Invasion (Best Laid Plans Book 3)

by Nathan Jones

  Although this would be his first opportunity to seriously use them.

  So although he'd never been in a real fistfight Trev was well fed and fairly confident in his physical condition and abilities. Unfortunately the men coming after him were also well fed and had the deceptively wiry builds of people who did backbreaking labor day in and day out.

  As for their skills they were a complete unknown. They were older, which might mean they'd had a better chance of being in real fights at one point or another. Especially if they were this quick to start trouble. They might even have formal combat training from the armed forces or some other source, even private martial arts training. And if they went looking for fights they probably had the temperament to dish out injuries without hesitation.

  He didn't see much hope, but any hope he did have would come from not getting surrounded in the crowded space and taking out one or two as quickly as possible.

  So as the chair was knocked from his hand and the man he'd hit charged forward shoulder first towards him in a tackle, Trev dropped into a slight crouch and twisted. The move let him catch the barfly from the side and heave him away with all his strength.

  Either his assailant had been caught off guard by his speed or he was still recovering from getting whacked by a chair, but the man barely had time to react as he crashed onto the table Trev had just occupied. The flimsy wooden legs collapsed as the barfly hit, sending him crashing to the ground and rolling away.

  Trev turned towards his other two assailants and raised his fists protectively in front of his face, just in time to block a heavy straight cross from the nearest man. Deflecting the punch gave him an opening to jab at the man's nose. It was a good hit, temporarily stunning the barfly, but before he could take advantage of it Lance tackled him around the knees and brought him to the ground.

  That was pretty much the end of the fight for Trev, although his attackers were just getting started. Since he couldn't get away he curled up as protectively as he could and hoped they'd work out their aggression before doing any serious damage.

  Maybe thirty seconds and a few dozen punches and kicks later the snarls and curses of the four men were interrupted by the distinctive sound of a pump action shotgun chambering a shell. The blows raining down on Trev ended abruptly as his assailants froze, and a moment later they backed away.

  Groaning in pain, Trev somehow ignored the protest from bruised muscles and dragged himself to his knees with the help of a toppled chair. Maybe the one he'd used as a weapon. He saw the bartender standing behind the bar with a shotgun held ready.

  “That's enough,” the man said coldly.

  About time. Trev had a hard time feeling grateful for the intervention when it came halfway through the first real beating he'd ever suffered in his life. He stumbled to his feet and limped over to his backpack. Lance, sporting an ugly welt across his forehead, rose and backed away from it as Trev approached. Trev hoped the man hadn't had time to steal anything.

  If so he wasn't sticking around to rummage inside and check. He painfully lifted the pack and slung it over one shoulder, staggering under the weight as a few of his worst bruises throbbed in complaint, and with limping steps headed for the door.

  He was almost to it when he heard the ratcheting sound of another shell being pumped into the shotgun's chamber, followed by a skittering series of clicks as the previous unused shell was ejected and bounced across the bar. Either the bartender enjoyed the noise of the pump action or he was trying to get Trev's attention again.

  Trev slowly turned, free hand held cautiously out to his side, and felt a cold trickle of dread when he found himself staring straight down the 12-gauge shotgun's bore. And as bores went they didn't get much bigger.

  “What's going on?” he asked, doing his best to control his panic.

  “Easy!” the bartender said, smiling slightly as he shifted the weapon so it was no longer pointed directly at Trev's head. “I don't shoot my paying customers.”

  Trev's shoulder muscles, which had gone painfully tight from tension, loosened slightly. “Why point your gun at me, then?”

  “Because at the moment you're not a paying customer, and until you are you're not walking out of my bar.”

  “I paid for my meal,” Trev protested.

  “I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about that.” The barkeep jerked his head towards the broken table and scattered chairs. “You made a mess of my bar, and my policy is “You break it, you bought it”. And by that I mean the slang version, as in bought the farm.”

