by John Grit
She nodded. “I can carry more.”
Nate smiled. He stuffed two more magazines in her pack.
Ben spoke up. “Maybe Brian should take an AR, too. I’ll stick with my shotgun myself.”
“No,” Brian said, “I’m used to my lever-action. I can do pretty well with it.”
“He can hit a running buck or a charging boar,” Nate said. “It’s not as fast as a semi-auto, but it’s hits that count.” He looked around at everyone. “We should go now. We’ll have to go to the farm and get the saw on the way.”
Nate started out the door.
Synthia ran grabbing Nate’s legs and cried, “Don’t go.” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with terror.
“The people here will take care of you.” Nate patted her back. “Don’t cry. I’ll be back soon.”
Cindy pulled her away and picked her up. “He will be back, Synthia. They all will.”
Synthia cried.
Tommy reached up and touched Synthia’s leg. She slapped at him. He grabbed her hand and held it. “Don’t be afraid.”
Nate was the last one out. “Bolt this door,” he said.
Martha nodded. “Take care.”
Deni rushed to Nate and held him. “You should let me go.”
Nate pushed her away. “Not this time.”
They left with the sound of Synthia’s wailing in their ears, fading as it gave way to distance.
~~~~
Nate looked across his field, staying behind cover. “That place means more to me every day we spend in that damn bunker.” There didn’t seem to be anyone around. The house was untouched. “I’ll go get the saw. Brian, you keep watch with your rifle.”
“It’s two hundred yards. I can’t do much good with my shotgun from here,” Ben said.
“I guess you and Caroline should come with me and feed and water the chickens, while I do the same with the cow,” Nate said. “Brian can keep them off us if some of them show up. We need to hurry, though. Got to get to work on the road as soon as possible.”
“Dad,” Brian said, “you ever think about how if everyone would just work on taking care of themselves and helping one another rather than stealing stuff, we would all be better off? I mean. As bad as it is, we could get by okay if it wasn’t for those who act like animals.”
Nate stood. “I think about that all the time, Brian. Keep your eyes open.”
Caroline said, “If they come, don’t think twice about killing them. Some men are animals. They must be killed before they hurt more people. There is a difference between animals and people. Those that are coming are animals.”
Ben, Caroline, and Nate ran for the house. When they got to the barn, Nate opened one of the double doors and started filling the wheelbarrow with hay.
Ben grabbed a bucket and poured feed from a bag for the chickens. He handed it to Caroline, who ran to the coop and filled a feeding trough, then poured the rest out on the ground.
When Ben ran past Nate, who was looking for the saw, he yelled over his shoulder, “You’re putting a lot of responsibility on Brian.”
“I have no choice.” Nate leaned the saw against the barn wall outside. "I wish it were not so, but it is.”
“Yeah, I know, but killing is not going to be easy at his age.” Ben raised his voice so Nate could hear him as he pumped water.
Nate stopped by the pump on the way to the pasture. He had hay stacked high on the wheelbarrow. “This lawlessness is going to last years. At first, I thought it would be better by now. I was wrong. There’s more killing to come if we’re going to survive long enough to see this country rebuild. And I’m more worried about him getting shot than him having to live with killing a man.”
“By the time you get back,” Ben said, “I’ll have water for you to bring to the cow.”
Caroline took one of the full buckets and hurried back into the barn as fast as her damaged body would allow her. The chickens needed more water.
Nate took two loads of hay out to the pasture and rushed back, stopping at the pump.
Ben put four buckets of water in the wheelbarrow. “I’ll take this out there. You two grab the saw and head back to Brian. You can do more to protect me over there with your rifles anyway.”
Nate nodded and headed for the woods.
Caroline followed. She kept looking toward the driveway.
Nate jumped over the windfall Brian was using for cover and dropped to his knees beside him. “Keep your eyes on the driveway,” Nate told Brian. “That’s where trouble is most likely to come from. I’ll watch the far tree line.”
Caroline had not reached them yet. She limped along as fast as possible.
Brian had his rifle shouldered, resting on the log. “I don’t want you worrying about me. I promise I’ll be careful. You keep your mind on what you have to do when it starts.”
Nate cleared his throat. “We’ll talk more about how we’re going to do this when we start building the first roadblock. I want to explain why I’m putting you at risk—what has changed.”
“I know what has changed,” Brian said. “You have more people to take care of now. It’s not just us. We need that farm to feed everyone. Mel’s stuff won’t last long with so many mouths to feed.”
Nate’s chest rose and held. He looked at his son, his eyes bright.
“Ben’s got the wheelbarrow in the barn and the barn door closed,” Caroline said. She got down beside them, wincing in pain.
“You okay?” Nate asked.
“I’m fine,” she said. “If I can’t go on, I’ll let you know. Just leave me and keep going. At the very least, I can watch your back from wherever I have to stop.”
All three watched for trouble as Ben ran toward them.
Ben stepped over the log, huffing. He picked up the long saw and looked at the others. “Well, let’s get this show on the road.”
Nate led them into the woods.
