides knew it. Thousands upon thousands of Gold Bloc and US soldiers had died along a stretch of road only a few miles long.

  And now there wasn't even a roadblock here. With the Gold Bloc forces gone the military had expanded their sphere of influence and protection for hundreds of miles along the roads in the area, especially to the north and to the east where the blockheads had retreated. But before they left a battlefield like this one, quartermasters in the military looking to retrieve anything useful for their continued engagements as they pursued the enemy had to have thoroughly picked it over. And once the military was gone scavengers would've moved in, looking for any scrap of value.

  But maybe even scavengers didn't know value when they saw it.

  Lewis braked near one of the blockhead sandbag fortifications and walked his bicycle to where it left the road and continued on down the dirt shoulder. Then he crouched, fingers sifting through the dirt. They came up with a handful of dull metal objects that had been swept off the pavement onto the roadside.

  He held them up and grinned at Jane. “Told you. Most militaries consider brass completely disposable.”

  It had come to him after that last fight defending Highway 31's canyon with Davis, while he was walking around in the aftermath of the battle. There'd been hundreds, maybe even thousands, of shell casings on the ground that everyone completely ignored as
they focused on stripping the bodies of anything useful and seeing to their burial.

  Lewis had realized that a man with reloading equipment and knowhow could literally pick up thousands of potential bullets from the ground of these sites of battle, and he might be the only one who'd thought of it.

  Jane crouched to pick up a few casings herself, rattling them around in her hand. “I never said they didn't.” She pulled out a garbage bag and shook it open, then started to crouch again. “Let's get to work.”

  Lewis gave a low whistle to get her attention, then shook his head. “Not here.” He retrieved his bike and started up the road towards the US fortifications.

  His wife followed. “Oh, right. I guess 5.56 ammo is going to be more valuable for reloading than 7.62x39.”

  “Not to mention the Gold Bloc tends to use steel casings,” he added. “Those might have their use on the battlefield, like being a bit lighter than brass, but they're terrible for reloading.”

  The US side of the conflict had just as many spent casings as the blockhead side had, more than enough to fill the bike trailer to overflowing. That represented thousands of shell casings, mostly 5.56 but with some .45 and 9mm in the mix, along with a few rare spots blanketed with .50 cal from machine gun emplacements.

  Even this was enough to keep him busy reloading for an unimaginable length of time. Assuming he could get the equipment, materials to make the bullets or actual pre-made bullets, primer, and smokeless powder. And there was always the question of whether all that stuff would end up costing more than the reloaded ammunition was actually worth, since it was generally held as lower quality than factory manufactured ammo.

  But if he could manage it . . .

  Ammunition was the new currency. Aside from food it was the one thing they'd always be able to find a buyer for. These bags full of casings represented the potential to build a solid life for their family, a secure future for their children. As long as they could manage to survive the cold winters, all those long days indoors waiting for spring would provide plenty of time to sit and do a mindless task like reloading.

  After a quick search of the area, they broke out the garbage bags and got to work.

  * * * * *

  Trev had put Gutierrez on far scouting at the man's own request. The former soldier preferred moving around to manning a lookout post, and since a lot of the defenders requested the less calorie-burning sentry duty everyone was on board with the arrangement.

  Which meant that at the approach of the military convoy coming down the road from the west, Gutierrez was the first to radio in the alert.

  Deb, with Trev as usual, gave him a concerned look when he lowered the radio after receiving his friend's report. “Are we in danger?” she asked.

  Trev shook his head. There was probably no cause for alarm, since their interactions with the military up to this point had been friendly. Even when they came for the town's supplies, the fact that they were risking their lives to protect the town from the blockheads had helped blunt some of the resentment.

  All that said, Trev's duty was to defend the town. “Probably not. But better safe than sorry.”

  With Deb's help he got to work mobilizing the defenders to unobtrusively prepare for trouble. It was a precaution he sincerely hoped wouldn't be needed: a convoy of soldiers and whatever weaponry they carried, fresh from defeating the Gold Bloc forces, would be difficult for the town to handle. Probably impossible, if they called for backup.

  As Trev and Deb prepared their defenses Matt gathered up the town's leaders to go out and meet the convoy. That included Ben Thompson, Chauncey Watson on the crutches Rick had carved for him, Catherine and Scott Tillman, Lucas Halsson, and a handful of others. Not to mention the crowd of curious bystanders who followed a safe distance behind.

  A small crowd, considering these troubled times and the fact that they were greeting soldiers. But that didn't stop more Aspen Hill residents from watching from within the safety of the town, peeking around the corners of cabins or out of the few windows.

  The convoy was already heading down the road winding down the western slope of the canyon by the time Trev and Deb joined the delegation, well away from the houses where the gravel path leading into town met the road. The line of vehicles stretched back over the ridge, already over a dozen and no end in sight.

  “That's a big convoy,” Matt said hopefully. “Bringing a lot of supplies, maybe?”

  “Or come to take more of what we've got,” Lucas replied.