  Trev got the message. He reached into his pocket for some of the coins Lewis had given him. “I've got some more silver rounds.”

  The barkeep finally lowered his shotgun, setting it on the bar as Trev took out three 1 ounce coins and dropped them on the nearest table. But he didn't look satisfied. “More.”

  After a moment's hesitation Trev took out his four remaining silver rounds and set them down as well. He still had two ounces of gold, which should be more than enough for whatever he needed to trade for, and it seemed like a small price to pay for leaving with his head intact. “So I just walk away from this?” he asked.

  The bartender shrugged. “You could go running to Vernon if you want. He takes a pretty loose policy about brawls in the bar, though, as long as no one's seriously hurt.” His expression darkened. “And no one was, were they? Just be glad Lance isn't going after you for the plate to his face. He might have a concussion.”

  Trev's estimation of the sheriff's integrity went down a notch, if the denizens of Newtown were attacking travelers without getting in trouble for it. But he was just happy to be out of there so he pulled open the door and hurried outside, slipping his free arm through his backpack's other strap as he went. Before the door even had time to swing shut on its spring behind him he'd snatched up his bike and hopped on, pedaling towards the shiny silos down the street.

  He sincerely hoped the people there were more friendly, otherwise this visit to Newtown was going to be a complete bust.

  Chapter Nine

  Fortune

  The corrugated steel shed Vernon had pointed out to him as the trading post actually looked a lot like the one Trev and Lewis had buried to make their shelter.

  Over the front doors hung a large wooden sign with “Newtown General Store” written on it in plain white paint. In front of the shed stretched a modest gravel parking lot complete with painted lines for parking, an optimistic gesture on the part of the proprietors, a hitching post for horses, and a bike rack.

  There were also a few sturdy metal boxes along the front of the shed with another painted wooden sign hanging over them. This one read: “Welcome! Theft is harshly policed in Newtown, but for your peace of mind if you have your own lock feel free to store any possessions!”

  Trev stowed his bike on the rack and did just that, taking the padlock Lewis had given him out of his backpack and locking the pack inside the box closest to the entrance. Then with just the gold coins in his belt pouch he made his way inside.

  This looked like it had been some sort of grain loading shed at one point, with a concrete floor and retractable doors on the roof through which the grain could be poured from the silos. At the moment those doors were thrown wide open with clear plastic stretched across the space to let in sunlight, leaving the room bright and airy.

  And full of junk. Every single inch of free space between cramped aisles was packed with shelves overflowing with things, some new and still in the packaging and some used and cleaned up as much as possible. He saw toys, dishes, utensils, appliances and electronics that were effectively useless without electricity, and other assorted nicknacks. There were also aisles full of expensive looking watches, jewelry, silverware, and other things that had been very valuable a year ago before everything went bad.

  It looked like a thrift store that didn't know how to properly sort out the trash from the treasures.

  Although not all of it was junk. Behind locked cases along one wall he s
aw a decent assortment of guns, ammo, firearm accessories, and cleaning and repair equipment. On the same wall gardening tools and sports equipment were prominently displayed, some intended for useful purposes but many looking as if their main value was in their blunt or pointy ends. He even saw a few swords and some spears crudely made out of rake tines and sturdy wooden hafts.

  Along the back wall bags of wheat were packed up clear to the ceiling, altogether probably double his and Lewis's combined food storage the day of the Gulf refineries attack. Empty buckets and bins were stacked beside them, their lids neatly stacked nearby. And at the front of the store near the door, behind a counter made of shopping carts tied together with boards laid across them, was a large assortment of useful camping gear, nonperishable food, and other things travelers would have a keen interest in.

  A man was hauling around wheat at the back, while behind the counter two women sprawled in lawn chairs with their feet up on a pair of brand new gas generators, chatting. As Trev entered the women waved cheerfully, although when the older of the two saw his face she gave him a concerned look. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Trev nodded and forced a smile. “Yeah. Just ran into some trouble.”

