by Nathan Jones
Last time Ed had been the one leading them out after a clear dismissal. This time he held his ground, although it wasn't easy. “You say you've heard from Major Rogers, patrols in the area, and testimony from the refugees. Which means you've heard every side of the issue but Aspen Hill's. Last time you told us you'd give us a fair hearing.”
To his credit Grimes at least waited until he finished. Then he thundered “Out!” and pointed a quivering finger at the door.
This time Ed wasted no time joining the others in complying. They didn't exactly scurry, but they didn't take their time leaving, either. Once out in the waiting room they hurried through the headquarters building and made a beeline for their mule. Ed was glad they were already carrying all their possessions with them and were ready to go.
True to his word Grimes provided them with fuel. A full tank and an extra five gallon can, too, which was enough to make the trip both ways. Under the circumstances that was pretty generous.
They didn't leave the camp immediately, since there were a few trade deals to finalize, but within the hour they were driving towards the rising sun, troubled thoughts turned to home and exactly what the blazes was going on there.
* * * * *
“We've got more coming in, Trev. Six of them from the north.”
That was Derek Withers, the veteran who'd lost his entire right leg, speaking over the radio where he was taking a shift to give Chauncey a much needed break. Since the retired teacher with his own partially amputated leg could sympathize with the man, he'd taken him under his wing so to speak. So far it seemed to be working well, although Trev secretly suspected Chauncey hadn't really minded camping out the radio most hours of the day.
Which was neither here nor there.
Trev sighed. He'd been about to sit down to dinner, but it looked like he'd be taking it with him. “They trying to sneak in?” he asked as he grabbed a few strips of jerky and started gathering his gear.
“Emphasis on trying, since Tod saw them coming from a ways off,” Derek replied. He didn't sound amused though; they'd been through too much of this in the last four days since turning the refugees away.
“All right. Brandon?”
Brandon Shanks was one of the freed prisoners who'd been in Gutierrez's squad during the fight against the blockheads, and the two had become good friends. At the retired soldier's recommendation the man was leading one of the morning shift's roving five-man patrols, which Trev had put together a couple days ago to turn back these small groups of intruders that tried to sneak into Aspen Hill or hang around hassling townspeople in the area. Going by the schedule the older man's patrol was closest to where the interlopers were coming in.
“No go,” Brandon replied. “Raul's got us responding to a sighting of a few guys setting up camp west of here, just inside our perimeter. On our way out there now.”
Trev felt a moment of worry, since Deb was part of Brandon's patrol. At least their task didn't sound like anything too dangerous, and at Gutierrez's request Brandon had personally promised Trev he'd look out for her. She should be fine.
Should be. He sighed. “All right, Brandon, be careful. Derek, tell Tod I'll bring out some people to turn his group back. Have him stay out of sight and report on their movement.”
“He's on it,” the veteran replied after fifteen or so seconds. By that time Trev was out the door and jogging towards the town hall tent.
He hurriedly rounded up a handful of the defenders there, who'd been hanging out making themselves available in case of trouble. They were technically taking a break from the day's work to eat dinner, but the way things had been going most of his people took their breaks at the tent in case they were called to an emergency.
Everyone there already had their gear ready, and it didn't take more than a couple minutes to get them all moving north up the canyon at a jog.
In the last four days the situation with the displaced refugees had steadily worsened, and these attempts to sneak into town were only a part of it. Just as Trev and the town leaders had feared, many of the scattered groups turned to banditry within days, attacking travelers or isolated residents of local towns and camps. The attacks started off minor, but over time they grew bolder and more brutal, especially once the newly formed bandit groups realized the military wasn't doing anything to stop them.
This was the latest of a dozen times someone or someones had tried to make their way into town, usually by stealth. Trev wasn't sure why they thought they'd get away with it even if they had managed to slip past his sentries, which none had. Aspen Hill was a tight-knit community, and even though several hundred people lived there most were at least familiar with the faces of their neighbors. There was no chance strangers skulking around wouldn't be immediately seen and challenged.
At which point a good portion of the town was armed, so the intruders wouldn't have much choice but to give up and let themselves be arrested.
Usually the would-be infiltrators were simply escorted three miles out of town in a direction of their choice, to the perimeter Trev had set up, with a warning that further attempts to enter town would be met with harsher treatment. While most reluctantly put their backs to Aspen Hill, and thankfully none had turned violent, a few had tried to rush past the defenders and flee into town, hoping they wouldn't be stopped.
They were wrong. The patrols assigned to turn them back had been issued pepper spray and batons and even a few stun guns to be used if needed, and they were. Trev supposed that wasn't winning the town any friends among the displaced refugees, and in fact it seemed like the attacks were escalating over time. Although that was just as likely due to the scattered groups of men growing increasingly desperate because of cold and hunger.
Either way the military was keeping dead silent on the matter, and the people of Aspen Hill weren't the only ones in the area getting more and more angry about that. Trev didn't know if it was incompetence or malicious intent, but if Rogers or his superiors didn't step in soon people were going to end up dead. If some hadn't already without him knowing.
