“Well . . . Tar and Tyler Peterson had some differences and some harsh words were exchanged. Tyler took issue to being told who would be eating his cattle. We had a long winter ahead and Tar tried to force his hand is the long and short of it. When Tyler refused, Tar told him that he and his family needed to decide whether they wanted to be part of the town, or not. He made it clear that the price of membership was his herd. Anyhow, Tar and the Sheriff went to talk to him the next day, after heads cooled. Tyler and the others opened fire on the truck as it came up the drive, Sheriff got killed and Tar got gut-shot for their efforts.”
“So you've followed the family out here to what end? Revenge? Justice?” Amber asked, drawing another look from Mark.
“Amber!” Mark gasped.
“It’s alright, Mark, she makes a fair point,” Harold said after the shock of the blunt question wore off. “I'd guess maybe in this specific case; justice and revenge would have been one and the same.”
“You'd have killed them?” Amber asked. “What about the women and kids?”
“If I'm being honest, I'm not really sure. At first, yeah, we were out for blood. As the winter moved on our anger simmered down. Tar's been in a coma most of the winter. We just been keeping tabs on them until he wakes, to see what he wants to do. I guess all of that is moot now, though, thanks to the company you all keep.”
“Fair point,” Amber replied, nodding her head.
“Be glad to continue talking with you all at next rest, but we need to beat-feet if they are following us. They are younger and most likely, pissed. We killed at least three of them yesterday.”
“How far are we from your town? This Donner?” Mark asked.
“We'll get there tomorrow night at earliest I'd say, why?”
“We may want to be sure to lose Grayson before we get there,” Mark added.
*
As fast as he was able to, Tim shook off the shock of the moment and raised his 9mm. He took aim and fired off three shots into the mob outside with Luna pinned between his knees. He leaned forwards and grabbed Sophie by her leg. A furious tug of war ensued. The initial hand that grabbed her had released its grip when one of the bullets from Tim's gun penetrated its skull, but other hands reaching in from all around clambered for a hold on the screaming girl. Tim gave one final tug and pulled her into his chest, minus a healthy amount of her hair and some scalp. Sophie's screams quieted and she settled into terrified sobs, still clutching the gun and her Hello Kitty purse.
Tim sat, clutching the children tightly into him as the SUV broke through the densest part of the crowd and pushed into the relatively open parking lot. The drumming and thrumming of the bodies off the sides of the Jeep once again became staccato and the air again became breathable without gagging on the stench.
“The overpass!” Will shouted from the back.
Laura, in full panic, had the accelerator floored. The Yukon careened at speed towards the exit of the plaza. She nearly rolled the truck as she pulled out of the lot and turned onto the main thoroughfare. The tires screeched and skipped on the tarmac before their momentum halted and the SUV hurtled southward. As she made the turn onto the raised highway she finally stopped screaming, leaving the entire vehicle in stunned silence. The cool spring air whipping in through the shattered windows was the only noise for a few moments.
“I can't see out of the fucking window!” she screamed, the last of the remaining tension departing with the shout.
Jen rushed up front and sat in the passenger's seat. She braced her feet against the shattered windshield and pushed mightily, stretching the shattered barrier outwards. She heaved once, twice, and then finally it gave. The entire windshield flopped outward and slammed onto the hood. It lingered there for a moment, jittering on the bloody, vibrating hood before finally sliding off onto the roadway. The temperature in the truck dropped immediately without a windshield. Everyone hurriedly rushed to pull up their sleeping bags and cover their faces from the brisk air. Tim, having settled the kids in with Christine, brought a heavy camp blanket up to Laura and draped it over her lap. He kissed her gently on her cheek before settling back, painfully into his seat. It took him a good couple of minutes to find a position that wasn't causing his back excruciating pain.
