by Nathan Jones
Trev nodded wearily and exited the tent, passing through the bustle of the ever growing camp without noticing it as he made his way to the Aspen Hill camp. He still had to put up the tent he'd failed to prepare that morning when the rest of his squad were doing theirs, but thankfully long practice let him set it up quickly, and he almost groaned in relief as he crawled inside.
He had a lot to do tomorrow.
Epilogue
A Closer Look
Lewis had been wanting to spend more time with his wife ever since she'd started working overtime on patrols, while he concentrated on evacuating the town and organizing the defenses. It felt like he'd barely seen her at all the last few days, where even their sleeping schedules were different a lot of the time.
Although to be fair, taking a circuitous path down into the valley below along one of the game trails Jane had found, so they could spy on the enemy and decide whether they wanted to take the fight to them, wasn't exactly an ideal outing.
The blockheads had left their fallen men where they lay in the canyon, unwilling to take the risk of retrieving them. That had given the Aspen Hill defenders an opportunity to risk going back down themselves to gather their gear. Which they'd done, with lookouts posted at every vantage point with a good view of the valley and prepared to flee at the slightest activity from below.
Capturing that equipment had been an unenviable task, with more than one pale face among the volunteers who'd gone once they returned. But they'd picked up a lot of decent gear from it, which helped replace what they'd sent along with the volunteers.
A clear win, one that better prepared Aspen Hill's defenders for any future fighting, but even so Lewis wasn't willing to get too cocky when it came to using the canyon. He was certain the enemy constantly had eyes on it, so if they tried to sneak into the valley by that route they'd almost certainly get caught.
On the plus side this roundabout route along the game trail would also swing them around well north of the town, letting them look at things from that angle. It meant climbing down about twenty feet of cliff at one point, but there were plenty of handholds and footholds and the cliff was facing away from the town so they wouldn't draw any unfriendly eyes.
“What do you think about trying to besiege the town?” he asked his wife as they hiked down the narrow path.
Jane gave him a slightly confused look. “You already asked me that.”
“I know, and I'm glad you agreed it was something we should try. But what do you think about actually doing it?”
“Pretty much what you said. We've been on the other side of things and we know how Turner made life difficult for us. With a bit of luck we can use the same tactics against the blockheads. As for specifics?” She shrugged. “That's why we're going down there to look around, right?”
“Right.” Lewis hesitated. “Only, we thought it was just going to be a few hundred blockheads occupying the town, but more are coming by the hour. I don't want to bite off more than we can chew.”
Jane slowed to a stop and turned to look at him. “Even if we do, and things go badly for us, the rest of our people should be safe after we blow the charges and block the canyon. A few dozen defenders can guard every approach up into the mountains for miles, at least long enough for the military to send in help, so it's only our own lives we're risking. And we're risking them with the chance of making a real difference that could help us win this war.”
“All right then.” Lewis affectionately bumped her shoulder with his and continued on, feeling a bit better about things.
When they reached the cliff he found a good vantage overlooking the valley and kept watch while his wife climbed down. Once she reached the bottom she returned the favor, finding her own lookout spot so Lewis could descend.
Even though the climb was relatively easy he was glad he'd packed light, since he felt as exposed as a bug on a wall with a flyswatter hanging over his head as he worked his way down. He wasted no time, and even jumped down the last few feet.
While catching their breath they spent a moment looking at the nearby town and the valley beyond, but with the angle here the view was actually worse than from the top of the canyon. Anyway the point was to get in close, to pick up details that they couldn't get from far away even with quality binoculars. So as soon as they were sure there weren't any patrols deviating from their observed routes they began circling north around the town.
It took a couple hours to get to the spot they'd agreed on, which was actually near where the raiders' north camp had been and had a good vantage for observing the town. Once there they settled in for some extended watching, paying special attention to the places where vision was obscured from the canyon above, and more specific details about the soldiers and their movements, including their weapons and other equipment.
They appeared to be well supplied, which is to say they had standardized weapons and body armor and uniforms in good repair. They weren't exactly the walking array of high tech gadgets and useful tools that gave US soldiers, particularly Special Operations Forces, so many small but significant advantages in combat.
But from the looks of it they were disciplined, well organized, and most importantly there were a whole lot of them.
“What do you think?” he whispered after about a half hour.
Jane took a while to answer, still looking through her binoculars. “I think they're packing even more people in there than we had,” she answered. “And you know how Turner had a field day with us once he got set up on that east hill.”
Lewis nodded. “We're going to have trouble doing the same. Turner completely controlled the area surrounding the town, so it was hard for us to get at him. The blockheads control the town and the surrounding area.”
“And they're watching the canyon road.” She frowned. “We could try coming in fast with a vehicle and firing off a few missiles from a safe distance, and maybe strafing the more crowded areas with the M2, then get out before they have time to respond. Or we could try sneaking people in to create a distraction to the north, south, or east and then set up for a real attack.”
