by Steven Bird
Getting back on track, he continued, “Once we’ve retrieved what we need, we’ll ride on to the McCullough place to try and gather as much intel as we can from a distance. With only five of us, we’ve got to approach this in a deliberate and well-thought-out manner.
“This ain’t no Hollywood western where those in the right can just ride in with guns a blazin’ to save the day. We’ve already seen the unfortunate reality where right doesn’t necessarily come out on top. There’s no script to follow here. There’s no happy ending unless we earn one. And even that may come with more heartache. Even if we win, it may not be a happy ending. It may merely be an ending.”
Seeing the looks of determination on the faces of everyone in the cellar, Isaac considered all that had happened and all that had yet to be. He looked at Tina, wondering how she could still be holding it all together so well, after all the losses she had faced.
Deep inside, he knew this struggle they had found themselves in, might be the only thing keeping her together. A mission. A focus. A determination was all they had left in this world. Later on, once the dust settled, she and the others would more than likely feel the events of the recent past come down on them like a ton of bricks. The crushing emotional weight of what had happened would surely catch up with them eventually.
After his momentary pause, Isaac said, “Now, let’s get to the horses and get on the move. The sun will be down soon, and we’ll travel under cover of darkness. I have a spot in mind for a camp tonight that puts us in a position to be opening the caches by sunrise. From there, we’ll get on with it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The group gathered what they needed for the journey, said their goodbyes to Frank and Michelle, mounted up and rode away. With everyone being experienced riders, the ride went well, although slower than usual, since two of the horses were being ridden double-up.
Arriving near the base of the mountain where Isaac’s cabin was located, Isaac reined his horse to a stop and said, “There’s a small stream right over there. Let’s dismount, water our horses, and make camp. Jessie and I will work our way up the mountain on foot just before sunrise. Give us an hour, and if you haven’t heard any commotion, ride on up to find us.”
“Why wait?” Paul asked.
“Two reasons,” Isaac explained. “First, because the horses are our greatest asset at the moment. We don’t wanna ride into a situation where we lose them. Remember, these guys may damn well have an ambush set up. Jessie and I can check everything out on foot. If it’s a no-go, we’ll come back down and regroup. If the coast is clear, we’ll begin digging for the burial vaults. If you wait an hour, we should have retrieved what we need by the time you arrive, then we can load up and get moving without the horses and extra folks lingering in the area and just waiting for trouble.”
“That makes sense,” Paul replied with a nod.
“Besides, until we get you armed up, what good would it do to have you in the area? If you can’t fight back, you might as well stay the hell out of the conflict.”
Handing Isaac the AKM, Jessie said, “I’ll carry the bow, you carry the rifle.” He then turned to Paul, drew his Colt, and handed it to him grip first. “You can hang on to this until we regroup tomorrow morning on the mountain. You can’t really guard the horses, if you don’t have a way to protect yourselves.”
Reaching out and taking the old revolver with a nod, Paul said, “You two get some sleep. You’ve got a helluva hill climb ahead of you in the morning on foot. Rest up. I’ll take the first watch.”
“And I’ll relieve him,” Tina added.
Positioning himself on a fairly level, rock-free spot on the ground, Jessie laid his head back and intended to catch up on some much-needed rest. He knew the next day would bring many challenges where he would need to be at his best to overcome, and he was feeling the effects of the previous day deep within his bones.
~~~~
A lone bison stood on a rocky outcrop during a spring thaw. The landscape was still mostly snow-covered, but rocky outcrops, such as where the bison stood, were beginning to show. It wouldn’t be long before all the land would be exposed to the sun once again, as spring overtook winter more each day.
While the bison held his ground on the bare patch of small rocks, a pack of wolves began to slip in all around him. One wolf would work its way in close, then the bison would snort and stomp, attempting to scare the wolf away. When that wolf would retreat, another would work its way in close, causing the bison to snort and stomp again, charging at the wolf, running it away as well.
This scene played out for many hours. A hundred-pound wolf would usually be unable to take down a fourteen-hundred-pound bison, but it being the end of winter, food was scarce, and the bounty of spring had yet to arrive. In an act of desperation and hunger, the wolves simply couldn’t pass up such an opportunity.
The bison grew tired of the wolves and began chasing the probing wolves away with greater enthusiasm, in an attempt to run them away once and for all.
Turning to see a wolf standing just behind him, with its teeth exposed as if it was about to pounce, the bison lowered his head and charged as hard as he could, to rid himself of the troublesome wolves.
Chasing the wolf into the snow, the bison quickly found himself knee deep in the wet, crunchy snow of the thaw. No longer having the sure footing of the bare, rocky terrain and the advantage of the high ground, he quickly found he was unable to easily maneuver in thwarting the attacks.
Seeing him at a disadvantage, the entire pack moved in closer and closer, intensifying their assaults until he felt the searing pain of teeth sinking into his flesh.
The bison fought and struggled, and the snow around him began to turn red with his blood. Growing weaker and being consumed by pain, he found himself losing his footing and going down on his side. His death wasn’t a quick one. The wolves were hungry, and they intended to eat.
