Nuclear Winter (Book 1): First Winter

by Nathan Jones

  He didn't blame them. They trusted him, but even if they couldn't understand true desperation they knew that he did. They realized he could help them, and by helping them he redeemed himself in some small part for his crimes.

  Those men down in that camp, they understood true desperation too. No possessions, no useful skills, no impulse control. The refugee camp, bad as it was, had been their last chance. When Rogers kicked them out and the place they'd hoped to resettle had turned them away, that was it. No family, no home, no country, no loyalty. Everyone viewed them as criminals and troublemakers, and they had nowhere to go and no way to survive.

  Raul could see why they'd chosen to turn to banditry. But whatever their reason, their actions were still their own. They'd been pushed into this situation by circumstance, as well as the pettiness of one man, but there'd still been one choice for them. A choice Raul had failed to make as well: to live honestly as best they could, even if they failed and it meant dying with clear consciences.

  He'd been given a second chance, but he'd never gone as far as Ferris's other raiders. He'd never gone beyond the point where he could forgive himself. He believed in second chances, because to believe otherwise would be selfish and hypocritical, but sometimes there were no second chances to be had.

  These men had killed Brandon and the others. They'd tried to take Deb. That deprived them of a right to a second chance in Raul's eyes. They'd crossed a line, and there was no justice system to force them back across.

  It had been satisfying to shoot the ones who'd shot at Matt and the others. Since they'd been using the patrol's weapons they were almost certainly some of the ones who'd killed them, and justice had been as swift as Raul could make it. But those that remained, thinking they had safety in numbers even though they only had a handful of firearms, had sealed their fate. He almost regretted that nobody had tried to leave and given him an opportunity to go after them.

  Let them howl like animals in their ramshackle camp across the way, tearing into deer roasted whole over poorly maintained fires within a poorly guarded perimeter as they celebrated murder and whatever other crimes they'd committed. It would be easier to put down any who didn't come willingly.

  Raul understood. There was a reason Mary hummed nervously whenever he mustered the courage to talk to her. There was a reason his friends kept their distance, even as they did everything they could for him. They saw what he was because he didn't try to hide it from them.

  He was the shield, standing between Aspen Hill and the world so his town never had to feel the full depths of desperation like he had. The shield got tarnished. The shield got battered. The shield got covered with blood and gore. The shield held firm and kept the ugliness of war from its bearer.

  The last of the men below had finally gone to sleep, the campfires slowly dying. Now would be the perfect time to attack, and in the confusion he could make sure none escaped. But he had his instructions.

  So he waited in the cold and damp, as the stars crawled by overhead and the nearly full moon inched its way towards the horizon and approaching dawn. Matt would arrive with the others, they would think up a plan to properly intimidate the men below, and this camp would be dealt with.

  And only hundreds more refugees out there doing the same, most in smaller groups and not leaving convenient tracks when they attacked their prey. Not for the first time Raul fantasized about making his way to the refugee camp and taking a potshot at Rogers for the trouble he'd caused. Deep down he knew he'd never do something like that, but it was a pleasant thought to entertain.

  Instead he planned the morning attack. If Matt was smart, and he was, he'd bring a bullhorn. The best way to let the bandits know they were serious would be to surround the camp, have everyone take cover in case the men below didn't want to go willingly, then fire short volleys from all directions at the ground around the camp. The bandits would realize they were surrounded, outnumbered, and outgunned by enemies they couldn't even see to shoot back at, in a camp with no cover.

  Then Matt could get on his bullhorn and tell them to all come out with their hands up and surrender. The defenders could move in and cover the bandits while restraining them, while watching the camp for anyone hiding. And those who tried to fight would be shot, giving their buddies an even better incentive to give up.

  Easy. Simple.

  Finally, after an eternity waiting in the darkness with his own thoughts, which wasn't all that pleasant with the guilt that plagued him and was even worse considering the physical discomforts, his headset finally crackled. Trev, letting them know the rest of the Aspen Hill force had arrived.

  Matt had stayed back home, arm immobilized enough from the bruising that he didn't consider himself combat effective. He was waiting with Chauncey to deal with any fallout from the military over this.

  Raul reported back that everything was quiet in camp and the night had been uneventful. But before he could start laying out his plan of attack Lewis cut in and offered his own plan. It was basically the same as what Raul had thought up, except his friend had spent the brief time before dark scouting the terrain around the camp so he could offer more specific details for placing their people.

  That was fine. Raul had served under idiots, cowards, and jerks who made it easy to hate their guts. Ferris was a prime example. He was more than happy to take direction from someone competent and responsible, even if it was him who was technically in charge of the sentries.

  He added a few tips to help firm up Lewis's plan, and others added their own insights. It seemed pretty solid by the time the sun cracked the horizon and spilled golden light onto the camp.

  Raul and his sentry team watched as the defenders Trev had brought with him took positions to their left and right, and farther along to circle the camp's perimeter. They were being careful, and it actually took some effort to make out many of them as they settled behind cover.

  Then came the interminable waiting with his rifle trained on the camp, looking through his scope as the sleeping bandits began to stir and wake up, and the sentries around the camp were relieved by groggy replacements.