For several minutes after that he concentrated on his own inspection of the occupied town, feeling a leaden weight sinking in his gut. In spite of his earlier confident words about learning from their fight with the raiders to bring the same headaches to the blockheads, he was now facing serious doubts. The situations weren't the same at all, and the enemy seemed to hold every advantage.
After a few more minutes Jane tapped him on the shoulder. “Seen enough?”
He nodded and began packing up his binoculars, then followed as she shimmied out of sight of the town and slipped back the way they'd come. The initial plan had been to circle far around and approach from different angles to get a good idea of what they'd be facing, but given the heavy enemy patrols on foot and with vehicles, as well as the sheer number of blockheads in the area, Lewis didn't blame his wife for heading straight back to the trail they'd come down.
Maybe Uncle George was right. This might be way beyond what the town could manage and it would be better to just focus on holding the mountains, letting the military win the war for them. It was certainly the safe option. Then again, staying hunkered down in town while the raiders circled outside had also been the safe option, at least short term.
Whatever they did, they'd need to spend a long time thinking it over first.
Once they reached the cliff Lewis paused behind cover to check and make sure they hadn't been spotted, as well as cover his wife's climb. When he did he noticed an odd sight, and he motioned to Jane to come take a look too. She paused in her preparations to scale the rock wall and joined him.
It took her a while to spot it, since what he was looking at was beyond the town and slightly obscured by the same east hill they'd been talking about earlier. Lewis had been watching the whole time, as half a dozen troop transports disgorged a crowd of disheveled young men and women in filthy clothes. Once they were free of the trucks the troops beg
an herding them together and sitting them down on the ground.
“Civilians,” she said thoughtfully. “Some of their settlers, maybe?”
Lewis watched one of the blockheads slam the butt of his rifle between the shoulder blades of a young woman who was favoring a hurt leg and moving too slow for his taste. From the haphazard way the vehicles were parked it also looked like they'd come from the south and were headed northward. “I don't think so. Prisoners.”
Jane gave him a worried look. “I thought they didn't take prisoners.”
He'd thought that too. Those poor people were all in their twenties and looked fairly strong and healthy, all things considered. There were no signs of elderly or children. “Whatever their reasons, I doubt they're sparing them out of kindness.”
That suspicion seemed confirmed by the callous way the soldiers went on to feed and water their charges, passing out pails of what he guessed was water from the town spring for them to share around, as well as what looked like scraps of leftovers or castoff food that the prisoners dug into ravenously. The blockheads also lazily curtained off a latrine area, not even bothering to dig a hole or put in a toilet seat or provide anything like toilet paper, and gave each person a limited time to use it.
Trev and his family had described the way they'd been treated at the internment camp, and while it had been impersonal and degrading in many ways it seemed like Southern hospitality compared to the treatment these poor people were receiving.
While those soldiers were doing the minimum to supply the barest needs of their charges, other soldiers had been refueling the transports and doing quick maintenance checks. In less than a half hour everything was done and the prisoners were crammed back into the trucks, packed in so tight he doubted they even had room to sit. Then the vehicles rumbled off towards Highway 6 and continued northward.
Lewis watched them go, feeling a deep sympathy for their plight and an even deeper frustration that there was nothing he could do to help them. Once the trucks had passed out of sight Jane abruptly sucked in a shuddering breath. “How soon can we hit them?”
“Soon,” he said grimly. “Let's figure it out.”
She nodded, and as he continued to watch the valley she began climbing back up the cliff.
* * * * *
Debra Rutledge nervously clutched her revolver as she sprawled in the ditch with a dozen other Newtown refugees. She didn't know what model it was, and only knew it shot .38 Special through the trial and error of fumbling through various boxes of bullets until she found ones that fit the 5-round cylinder.
Kind of sad, really. She'd spent months working at that store without ever learning about the guns on display. Clara or Max had always handled those customers. She supposed a better reason to learn would be if she actually needed to use one, like right now for instance, but she'd always expected that Fred and his deputies would protect the town.
So much for that. The only consolation she could think of there was that the man and his fellow thieves and traitors had been heading south well ahead of them and were probably dead. Which served as an unpleasant reminder that they might be joining them before too long.
Farther down the ditch a little boy was whimpering while his mother did her best to comfort him and quiet him at the same time. That probably wasn't an issue, right? After all, Deb could barely hear him over the sound of the vehicles passing down the road on the other side of the hedge, so surely anyone in the vehicles themselves wouldn't be able to hear either. And the leaves mostly blocked out the headlights, leaving them in darkness, so they wouldn't be randomly spotted. Especially if they didn't move.
For the most part the others were doing a good job of staying still and silent, although more than one was shivering. From fear, since even with the unseasonably cool weather the summer nights were warm this far south.
She was glad the townspeople had decided to split up into smaller groups to avoid detection. It had been a hard decision, and everyone felt more vulnerable without the safety of numbers, but so far it had kept them from the notice of the enemies roaming freely through the southern states. It was probably the only reason they were still alive.
