Ever Onward

by Wayne Mee

  Sipping his coffee, he watched the morning mist burn off Cottonwood Mountain. To the north, Bear Mountain was lost in the clouds. The little town of Sandberg was over there, nestled in the whispering pines like something out of a Zane Grey western. The Pacific Crest Scenic Trail passed right down the main street. Before the Change, hardy backpackers used it as a supply drop. The hikers were now long gone, as were all but two of the original one hundred and seven inhabitants. Faith Cummings and her father George still ran the general store. Even now Des, Nate and five others were on their way there for supplies. The Desperadoes were their biggest customers.

  Thinking of the name always made Sam smile. ‘Desperadoes’. More Zane Grey, with a touch of spaghetti-western thrown in. All they needed was Clint Eastwood to ride up in a poncho chewing a black cheroot."

  Yet, in his own way, Desmond Bardow fit the bill perfectly. Tall, lean, silent, with a hang-dog expression more reminisant of Gary Cooper than Dirty Harry. Still, it was Des Bardow that held the band together. Hence the name, Desperadoes. The cabin they now used had belonged to Des and his brother. Des was the sole owner now.

  Shirley Bates, the nurse Pussbag had found way back on Day One, joined Sam on the porch. The smell of fresh bread followed her out the door. Marla Stevens, one of several women living at the camp, had started baking before dawn.

  “A penny for your thoughts.”

  Sam smiled. “You trying to bribe me, lady?”

  Shirley brushed a wayward strand of mousy brown hair out of her eyes. “They’ll be fine, Sam. Sandberg’s safe. I doubt the Sweep Teams even know it exists.”

  “Sure,” Sam said. “Just like they didn’t know about Lebec.”

  Shirley frowned. “Lebec was just five miles off the highway. Sandberg’s 35 or 40 miles away.” He still blames himself, she thought, wishing she could ease his pain.

  Two weeks ago one of Jocco’s sweep teams had burnt the little village of Lebec to the ground, killing or enslaving all 27 inhabitants. Their only crime was that they were suspected of sympathizing with the rebels.

  'Rebels, hell!, Sam thought. All we are is a few scattered groups hiding out in the mountains. Sure, now and then we take a few shots at Jocco’s troops, or those bastards, the tax guards, but most of the time we just scramble around playing Davy Crocket!'

  That, however, was far from true. Before Lt. Sam Waterton joined them, the Desperadoes and the other groups had disrupted Jocco’s plans on a hit and miss basis. Since Sam’s arrival that ‘disruption’ had increased ten fold. Emboldened by Sam’s success, the other groups in the area had stepped up their own attacks. Don Paxton’s bunch now regularly patrolled Los Padres National Forest and Jim Carroll’s band had been responsible for the raid in Bakersfield. The Army of the Dark Stranger was getting very pissed-off.

  Hence the burning of Lebec.

  Sam walked over to the coral. Cloud, the Appaloosa mare, came up to him expecting an apple. Des and the rest of them had more horses than vehicles. Since there weren’t many roads in this rugged country, horses seemed like the best form of transportation. Besides, Jocco’s troops traveled in trucks, and even when they did venture off the roads, in the mountains a horse could beat a four-wheel every time. The only problem was that he still couldn’t ride worth shit. He didn’t fall off much anymore, but his ass always hurt for days.

  Cloud nudged him again, slobbering in the remains of his coffee. “Shit!”, Sam said, not really angry.

  Shirley chuckled behind him. She liked it here. Then again, she’d like it anywhere away from Jocco! The very thought of that sadistic bastard made her skin crawl. When Sam had told her six months ago that he wanted to make a break for it, she had gladly agreed. The fact that they’d both probably end up nailed to a telephone pole on Sunset Blvd. only made her more determined than ever not to be taken alive.

  Ever since China Lake, Jocco had played them off against each other. If one caused trouble, the other would pay for it. Both had been forced to teach their respective trades; nursing and flying. Sam had taken it for as long as he could, but when it looked like his student pilots were about to graduate up to bombers, he’d decided enough was enough. He’d tried to make light of it, but she had seen the fear in his eyes --- eyes that she had secretly come to love.

