What if the bloodies had already destroyed Camptown by the time they got there? Did everyone there know what was coming? Would they have managed to get away in time?
He straightened in the saddle with a determined grunt. “What are we ambling along for, then? Let's get home before it's too late.”
Chapter Eighteen
Inferno
It only took a bit of coordination and planning to send people out to call back the defenders and fighters in the surrounding mountain slopes and valleys. Brandon was able to accomplish it in less than half a day.
As for the far patrols and skirmishers, there wasn't much he could do besides wait for them to come back in, and hope they managed it before Sangue reached the bowl valley. That, and they didn't run into the enemy on the way here.
And failing everything else, that if the bloodies did take Camptown before their return, the fighters managed to safely break off and were somehow able to find a way to rejoin the displaced Emery and Grand Junction residents.
Brandon was determined to wait for them as long as he could, but he was keenly aware that his family and the others fleeing into the mountains needed him and the few dozen fighters with him, the ones who'd only recently arrived that he hadn't yet sent on southwestwards to join the main group, to protect them in their retreat.
Were Fiona and the baby okay? Had they made it safely away? Were there groups of bloodies lurking in the area they were fleeing through, ready to pounce on a horde of vulnerable refugees? After Newpost Brandon had sworn he'd never let the woman he loved be in a position to fall back in the hands of those monsters. But now his family was, and he wasn't with them when they needed him most.
The thought of them being out there facing the unknown without him made him physically sick.
His heart screamed for him to abandon the missing patrols and skirmishers, even abandon the fighters with him, and rush southwest to find his loved ones and protect them. But he'd agreed to be part of Camptown's fighters, and he knew this was his duty.
In a way, it was no different from when he'd been out skirmishing, leaving Fiona and the baby in the valley in the protection of others. He just had to trust that Jonas and the fighters with him could handle anything that came their way.
Even so, he resolved not to wait a second longer than he had to before heading back to his wife and son. Besides, he wasn't about to risk Sangue swooping in and catching him and the fighters with him as they took the valley.
So he waited impatiently with his few dozen people on the western end of the southern peak, a vantage that gave them a good view of the valley and much of the surrounding area. It also provided a good path to retreat towards the fleeing Camptown residents, if the enemy unexpectedly arrived with the intent to pursue them.
As the hours passed and the sun sank, Brandon was sure he wasn't the only one agonizing more and more after his loved ones struggling through the mountains towards uncertain salvation, as over a thousand bloodthirsty soldiers swarmed in from all directions. Hoping against hope his family was still safe
How was Fiona holding up having to carry Thomas as well as what few possessions she could manage? And Mother Kristy; had the baby come at the worst possible time?
His hope was that at least one patrol or skirmisher group would return before dark, and then he and the others could leave to rejoin their families. If not tonight, then they could at least go a little ways along the trail following the column of refugees before digging in until morning.
“You think we could've fought off a thousand bloodies if we'd still had all the ammo and explosives from Emery?” Ray asked him at around sundown, squinting at the lower valley to the northeast. “You know, if we were well dug in and planted a bunch of booby traps and stuff?”
Brandon shook his head. “They'd have rocket launchers and big machine guns and grenades and all the rest too. Way more than we ever had.”
The older man spat off to one side. “Haven't seen much of it from them as yet.”
“We've been going up against their scouts so far,” a Grand Junction fighter butted in. “Believe me, speaking as someone who knows, once they decide to stomp you flat they bring in the big guns.”
“Not to mention they'd also outnumber our fighters at least five to one, unless we pulled in the less trained people who'd mostly just be target practice for them,” Andy added. Although unlike Ray, his gaze was still turned towards the southwest; his fretting for his family had been obvious ever since they left that morning. In fact, he'd probably already be gone if Brandon hadn't insisted on staying.
Although to be fair, Brandon would've been sorely tempted to go with his friend if he insisted on leaving, duty or not.
A brief silence settled. “Still would've liked to see us make a fight of it,” Ray finally said. “Mowing down hundreds of charging bloodies with machine guns, sniping them as they got bogged down by booby traps or blown to kingdom come by hidden grenades or mines.” He shook his head. “Would've been something to see. Might've even sent them packing for good.”
Brandon abruptly stiffened at a flash of motion on the descending slope to the southeast, reaching for his rifle to confirm what he'd seen with the scope. Sure enough, he spotted four fighters leading a horse approaching the valley, moving urgently in spite of their obvious weariness.
Andy had followed his gaze, and he grunted. “There, see? A group of stragglers finally showed up. Can we round them up and get out of here now?”
He nodded. “Let's go get them.” He turned to the rest of the waiting fighters. “Pack up . . . we move out when I get back.”
The order was mostly unnecessary, since everyone had pretty much been ready to leave since they set up on this vantage point. Still, people gathered up their packs and weapons and got ready to travel.
Brandon led the way down the slope towards the returning scouts, waving as he did. One broke into a run, relief warring with fear on his face. “Sangue riders are hot on our heels!” he called. “They're completely fearless, riding right through places where we've ambushed them in the past, as if they have orders to ride right to Camptown until they either hit resistance or reach the valley.”