Even so, she missed Clara and Max and some of her other friends from the General Store. It must be nice to have family to stick together with, although it hurt a bit that none of them had asked her to join them. For all the talk of keeping a strong community, people had gotten a lot more selfish after Fred and his cronies took off on them.
Although maybe being with this group wasn't the worst thing, since as far as she knew they were the only ones still alive. They hadn't seen anyone else from Newtown since splitting up and had no idea if anyone else had even survived. It seemed impossible, considering how many heart-stopping close encounters Deb had faced in the last few weeks.
It had been so long since they'd seen anyone but enemies, with day after day of hiding and trying to snatch hours of fitful sleep and night after night of furtive creeping, that she was starting to feel like this was all some sort of nightmare that never ended.
Or she supposed she meant the blockheads were the only living people they'd seen.
Just in case they were tempted to let down their guard or surrender, they stumbled across the remains of less fortunate refugees often enough to remind them of the consequences. And often enough to make Deb certain that if she did see a blockhead, she'd be able to point her revolver at him and shoot him full of holes to escape the fate that had befallen those poor people.
The trucks kept passing, the general rumble broken by the nearest ones getting louder from the left and then quieter to the right. How big was this convoy, anyway? It felt like they'd been here half the night, and even though she wasn't keeping count she could confidently say that hundreds of vehicles had passed them by this point. Those sorts of convoys weren't all that common, but the enemy made up for it by using plenty of scouts that searched even the smallest roads and lanes.
It seemed like the entire world was filled with nothing but blockheads and the corpses of their victims.
South was supposed to mean safety! They'd pushed so hard since Newtown to escape the blockheads coming down from the north, at times with the enemy close behind and once even passed by a convoy on a nearby road as they scrambled to hide and prayed they'd be ignored. Day after day of desperate grind, fighting exhaustion and injury to get miles behind them as their bodies broke down and the pace they set never seemed to be good enough.
And then they'd started running into people fleeing the other direction, warning of enemies coming from the south. The weary refugees from Newtown could only give their warning in turn that enemies from the north weren't far behind them.
They were trapped, with nowhere to go and enemies all around. Their only hope was to head due east, away from where most of the blockheads seemed to be going, and pray that eventually they'd find a place where they'd be left alone.
Deb shouldn't have done it, but she was just so exhausted that the repetitive noise of passing enemies less than fifteen yards away eroded her alertness. The next thing she knew she was being awakened by a deafening roar from somewhere in front of her, quickly followed by screams from the rest of her group.
She lurched into a sitting position, heart pounding so hard it was almost painful, and scrambled around to find the pistol that had fallen from her limp hand. She couldn't see flashes of gunfire in the darkness but there was light trickling through the hedge, along with the whine of bullets passing overhead.
They'd been discovered.
The mother farther down the ditch was one of the people screaming, and as the gunfire continued she turned and bolted the other direction, leaving her child behind in her panic. She only made it a few steps before stumbling, and from the limp way she fell Deb had the terrible feeling she wouldn't be getting back up. The young boy, sobbing and babbling confused questions, crawled over to her and started to shake her.
Deb turned away from the awful sight and lifted her pistol, noticing
that even though she wasn't the only armed person in the group she was the only one who'd thought to use her weapon. The others were either cowering in the ditch or trying to crawl away. She pointed the revolver uncertainly at the hedge, wondering if she should even bother to fire.
The blockheads were firing dozens, maybe hundreds of bullets, and so far they'd only hit one or two people. Would she have any better luck firing blind with her five?
The question became moot a moment later when the deafening racket abruptly ceased and bullets stopped flying all around her. Deb immediately took the opportunity to scuttle over and wrap her arms protectively around the boy, gently pulling him away from his mother's body.
Around them the rest of the group was starting to slip over the other side of the ditch and flee, but before she could follow she heard harsh voices shouting in an unfamiliar language beyond the hedge, then a moment later the leaves rustled with the sound of large bodies pushing through.
Almost immediately dogs burst into view and fell among the group, snapping and snarling. One of them came right for her and the child, terrible jaws snapping down on the spindly arm the boy held out protectively in front of him. The child screamed as he was torn out of her grip and thrown to the ground with the snarling animal on top of him.
Deb screamed as well and pointed the gun at the dog with trembling hands, so weak from hunger and fear that her finger barely seemed to have the strength to pull the trigger. Max had told her about pulling back the hammer with her thumbs before each shot so the trigger pull wouldn't be as difficult, but in her panic she'd completely forgotten about that until now.
The shot seemed deafening in the night and the German shepherd leapt away, snarl turning into nearly a yelp. She didn't know if she'd hit it, was terrified that she'd hit the boy by accident, but all that mattered was that it was farther away, now. She scrambled forward, screaming at the dog to stay away, and scooped up the child in one arm while she pointed her pistol one-handed.