~~~~
Sitting up quickly with his heart racing, Jessie heard Tina’s voice say, “What’s wrong? Did you hear something?”
Realizing it was merely another of his haunting dreams, Jessie said, “I’m fine. It was just a bad dream. They haunt me at times.”
“That’s why I volunteered to relieve Paul,” she pondered, looking up at the stars. “My dreams are never good anymore. I find myself dreading sleep. Whether it’s a nightmare where something bad happens, or it’s simply memories of days gone by when my family was whole, before…”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Jessie answered, saving her from the pain of talking about it. “I wish I could say they’ll go away eventually, but it’s been a long time for me now. Sometimes though, I feel as if my dreams are trying to tell me something. I feel as if perhaps we walk around with blinders on during the day, not wanting to see the horror and pain surrounding us, so our subconscious, or maybe our guardian angels, have to show us what we’re not seeing with our eyes. The Ute side of my family tree would say it’s the spirits trying to guide us. It all fits, really.”
After an awkward pause, he continued, “But then again, that’s probably me just trying to convince myself I’m not losing it.”
Cracking a smile, Tina said, “How do you put yourself into situations like this? I mean… for me, it’s my family. All I can think of is Shauna and the kids. I think of the hell they’re going through and would do anything to help them. I would do anything to get them back. But I’m scared. I’m scared to death of what may happen. I’m scared of who we’ll lose next, or what will become of me. I could find myself in chains right beside Shauna, enduring the hell she’s no doubt going through now.
“But you? What’s your motivation? I know you say it’s because Isaac is your friend, but you barely even know him, much less us. How do you push yourself into situations such as these, where there is a good chance you won’t make it out alive?”
Considering what she’d said, Jessie responded, “Maybe that’s it.”
“What’s it?” she asked.
>
Hearing a grumble from the darkness a few yards away, Jessie and Tina recognized Isaac’s voice saying, “How’s a man supposed to sleep around here with you two chattin’ like schoolgirls?”
“Sorry to wake you,” Tina replied with a chuckle.
“Don’t be,” Isaac said with a yawn, and he stretched his arms to his sides. “It’s time to get up and get moving anyway. That, and this rock doesn’t make for a good pillow.”
“How are you holding up?” Jessie asked. “You’re still recovering from that hellacious beating. Are you sure you’re okay with hoofing it uphill all the way to your place?”
“Does it really matter how I feel?” Isaac responded.
“No. I guess not,” Jessie said, as he stood and stretched with a yawn.
While the others began to wake, Jessie and Isaac laced up their boots and Isaac reminded them, “We’ll see you in an hour. If you hear gunshots or anything else that makes you think something is going down, stay clear. If you hear nothing, come on up.”
“Will do,” Paul replied, before Jessie and Isaac turned and disappeared into the woods and the faint light of the pre-dawn morning.
Reaching the top of the first hill, Isaac and Jessie paused for a moment to look and listen. With the sun now peaking over the eastern horizon, they visually scanned the area for threats, but saw nothing. Proceeding toward Isaac’s cabin, they came across a group of boot prints leading both to and away from his home.
“They were here, alright,” Isaac muttered in a deflated tone. “A bunch of them from the looks of it.”
“The prints are going both ways,” Jessie added.
“Yep, hopefully, that means they’re gone. I guess we need to go find out.”
Continuing their way toward Isaac’s home, they saw no signs of their adversaries, but what they found was heart-wrenching for Isaac. His home, as he had feared, had been burned to the ground. Walking up to what was now just a heap of ashes and burnt wood, Isaac saw the charred remnants of his former life. Pushing some of the loose debris aside with his foot, he found the remains of his beloved wife Margaret’s jewelry box.
Kneeling down and picking it up, tears welled up in his eyes and he began to sift through the ashes for any jewelry that may remain. After a few tear-filled moments, he seethed, “Those bastards must have emptied it before they burned the place.”
Feeling rage build within him, Isaac stood and marched over to the remains of his outbuilding and barn, all of which had been burned to the ground with the home. Seeing the head of a shovel that had its handle burned during the fire, Isaac picked it up and dusted it off.
Continuing to sift through the ashes, Isaac found a bow-saw blade that had been separated from its bow. Dusting that off as well, he stood and continued to look around. “It seems they took most of the useful stuff before they burned it all down.”
“Except for your poultry,” Jessie said, walking over to Isaac’s chicken coop.
His chicken coop still stood, but all the chickens had been slaughtered. “Damn them,” Isaac fumed. “What a waste!” he grunted, gazing upon their remains. “Someone, even if it wasn’t me, could have survived on what these birds provided.”
Taking a deep breath, Isaac said through a clenched jaw, “Let’s get on with this.”
Leading Jessie through the woods, using only his memory to guide him, they arrived at the first spot with Isaac pointing at the ground, saying simply, “Here.”, and he searched the surrounding young trees, selecting a suitable handle for his shovel.
Using the bow-saw blade he had found in the ruins of his outbuilding, Isaac quickly sawed through the young tree and began to fashion it into a handle for the shovel.