  And so, six months ago, they had forged passes, stolen a jeep and headed north. They’d made it as far as Castaic Lake in Angeles National Forest when they ran out of gas. After that they’d walked. They were cooking breakfast in a road-side rest area when two men and a woman on horseback suddenly appeared. All were heavily armed. Shirley and Sam had two choices; fight or invite them to breakfast. Wisely they chose the latter.

  That was how they’d first met Des Bardow and his Desperadoes. The name still made her think of a sixties rock band. Sally and the Slugs; Jimmy and the Jets; Des and the Desperadoes. Yet she knew she was being unfair. Des was a good man. He’d taken them in even before he knew she was a nurse and Sam was in the military. Good, simple folk trying to do the best they could. Sam, however, had changed them from a rag-tag bunch of coon hunters to a crack gorilla unit. Hardly a week went by without some highly organized action against Jocco or that slimy little shit Pinkton. But Sam had been pushing himself too hard. He looked tired and thin and --- and driven. Striking back at Jocco was all he thought about, and, to Shirley’s dismay, all he seemed to care about.

  “I still don’t like it,” Sam muttered, now letting Cloud’s thick tongue finish off the rest of his coffee. “I should have gone with them.”

  Shirley casually looped her hand through his arm. A tingle passed through her, but she thought she hid it well. “You can’t do everything yourself. They’ll be back in a day or two. Des knows the way and Nate’s with them. He told me to make you take it easy.” ‘Take him fishing or something’ were Nate’s exact words. The old eccentric had had that twinkle in his eye when he said it too. Nate knows I love Sam, she thought; but then that old coot doesn’t miss much. Not like SOME I could name!

  She leaned a little closer. Sam didn’t notice. Part of his mind was planning the next skirmish with Jocco’s troops, while another part was worrying about his own group over in Sandberg.

  Eddy lowered the fieldglasses. “Looks quiet enough, Jess. I vote we go in.”

  Jessie Williams continued to study the little town through his own glasses. Gone was the once gangly boy with the unruly mop of blond hair. In his place was a tall, broad-shouldered young man with weathered skin and a hard set to his mouth. Both lean and lethal, Jessie now watched the world through hunter’s eyes. Nearly a year on the road had robbed him of more than his youth --- it had taken his innocence as well.

  The little town of Sandberg lay before him. A gas station at the far end. Several stores, mostly empty. In front of one an old man sat in a rocking chair. A cat was on the man’s lap. Jessie didn’t see any weapons. Nothing else moved. He spoke into a small walkie-talkie, listened to a female voice respond, then continued to survey the town.

  Eddy grinned. “Christ, Jess, you’re getting as cautious as your old man.”

  Cold, blue eyes washed over him. Eddy was reminded of a hawk he’d once seen up close. “Maybe, but we’re all still alive.”

  Minutes later, Jess and Eddy moved silently back down to the waiting convoy. Guards were posted front, center and back. This close to a town, even one as small as Sandberg, everybody was on yellow alert. Enrico waved at them, then turned back to watching the three vehicles.

  Bobby Stewart met them. “Gas station working?”

  Jess shrugged.

  “See anyone besides the old man?”, Cobb asked.

  Jess shook his head.

  Bobby appealed to Josh. “We need gas bad.”

  “Foods running low too,” Flame put in. “I’m getting damned sick of peanutbutter.”

  Josh, looking both leaner and older, turned to Cobb. The ex-cop shrugged. Josh read the gesture and smiled at his son. “You call it, Jessie.”

  Jess looked up at the sk
y. Grey clouds obscured the mountains ringing them in. “Looks like rain. Be good to have a roof over out head for a change.”

  Eddy grinned and gave the ‘thumbs up’ sign.

  Like separate cogs on a well greased machine, each moved swiftly to their assigned place. Within minutes, the three vehicles were ready to roll. Like everything else the group did, the line of march was well thought out. Josh, Jessie and Flame up front in the Westfalia. Og the pup, much bigger now, went with them. Eddy’s blue van, along with two newcomers, Rick and Suzy, followed at a distance. Cobb, Bobby and two more newcomers, Enrico and a stunning blonde named Gretta, brought up the rear.