But none of them would be the townspeople under his protection, if Trev had anything to say about it.
His group traveled for roughly a half hour up the canyon, traversing the steep, treacherous terrain alongside the stream, before they caught sight of the intruders. When they did Trev groaned. “These guys again?”
It was a group that Trev had already turned back, one of the ones that'd tried to rush past into town instead of leaving. He would've thought the faceful of pepper spray he and his patrol had dished out a couple days ago would've kept them from coming back, but apparently they were too stubborn or desperate to get the hint.
Two were carrying crude spears, one just a stick with a sharpened end and the other with a small knife ludicrously tied to the end of a long haft. Another carried a hatchet, while the other three made do with thick sticks for clubs and stones large enough he wouldn't want one chucked at his head.
In other words, enough to be a threat but not enough to be a real one, with his people all wearing body armor and carrying AK-47s. “Form up,” he said quietly, taking out his pepper spray. Weapons or not, he'd try nonlethal first.
His group fanned out as best they could on the awkward slope, clearing firing lines and pulling out their own pepper spray. The interlopers caught sight of them and their steps turned more wary, but they didn't stop.
“Didn't we already do this?” Trev called. The refugees kept coming. Trev judged they could go a couple dozen more feet before he'd consider them close enough to pose a danger if they charged, but also close enough to be shot with pepper spray. “Stop now,” he said more sharply.
They didn't. “You've got food, we need it,” the closest one snapped, hefting his spear. “You think blinding us for a few minutes is going to stop us?”
Trev reluctantly put his pepper spray away and unslung his rifle, although he motioned for the rest of his group to keep their deterrents out as he raised his weapon to point at the ma
n. “It had better. The alternative is less pleasant.”
“You don't have the stones,” the refugee snapped. He broke into a charge, lifting his spear and throwing it as he came.
It would've hit Trev if he didn't leap aside, and other members of his group cursed as rocks fell among them, a few connecting. The lead refugee had pulled out a knife and was moving low and fast to close on Trev so he could use it.
Then streams of spray flew out from the defenders to converge on the charging men. Most were on point, hitting faces or narrowly missing, and three went down coughing. The leader was one still coming, and Trev reluctantly aimed for his legs and fired off a few shots.
He missed every one. By the time he swapped up to aim for his assailant's chest the man was nearly on top of him, and he also missed that hasty shot before being forced to brace to deflect the incoming knife with his weapon.
In the brief flurry that followed Trev was nearly tackled off his feet. If he hadn't spent so long practicing grappling and boxing with Lewis last winter, and infrequently since then, he probably would've been. Instead he managed to sidestep and brace his feet, throw the man's knife wide, and slam his helmeted forehead into his assailant's face.
The interloper went down hard and stayed down, cursing, as Trev covered him with his rifle. He was also pretty ticked, but more at himself than at his attacker.
There was a reason that, as far as he knew, every military and law enforcement had a policy of aiming center mass at credible threats. Moving targets were hard enough to hit as it was, and a determined enemy could close on you fast and shrug off minor injuries. Then once they were close enough they could knock your gun aside or get around it, and then you lost the advantage of having it and were fighting for your life close quarters against whatever weapon the enemy had.
He didn't want to hurt anyone he didn't have to, but it was stupid to go any easier on this displaced refugee with a knife than he would've on a blockhead in the same situation. He could've wound up dead for his troubles.
A brief look around showed that a couple of his defenders had pinned the other two who hadn't been hit with spray and were getting out zip ties to bind them, while the rest of his group cautiously approached the coughing, red-eyed displaced refugees farther back to disarm and take into custody.
Trev slung his rifle and rolled the man over onto his stomach, driving a knee into the small of his back to hold him down as he pulled out his own zip ties. “You seriously shouldn't have come back.”
The leader cursed as his hands were yanked together to be bound. “What're you going to do, spank us and send us off like naughty boys? You're not going to kill us just for trying to get into your town, and if you put us in jail at least we can expect three square meals a day.”
That was unfortunately a good question. Trev wasn't about to let people who violently attacked his defenders go free to do it again, maybe with more success next time. And now that the military was sticking their noses in Aspen Hill's business the town's policy for dealing with violent attackers would probably get them in even more trouble, assuming the town's judges found this attack to be enough justification to execute the prisoners.
All he could do was bring them in and see what Matt and the others wanted to do. He didn't envy his friend the decision.
What a mess.
Matt was waiting when they entered town with the six men. Trev had filled him in on the situation over the radio on the way back. The intruders hadn't admitted where they were from, but Lewis had scouted out a camp several miles northwest of town with a hundred or so displaced refugees in it. They didn't know much about the place, and so far none of the men there had done much roaming south in their direction, but when Trev mentioned the camp to his prisoners a few jerked in guilty recognition.
Not enough to confirm anything, but Trev guessed that was where these guys had come from.