With Christine's nearly constant need to urinate and the handful of detours they needed to make to get around blocked roadways, it took them nearly four hours to reach the encampment at the north end of Donner. The first indication that they had arrived came after they passed what appeared to be a parking lot on the left side of the road. They slowed their progress and just past a gentle curve in the road, in the distance sat two figures. They were huddled in front of a tent, warming themselves at a campfire in the middle of the road.
“Laura, slow down and stop well clear of them please. Let them come to us. No sudden movements everyone,” Tim commanded from the passenger seat, as Luna slept soundly with her head cradled comfortably in the crook of his elbow.
“Are we sure about this?” Laura asked, her voice full of trepidation.
“A bit late to back out now,” Jen responded from the rear of the vehicle, where she rested with Will.
She had ridden most of the way from Laramie, trying to help stabilize Will's knee and soothe the agony he was in. She was the first to notice the man wearing a cowboy hat, moving purposefully toward them. He was picking his way through the massive tent city that lay beyond that first campsite. Laura didn't respond to Jen's comment as the man came into the gap between the tents and the Yukon. His hand rested easily, at the ready on the handle of the pistol in its holster on his gun-belt.
“Get out of the vehicle one at a time, if you would, and move across the road to the river,” the man in a cowboy hat commanded.
Tim slid Luna off his lap and onto the seat, raising his hands in a show of harmlessness. He stepped down from the vehicle and out onto the road. His back burned and ached. Every movement shot burning fire down into his thigh. As he came clear of the vehicle, he noticed a few other armed men were already in position scattered around the area. He tensed at the bristling weapons, feeling absolutely helpless and vulnerable. He took a deep breath to push aside the crippling worry for his family. Finally, he moved as he was instructed, across the roadway to the guardrail near the river.
“We have children in there, a woman in labor too,” he shouted over to the man.
“Never mind that, we'll deal with all that in a bit. For now, one at a time, exit the vehicle. Driver, you're next.”
Tim spotted a machine gun nest obscured by shrubbery across the road, the barrel of a very large weapon aimed in his general direction and again forced himself to swallow back his fear. Can't blame them for being cautious. You'd do the same, he had to remind himself over and over again, especially as Laura came to his side, holding the still sleeping toddler. Next came Jen, ignoring their directions so she could help Will out. He leaned heavily on her. Even with his brace back on, he was able to put no weight on his re-injured knee.
“We got some wounded here. North barricade.” The cowboy hat spoke into a two-way radio.
Sophie came out next, scurrying over to Laura's side, trying her best to disappear behind her leg. The tension grew as the moments ticked by.
“I'm going back to the truck to get the pregnant girl,” Jen shouted and moved slowly and cautiously back towards the rear passenger door of the SUV.
Finally, once they all stood in a row on the rail, two groups of men moved from both sides of the road out into the open. Four men approached the Yukon, weapons at the ready, trained on the vehicle. Another four men approached the group, slowly, with weapons poised, eyeing them cautiously.
“If you all got any weapons on you raise your hands and step away from the children,” the cowboy hat grumbled at them.
Jen and Tim cautiously raised their hands and slid out of the group into the open.
“You.” The cowboy beckoned to Tim. “With your thumb and pointer finger on your left hand only,
take your weapons from where they are and lay them on the ground in front of you.”
Tim awkwardly reached around his right side with his left hand and produced his 9mm. He bent painfully down and lay it on the ground at his feet.
“That all?” the man asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Yes sir,” Tim responded, doing his best not to sound snarky.
“Take two long steps back from the pistol, if you would.”
Tim obliged and another man edged forward, eyeing the group suspiciously. He scooped the weapon off the ground and retreated back to the other men.
“Your turn now, Miss.” The man nodded at Jen. “Same as he did.”
Jen lay her weapons on the ground and stepped back, repeating the ritual as she had watched Tim previously.
“Marsha!” The cowboy called back over his shoulder. “Got some women who need a pat-down.”
A grey-haired, stout woman in her fifties came forward. She wore large spectacles and had a mid-western kindness about her as she spoke.