  Bobby’s towtruck had long since been replaced by a Light Armored Vehicle. The long, steel-plated truck, complete with electronic radar, rotating machineguns and a 50 mm. armor-piercing cannon, was a battle-ship on wheels. Both the L.A.V. and the four new members had come from Nevada.

  After loosing Rambo’s trail five months ago near San Francisco, increasing numbers of Jocco’s soldiers had forced Josh and his group to either turn around or head east. They chose east. In Carson City, Nevada, they met John Cartwright. Cartwright, a rugged, silver haired rancher, had gathered together over fifty other survivors and was living on a large ranch they laughingly called the Ponderosa. Though there was no Hoss or Little Joe, there were plenty of cattle and guns. The cattle came from the open ranges; the guns came from Nellis Air Force Base.

  Cartwright had made them welcome and invited them to stay. Road-weary and dispirited, the small group had accepted the offer and stayed the winter. In the spring, they had resumed their search for the one-eyed man. Traveling west, they now found themselves just outside the sleepy little village of Sandburg.

  Josh turned to Flame. “Check with the LAV. See what Gretta’s got on the radar.”

  Flame fiddled with the radio Cobb had installed. After a few snaps, crackles and pops, Gretta’s Swedish accent filled the airways. “Looks good, Josh. Nothing moving on the screen.”

  Jessie let the Westfalia slowly roll up to the old man in the rocker. Josh slid open the side door and stepped out, a smile on his bearded face. Flame, beaming from the passenger’s seat, held her Smith & Wesson cocked across her lap. Eddy’s van idled at the end of the street. Cobb in the LAV waited just over the hill.

  “Hi there,” Josh grinned. After introducing himself, he asked about the gas. George Cummings, a weathered sixty-seven and plagued by arthritis, nodded.

  “Plenty of gas. Trouble is no power.”

  “We’ve got a portable generator,” Josh replied.

  The older man stroked his stubbled chin. “It’ll still cost you.”

  Josh smiled. “You take Mastercard or American Express?”

  George chuckled, then leaned forward in his rocker but made no attempt to rise. The cat uncoiled from his lap. All three of them saw the revolver stuck in his belt. “Fresh meat’s what I need. A body gets mighty sick of pork n’ beans.”

  “And peanut butter,” Flame put in. George smiled in her direction.

  “You live here alone?”, Josh asked.

  A hard glint flashed in the old man’s eyes. “Mostly. Some friends from up yonder drop in now and again. They usually bring a deer. I’m partial to venison.”

  Inside the Westfalia the radio crackled. Eddy was getting impatient.

  “Might as well tell your friends to come on in,” George grinned. “If there was going to be any gun-play, it’d of happened by now.”

  Josh looked at the old man closely, then nodded to his son. “Tell Eddy it’s all clear. Cobb as well.”

  George turned and waved. From the doorway behind him a young woman immerged. She was dressed in jeans and a red flannel shirt, and carried a double barreled shotgun.

  “My daughter, Faith,” George beamed. “Sorry about the gun, but we live in hard times.”

  “We do indeed, my friend”, Josh agreed sadly. “We do indeed.”

  Later that day Josh sat with George on the front porch sipping Southern Comfort that the younger man had opened after dinner. George regarded the amber liquid in his glass, took another sip, then set it aside. “Lord, but that does go down smooth!”

  “Have another?”, Josh asked, going to refill the older man’s glass.

  “No thanks. Two’s my limit. Any more and Faith will take a broom to me.”

  Josh capped the bottle and took out his pipe. The sound of hammering reached them. Besides the deer George had wanted, the price for filling the three vehicles, especially the LAV, had been the portable generator and someone to fix a leak in the store roof. Jessie and Rick were up there now nailing on new shingles. From inside the store came a softer sound --- feminine laughter. Hearing it, George’s eyes glistened.

  “Now there’s something I don’t hear enough of. It gets lonely for Faith way up here with no other women to talk to.”

  “Why don’t you leave?”

  The old man’s voice hardened. “And go where? That bastard Jocco controls the whole West Coast! I’ve heard what he and his killers do! Faith wouldn’t last a day!”

  Josh drew on his pipe. “You could go east. There’s a rancher in Nevada who’d be glad to take you in. Other fine folk we met further east than that.”