“We'll lock them in a spare cabin for now,” Matt said, motioning. “I've already secured one.”
Trev was only too happy to follow as his friend led the way. Aside from cursing from the prisoners they worked in silence to get them situated in the bare, dirt-floored structure. The door was sturdy and had a hasp and padlock, though, and with the men's arms still bound and a few defenders watching them they shouldn't be a problem.
At least short term. “What do we do with them?” Trev asked.
Matt gave him a crooked smile. “I guess we contact the military and have them come take them away.”
They all shared a good laugh at that. The military wasn't doing anything, and this wasn't about to be the incident that made them start.
Then his friend sobered up and sighed. “Still, I will have Chauncey radio the proper authorities to inform them about this. At least then if they ignore us we have some excuse for dealing with it ourselves.”
“Which will be how?” one of the defenders demanded. “If we warn them they'll be shot on sight if they come back they won't believe us . . . they've already come back once even after we pepper sprayed them. Sure, I have no problem actually shooting this trash, but a bunch of dead idiots isn't going to help the town.”
Matt sighed again. “We'll talk it over. Trev?”
Trev followed his friend into the town hall tent, where he chatted with Derek while Matt gathered up a few of the other leaders. Chauncey arrived not long after that and took over from the veteran, radioing in about the attack and asking what the town should do with the attackers.
By the time the town leaders had gathered the retired teacher still hadn't heard any response back, to nobody's surprise.
The brief but heated debate that followed went around in circles. Everyone agreed something needed to be done with the prisoners, everyone agreed that the military looming over them made simple solutions awkward, and nobody had any suggestions on what to do going forward. If they kept the men imprisoned for the time being they'd have to feed them, and nobody wanted to do that.
Finally Lewis gave the tactless but unfortunately probably best solution under the circumstances. “I guess we shove guns in their faces until they piss themselves, then toss them out with a warning that we won't just threaten next time.”
Trev could imagine the military wouldn't be thrilled about that if they heard, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it himself. Not to mention the idiots had come back after one painful warning. Still, there didn't seem to be a better option.
At the very least it was a bit satisfying to haul the intruders out of the impromptu jail and line them up on their knees while his men formed up with weapons ready. A few really did wet themselves, and from the smell one might've lost control of his bowels when Trev ordered his men to raise weapons and take aim.
Then he waved the rifles down and stomped forward to lean over the leader, who didn't look quite as intimidated as the others. “If you come within three miles of this place again,” he said in a voice just loud enough for all the prisoners to hear, “we'll shoot you before you even know we're there. Got it?”
The man hesitated, looking as if he was going to spit some defiance, then glanced around Trev at the defenders standing in a firing line behind him. “Got it,” he said reluctantly.
Trev hauled the man to his feet and started marching him north out of town, his defenders rounding up the others. It took a while to get them out to the perimeter, where they shoved them away with shouts to keep going and not come back, training guns on the men as they took off in a stumbling run for safety with their hands still bound behind their backs.
For caution's sake Trev had some of his defenders follow the men, confirming that they had in fact come from the large camp to the northwest. The camp accepted the humiliated and shaken men in with some jeers, but from the looks of it weren't planning anything immediate so the defenders came home.
No telling whether the fate of their friends had served as a deterrent for the rest of the displaced refugees up there. Trev had his doubts, but he could hope.
Chapter Twelve
The next four days didn't get any better. In fact they got much, much worse as Matt struggled to deal with a situation on the brink of spiraling completely out of control.
Displaced refugees kept coming at the town, even more insistently than before, and were more likely to become violent when turned back. Those who were armed, violently aggressive, and moved fast provided little option but to shoot them in self defense. And from bitter experience, not just Trev's but others who'd been involved in fighting the raiders and blockheads, the defenders didn't hold back.
At Matt's order, with the agreement of his friend and the town leaders, going forward they shot to stop their enemy, which usually meant seriously or even fatally wounding them. After the fact the town provided what medical help they could while using as few of the town's supplies as possible, but the displaced refugees who got violent usually didn't fare well.
Even the unarmed or less aggressive intruders who refused to be turned back were dealt with cautiously, in case they were hiding weapons or suddenly decided to attack with their bare hands. They were brought down with nonlethal crowd control like pepper spray or one of the town's few stun guns, bound with zip ties, and held along with the wounded attackers while calls were made to the refugee camp to come deal with them.
Calls that were never answered, of course.
The town was forced to repeat its initial song and dance of dragging prisoners into a firing line and warning them not to come back. As an extra measure Lewis snapped pictures of each of them with his camera, so the men would know there'd be no mistakes and they wouldn't fool the town trying to come in again.
If there was one small mercy it was that none of those who were turned back with the warning that they'd be shot actually did make another attempt. Matt was sure it was only a matter of time, but from the looks of it the defenders shooting to defend themselves from attack were providing some deterrent there, showing that Aspen Hill really was willing to use lethal force if called to. And when the first people actually did call the town's bluff and were shot on sight, hopefully that would be an even stronger deterrent to the others.