Cursing, Brandon rushed to give the man a shoulder to lean on, Andy moving past them to help the other three scouts. They turned and made for the southwest vantage, all the while listening hard for the sound of hoofbeats coming up behind them as the setting sun settled behind a peak to the west.
Brandon finally heard the dreaded sound just before they reached the cover of a dip in the slope above, a low thunder approaching from the south. He hauled the scout the final few feet and dove into the low space with him, and together they peeked back over as Andy and the other scouts crowded in around them.
“We should get out of here,” one of the scouts, a woman they'd rescued from Emery, whispered urgently. Brandon could sympathize with her not wanting to stick around, and had to admire her resolve in being willing to scout in the first place.
Brandon nodded and turned to Andy. “Get them back to the others and head out. I want to see what they do.”
His friend hesitated, then shook his head and motioned for the scouts to continue on without him. “I've got your back, then.”
The scouts looked at them like they were crazy, but wasted no time continuing down the dip and around the western end of the mountain to join the other fighters. Leaving the two of them to watch as several dozen armed men on horseback poured into the bowl valley from the south, trampling through the abandoned Grand Junction camp and practically ripping the summer retreat apart.
When it became obvious the place was empty, the Emery and Grand Junction refugees somehow forewarned of the danger and safely fled, the furious bloodies took their wrath out on what had been left behind. Torches sprang to life in the growing darkness, their bearers quickly spreading out and touching flames to anything that would burn.
Within minutes all the painstakingly built cabins families had sacrificed to build, possessions t
hey couldn't take with them carefully laid out in the hopes they might be able to return to them, and even the few miserable attempts at gardens, were all infernos.
Andy cursed quietly. “Bloodthirsty SOBs barely even bothered to loot the place.”
Brandon turned away, feeling more exhausted and numb than anything else. “No point sticking around for the show.” Andy nodded, and together they shimmied down into the dip and hurried to catch up to the others.
He wasn't sure he was surprised to find the others still at the vantage when they arrived; the sight of all their hard work going up in flames had presented a spectacle it seemed none of them wanted to miss. But with Brandon's arrival people began to stir, as if waking from a nightmare, to grimly heft their packs and sling their weapons and turn away from their high mountain home.
“We should take it slow catching up to our families,” Brandon told them. “Jonas's best efforts to hide their trail when they evacuated might not've been enough, and those bloodies can move quick on horseback if they decide to. I'd prefer to make sure they don't ride straight out to catch our people and dog their heels, slowing them down and picking people off until the rest of their soldiers catch up.”
Ray didn't join him and the others as they drifted away from their vantage. He was still staring down at the burning town, teeth gritted. “Don't look too heartbroken at turning your back on this place, Gerry,” he said sarcastically. “I worked hard to build a new house for my family, just to watch it going up in flames. Least you could do is give me a moment.”
He had to bite back his annoyance; it had been a long, stressful day. “You're not the only one. And it's not the first time for either of us, right? We knew we were writing off this place the moment we walked away, and what would probably happen once the bloodies showed up.” He turned away again. “We can build new houses. Let's get back to our families and make sure we all get away to have that chance.”
They hurried away in the deepening gloom, moving down the thickly forested slope of the south peak in a few single-file lines. Brandon didn't plan to hike all night, or even for much longer, but he at least wanted to put his fighters between the Sangue riders in the bowl valley and the fleeing refugees, so that in the morning they'd be better situated to do something about them.
Unfortunately, it looked like the bloodies had a different idea.
Not far past the bottom of the slope, in a narrow meadow leading up to another forested slope, Brandon abruptly paused, listening, then bit back a curse. Back in the direction of the valley, not far from where they'd come down in fact, he heard the muted clop of hoofs.
He'd just naturally assumed that the bloodies who'd torched Camptown would stick around to camp for the night, if for no other reason than to poke around once it was properly light. But they must've picked up the trail of the refugees fleeing southwest out of the valley, and decided to immediately take up pursuit.
It would be nice if things could go his way at least once in a while.
Moving with even more caution than usual, Brandon paused to let the others catch up, motioning sharply in the dim moonlight for silence in case any decided to ask what was going on. Once everyone was gathered around him, he spoke just loud enough to be heard and deliberately lisped his sibilants so they wouldn't carry in the still night air. “Hoofbeath.”
Ray, who was closest to him, nodded grimly and whispered back. “Heard them. Bloodieth are headed thith way, thcouting into the night. Juth what we need.”
Another of the fighters, sounded like twenty-year-old Colby Jarret, spoke up, quiet but not paying attention to sounds that might carry. “So what do we do? Avoid them?”
Brandon shook his head. “They were probably ordered to keep going until they encountered rethithanthe or found our people. On horthback, at thith rate they'll outpathe uth and catch the otherth before we can reach them with a warning.”
Ray cursed softly. “You want to hit them?”
He most definitely didn't want to, but there was no way he was letting these scouts ride unopposed all the way to where his family and friends were fleeing for their lives. “They're on horthes, making a bunch of noithe so even an idiot can pinpoint them in the dark. Our biggetht worry will be moving after muthle flathes. And they won't know how many of uth are out here . . . in the darkneth thirty can feel like three hundred. Ethpethially for those of uth with automatic weaponth.”
