by Nathan Jones
“East is my guess,” Lewis said. “It looks as if they want to cut us off from the rest of the county.”
“They'd be leaving the entire west side of town open then,” Matt argued. “Didn't they notice us evacuating the townspeople into Aspen Hill Canyon or bringing them home again?”
The brown-haired man and his redheaded companion glanced at each other and shrugged. “Maybe they don't think the mountains are a valid means of escape for nearly a thousand people,” Jane suggested. “They're not completely wrong. Although it does mean that for the moment our hunting parties have free access to the best game spots.”
“Maybe, but it still seems off.” Matt's frown deepened. “For whatever reason the raiders are forcing us into a siege, and you don't besiege a place and leave one side completely open.” He started for the door. “I'd better talk to the other scouts I sent out and see what they've found, then report this to the Mayor. And we'll probably want to send people out to comb the area west of here more carefully, just to be sure the enemy doesn't have any surprises planned.”
Lewis caught his arm. “You can do all that from here over the radio,” his friend said, eyes worried. “Then maybe you should think about getting some sleep. I know I'm sure ready to crash once I figure out where I'm sleeping.”
Matt looked over at the living room, full of the noises of people moving and unpacking throughout the rest of the house and constantly intruded on by people coming and going, and felt a surge of guilt. His friends were pushing themselves hard and deserved uninterrupted sleep.
“Um, you and Trev are sleeping in here with Tom and Alvin.” He suddenly paused, frowning. “Speaking of which, where is Trev?”
Lewis sighed and his shoulders sagged slightly. “I finally convinced him to leave.”
Matt wasn't sure whether to be glad or disappointed at the news. He'd been working just as hard as Lewis to convince his friend to go after his family if he felt he needed to, but at the same time he'd had to hold back more selfish considerations. The town needed Trev, and Matt was also afraid that facing a journey of nearly two thousand miles directly towards an imminent Gold Bloc invasion he'd never see his friend again.
“Well let's hope he's not jumping out of the frying pan into the fire,” he said, fighting a sudden surge of weariness. “By the way, I've got Gutierrez on shift at Roadblock 3. It looks like he's going to work out.”
The brown-haired man nodded. “I know, I saw him there and talked to him for a bit on my way back into town.”
“Good.” Matt clapped his friend on the upper arm. “Listen, could you do me a favor? Get the reports from the other scouts and radio Mayor Tillman about all this. See what she thinks about scouting a bit more to the west.” His friend nodded, and Matt headed back towards the basement and a bed that suddenly seemed a lot more inviting.
Trev was gone, into who knew what madness, and in his absence Aspen Hill was down one man when it needed all the help it could get. But his real concern was that his friend was alone, leaving a dangerous situation for one that was probably even more dangerous.
When he got to his new bedroom Sam was still working at the dresser. He kissed the top of her head as he passed her, pausing for just a moment to rest a gentle hand on her still-flat belly and their child growing there, then continued on to sprawl across the unmade bed. A few moments later his wife snuggled up beside him, and he put an arm around her and held her close as he drifted off to sleep.
Chapter One
Hardship
Trev had walked long exhausting miles to and from Aspen Hill, without food and even injured for some periods. And he'd pulled the nearly unmanageable weight of overloaded wagons up and down steep slopes over brutal days where they made little progress and his muscles were worn down to exhaustion long before the sun set.
But riding a bicycle, especially while wearing a heavy backpack, was something entirely different. The deceptive ease of travel and the speed he could manage on flat highway over the first hour or so had him thinking he'd easily reach his destination in about a week of hard travel. At that rate he'd be only a few days past the deadline when the Gold Bloc forces in Canada were supposed to leave under threat of nuclear war and might, instead, start invading the US.
It meant he might reach his family in time to do some good.
But the deceptiveness faded fast. As Lewis had put it after his first day of patrolling north of Aspen Hill way back last fall, humans were made to walk and run. In good health they could sprint for a mile or so, run at a reasonable pace for up to an hour with brief pauses slowing to a walk to catch their breath, and walk at the speed Trev had long since become familiar with for a day.
Humans weren't made to ride a bicycle for long periods of time. Or more accurately bicycles, even the best designed ones, weren't made to be ridden by humans for long periods of time. Even looking past the horror stories Trev had heard about what happened to men who sat on a bicycle seat pushing pedals for too long, it wasn't an ideal position.
He knew it wasn't the most reasonable position to take, and wasn't exactly fair to the ingenious creation that was the modern bicycle. He also knew that when he reached his family's home 1,800 miles away, weeks or even months earlier than he would've pushing himself to exhaustion walking, he'd be grateful Lewis had suggested the mode of transportation.
But it was hard to be reasonable when his body was complaining at him. His leg muscles had yet to get used to the different demands being put on them, his rump got sore quickly, and when he stood on the pedals and coasted to relieve the pressure the slightly hunched position quickly became a strain. Not to mention that trying to pedal while standing required more energy, which meant unless he wanted to tire himself out more quickly or coast to a stop he had to sit back down and get to work.
