by Steven Bird
Replying only with a smirk, Ash turned and looked through a gap in the large wooden doors leading up and out of the basement. “We should hit them now while they expect you to be on the run and alone. I only see two of them. A big guy in some sort of desert gear. He’s pretty well armed. Another guy in black cargo pants and an old army field jacket is with him. They’ve both got rifles, but we’ve got the element of surprise,” she said.
“No, let’s wait,” he insistently replied.
“Wait for what? More people to get raped and murdered?”
“This would be acting while on the defensive. That hasn’t worked so well for me in the past. If I would have been more proactive about security back on my homestead, rather than reactive, my family might still be alive today. When I was the sheriff here in Montezuma County—ˮ
“You’re the sheriff here?” she interrupted.
“I was the sheriff here,” he replied. “Before it all started going down. I left and moved up into the mountains to the north long before the attacks. So anyway, that’s one of the big differences between patrol and SWAT. Officers on patrol react to a situation that is presented to them, without any prior knowledge or planning. That’s their job, though—to respond to crimes being committed or that are just being reported. SWAT on the other hand, often operates with prior knowledge of the individuals they confront and generally do it on their terms at the time and place of their choosing. If you look at the success and casualty rates of patrol officer encounters versus SWAT encounters, you’ll see that SWAT generally has a better outcome.”
“So, what do you propose we do?” she said.
“There’s six of them left if my count is correct,” he said, formulating his response.
“The others must have been out on a run,” she replied. “Unless, of course, you’re saying you took out ten of them.”
“Actually, I only got two on my way out. They took out one of their own last night during a drunken brawl.”
“Then the others are out on a run,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been observing them this whole time,” she explained. “They use the water treatment plant for a home base, probably because of the security of the sturdy concrete structure and its location just outside of town away from the red X’s. From what I’ve seen, roughly half of them stay put and keep an eye on the bridge and their stash. They know that with the mountains to the northeast and the river dumping into the McPhee Reservoir to the west, the town of Dolores and the 145 bridge is the perfect setup to ambush people heading south.”
Pausing to take another look through the crack in the doors, she continued, “The other half of the group seems to always head out and split up, heading south on Highway’s 145 and west on 184. They’re usually gone for a few days and then return. Sometimes with vehicles they didn’t have before, and one time they—ˮ she paused, looking away.
“One time what?” he asked, urging her to continue.
With an uncomfortable expression on her face, she said, “I saw them come back with two young women.”
“Are they still there? What happened to them?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I saw them go in, but never saw them come out. I feel like I should have done something.”
“What could you have done alone?” he asked. “We all may want to go head on into something at some point in our lives, but that’s not always the best course of action, even for those you want to help. If you get yourself killed in the process, you’re no good to anyone. It’s the same reason flight attendants on commercial airlines always mentioned in their safety briefing to put your own oxygen mask on first and then assist others. If you pass out, you’re not good to anyone. The same is true in many situations in life. The two of us together stand a lot better chance doing something about these wretches of society than you could have done alone.”
“That still doesn’t make it feel any better... knowing that I just let something happen.”
“I didn’t say that to make you feel better. I said it so you would keep your head on straight. From this point on, everything we do, we need to do as a team and we need to act with purpose, not with raw emotion.”
Changing the subject, she said, “So, what do you propose?”
“Let’s hit them where they are at their weakest. Let’s hit them on the road. If we hit them here, they’d stand far too great a chance of finding out where we’re hunkered down. Just think about that, if they were to hit us right now, here in this cellar, what’s our chances of getting out alive?”
“Slim to none,” she responded.
“Exactly. On the road, however, we can pick them off without the safety of their own base of operations for them to fall back to. And if we’re successful in our getaways, they won’t even know we’re their neighbors here in town. Then, we can just come back here and watch them squirm from a distance.”
“That makes sense,” she replied.
Standing up and walking over to the cellar doors, taking a look outside himself, he said, “Now, we just need to nail down what we have to work with. I’m afraid I didn’t get out of there with much. Just this Glock and a knife. I don’t have any extra ammo, though. I’ve got just what’s in the magazine. They took my rifles, my pistol, and my bow.”
“You can shoot a bow?” she asked.
“I’ve bow hunted nearly every year of my life since I was twelve years old,” he replied.
“Good,” she said. “Maybe you can put this to good use,” she added, as she pulled back a curtain covering what used to be a shelf for vegetables. Picking up a recurve bow, she handed it to him and said, “Can you shoot one like this?”
Taking the bow and looking it over, Jessie said, “I’ve been using a compound bow for years now, so I’m probably a little spoiled, but yes, I can use this. Do you have arrows?”
“I found seven,” she replied, holding up a leather quiver full of arrows. “Three of them look like hunting arrows, too,” she said, referring to the blades on the broadheads.
“Oh, yes, these will do nicely,” he replied. “Where did you come across this stuff?”
“The sporting goods store on the east side of town. It was one of the few buildings in town without the red X, so I scoped it out. The place was pretty much cleaned out. It must have been hit pretty hard by looters.”
