by Nathan Jones
It took about an hour to find the sheep, clump them up, and get them back to the road and on their way. The herd had meandered down the meadow instead of following the road in either direction, which made using their bikes more awkward. The second time Lewis had to head off a stray while jouncing over the bumpy terrain he found himself getting almost as irritated as Matt had yesterday.
They pushed the sheep a bit faster to make up for lost time, and after being herded all day yesterday the animals finally seemed to remember that this was something they'd done frequently with their previous shepherds. They trotted along the road with less deviation, and seemed more willing to be turned back when they strayed.
It helped that the way was mostly downhill at a steady slope. Lewis thought the herd naturally moved a bit faster with less prodding from them, and it took almost no effort to coast their bikes along at the same speed. They had to brake far more often than pedal.
Since they had no food they kept the sheep moving with fewer breaks, letting them water at the few places that provided an opportunity but keeping the grazing to a minimum. Lewis hoped that didn't put too much strain on the animals, but with any luck they'd make up for it that night with secure pens and all the grazing they wanted.
By late afternoon they finally reached Aspen Hill Canyon, where they met up with a winded Matt who'd finally come looking for them. There they stopped for a brief break to share the food he'd brought, enough for a small snack for everyone, while their friend caught his breath. Then, grumbling about being turned back so soon, Matt headed back down to make sure everything was prepared.
Their job herding the sheep got even easier once they started down the canyon, since there were fewer places for the animals to go aside from the road itself. Although the downside to that was that if one did stray, it disappeared into the undergrowth and was twice as hard to round up again.
The second time the most skittish of the sheep, which Lewis had less than affectionately named Bolt, decided to break away he finally lost his temper and did some shouting himself as he took chase. He managed to calm down again quickly, but he had to admit he'd be more than happy to be done with this and have the sheep secure in pens where they couldn't wander off.
That, or at least figure out how to better handle them, and maybe spend enough time around the herd that he was familiar and trusted so they'd be more manageable. He did want to have a herd of his own, after all, and wanted to do it right.
A bit of a crowd had gathered by the time they brought the herd out of the mouth of the canyon and along Center Street towards the heart of town. There were plenty of fenced in areas around the outskirts and even in Aspen Hill itself, many of which had held livestock before the disastrous winter forced the townspeople to eat anything that was available. Thanks to that finding somewhere to put the herd hadn't been a problem.
According to Matt the townspeople had prepared the acre lot beside the Watsons' house for the herd. They'd painstakingly gone over the fence to make sure it was secure, as well as stretching a tarp over one area to provide shade next to a watering trough. Their friend had also been hard at work with his dad and brother-in-law salvaging scrap wood from fences and ruined houses to raise their own fenced in area beside the shelter, which he'd promised would be done by the time they reached town.
Catherine Tillman met them at the head of the crowd, coming out to meet them and accompany them the rest of the way. The Mayor was so overjoyed at the sight of the returning sheep that she hugged each of them, even an uncomfortable Jane. Thanks to her jubilant mood, when Lewis broached the subject of the pregnant ewes she immediately agreed that he and his wife could take one, as well as the young ram, for their contribution.
The other pregnant ewe was more of a question. Catherine was willing to also give her to a member of the group for the work they'd done, it was just a question of who. Tom and Alvin would be well on their way to starting their own herd with her as well as another ewe, and Matt had certainly earned consideration for all his contributions to the town, even if he'd returned early and arguably done less work in this case.
In the end, though, she agreed Pete should have the ewe and whatever lambs she birthed. The young man had been searching the longest, and while that extra work arguably hadn't been of much value since it hadn't produced any results, it at least deserved some acknowledgement. At the very least it had narrowed down places not to look. Pete seemed stunned by the offer, and once he was certain it was genuine he broke into his first real grin since finding the herd a couple days ago.
Everyone else was also satisfied with the arrangement. Matt, the Hardings, and Lewis and his wife had already agreed to combine their sheep to make their own herd, which now comprised of four ewes and a ram and whatever lambs were birthed. Pete also seemed eager to start his own herd if possible, albeit with a slower start, and Aspen Hill would have the remaining thirteen sheep, including the other ram.
In spite of the town's desperate need for food the Mayor had prevailed on the townspeople to not slaughter any of the valuable animals. It would take some time for the sheep to earn their value with wool and a herd large enough that some animals could be harvested for mutton, but everyone was willing to invest in that future bounty.
There was a lot to be hopeful about, and the mood in town was celebratory as they led the sheep into their new pen, snagging out the specific ones Lewis, Jane, Matt, Tom, and Alvin would be taking back to the shelter. Pete had arranged to have his ewe penned with the rest of the herd in exchange for doing some work caring for the animals, at least for now.
The five sheep clustered at the fence baaing plaintively at the others inside, at least until Lewis and his companions said their goodbyes to their neighbors and began shooing the animals along the road to the shelter and their new home.
At first the little herd tried to loop back around to rejoin the sheep they could still hear calling out to them from town, but after a few blocks they seemed to accept their fate and went along more meekly. Maybe they were as tired as the people herding them and just ready to get wherever they were going.