~~~~
“We’re about eight miles from the bridge,” Nate said, “and this pine tree is about as tall as they get. Might as well cut this one and that one on the other side. Together, they’ll reach all the way across.” He grabbed the saw out of Ben’s hands. “Let me show you how to do it so you can control the direction a tree falls.”
“You already showed me where to make the first cut, so I might as well take the other end of the saw this time so they can watch,” Brian said.
The pine tree was three feet across, but they were not tired yet, and had the tree down and across the road in fifteen minutes.
Ben nodded. “So you cut a wedge out first. You cut it nearly halfway across the trunk and pointing in the direction you want the tree to fall. Then you make the cut on the back a little higher.”
Caroline looked on, taking in the information.
“That’s it,” Nate said. “Just be careful you don’t cut too far with the first and second cut when you’re cutting out the wedge. The tree can start to lean before you’re ready and pin the saw in. If that happens, you’re through. You’ll never get the saw back out unless you’re very lucky. Also, don’t choose a tree that’s leaning away from the road. It will likely fall the wrong way no matter what you do, and if the tree is already leaning heavily toward the road, just cut the back and forget about the wedge. It will fall the way it’s leaning anyway.”
“On the way here,” Brian said, “I saw where rain washed the road out partway. In a couple places, there was a big tree handy on the far side of the road. What I mean is, we can cut that tree and let the washout do the rest of our work on that side of the road.”
Nate nodded. “Good. That will give you enough extra time to build a few more roadblocks.”
Ben took the saw out of Nate’s hands. “Time to cut the other tree.”
Nate turned to Brian and Caroline. “You two over watch from here.”
They took off on a run, crossing the road and disappearing into the woods.
It was a smaller tree than the first, and Nate and Ben had it down in les
s than ten minutes. It fell across the road, the two trees’ tops overlapping in the middle.
“Perfect,” Nate said.
They ran back to Brian and Caroline. This time they were behind concealment partway because of the downed trees.
“There’s a tree big enough right over there,” Brian said. He pointed a quarter-mile down the road. “There’s no reason why the second one can’t be close enough we can help you if there’s trouble.”
Nate looked down the road toward the bridge. “Okay. That’s about the right range for me to set up anyway.” He gave Brian and Ben both a stern look, as was his habit when he was serious. “But after that, the roadblocks will be a mile or more apart.”
“I’ll see to it,” Ben said.
They started walking. “Caroline and I will cut the next one,” Nate said. “You three will have lead-heavy arms by the time this day is over. And tomorrow will be even worse.”
“Then you’ll set up for sniping,” Brian added.
“Yes,” Nate said. “All I can do is slow them down and kill a small number.”
“This is really a desperate move,” Ben said.
Nate stopped walking. The others stopped also.
“You’re right, Ben,” Nate said. “If the people chasing them don’t show up in time, those killers will still get to the farm. There is no way we can stop them. All we’re doing is slowing them down.”
“We could get lucky and they run out of gas for their chainsaws,” Brian said. He looked away. “Yeah, I know: we can’t rely on luck.”
“In a way, I am relying on luck. It’s all we’ve got left,” Nate said.
Everyone listened to what he had to say.
“The chance of the cavalry riding around the bend with bugles trumpeting like an old movie is slim to none.” He looked back at the others. “But it’s all we have. And this last, desperate effort is my way of telling those bastards if they beat me it won’t be because I gave up.”
Ben nodded. “They’ve already paid a price, but we will extract more blood before they take what we’ve worked all summer and you and Brian have worked all your life for.”
Caroline looked down the road. “The more we kill now, the fewer people they hurt later.” She blinked. “Carrie will never be the same. I’ll never be the same.” Hate showed on her face. “And those coming now are the same kind.”
Chapter 16
Nate shot the one standing on the hood of a pickup. He was looking around with binoculars, searching the tree line on each side of the road. The range was five hundred yards. They had not gotten their chainsaws cranked yet, but one was already working on smaller limbs near the top of the downed trees with an ax. The sun had risen, but the day was less than an hour old.
There was a frenzy of activity with Nate’s first shot. Men streamed into the woods by the dozen. They knew someone with a rifle would be waiting and had already vacated the vehicles and lain down in the ditch on both sides of the road, ready to shoot. Nate planned to pick off the ones too stupid to stay behind cover.
Nate quickly killed two more and then took off at a run. He had set up something he had told none of the others about and needed time to get into position before the killers cleared the trees out of the way.
They were coming, slow and careful, painted on their right side by the midmorning sun. The ground was still wet from a late night rain, and mist was just starting to rise with the growing heat of the day.
Nate watched them come around a curve in the dirt road. Four men walked ahead, looking for tire hazards. So, the spikes Deni and I placed must have worked. A flatbed truck led the long train of a ragged collection of vehicles, mostly pickups and larger trucks. There were no motorcycles. The flatbed truck in the lead overflowed with men, all pointing rifles outward.
Nate was gratified of the obvious results of his earlier work. They don’t know what to expect next. Good. Fear is slowing them down as much as the roadblocks.