Admiring the bow, he asked, “Did you find anything else?”
“Just a big survival-type machete, a few boxes of shotgun shells—which, of course, come in handy—a few random boxes of pistol cartridges, and some fishing gear.”
“What kind of pistol ammo is it?”
Reaching into one of the storage cabinets built into the wall, Ash removed a bag and placed it on the table in the center of the room. Opening the bag, she placed several boxes of ammunition on the table.
“Great,” Jessie said sarcastically. “More .357 Magnum ammo for my pistol they took, just to pour salt in the wound.” Picking up another box, he said, “.38 Special—that would also work in my Colt. It’s the same thing, just an eighth of an inch shorter and less power. Oh, here we go,” he said, anxiously opening a box of cartridges. “9mm Luger—this will work in the Glock.
Standing back, looking at the table and scanning the room, Jessie crossed his arms and supported his chin with his hand, saying, “So we only have a Glock 9mm pistol, a twelve-gauge shotgun, a bow, and some miscellaneous things like knives to work with?”
Putting her hands on her hips, Ash looked at Jessie, cocked her head to the side, and said, “Is that a problem?”
“No. Not at all,” he replied. “We just have to be smart about it. Let’s wait till nightfall so we can sneak out of town. Between now and then, let’s pack up some provisions and work on a plan.”
“Provisions?” she queried.
“Yes, provisions, as in food, water, etc.”
In a perturbed voice, Ash said, “I know what provisions are. I’m just wondering why you want to pack up the food and
carry it with us.”
Looking at her with a serious expression, Jessie replied, “Just because we plan on coming back doesn’t mean we will actually make it back. I didn’t plan on being taken at the bridge and neither did you. We have to stop making assumptions and consider every move we make to be permanent from here on out.”
With a look of understanding, Ash said, “I’ll grab a bag. Let’s get with it.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Under the cover of darkness, after having watched for activity on the streets for several hours, Jessie slowly opened one of the large wooden overhead doors leading out of the home’s basement cellar. The night was clear with a cool breeze gently swaying the overgrown shrubbery of the once well-kept neighborhood. An illusion of peace and serenity swept through the abandoned town of Dolores, as not a sound outside of nature could be heard.
As Jessie slipped out of the cellar, he stayed close to the house for cover, avoiding being illuminated by the bright moonlit night. Peeking around the corner of the house, scanning the parallel street for any signs of possible threats, he signaled Ash and stepped back over to the door, taking hold of a large duffle bag full of their provisions and supplies. Supporting it on his back by positioning the shoulder strap diagonally across his chest, Jessie then reached out and took the recurve bow and quiver from Ash, who then slipped out, carrying the shotgun and a smaller shoulder bag that she had filled with the extra ammunition and a few other supplies.
Closing the door behind her, she and Jessie crept around the corner of the house, where he whispered, “Okay, it’s your plan. Lead the way.”
Nodding in the affirmative, Ash began traveling through the neighborhood’s fenced backyards, staying close to any shrubbery and trees that were available for visual cover. Working their way through the town, Jessie couldn’t help but become distracted by his thoughts of what once was. The quaint, peaceful town of Dolores was now a ghost town filled with un-mowed lawns and the scattered remains of trash that was simply never collected as the surviving residents fled the sickness that had plagued their beloved town, claiming the lives of so many. All that remained of several of the homes were piles of ashes, reminding him of his own cabin. Did someone burn these homes to erase the pain of what remained inside? Or was it simply to prevent the spread of the illness that claimed them? he wondered to himself.
Recognizing the homes of several dear friends and acquaintances, Jessie’s thoughts of sadness turned to ferocity as he thought of those who now preyed on the survivors who remained. Whether it was the attackers who killed his family back on the homestead, or the villainous bandits who captured him, stole his possessions, and killed his horse, Jessie resolved to never again allow such travesties of humanity to stand unanswered. If he had nothing left to live for, he could at least find peace in knowing he would someday die defending others.
Stopping to crouch behind a small tree, Ash whispered, “The sporting goods store is just down the street. There’s no need for you to drag that big bag all the way over there. Just meet me down by the river by the boat launch in the park,” she said, pointing toward the river with one hand while she handed him her bag with the other.
Nodding in reply, Jessie took both of their bags and slipped across the street, through the grounds of the Dolores City Park, and then hid alongside the river to await Ash’s next move.
As he sat and watched the river flow gracefully by, reflecting the brilliance of the moonlight, Jessie remembered the times he had spent as a child fishing on this very river with his father. Having always wanted to take his own son fishing on the Dolores River to carry on the tradition, he couldn’t help but feel the heartache and regret of never having had the chance. I should’ve found the time, he thought, pounding his fist into the ground. I should’ve never let work stand in the way, putting off what now will never come.
Hearing Ash approach, he wiped away a single tear and turned to see her slipping across the street with a canoe held high over her head, her shotgun dangling from its sling around her neck.
“Outstanding,” he said, pleased with her find.