They found Matt and the others back at the shelter, and true to their friend's word they'd constructed a small pen between the two hills, at the foot of the shorter hill on the far side from the shelter itself. It wasn't a large space, which meant they'd have to let the herd out to graze, and there was no shade, but it was good as a temporary measure.
The sheep went quietly into the pen, making their way over to where a few of Lewis's large metal buckets had been filled with water and tied to the fence so they wouldn't accidentally get tipped over. As Matt secured the awkward gate the family had their own moment of celebration, with hugs and handshakes all around.
By that time the sun had set and Lewis was more than ready to wash up, enjoy a meal, and sleep in a proper bed. He had a few ideas for some lengths of wire fencing he'd been storing in the shed and that were now sitting outside. More of those things he'd purchased before the world went crazy just in case he needed them at some point.
It seemed like it wouldn't be too hard to tie together four of them to make a sturdy square pen that would be simplicity itself to move, keeping the sheep enclosed but allowing them new terrain to graze as often as they needed. They could also keep the ram separate from the ewes until he was a bit older and they figured out what to do about breeding.
All in all Lewis was in high spirits as he and Jane said their goodnights and headed for their shed. It was nice to be considering all these possibilities, since they represented a much brighter future. Between sheep, chickens, rabbits, their gardens, hunting, and foraging, the group at the shelter was in a good position to be self-sustaining before too long.
And then there were the bees, if he could figure out how to capture a swarm. But that was an opportunity for another day.
Chapter Five
Convoy
In spite of being exhausted every night and always feeling like he wasn't going fast enough, Trev had still been able to apprec
iate just how quickly he'd managed to travel on his bike on the way to Michigan. And the grueling 27 hour trip in the truck to get to Newtown had been unbelievable progress.
Pulling the handcarts and wagons, there was no word to describe their pace other than agonizing.
In every sense of the word. Trev had been afraid they'd overloaded themselves from the start, putting a burden on everyone so there was no chance to rotate people out to rest and make the trip easier. Instead for all of them, especially his parents and aunt and uncle who increasingly felt their age, each and every step they took required them to bring an endless burden along with them.
Rotating their positions on the carts and wagons only did so much to ease the constant burning strain on their muscles, and the first few days they rested almost as much as they walked. They decided to camp early the first day after Newtown when Aunt Eva abruptly dropped the handle of the wagon she'd been wrestling with all day and slumped down to the ground, breaking into tears of exhaustion and despair as she miserably apologized to everyone.
In truth none of them were in much better shape at that point, and she wasn't the only one who cried after pushing their bodies to the limit and beyond to put distance behind them. Trev felt bad thinking it, but it was impossible not to draw the comparison to when he and Lewis, stronger and in better shape, had been able to handle a trip like this. It wasn't that he'd overestimated his family's determination, more that he hadn't set a realistic expectation for what they could manage.
Although to be fair even he was giving more than he had available to pick up the slack.
Even on smooth, clear roads each mile was a battle. Making twenty miles a day was a pipe dream, and even fifteen miles taxed them beyond their limits. Trev hoped that with time everyone would get used to the exertion and their muscles would build up, and tried not to entertain the very real fear that exhaustion might lead to injuries that would further slow their current crawl.
Until then, all they could do was take each mile as it came and give it their all.
The third day after Newtown Lucas seriously broached the idea of leaving behind at least the wagons. Surprisingly it was his wife who vetoed him. “That's enough food to last all of us a month,” she insisted. “That could be the difference between life and death down the line. And we've already carried it so far.”
“We actually haven't carried it all that far,” Linda muttered. She looked almost as worn down as her aunt. “And it won't be the difference between anything if we can't haul it. Besides, I wouldn't mind having less wheat to choke down for a future meal.”
Trev made a face. He wasn't sure he agreed with leaving behind food, but he was definitely getting sick of wheat. Their family had been boiling enough for three meals every evening when they camped, then dousing it with vegetable oil and spicing it as best they could. More than one of them had complained that the mess made them feel queasy after they choked it down. And they constantly had to get on Jim to finish his portion every meal.
Trev thought miserably about the candy bars he'd found, confiscated with all his other stuff by the Gold Bloc soldiers who'd captured him. They might not've been the healthiest thing to eat, but that simple treat would've done miracles to lift their spirits. Although truth be told, with the constant strain on their muscles he should've been wishing for some of Lewis's protein powder and homemade jerky, if anything.
With that in mind he kept his eyes open for anything he could bring down with his AK-47 to add a bit of meat to the nightly pot. He hadn't found any yet, but he kept up hope. They also searched for any plants worth foraging, using some of their precious energy during breaks to gather anything they found.
That was mostly dandelions and other weeds growing along the roadside. But even those represented something his family could shove in their mouths as they took one painful step after another, and hopefully would provide them with some of the nutrients they weren't getting.
On the fifth day it rained. Not a drizzle or a shower, but one of those infrequent thunderstorms that tore across the plains in a fury of sheet lightning and rain approaching like a gray curtain. They saw it coming for over an hour from the northwest and plodded in that general direction, trying to make the most of the time they had before they'd have to seek cover.