“Welcome, ladies!” she said, clapping her hands as if she were inviting them into her home for a Sunday supper. “Why don't you all step over to the side here with me, if you would. Away from the men.”
The women, helping Christine along, did as they were bade.
“First things first,” Marsha said. “Miss? Young pregnant girl?”
Christine, in heavy labor at this point managed a look up at Marsha.
“Gonna need you to lift that shirt, Missy,” Marsha stated, the kind guise slipping just a bit to let them know that, niceties aside, she meant business. “You wouldn't be the first to try and fake a medical condition to get inside you know.”
Christine slid her layered shirts up and over the top of her taut pregnant stomach, drawing a nod and slight relaxation from the gathered people. The group of four men, having secured the Yukon, joined the rest on the roadway. Marsha then, under the bristling barrels of all eight armed men, started patting down Jen and Laura. Once satisfied that they were weaponless, Marsha moved the women towards the barrier though leaving them in sight of the men. Once the men were frisked, the group was moved into the encampment. They were led to a large tent, within sight of a twelve foot tall barrier made of crushed cars and reinforced by dirt. Once they were brought inside the tent, they were seated at a table with a dozen plastic bottles of water and three bowls on it; one held potato chips, another beef jerky, and the third held miniature chocolate bars.
“Y'all eat and drink if you want. You're gonna have to wait here 'til Yen makes his way over,” the cowboy said as he took Marsha by the arm and walked her out of the tent.
The seven of them with eight armed guards, sat in silence waiting to see what would happen next. After nearly twenty minutes of waiting, a slender brownish man and a white woman who looked to be in her early thirties entered the tent.
The man nodded at the assembled group before sitting down. The woman immediately made her way over to Christine and introduced herself.
“Hi sweetie. My name is Linda and I'm a doctor.”
“Her name is Chris . . . Christine,” Jen interjected, assuming that the pregnant girl wouldn't or couldn't reciprocate the introduction.
“Christine. It's nice to meet you, Christine. Has your water broke?”
“Yeah,” Chris groaned, “In the car.”
“Okay, honey, we are gonna get you up to the clinic so we can deliver that baby right,” Linda spun and looked to Yen who held up one finger before she continued. “One of you can accompany her if you like.”
“Laura,” Christine gasped.
Laura's eyes widened in panic, her mouth opened and closed as she frantically looked at Tim and Luna before she finally spoke.
“I c- . . . I can't Chris, I can't leave Luna and Tim.”
“I'll go,” Jen replied resolutely, standing from her spot at the table.
She walked over to Christine, taking her hand and exited the tent, following behind Linda. Will stared after her with his mouth open, the words of protest lodged in his throat.
*
Harold nodded at Amber's assessment of Grayson as they walked, adding to his understanding of the man that might be hunting them down.
The day passed without incident, Danny reappeared only to disappear again frequently throughout the day. He moved freely about on a half-dozen or more scouting missions. Mark paid close attention to his comings and goings, more out of boredom than anything else. After the third trip out, he started to pick up on some consistencies about his trips. The boy was always back within an hour, and always came a series of clicks he made with his mouth and waited for the answering call, before moving into sight. Mark was intrigued by the expert way he moved alone in the wilderness and the subtle communications between all of the Donner folk.
They camped down that night in a three-sided, narrow canyon. Danny and Hope fell asleep almost immediately after finishing their share of rice and beans. Benny took first watch, moving off into the shadows of undergrowth to watch the entrance to the small canyon. Mark and Amber slept the sleep of exhaustion for the second night in a row, having been driven with haste for twelve solid hours through the thin mountain air. Their lungs were used to the low-lying coastal area of central California, this air made it feel like they were breathing through a straw, never able to get a full breath. The following morning was much the same as previous, with the two being the last to rise. Again they sluggishly pulled themselves together and had to rush to catch the others.