  The younger of the two, probably in her mid twenties, had lost her bright smile at the sight of his bruises. “Do you need the sheriff? We can go talk to him.”

  “Thanks, but it's taken care of. I just need to buy a few things.”

  “Look around, then,” the younger woman offered, her friendly smile returning. “If you can pay for it it's yours, and if you need help carrying it all Max is here to give you a hand.”

  The middle aged woman beside her nodded. “We'll be here if you have any questions, hun.”

  “Thanks,” Trev said again, and since he did have questions and wasn't in the mood to browse he made his way over to them. “I need light portable food, a bike trailer, and unused AA batteries if you have them.”

  “Big spender,” the younger woman said in a teasing voice. In spite of himself Trev tensed at the near parallel to what Lance had said not long ago. But she seemed harmless enough, even helpful as she continued. “We've got that stuff if you're willing to pay, but if it's food you want you should probably just go with wheat. You can get it for practically nothing in Newtown, while anything else you might get would cost you ten, twenty, a hundred times as much per pound. We've got a lot of bulk spices too if you're worried about the taste, and vegetable oil for a reasonable price.”

  The younger woman, who introduced herself as Deb, seemed willing enough to lead him around helping him find things. First things first they looked for a bike trailer, and after a lot of rummaging and a bit of help from Max, who seemed happy to take a break from hauling 50 pound bags of wheat around, they finally found one still in its cardboard box, rated to carry up to 200 pounds.

  Trev bought it on the spot, more than a little eager at the prospect of being able to ride the bike without wrestling with the weight of his pack on his back the entire time. With the added capacity he also purchased two 50 pound buckets of wheat.

  His idea was that it would be enough to last him and his family two weeks, which depending on transportation would get them back to Newtown where they could purchase more for the remainder of the trip to Aspen Hill. They could maybe even get extra to take with them on the return trip, to live on once they made it home.

  With the big things out of the way Trev splurged on a bag of beef jerky, a 2 liter bottle of soda from a huge stack of boxes containing more, a fresh change of clothes including several brand new pairs of socks and boxers, and a handful of dubious quality rechargeable batteries for his flashlights that Max plugged in right there using a little solar powered battery setup so they could recharge as he shopped.

  Once Clara, the older woman, had tallied up his purchases they spent about ten minutes haggling. In the end Trev was shocked at how cheap everything was, all things considered. Even one ounce of gold was a massive overpay and he got back a handful of junk silver and silver rounds in return. Both ladies seemed impressed by the coin, although Deb was quick to point out that they'd seen all sorts of precious metals at the store. Even platinum and palladium.

  Max helped him get his new trailer put together and attached to his bike with everything loaded inside, and in thanks Trev gave him a candy bar. He also went in to give Deb and Clara one each to thank them for their help.

  Deb was much more impressed by his gift than she'd been of the gold coin. In fact, to his embarrassment she was so excited that she threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. That showed serious gratitude on her part, considering his unwashed and unshaven condition after a week on the road.

  He made a hasty exit after that, once again giving his thanks as he got on his bike and started back down Newtown's Main Street towards where it connected to the highway. He'd had some uncertainty about how towing a bike trailer with the added weight of his new purchases would compare to pulling a wagon, and as he set off he found he definitely couldn't tow nearly as much this way as he could on foot.

  After twenty or so feet of towing he decided he could handle it, since his legs would get stronger over time.

  Riding past the bar he had the brief concern that the bartender or Lance would make an appearance to cause him further trouble, but thankfully he saw no motion from the door of the ugly building. After that his ride took him past the sheriff's house as the final building before he'd be done with Newtown for the time being, which suited him just fine because he still needed to see whether he'd be allowed to retrieve his .45.

  He had to admit he was slightly more well disposed to the place after visiting the general store, but he was still eager to get back on the road and on his way.