There was no way they could continue in that weather, no matter how determined they were. And deep down they were all a bit grateful at the chance to rest for some excuse other than because they didn't have the strength to continue.
The deceptively slow approach of the storm caught them by surprise when it finally came sweeping in, with barely a flurry before they were caught in the drenching downpour. With few other options they crawled under the low bottoms of the handcarts, grateful for the tarps that protected their possessions.
For the next few hours Trev huddled with his siblings and parents in the crowded space, soaked by the constant stream of chilly water that flowed along the road beneath him. Beyond the bottom of the handcart the sky was dark as twilight, lit almost continuously by flashes of lightning. They'd stopped along a part of the road where it dipped down lower than the surrounding area, and a stand of trees grew along a ditch with a stream not far away, but he was still worried about the cart being struck by one of those bolts.
With water flowing on the ground beneath them a strike would be extremely dangerous, but when Trev looked out at the fury of the storm he couldn't bring himself to go out in it to find a better solution. It was probably a bad judgment call, but he didn't remember ever seeing or hearing about lightning striking a car, and anyway he was so exhausted even that danger seemed distant. Nobody else brought it up, either.
He was tired enough that even in the awful conditions he ended up falling asleep a few times, usually woken by a particularly close crack of thunder. In the end he actually slept right through the tail end of the storm, as the front continued on to the southeast with its sheets of rain a gray fog in the distance lit by lightning arcing through the clouds overhead.
His mom shook him awake, and with a soft groan Trev pulled himself out from under the cart and helped the rest of his family slide out as well. Then they continued on, wet, chilled, bone weary, and thoroughly miserable. They camped early that night, when they reached a fairly dense stand of trees where they could scrounge for mostly dry deadfall.
The fire they lit was small and well concealed, but they all clustered around it gratefully to dry their clothes and warm themselves up. Then, depressed by the weather and the lack of progress they'd made, they crawled miserably into crude shelters built with tarps hung over twine stretching between tree trunks to sleep.
On the sixth day after leaving Newtown they heard the noise of approaching engines.
* * * * *
At first Trev didn't recognize the sound as mechanical.
Absorbed in the grim task of pulling his cart with Linda beside him and Jim pushing from behind, his thoughts were on the lunch break an hour or an eternity away, depending on perspective. He wasn't sure if he looked forward to the same unpalatable meal or not.
He gradually became aware of the noise as a low, angry rumble in the distance to the east, and thought it was a last rolling wave of thunder from the storm that had hit them yesterday. The sound was too big to be a single engine, which was what threw him off.
As the rumble continued, far beyond even an extended wave of thunderclaps and far too constant, Trev finally focused on it completely. Only then did he pick up the slight mechanical tone in the rumble, and he felt himself stiffening.
It was the familiar noise of the interstate back when cars had still driven on it. The sound of dozens, perhaps hundreds, of approaching vehicles.
He stopped dead, holding up a hand. “Listen!”
His dad must've recognized it at about the same time, because rather than stopping he motioned sharply to Lucas and Mary and began pulling the wagon off the side of the road towards the only nearby source of cover. It was barely more than a low swell of hill over
looking the highway about twenty yards away, but it would have to do. Looking a bit confused, his mom and aunt began pulling their wagons that way too.
Trev quickly started again, throwing his weight against the ponderous load of the handcart to get it moving before he could begin turning it to follow the others. “What is it?” Jim asked from behind. Trev couldn't see his face but his brother sounded frightened.
“Engines,” Lucas answered grimly. He'd finally recognized it as well. “Lots and lots of engines.” He didn't say the obvious, but from the silence that fell over the group and the urgency they all showed in pulling the carts and wagons over the bumpy terrain everyone must've reached the same conclusion.
That many vehicles coming from the east could only mean Gold Bloc troops.
Trev felt like a snail racing a cheetah as he heaved on the cart with all his might, his back to the rumble of engines growing louder with every second. For a frantic moment the left wheel got stuck on a half-buried rock, and it felt like minutes rather than seconds that it took to shove the cart back and turn it enough to go around the obstruction.
Up ahead the other cart made it behind the hill and out of sight in a small hollow, and moments later his dad and uncle came charging back to help with their cart. Meanwhile Mary ran to help her mom pull her wagon, while Jim left everyone else with the cart to help their mom with the other one.
Within another minute they got the cart concealed beside the first one, and everyone hunkered down behind them. Trev noticed that, even though it was ludicrous to think the approaching vehicles had any chance of hearing them, most of his family were still doing their best to quiet their breathing. All except Mary, who he could hear humming a brave tune with a quavering voice over the sounds of the engines getting closer.
Not that he blamed the others: his last sight before ducking behind cover had been of a seemingly endless line of specks coming along the road in the distance. Even from that far away he could tell by the shape and coloring of the vehicles that it was a military convoy, with dozens of olive green or camouflaged trucks and humvees escorting two dozen or so semis in the middle. He wasn't sure, but almost back beyond sight some of the last specks in line might've been tanks. All in all he guessed there were a hundred or more vehicles in the convoy.