  Trev snorted. “If that's why they're here they brought way too many trucks. They could've done the job with a wheelbarrow.”

  “Or they're just passing through and aren't interested in the town at all,” Catherine said, looking a bit amused at the speculation.

  Lucas shook his head. “Not much east of here aside from Aspen Hill Canyon, which is blocked off to vehicles. Unless they're here to clear the road they're probably here for us, and I don't see any heavy machinery in that line.”

  The first truck in the convoy approached within a hundred yards, and the group fell silent as it continued on to half that distance before rolling to a stop. A soldier with a corporal's insignia hopped down from the passenger seat and approached, calling a greeting. Matt returned the greeting and stepped out to meet him.

  “Is this Aspen Hill, sir?” the corporal asked.

  Matt nodded. “It is.”

  The man gave him a slightly uncertain look. “I'm looking for Mayor Catherine Tillman.”

  Catherine stepped up to Matt's shoulder. “I'm Catherine Tillman, but I stepped down from the position of Mayor recently. This is Matthew Larson, the new Mayor.”

  At that the man brightened. “Really? Corporal Bryant.” He stepped forward to eagerly shake Matt's hand. “I was part of the group defending just south of you near 31. We talked over the radio a few times.”

  Matt looked as if he didn't remember the man, but Trev did. He stepped forward to offer his own hand. “Trevor Smith,” he said. “Your name's not familiar, but I recognize your voice. You warned us of a few attacks headed our way, probably saved some lives.”

  Bryant's handshake was just as eager for him. “And you did the same. We learned to feel pretty secure about our northern flank with you there.” He hesitated, then lowered his voice. “And I was really impressed by how you went in and freed those civilians from the blockheads. A lot of them ended up in the refugee camp I'm currently stationed to. They owe you their lives.”

  “Not just me,” Trev replied, embarrassed. “How are they doing?”

  “Not bad, all things considered. Although we're all in the same boat these days, aren't we?”

  “Speaking of which . . .” Lucas cut in, offering his own hand. “Lucas Halsson. Mind if I cut the reunion short and ask what the trucks are for?”

  “Of course.” The corporal turned businesslike as he shook Lucas's hand as well. “Although let me say it's an honor to meet you, too, if I'm right in assuming you're Lewis's dad?” Lucas nodded, and Bryant's grin broadened. “The blockheads eased up on attacking our area almost completely after your son dropped a mountainside on a few hundred of them, so I'm doubly in his debt for likely saving many of my squad mates' lives. I'd like to thank him personally, if possible.”

  Trev's uncle shook his head. “He'll be out of town most of the day.”

  “Ah. Well it's a shame to miss him.” The corporal turned to the truck. “As for why we're here . . . the military discovered a massive windfall of nonperishable food. We're here to distribute Aspen Hill's share.”

  Trev felt his heart soar, and beside him Deb grinned like a loon. He could see the others in the delegation grinning too. That was a lot of trucks, and hopefully they were all filled to capacity.

  But Lucas quirked an amused eyebrow. “Timely windfall,” he observed.

  Bryant turned back to him, his smile becoming sheepish. “Specifically, this windfall was discovered before we even arrived in the Rocky Mountains. But let's keep that between us, o
kay?”

  “How does that work?” Matt asked, frowning. “I heard the military barely had enough food to feed everyone for a month on strict rationing, back before the blockheads even got here. You had all this food back then?”

  The corporal rubbed his chin in embarrassment. “Well it's like this. The higher ups couldn't just focus solely on the blockhead attack, dire as it was. They knew that even if we survived that, we were still facing a nuclear winter almost on its heels. Even with this windfall there isn't enough food to last through it, so the rationing had to start immediately.”

  Lucas was nodding in understanding. “But try telling a bunch of people about to face an enemy army a million strong that they need to starve themselves, so just in case they survive they can have a better chance of lasting through the winter.”

  Bryant nodded back eagerly. “Pretty much that exactly. The military isn't lying, we're just neglecting to say when exactly we discovered this windfall.”

  “I appreciate the honesty,” Matt said. “Don't worry, we'll keep it to ourselves.”

  “Good.” The soldier started to turn towards the trucks, but Lucas clearing his throat turned him back.

  “Question,” Trev's uncle said. “You've had this windfall all along, but you also came in and took all our stuff. Was that to keep up the ruse that supplies were running out to keep the rationing tight?”

  Bryant winced. “Kind of. But mostly it was to instill a sense of unity through sacrificing for the greater good.”

  There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. “Instill unity,” Catherine repeated flatly.

  The corporal held out his hands in a “search me” gesture. “I'm just regurgitating the BS the higher ups fed me.”

  “I suppose that means we won't be getting any of the stuff we donated back,” Trev said. “Some of us were doing well enough to have a shot at surviving the winter without aid.”

  Bryant gave him a lopsided smile. “Well now you're in the same position with the military to thank for it.” He turned to Matt, becoming businesslike again. “First off, I was told your town holds roughly eight hundred people?”