It was Colby's turn to curse. “You want us to split up so it seems like there's more of us, don't you? Fight on our own when there's a bunch of bloodies creeping around in the night.”
Again, Brandon didn't want that, since in the confusion of a night battle they might accidentally shoot each other. But they'd trained for this, if not as extensively as fighting in daylight.
Then again, the enemy scouts probably had, too.
“We'll thpread out into the treeth on either thide of thith meadow, groupth of three. Only aim for the thound of hoofbeath or the thilhouetteth of horthes,” he whispered back. “Thoot, move, look for targeth, thoot. Onthe you can't find any more targeth you withdraw and head thouthwetht ath fatht ath you can. I'll cover your withdrawal. Onthe you get away clean, don't thoot anyone becauthe ith probably one of uth.”
The teenager sighed. “Splitting up it is. On the plus side, if I had to stick around listening to you guys talk all goofy for much longer I would've burst out laughing and brought every Sangue within miles down on us.”
Ray slapped the kid upside the head. “If I got thot becauthe you're hithing like a thnake tho anyone within a hundred yardth can hear you, would you buth a gut then?”
Brandon broke in before Colby could lose his cool and turn this into an argument. “We don't have time to chat. Go, now. After you're in pothition, wait to fire until you hear me fire the firtht thot, or until you have no choithe. Once you hear gunthoth, if you have a target, take them out.”
His few dozen fighters nodded grimly, then like a bunch of shadows flitted off into the night in different directions, ghosting up the slopes to either side of the meadow. Brandon went last with Andy and one of the newly arrived scouts, ears peeled for the sound of hoofbeats drawing ever closer behind him.
There were at least fifty riders, he judged. He really, really hoped he was right that they'd flee at the first sign of resistance, or at least be reluctant to abandon their horses. If they dismounted and ducked into the trees, tried sneaking through the night after his fighters, this could turn into a nightmare of unseen snipers and friendly fire.
On the plus side, as he finally caught sight of the mass of horseflesh approaching down the meadow, he couldn't help but notice they were moving fast, as fast as was reasonable with the lighting.
Huh. Sangue was usually more careful than these riders were acting. Either they were being pressed hard by their superiors to get eyes on Camptown's residents and report back, or they were just bloodthirsty pieces of work stirred into a frenzy by finding the town abandoned. Although whatever their orders, riding off into the night in pursuit of a group that included elderly, women, and children was definitely a mark of something.
Whatever it was, Brandon intended to remind them that Camptown's fighters had spent the last couple months teaching them caution.
Speaking of which . . . it was tempting to keep his eyes on the swarm of riders choking the narrow meadow, but maybe the bloodies weren't as stupid as their headlong charge made them look. As in, maybe they had scouts leading the way, making sure they weren't rushing into danger. He tore his gaze from the meadow and began searching the trees on his side.
There. Ahead of the men on horseback was at least one man on foot. Almost impossible to detect in the dark, especially with his buddies making so much noise.
That was the guy who was going to end up getting Brandon's people killed, since they'd hesitate to shoot him right off. Might even think the enemy scout was actually a member of his team, since they'd lagged behind at the back of the group.
That Sangue needed to go down firs
t.
Brandon took aim, doing his best in the night to filter out the noises of wind sighing in the trees around him, the few woodland animals that hadn't been spooked quiet by men and horses, and other nocturnal noises. He wanted the riders to get as close as possible, but also didn't want that scout to get too close and raise the alarm.
So he centered his scope on the silhouette's torso, ready to take the shot, and focused on his breathing as the hoofbeats drew closer, and closer. It was less a conscious decision than some sixth sense that made him finally squeeze the trigger.
The gunshot shattered the quiet of night, and his target dropped, either hit or realizing the danger. Brandon immediately rolled away in case anyone had been paying attention and got a bead on his muzzle flash. Around him he heard more gunshots from the other fighters, along with surprised shouts and screams of pain from their targets. Finally, after a few seconds came the muzzle flashes and sharp retorts of riders shooting back.
He rose to a crouch and swept his AK-47 across the mass of riders in a series of full automatic bursts, fighting to keep the gun level as it tried to climb under the constant recoil. After emptying maybe half his magazine he dropped again, barely in time to avoid a hail of bullets whipping through the foliage overhead.
Okay, maybe things did go his way every now and then. Thanking his lucky stars, he crawled through the trees to another shooting position.
The next few minutes were a blur of shooting: muzzle flashes in the night, the screams of men and horses, the stink of gunpowder drifting on the wind, shouted orders and calls for help in multiple languages, even the blinding flash and boom of grenades thrown by Sangue riders.
It probably didn't last anywhere near as long as Brandon thought in the moment, but at some point he realized the enemy muzzle flashes were getting farther and farther away. Beyond them, barely visible in the darkness, he saw the mass of horses fleeing back up the meadow as at least one squad of bloodies remained behind to cover their escape.
Mountain Man (Book 5): Final Stand [Last Ditch] Page 31