  George tapped his twisted fingers on his thigh and lowered his voice. “Bone cancer. A doc in Bakersfield gave me between six months to a year. I’m way past that already. Faith doesn’t know. I’d like to keep it that way. I told her its just real bad arthritis.”

  Josh had noticed on the one occasion George had left his chair how he needed a cane to hobble around. Just going to the dinner table had exhausted him.

  “You could come with us,” Josh said. “We’ve plenty of room.”

  George’s lined face creased like an old map. “That’s mighty kind of you, Josh, but after what you told me about this one-eyed fella you’re after, I don’t think you’ll last a hell of a lot longer than I will. Besides, I’ve got a husband already picked out for her.”

  “Oh? How does she feel about that?”

  George glanced quickly back into the store. Faith, Suzy and Gretta were laughing as Flame paraded brazenly around in a lime green bikini. “Well, she aint exactly said yes, but then she aint said no either.” Josh poured the both of them another drink. As the old man reached for his glass, Josh saw his hand shake. “She likes Des well enough, but she’s got some foolish notion that I need taking care of!”

  Southern Comfort spilled from the trembling glass as a sudden pain shot through him. George grunted and looked away.

  “Women can be funny that way,” Josh said.

  George managed a nod. When the spasm had passed, he looked up and grinned. Flame, wearing a cowboy hat, boots and the bikini, pranced out on the porch. Her green eyes ablaze with mischief, she blew both men a kiss, then sauntered back inside. More giggles followed.

  “That woman of yours is a real looker,”, George grinned. “Faith now, she’s the shy type.”

  “Consider yourself blessed,” Josh said with feeling.

  Just then Enrico appeared through a hatch in the LAV. “Company coming, Josh. Radar shows four or five blips moving slow about five clicks away.”

  Josh glanced quickly up and down the dusty road. “From the east or west?”

  “South. Whoever it is, they’re coming down the bloody mountain!”

  Josh turned to George. “Friends of yours?”

  George nodded. “Des and his boys coming down for supplies. Expected them yesterday.”

  “The map shows the only road runs east and west.”

  George grinned slyly. “So it does.”

  Nathan Augustus Sayer drained the glass and quickly passed the back of his index finger over his white mustache. The gesture made Josh think of a rakish riverboat gambler. The twinkle in Nate’s blue eyes danced as the Southern Comfort hit bottom. “Well now, honest to goodness sipping whiskey! George, your manners are improving!”

  “I notice that’s your third ‘sip’, Nate,” George
replied. “Think some of the other boys would like a taste before you drain it dry? How about you, Des?”

  Nate Sayer, a long, lanky man with silver hair and an easy grin, held up his glass. “Best not go corrupting the young’ns, George. Especially our young leader here. It takes an experienced hand on the reigns to ride drunk.”

  “And you’ve plenty of experience, I suppose.”

  Nate winked at his old friend. “I do my best, George. I do my best.”

  George shook his head and refilled the glass, glad to see Nate again despite their different views of the world. George then offered the near empty bottle to the younger man sitting with them, who silently declined.

  Nate chuckled. “You’ll have to excuse Des here, Mr. Williams...”

  “Josh, please. Call me Josh.”

  “Well, Josh, Des here don’t take much to drinking. Nor gambling either. It’s his Quaker stock. Hell of a good boss, but far from a frivolous man.”

  Josh looked first at the younger, sandy haired Des, then back to Nate. In the ten minutes he’d spent with these two men, Nate had done most the talking. “It’s been my experience that a ‘frivolous man’ can get you killed.”

  Nate’s grin widened. “Right you are there, Josh. If I was leading the Desperadoes, that bastard Jocco would have probably killed us all long ago. With Des here as trail boss, at least we got a chance.”

  Despite his heavy tan, Desmond Bardow blushed. “Sam’s the one that deserves most the credit, Mr. Williams. Until he came along, we were little better than a bunch of squirrel hunters.”

  “I’ve been hearing a lot about this Sam fella,” George said. “When am I going to meet this military genius?”

  “Sam aint one for socializing,” Nate said, reaching for the remains of the bottle. “Just between you and me, I think he’s had his belly full of what’s been going on in the flatlands. Jocco and his boys had him for nearly a year. He doesn’t like to talk about it, but I can see it in his eyes. That little gal, Shirley too.”