  Finally Trev's voice came clear through his headset. “Go.”

  Just for variety Raul aimed at a campfire, while around him his team picked unoccupied spots of ground or newly vacated cover. Within the space of ten seconds two hundred shots rang out from all sides, echoing from the mountain slopes surrounding the meadow like the rumble of a summer thunderstorm. It was an egregious waste of ammunition in his opinion, although he couldn't argue that if it convinced the bandits to surrender it would use less bullets than gunning down everyone in the camp. Still, it galled him that they had to use a precious resource to clean up this trash.

  Down below the bandits went nuts. Diving for cover that wasn't there, screaming in fear, and a few going down clutching wounds accidentally made by careless bullets from less skilled Aspen Hill defenders.

  Overpowering the confusion came Trev's voice on the bullhorn. “Listen up down there. We're the Aspen Hill defense. You're surrounded, outnumbered, and massively outgunned. We missed our first volley on purpose to get your attention . . . we won't miss again. Surrender, leave any weapons behind, and walk towards the rising sun one hundred paces, then drop to your stomachs with your hands behind your heads and wait to be arrested. Any other response and we'll-”

  From among the shouting below came a sort of wordless roar. No spoken command by any leader Raul could see, no consensus. The bandits simply reached the same decision as one, and their frantic ducking turned into a charge. He watched as they poured out from camp in all directions, brandishing whatever crude weapons they had and less than ten of them armed with any sort of firearm or other ranged weapon.

  Desperation shined in their eyes, so far past the line few even considered surrendering.

  “You have five seconds to drop to the ground where you stand, or we fire on you!” Trev's voice boomed through the bullhorn. No reaction from the bandits, aside from maybe spurring the
m to even greater speed. Raul had no doubt that they intended to find the defenders surrounding their camp and tear them to pieces if they could.

  His friend didn't count down on the bullhorn, and when Raul's own silent countdown had reached five seconds no order came. He shifted impatiently and a bit uneasily, wondering what the holdup was. Even though the enemy was mostly armed with hand to hand weapons, if that order didn't come soon it wouldn't be long before their people were in danger.

  Ten seconds. Still no order. Hadn't Trev already learned this lesson about not letting the enemy get close? Raul reluctantly toggled his mic, although he allowed no reluctance in his voice as he spoke clearly and firmly. “Open fire.”

  He suited his words by squeezing the trigger on the man who'd been running almost directly towards him. The bandit was now less than twenty yards away and not even trying to dodge potential incoming fire. He went down without a noise, and the rattle of gunfire once again came from all sides as the defenders followed Raul's order.

  The fact that the bandits had so viciously gone on the attack helped relieve his conscience somewhat as he picked another target and fired again, and he needed that. Because it wasn't a battle: it was a bloodbath, with only minimal danger to the defenders and the enemy being gunned down by the dozens in the minute or so it took to finish the grisly job.

  In the end less than thirty of the bandits came to their senses and dropped to the ground. Some of them maybe to dodge gunfire, not surrender. But with no one left charging the defenders and Trev on the bullhorn shouting instructions, the surviving men finally rose to their feet and shuffled with hunched shoulders to gather up as he ordered.

  Raul led the team that went in to make sure they were disarmed, moving cautiously even though the bandits were lying on their stomachs with their hands behind their heads. They patted down the bandits and bound their hands behind their backs with zip ties and lengths of cord.

  It almost went smoothly. Raul was the one who spotted a man in the middle of the crowd rolling onto his back, raising a pistol stolen from Brandon's patrol. Raul was the one who put two bullets through the would-be assailant's chest and one through his head before he could get a shot off, then screamed at the other men to stay down and stay still.

  They did.

  When Raul cautiously made his way over to retrieve the pistol and verify the attacker was dead, he saw that the bandit's face was bruised. With a surge of satisfaction he realized this was the guy Deb had ID'd, one of the human filth who'd killed Brandon and the others and tried to take her.

  Although it wasn't the most worthy thought, Raul was kind of happy the bandit had been stupid enough to try something so he didn't come out of this alive. And it felt good to personally be the one to bring him down. A bit of closure for his dead friends.

  With the prisoners in hand the fight was finally over, and Raul breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't the only one. “Good job everyone,” Lewis said over the radio. “I'd say we handled that mess about as well as we could.”

  “It was a mess though, wasn't it?” Rick asked. Raul heard it twice, since his friend was standing right next to him as well as transmitting. “I can't believe the idiots rushed us after we showed them how many guns we had.”

  Trev cut in firmly. “It's a mess that's over now. Raul, start the prisoners home. Lewis, you take most of our people and search the fallen for wounded, then bury the rest. Be careful in case some are pretending. I'll take a team through the camp and check for threats, then strip it of anything useful.”

  “We're going to loot the bandit camp?” Ben demanded. The refugee leader sounded deeply offended.

  “Would you rather leave that stuff behind?” Trev shot back. Without waiting for an answer he continued. “You've got your assignments. Let's get to work so we can go home.”