Wedging it firmly into place, Isaac began to dig. Within a few minutes, the shovel struck the first burial tube, and the two men heaved it to the surface.
Spinning off the O-ring sealed plastic cap, Isaac drew a basic, fixed-carry-handle, carbine-length A2-style AR-15 upper receiver from the tube, followed by a second just like it. He then reached in all the way to his shoulder and removed one, then two, M4-style Bushmaster lower receivers.
“They fit in there much better with the uppers and lowers separated,” he explained, and he began pinning them back together.
“I thought you weren’t into modern guns?” Jessie asked.
Smiling, Isaac responded, “I wouldn’t call ARs ‘modern guns’. They were designed in the fifties. But seriously, I said I didn’t have much use for them. I never said I didn’t have any. I can see value in something, even if it doesn’t suit my taste. Besides, I saw them as a good investment, regardless of how things played out.”
Turning the burial tube up and spilling the remainder of the contents onto the ground, Isaac tossed the tube aside, picked up a plastic wrapped box that seemed rather heavy for its size and said, “Here are five-hundred rounds of M855 5.56 NATO.”
Picking up a lighter, plastic-wrapped package, he tossed it to Jessie and said, “Here are around twenty or so thirty-round magazines. Why don’t you crack into the ammo and start loading these up while I go dig up another cache?”
Doing as he was asked, Jessie opened the packages and began thumbing one round after another into the magazines until the box of ammunition was depleted.
While he placed the magazines into the sack he was carrying, Isaac approached with several long-guns wrapped in plastic bubble wrap. Jessie sat the sack off to the side and reported, “It filled sixteen and a half of the twenty. That’s a good start.”
“Don’t worry, there’s more ammo than just that. Unwrap these and start wiping them down. There should be several pre-oiled rags between the layers of bubble wrap with each. I’m gonna go dig up one more,” Isaac said, quickly disappearing into the woods again.
When Jessie began unwrapping the long guns as Isaac had requested, he peeled back the bubble wrap of the first one to reveal a Sharps rifle, similar to the one Isaac had been carrying prior to his being captured by the Hofstadters and subsequently, losing to his captors. Looking it over closely, Jessie saw the engraving on the underside of the barrel read, Dixie Gun Works – Pedersoli – Cal .45-70, Made in Italy.
The primary difference he noted between this gun and the one Isaac had previously carried, was instead of the tang mounted MVA precision iron sights, this one sported a long, 6X Malcolm scope running the entire length of the barrel. It was clearly a reproduction version of a scope that would’ve otherwise been period correct for the piece.
Leaning the Pedersoli Sharps against a tree, Jessie unwrapped the other long gun to reveal a Springfield Armory M1A. It was a basic, walnut-stocked rifle, except for the Sadlak Industries scope mount and the 3-9X Leupold scope.
Contained within the layers of bubble wrap, Jessie found four twenty-round magazines to go with the gun.
When Isaac appeared from the woods once again, this time with several ammo cans in his hands and a sack slung over his shoulder, both he and Jessie heard horses approaching.
“Perfect timing,” Isaac grunted. “This is all we can carry for now, anyway.”
“What’s in the sack?” Jessie asked.
“A few radios, some rechargeable batteries. One of those solar chargers, and a few other odds and ends.”
Replying with a smile, Jessie turned to see their friends riding up to them, and said, “Let’s get this stuff loaded up.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The McCullough Homestead
“This is a bunch of shit, if you ask me,” Blake Turner complained, and he took another swig of ’shine from an old Mason jar. “They take away the only fun we’ve had in as long as I can remember and leave us behind to watch this place. Hell, I wanted to be in on whatever they do to her. It’s not all that often we get a hottie around here.”
“Shut your trap, Blake,” Willie McCullough said sharply. “I’m sick of your constant bitchin’. What more do you want? You had your go at her. Besides, you barely pull your weight around here, anyway. My family took you in when
you were damn-near starved to death. Now look at you. You’re gettin’ fat and lazy. And off what? The food we provide, that’s what, and don’t you forget it.”
“You’re right, Will,” Blake replied. “I guess, what bothers me the most, is those Hofstadter boys won’t leave us anything. She still had a few good miles left in her when she left here.”
Willie McCullough was in the younger generation of the McCullough clan at only twenty-three years old. With the typical slim build and early receding hairline of their limited gene pool, Willie was merely a younger, spitting-image of his older brothers. As a member of the McCullough family, he was very often placed in charge of other, more experienced men who ran with the group, simply because they didn’t bear the family name. This didn’t sit well with some—Blake Turner being one of the more vocal of those who saw themselves as being disenfranchised by the McCullough clan.
Still perturbed by Blake’s statements, Willie grumbled, “The Hofstadters lost a few good men infiltrating the Williams farm. Don’t you forget that! We waltzed right in and took our spoils after they launched the attack from within. They made things easy for us. They deserve their fair share. And it doesn’t matter what they intend to do with her. Without them, we wouldn’t have had her as long as we did.”
“Still…” Blake mumbled, and he took another swig. Tossing the empty jar aside, he said, “We need to make a few runs further on out. This place is startin’ to run dry.”