The downhill stretches were the silver lining on the huge, huge cloud of trying to pedal uphill. After the first several hours Trev simply dismounted and walked the bike up any but the mildest upward slopes, and being on his feet was a huge relief. It became more and more tempting to walk the bike on level ground as well.
But he couldn't. Hauling the wagons had been bearable because they paced themselves very leniently, letting their speed slow to a crawl. For this trip Trev couldn't afford that kind of delay, especially not when he could potentially cover five or more times the distance riding as he did walking. Maybe even more than that, if he made back speed by barely using his brakes on the downhill stretches and coasting a little ways beyond.
So by the time he'd gone for about eight hours and it was nearly too dark to continue his legs were cramping with pain; each push of the pedal felt like trying to shove a boulder and his rear felt like it was covered in bruises on top of bruises. To add to that his lungs were dry, and each breath burned painfully from extended periods of panting his way across the arid Carbon and Grand County landscapes. Even the rest of his muscles that hadn't seemed to get too much use were tight and sore like after a hard day of manual labor.
He was so tired he didn't even bother to set up his tent, just found an isolated place beside the road and collapsed into his sleeping bag with a tarp wrapped around him.
In spite of his weariness, and the feeling that he was making worse time than he should be while riding a bike, Trev was fairly content with the distance he'd traveled that day. He knew he'd started out well rested and sore muscles would slow him down tomorrow, but today he'd made it to I-70 and had followed smaller roads alongside it nearly to Crescent Junction, covering about 100 miles.
He'd ridden around Carbonville and Price, tempted by the idea of trying to find a bike trailer and maybe a better bike but deciding against the risk. With their recent hardline stance about keeping their borders closed he doubted trade was a priority, and he had to deal with the ever-present consideration that even if he came in peace the temptation to steal his stuff and possibly even kill him would be too great.
The world wasn't what it once was. His family needed him and he couldn't afford t
o put himself in a situation he couldn't handle alone. Which was the same reason he'd taken pains to avoid the few travelers he'd seen on the road, mostly clumps of refugees and a few groups that had been better armed and might possibly have been highwaymen.
Because he was alone, now. For the first time since that disastrous hike down to Aspen Hill, after his car ran out of gas following the Gulf refineries attack, he was away from safe places and familiar faces. He had no one to depend on but himself, and he was going far, far away from any friends with only the hope of finding family when he got where he was going.
Trev swallowed against a sudden surge of emotions. Huddled in his sleeping bag on a bit of sandy ground a stone's throw from the two-lane road he'd been following, exhausted and sore and chilly, that thought was almost enough to make him turn back.
To distract himself from it he filled his mind with thoughts of his family as he remembered them when they'd all been living in Aspen Hill. His dad, George, who'd worked from home and occasionally commuted up to Orem for things he couldn't do over the phone or online. He'd often been around when Trev and his siblings were growing up, tucked away in his office for much of the day but always available for his kids.
His mom, Clair, who'd commuted to the same secretary job in Price for most of Trev's childhood, and organized elaborate outings on her days off to make the most of the time she had with her family.
Then there were Linda and Jim, so much younger than Trev that he'd almost felt like another parent sometimes. Unless he was assigned to watch them he'd often shooed them away to do his own thing, especially as he got into high school and then later got his own car and spent the summers with Lewis installing security systems back east.
He'd barely seen his siblings at all during that time, and then they'd moved to Michigan while Trev stayed behind for his last year of high school and to get ready for college. At that point aside from a few visits over the holidays they'd practically become strangers.
Hindsight made him deeply regret all the chances he'd had to spend time with them that he'd passed up to do things that didn't seem all that important now. And while trying to push down fears that he might never see them again the guilt at those missed chances was almost overwhelming.
Trev pulled his sleeping bag up higher around his head and tried a bit harder to catch the sleep that refused to come in spite of his exhaustion. Or maybe because of it.
Once he had his family safe back in Aspen Hill he'd have plenty of opportunities. He could teach Jim all the things that Lewis had taught him, take him out hunting and help him gain all the skills he needed to survive in the world the way it was. He could teach those things to Linda, too, and he'd be a bit more patient when she came to him wanting to talk, or when she teased him about his girlfriends (or current lack of one).
Of course he should've realized that thinking about his friends back in town would turn his thoughts to the grim situation they were in. And there was another source of guilt, that he'd left them to fend for themselves against a dangerous enemy. He refused to see it as selfish, not when his family needed him, but he wished he could split himself in two so he could help everyone who was counting on him.
Then again, that was why his cousin had stayed behind. Trev didn't like the thought of heading to the other side of the country on his own, and he had very real fears about what he might encounter on the way or when he got where he was going. But even so he was glad Lewis had chosen to be where he was needed.
Somehow he worked his thoughts in a more cheerful direction with all the good memories he had of his family, of which there were many. Far more than he'd expected as he turned his thoughts back into the past, each one pushing him farther away from his regrets and his fears.
Not too long after that he fell asleep, more than ready to wake up the next morning and face the near-literal butt kicking his bike had in store for him. Which he did, stumbling out of his sleeping bag at first light and getting a good long drink.