  As ordered, Raul's team got the prisoners on their feet and started southward. The ragged men were complaining bitterly, not seeming all that shaken by the deaths of so many of their companions. Raul wanted to gag them, but restricting their breathing while marching them wouldn't end well. He consoled himself with the fact that soon they'd be too out of breath to piss and moan.

  Trev's team caught up with them after about a half hour, letting them know Lewis's group would probably not catch up anytime soon, which stood to reason. The blond man came to walk beside Raul, a second rifle and a bundle of cloth tied above his backpack. Raul wondered if the gun was Brandon's: his dead friend had no family to return his possessions to, but they should still be identified as his and his sacrifice recognized as they were turned over to the town.

  “You did a good job back there,” Trev said quietly.

  Raul simply nodded. He was exhausted, and not just physically. He wanted to get home, pay his respects to Brandon and the rest of the patrol if they were buried, attend their burial if not, then crash.

  After an awkward silence Trev cleared his throat. “I hesitated. I didn't think I would, but our advantage was overwhelming. It was hard to order a massacre.”

  “I get it,” Raul said. And he did: He was the shield. If that included giving unpleasant orders he could handle it.

  Everyone wanted to get home as soon as possible. They'd done what they needed to, they'd gotten justice for the patrol and done it in the most civilized way they could, but nobody wanted to dwell on what had happened. So they set a hard pace, slowed only by the malnourished prisoners who stumbled along with their hands bound behind them. Trev insisted they treat the men humanely, but he didn't insist too hard.

  Lewis and the rest of the defenders caught up with them just before they started down the western slope of the valley towards the town below. They'd brought along several seriously wounded bandits they'd done what they could for, along with the body of one who'd died of his wounds en route. They were all fairly grim and, like everyone else, more than eager to get home.

  Not surprising considering their task had been burying the dead and dealing with the wounded. They'd been the ones to face the consequences of the attack firsthand.

  Trev had radioed in their approach, and likely the sentries and patrols he'd left watching the town had also called in. A large crowd of townspeople was waiting to give them a hero's welcome. Or at least make sure their loved ones were okay.

  Mary was one of those. Raul immediately noticed the blond young woman up front, her breathtakingly lovely face pinched with worry. That worry faded when she caught sight of her family members safe in the group, and she joined the rest of the welcoming party in exchanging hugs with loved ones, relieved no one had been hurt in the fighting.

  To Raul's surprise her relief extended to him, too; she showed no hint of shyness as she called his name and rushed to throw her arms around him. “Are you all right?” she asked, voice muffled by his chest.

  Raul stood stiffly in her embrace. He was grungy and a bit embarrassed about how he must smell, but mostly he was in no place to hug her back after the night and morning he'd just had. Finally he managed to raise one hand to tentatively rest between her shoulders. “I'm not hurt,” he could honestly say.

  “Good.” She looked up, big blue eyes searching his, and a hint of worry clouded them. “Are you sure?”

  “I'm sure,” he said, trying to smile. The expression felt foreign. “Can you tell me what happened with Brandon and the rest of the patrol?”

  Mary looked away, face crumpling in sadness. “We buried them in a nice spot overlooking the town.” The blond young woman finally pulled away from him. He was relieved, but at the same time missed the reassuring contact. She shyly reaching out to take his hand. “I'll show you.”

  Raul nodded wearily. Nearby Matt had been getting a report from Trev and Lewis. The Mayor toggled his radio headset. “Chauncey, I want you on the radio screaming at the military until Grimes comes out here. Over seventy men are dead, we've lost friends in the most brutal way imaginable, and Rogers caused it. It's time for the colonel to get off his preoccupied, judgmental butt and do something about this
.”

  The crippled teacher's reply came to Raul's radio along with everyone else's. “Um, about that, Matt. It looks like our patrol coming under attack finally got someone's attention, as did our warning we were going after the people who did it. I just got word that the Colonel's already on his way.”

  Mary had paused with him to listen in. Raul heard the news, and he understood why it caused a stir in the crowd, but his mind was a fog. He tapped Trev on the shoulder. “The teams with me were up all night,” he said quietly. “Unless you need us, I'd like to insist you send us home to get some sleep.”

  “I can manage,” Lewis immediately said, and Jane nodded, even though neither of the two looked as if they could stay on their feet much longer. A few others who'd been watching the camp joined in insisting they could handle it.

  “Good work to everyone who stayed up the night,” Trev said, looking around. “I won't force you to get some rest with Colonel Grimes making a visit, and I'd like you to be ready in case you're called to help. Otherwise please, get whatever sleep you can.”

  Raul nodded and exchanged a look with Mary, who was still holding his hand. He couldn't believe how lucky he was that she seemed to care for him, and was sure he didn't deserve it. In fact, she'd probably be better off if he told her to avoid him like the plague, go find someone who wasn't tarnished by his past. Even that prick Robert, if she had to.

  But he couldn't bring himself to do it, no matter how selfish that made him feel. He knew he was fortunate to have friends and a community worth protecting, but sometimes it felt like she was the only good thing in his life. He didn't want to lose her.

  The blond young woman squeezed his hand comfortingly and pointed, starting off. He followed without a word, letting her lead him to where his friends had been buried.