“I’ve had this idea in my head for a long time now,” she said. “I knew with those scumbags guarding the main bridge, and with the 4th Street bridge having been destroyed for who knows what reason before I got here, this would be a good way to get across and around them. I grabbed a few other little things that might come in handy, too.”
“Great,” he said, helping her slip the canoe quietly into the water. As Jessie held the boat steady, he said, “Climb in. I’ll hand you our gear.”
Climbing onto the front seat of the two-person canoe, Ash reached out and took both of the bags from Jessie, placing them in the center of the canoe for stability. Detaching her paddle from the built-in storage rack, Ash pushed her paddle down into the water, contacting the river-bed below, and applied pressure, holding the canoe against the shore while Jessie climbed aboard.
“You ready?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“Here we go,” she said as she shoved them off with her oar against the bank. Now adrift with the slow and steady current, Ash began paddling off to the right side of the bow, pushing the front of the canoe downstream and gradually to the left, following a course to reach the riverbank on the south side of the river.
Jessie kept a vigilant watch of the shoreline from the rear, watching to make sure they weren’t detected as they made their way out of Dolores.
Within minutes, as they reached the south side of the river, Ash steered the bow of the canoe onto the sandy shore, immediately climbing out and holding the canoe steady while Jessie stepped onto the shore as well.
“Let’s carry the boat off the bank and out of sight,” she whispered, pointing just over the hill.
Leaving their gear inside the boat, Ash picked up the front of the canoe while Jessie carried from the rear. Once they were over the hill and out of sight, they quickly gathered their things. Ash double-checked a compass she had retrieved from the sporting goods store, using the light of the moon, and they slipped off into the darkness of the night.
After hiking several miles through unfamiliar and rugged terrain, Ash and Jessie finally reached Highway 145, approximately three miles south of Dolores. Looking around, Jessie said, “Let’s get some sleep. We need to set up a fairly solid ambush, being just the two of us. We’ll be able to get a better lay of the land after sunup and make a wiser decision.”
“Sounds good to me,” Ash said, tossing her bag onto the ground. “Do you want first or second watch?”
“I’ll take first,” he replied. “Let’s set up camp over behind that hill and get settled in.”
~~~~
Driving north on Highway 145 in what had been an abandoned, faded green 1976 Ford E250 Econoline cargo van, three of Wolf’s men were returning from their supply run, when Lou, the driver of the van, spotted something along the side of the road up ahead.
Reaching over and hitting the man in the passenger seat, Jorje, in the arm to get his attention, Lou said, “Hey. Wake up. What’s that?” he asked, pointing up ahead.
Bringing his binoculars up to see, his passenger replied, “Well, hot damn. We’re not coming back empty-handed after all.”
“What? What is it?” Lou asked.
“There’s a bitch on the side of the road up ahead. T, wake up man!” Jorje shouted to the sweaty, unkempt man in the back seat.
“What?” T asked, sitting up to see what was going on.
Simply pointing in reply, with a smile on his face, Jorje said, “Here. Check it out.”
“Oh, hell, yes,” T replied, with a hunger in his voice after getting a look through the binoculars.
Bringing the van to a stop just short of the woman, Lou put the transmission in park, leaving the engine running. “You two check it out,” he said. “This seems too good to be true.”
“Don’t knock a gift,” Jorje said as he exited the van, with T following along behind him. Jorje then
proceeded around the front of the van, while T exited out of the side sliding door, walking around to the back of the van, putting one of them on each side of the seemingly defenseless young woman.
“Please. Please help me,” the woman said. “My husband and I have been walking for days. He collapsed out there,” she said, pointing toward the open brush to the west. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He refused to drink any of our water, giving it all to me,” she said as she began to cry. “Please help him.”
Looking to his cohort with a crooked smile, Jorje said, “Oh, yes, ma’am. We’ll help your husband. How far out is he?
“He’s right over that hill,” she said. “Hurry, he wasn’t responding at all. I’m really worried.”
Turning to look at his friends with a smile, Jorje looked back at the woman and said, “Okay, just wait in the van with my friend over there and I’ll go find your husband and bring him back so that we can get him some help.”
“I’ll go with you,” she said.
“No, get in the van,” he insisted.
“But my husband needs me,” she protested.
With a scowl on his face, Jorje shouted, “Look bitch! Get in the damn van!”
Lou shouted from the van, “Just grab her, man. Stop playing games.”
As Jorje began to walk over to the young woman with a devious smile on his face, he said, “Look, I tried to be nice, but I’m not very good at that. You’re gonna get in the—ˮ
Interrupted by the sound of the van’s horn blaring, Jorje and T both turned suddenly to see Lou lying with his head against the steering wheel, with an arrow sticking half-way out of his skull, blood running profusely down the side of his neck.
Before either of them could say a word, a second arrow penetrated Jorje’s side, piercing both his heart and lungs, instantaneously dropping him to the ground.
Drawing the Glock 9mm that had been hidden in her waistband, Ash, took aim at the remaining thug as he pulled a revolver from behind his back, bringing it to bear on Ash.