He also ate a hasty meal of boiled rice and beans he'd cooked up the morning before and stored in plastic containers, enough to last him a few days and spare him the need to dip into the meat Jane and Lewis had preserved and traded to him, or if worse came to worst the small amount of cooked wheat he'd also brought with him.
Then, with his eyes still grainy from sleep and the road a black line stretching off into more blackness ahead, Trev hauled himself onto his bike and got on his way. Common sense told him he should've stretched beforehand, but he was once again feeling the urgency that had taken him away from home in the first place.
He hoped to make the goal of 150 miles a day if possible, which meant even with unexpected delays he should be able to reach Greenbush in less than two weeks. That was modest compared to what famous long distance cyclists could manage, but for someone who'd barely touched a bike since he was a kid it was going to be a stretch.
He hoped he was up to it.
* * * * *
Lewis couldn't help but feel like fate conspired to keep him from the shelter he'd painstakingly built. First Ferris and his hoarding laws and then, well, Ferris again, bringing the raiders to keep him from his home when it could be most useful.
A small, stubborn part of him had been tempted to ignore the Larsons' good sense in packing up their stuff and heading back into town. The part that insisted that land was his and if need be he'd die to defend it. Truth be told if Trev was still around he very well might have taken that chance if his cousin was up for it, trusting in the sturdy buried shed and their own skill to defend it.
And they probably would've both been blown to smithereens within a few days. Anyway Trev wasn't here, and Lewis never felt quite as competent or assertive when he didn't have his cousin around to set an example for. Then his doubts always came creeping back, that in spite of all his efforts and how well he'd done so far most of his knowledge came from reading about or watching other people do things he'd never done himself.
He'd had a lot of chances to do those things over the last fall and winter, and so far his knowledge hadn't let him down when it came time to translate it into practical skills, as long as he was willing to work hard and learn from his mistakes.
But the fear was always there that sooner rather than later he'd run into a situation he didn't have the skills for, where unpracticed knowledge wasn't enough. That when that time came he'd fail the people who depended on him and looked to him as someone able to do what needed to be done.
Which was beside the point. Pragmatically speaking if he was sleeping in Aspen Hill he wouldn't have to do as much walking to and from the shelter to defend the town and could be on hand to respond quicker in an emergency. He was better able to help out this way, and the fact that he wasn't getting himself killed in some stubborn stupid determination to hold his ground was just the icing on the cake.
Still, he really hoped the place stayed safe in his absence.
Yesterday after the others got all their stuff out he'd not only locked the door but buried the front entrance and removed the stovepipe and vent covers. He'd stowed them in the escape tunnel's crawl space along with everything else they'd been forced to leave behind, just in case someone dug their way in, broke down the door, and decided to cause mischief inside.
That left the shelter with fewer telltale aboveground signs of its existence, which wouldn't do much if someone knew the place was there or was at all suspicious of an unnaturally shaped hill. But hopefully the soldiers-turned-raiders who'd helped Ferris and Turner take the place from them last fall had forgotten about it. That and had more important things on their minds than searching a place they'd already looted once and assumed was abandoned.
Lewis grimaced and shifted position slightly in his observation post, thoughts of his vulnerable home making him antsy in spite of his best efforts to be rational. At the moment he was one of two sentries stationed to protect the gardens along Aspen Hill Canyon stream on the southern edge of town.
He and his fellow sentry were
on the nearest two of the series of hills running just south of the gardens, where he could see any enemies coming in time to give warning and, he hoped, turn the raiders back before they could threaten their precious crops.
It had been four days since the raiders first arrived, and while they hadn't done anything after Lewis shot Ferris and Turner they'd been driving around out of firing range and scoping out the town. He always felt his skin crawl when he saw a parked truck in the distance, knowing that a missile could be launched from over two miles away and still hit with reasonable accuracy. The raiders with their binoculars could just be marking targets for later attacks, or at any moment he could see a plume of fire bringing death his way.
The threat was always there, and the raiders seemed to have plenty of supplies so they were taking their time figuring out how to crack the nut that was Aspen Hill, but so far they hadn't struck. Lewis had argued that they shouldn't wait around until the raiders carried out whatever attack they'd planned. But while Matt agreed that they needed to be prepared for whatever came their way, he refused to go out after the well equipped enemy. As did the Mayor, which meant Lewis was effectively voted down.
So here he was, waiting and watching and hoping the raiders weren't at that very minute blowing up the shelter he'd spent half a year building. Hard as he tried to focus on strategies for defending the town that worry always niggled its way back into his thoughts.
Well, that and his far greater fears for his cousin. He'd felt torn in two as he covered Trev with his HK G3 yesterday, watching him pedal furiously for the highway to start his perilous journey to the other side of the country. Every instinct had screamed at Lewis that he was abandoning his cousin to his death. His best friend, practically his brother, who'd stuck with him through all his seemingly harebrained schemes to prepare for the end of the world, and had been his companion through all the chaos that came after the Gulf refineries attack.