Nate aimed for a patch of white ten feet high in a pine tree four hundred yards from where he lay. It was one of the glass plates with white paper taped to it. Wire ran from nails on a clothespin clipped to the glass plate to a nine-volt battery, and then to one of the pipe bombs that were buried where they would have to drive on the near side of the road to avoid a deep, rain-cut gully. The only thing keeping the nails apart and thus preventing the electrical circuit from igniting the bomb was the glass.
From the prone position and in a tight shooting sling, Nate sharpened his sight picture and held his breath.
He squeezed the trigger when the flatbed truck passed over the pipe bomb.
None of the killers heard his shot. The explosion overpowered all sound and deafened them, leaving their ears ringing.
There was no time to look at his handiwork. Nate aimed at another square of white in a tree, one hundred yards farther than the first, just before the curve in the dirt road. He pulled the trigger and another explosion shook the ground. Even where Nate was lying, he could feel the shock wave, though it was not as strong as he had felt in combat. His bombs were not made with military explosives and so they were not as powerful as what he was used to. He wished he had some C4 and blasting caps, but had to make do with what he had.
Nate took a second to check the results. The pickup was still upright, but it was billowing black smoke. Bodies were hanging over the truck’s side. Two tires were burning on one side and the windshield was shattered. He checked the first truck and found it, too, in flames. Bodies lay on the flatbed and the road. The road was blotched red in more places than he cared to count. A few men lay dying; others struggled to push up from the ground and crawl or stand.
Several more met death delivered by a bullet from Nate’s rifle. Not wanting to push his luck too far, Nate crawled into the woods. He could hear their blind firing the first quarter-mile as he ran.
Nate did not think he would have enough time to set up another bomb or two before the next roadblock, so he ran past that one and set up nearly a mile farther down the road.
He was wrong. It took them several hours to clear the flatbed truck and the pickup out of the way. Other vehicles were damaged from fragments of metal also. When they finally were able to move again, they traveled even slower than before. Despite their losses, they had more men than room in their dwindling number of stolen vehicles, because many of the trucks were loaded with stolen supplies, so more had to walk.
The sun was starting to fall in the west by the time Nate saw them again.
There was a reason they were traveling slower and Nate knew what that reason was. Men were in the woods, traveling on both sides of the road, and were probably half a mile ahead of the caravan. The men could not walk as fast in thick woods as they could down the road. The need to allow those patrolling both sides of the road to keep ahead had slowed the entire entourage.
Their woodsmanship was not so great, and they were not traveling quietly, the way Nate was trained to patrol. Nate could hear them coming as he headed deeper into the woods.
He let them pass.
When the woods became quiet, Nate eased back to the edge of the woods and lay down. At his shot, another explosion resulted, and another pickup went up in flames. He took off at top speed and headed deep into the woods, swinging around to avoid the patrols and get ahead of them again.
Out of breath from a two-mile jog through thick woods, Nate buried another bomb, this one on the edge of the road where they were less likely to notice the differently colored dirt left by his digging. He ran the wire to a nearby tree, burying it with dirt by the road and leaves farther back into the woods. He then placed another glass plate high enough that he could see it at extreme rifle range. It could not be seen by anyone until they had passed the tree; by then, it would be too late. He clipped the clothespin on the edge of the glass and tied the wires to the leads he had soldered on the nail heads. Then he climbed down, careful not to snag the wire and pull the clothespin off the glass.
Nate settled into a hidin
g place seven hundred yards from the white spot in the tree. He could see the tree from that distance, but not the white square. If Ben, Brian, and Caroline have been working as hard as they could, they probably have built about six roadblocks by now, maybe seven. He glassed the road with his binoculars.
Nothing.
A glance at the sun told Nate there might be enough time for one more bomb after this one, before darkness made it impossible to see the white paper in a tree. There were other ways to trigger a bomb, but he did not have enough wire for most of those methods.
He came up with another plan. Working as fast as possible, Nate stretched wire across twenty yards at waist level, starting just back from the road, going deeper into the woods. On one end was the battery and bomb; on the other, a small twig clipped between the jaws of a clothespin. The clothespin was tied to a tree. If someone walked into the wire, it would pull the twig out of the clothespin, completing the circuit and igniting the powder in the bomb.
Time to get out of the patrol’s way.
Back from the road one hundred yards, Nate listened for any sign of movement in the woods. He heard none. He did hear the explosion and the screams afterward.
Nate had set the woods bomb farther down the road, so he knew most of the caravan was past the roadside bomb; more important to him, he knew the patrol had passed also.
In ten minutes, Nate was lying prone, close enough to the road to see, and aiming for the white square. The caravan had stopped and most of the men had vacated the vehicles. There was a large gathering on the right side of the road—too far from his bomb. However, there was a smaller crowd on the left side and well within the kill zone. He squeezed the trigger. The carnage was instant and horrible.
Nate was heading into the woods before the echo faded.
Working feverishly in the last moments of the dying afternoon, Nate set another bomb. This one was designed to be tripped by those removing one of the trees Brian and friends had cut across the road. He set the bomb itself back from the roadblock so it would damage a vehicle as well as wound men. He filled his boonie hat with dry sand and covered the wires with it, pouring it out in a stream as he walked along. It took four hatfuls to do the job.