By mid-morning, the peaks and valleys they had been traveling through for the past forty-eight hours parted, exposing the foothills that led into a wide flat valley. Four hours later, they were moving across the rolling landscape of fenced in acreage and empty pastures. Harold steered them into a dense copse of trees where they remained for a number of hours. After the second hour, Amber ventured to give voice to her curiosity.
“What are we doing? Are we waiting for something?” she asked.
“Trust me, I'm more than eager to get back to Donner. Nothing more I want than to get a hot meal and a good night’s sleep. Like you said though, we gotta do our due diligence to make sure nothing's coming after in pursuit,” Harold responded absently with his eyes trained on the mountains behind.
Harold exercised the patience he learned so many years before as a sniper in the Corps, making sure to the best of his ability that no one followed behind. He kept them waiting idly for most of the afternoon, wanting to be as thorough as possible. He had just made the connection the night previous, that this man Grayson, was most likely the same man responsible for that first brutal assault on Donner at the onset of winter. The realization crystallized in his mind when he woke in the wee hours to relieve himself. He cursed his age for not making the connection sooner, but as a lot had happened over the harsh winter, he knew that he couldn't really be blamed for it. The rest of the group waited uneasily among the conifers with the town barely an hour march to the north. Mark and Amber slept for most of it.
As the sky began to darken, Harold finally led them out of the trees, towards town. Mark and Amber were ushered quickly through what looked like a shanty-town. An array of aromas, both fair and foul, came to them as they moved through. Dirty, desperate faces stared coldly from parka hoods and tent flaps. All of them staring at Mark and Amber as they were prodded along towards the barricade. Mark had a severe moment of doubt as they came within sight of the grim-faced men and women sitting atop the barrier. They sat behind heavy machine guns atop a pair of shipping containers, placed such as to completely block the road. He started to pull up short, grabbing hold of Amber's arm, when a firm shove from behind overcame his reservations.
“Back again, Harry?” A woman in her mid-forties called down.
“Yeah, Cindy, for good this time.”
“You got them?” the woman asked excitedly.
“Someone else beat us to it.”
The woman nodded at the answer, seemingly unfazed by news of the d
eaths of the townspeople.
“Who's that with you?” she asked, eyeing Mark and Amber suspiciously.
“They have some information we need to get to Yen and Nala, you gonna let us in?”
The woman hesitated for a moment, looking from Mark and Amber to Harold. Both tensed, nervously, worrying that things were about to take a turn for the worse. After a seeming eternity, the woman nodded to the man to the left of her. He took up a rope that was spun through a pulley and pulled heavily on it. A steel panel slid up in response to his efforts, allowing them a view between the containers and entry into the fortified town of Donner.
They walked through the outlying farms for more than twenty minutes before Mark and Amber were ushered up a driveway and into a workshop.
“Get a fire going, Benny. Let them get some warmth in their bones. I'm gonna see if I can get hold of Yen or Nala,” Harold said, moving back out of the building.
“Gonna go check on the kids,” Hope said a moment after he had gone.
And then she too was gone, leaving Benny and Danny with the two newcomers.
“Nothing personal but we gotta keep an eye on you two,” Benny said at length. “You guys seem fine and all, we just have a formal process for letting people in.”
“Who were all those people out there? Outside the walls.”
“People,” Benny responded flatly, uninterested in idle chatter.
“Why are they there? Why not inside?” Amber demanded to know. “There is certainly enough open land inside the fences.”
“We don't know them. Why would we trust them?” he answered dismissively with a shrug.
“So you just leave them out there? With the undead?” Amber cast back, unable to hide the indignation in her voice.
“How many predators are out there? Aside from the undead. I'm talking about the rapists, murderers, opportunists, you name it. These are some wretched times we are living in. People are safe in here, we need to be sure to keep it that way. We are letting people in, but only once we have determined that they are good people. Besides, they are under our protection out there. Those barricades have machine guns and sniper positions that are manned around the clock.”
A Spring of Sorrow Page 24