  Vernon stood from his chair as Trev approached, and Trev hopped off his bike to meet the man as he called a greeting. “Looks like you're heading out. Not staying the night?”

  Trev shook his head. “I've still got a long way to go.”

  “Pity. Newtown can always use new blood. You'd be surprised how many wanderers end up staying after they've got a good look at our little town. In any case you're always welcome, long as you can pay.” The sheriff shrugged to dismiss the topic. “Speaking of which, find everything you need?”

  “I did,” Trev said with a nod. He hesitated, wondering if he should mention being attacked, then decided against it. “The prices were pretty reasonable, thanks.”

  “Well we do try to be reasonable.” The sheriff's voice hardened slightly. “Which is why I was willing to accept that you were just defending yourself in that dustup at the bar earlier.”

  That made Trev tense up. So Vernon already knew, and didn't seem to be taking his side. Was he about to have his gun confiscated for causing trouble? “I was. And I paid for damages.”

  “So I hear.” The sheriff reached into a bag on the table beside him and pulled out Trev's Glock, handing it over. “This is a nice gun, and you obviously take care of it. You can tell a lot about a man by how he cares for his things.”

  Trev gratefully accepted the weapon and slipped it into its underarm holster. “I might be back through here in a few weeks. Maybe a month.”

  “Hope to see you again, then. Travel safely.” Vernon paused. “Oh, and you'll be wanting these back.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the 7 silver rounds Trev had paid the bartender.

  Trev was so surprised it took him a moment to shake himself out of his stupor and take the coins. “I wasn't expecting this.”

  The man turned a glare down the street towards the bar. “Yeah well I got the story from Westman after Lance showed up at the clinic looking for medical treatment. Somehow I have a hard time seeing you attacking four men unprovoked, and after a bit of pressing Westman admitted how it really happened. His buddies can foot the bill for the damage they caused, or he'll eat the costs himself since they probably won't. Either way I won't have people in my town shaking down travelers.”

  Vernon actually went so f
ar as to hold out his hand to shake. “In fact, I should be apologizing to you on behalf of the town for the fact that you were assaulted on my watch. The men responsible will face justice, and more importantly I'll be sure it doesn't happen again.”

  Trev sincerely shook the sheriff's hand. “Thank you.” He hadn't expected to find someone willing to be fair and decent to a complete stranger. Not the way the world was now.

  “Just doing my duty.” The sheriff turned and ambled over to his porch swing, plopping down on it and tipping his hat down over his eyes in obvious dismissal.

  There didn't seem to be anything else he needed to do, so Trev returned to his bike and continued on out of town. He took it slow at first as he figured out how to handle the weight of the trailer, and before too long he'd left Newtown behind. Even then he went slowly and checked the area around him carefully.

  He'd seen no sign of the bandits the Lincoln family had warned him about, which meant they still might be out there somewhere. Or there might be other parasites using the lure of Newtown to pick off travelers coming to and from the trading post.

  He reached the spot where he'd cached his weapons and hastily dug them up, relieved that no one else had found them while he was gone. Once his Mini-14 was slung on his back he felt a lot better about things, and as he followed the highway past the road branching off to Newtown and towards where it joined 83 going south for a ways he kept his eye out for trouble.

  Before too long he sped up a bit, haste warring with caution inside him. He'd been on the road a week and had only covered about a third of the distance he needed to go. At this point his pessimistic side was telling him he could forget about reaching his family before the invasion started, and he'd be lucky to reach them before the invasion was over.

  But he shoved that thought down. He'd push himself harder, go farther, and get there in time. And when he did he'd have some extra wheat to help out his family.

  The trailer wasn't too heavy, and he was able to manage the speed he'd been at before with muscles that had grown stronger with use. But once again his pessimistic side niggled at him that all the best long distance bikers weren't towing nearly their own weight in stuff to get those impressive speeds, and trying to go faster with the added weight would be pushing himself too hard.