Mountain Man (Book 5): Final Stand [Last Ditch]

by Jones, Nathan

  “You swore oaths of service,” Kristof replied sharply.

  The big man suddenly stopped and whirled on him, and it took every ounce of composure not to involuntarily cringe at his looming presence. “Is he going to help Gerry? Tell me straight.”

  He struggled to meet those flinty eyes, failed, and looked away. “I hope so.”

  Tanner snorted and turned, striding away on long legs. “You're welcome to come with us when we leave,” he called over his shoulder.

  Kristof didn't bother to follow, torn between towering wrath at the recruit's behavior, and guilt at the fact he knew the man wasn't entirely wrong.

  This was exactly why you didn't recruit an entire platoon's worth of broken men who already had a leader, keep them together as a unit, try to shove training and military discipline down their throats at an accelerated pace, and expect things to go smoothly.

  Of course, considering Tanner's determination, if Raleigh had upset the entire company by folding a few of the freed prisoners into each squad and creating a new platoon of mixed veterans and recruits, from the looks of things they'd probably just end up with a bunch of units with gaping holes in their ranks anyway, when the big man followed his conscience.

  What a blasted mess.

  * * * * *

  This was a nightmare.

  The first day had been pure torture: agonizing, stressful, terrifying, beyond exhausting. But the thing was, in spite of all that Kristy had made it to the end, and as she allowed herself to collapse in her tent to sleep that night she'd felt like she could do the same the next day.

  How wrong she'd been.

  The terrible realization of that had come pretty much the moment she cracked her eyes in the morning, with her entire body a mass of soreness, stiffness, and insistent complaints. It had been a feat of sheer determination to simply drag herself out of her tent, and everything that had been nearly unmanageable the day before seemed like an insurmountable barrier today.

  Sitting a saddle properly for hours on end while her muscles screamed at her, or slumping and being jounced around with every step Mary took. Wasting precious minutes of their infrequent rest stops to seek out privacy so she could relieve the constant pressure on her bladder, and fighting against the temptation to drink less water because she knew, if anything, she needed to be drinking more. Struggling to hold Molly until exhaustion forced her to hand her daughter down to a friend to take care of, increasing the strain of their own march.

  All the little hardships and discomforts she barely would've noticed at any other time, now conspiring to make every minute on the trail a pure torment. To the point that the prospect of the coming day of travel stretching out in front of her had made her want to drop to the ground and just break down crying.

  She hadn't, of course. She hadn't so much as uttered a noise of complaint as she packed up, ate breakfast, and hauled herself into Mary's saddle to continue their flight into the mountains.

  Which wasn't to say Kristy hadn't spent most of the day bitterly complaining on the inside. She felt bad about even doing that, considering she was one of the few people on horseback, with most of the other animals weighed down with supplies. And most of the people as well, a burden she'd been spared.

  In fact, she barely needed to spend more than a few minutes at a time holding Molly; Fiona, Betty Everett, and the Knudsen women were watching her daughter as they traveled. They were also practically waiting on Kristy hand and foot, overly solicitous of her welfare even as they drove themselves to exhaustion.

  And even with all that, she didn't think she'd ever been through anything so miserable as this last day and a half or so of pushing hard through the mountains. Almost more than she could tolerate, to the point where she honestly wasn't sure she could make it to the end of this day, let alone do it again tomorrow.

  She was about nine and a half months pregnant now. Or, as Tom had so eloquently put it, “ready to pop”. Even as hard as she tried to take things easy for the baby's sake, traveling in her condition left a constant churning worry in her gut that she was risking herself and her child if she kept on like this. The fact that there was no choice in the matter only made things worse.

  That gnawing fear only grew as the sun crept slow as molasses towards the horizon, while the pain in her gut spread and spread. She tried to tell herself it was just weariness and stress, but finally the waves of dull discomfort in her back and lower abdomen, like bad menstrual cramps, were impossible to ignore.

  She'd experienced this before, when she'd had Molly and, more distant in her memory, Skyler: contractions.

  No, not right now. Not yet. She couldn't have this baby while they were fleeing for their lives. Sangue might catch up to them halfway through labor, and her being trapped in childbirth was a death sentence for her, the baby, and anyone kind or foolish enough to stay with her.

  It was irrational, but she almost felt like her body was betraying her.

  Kristy gasped a particularly strong wave of pain was followed by wetness seeping through her clothes and down her legs along the saddle. Almost like she'd wet herself, but she would've vastly preferred that to what it really was.

  She closed her eyes against a sudden haze of tears, gritting her teeth.

  “Mrs. Miller?” Tabby, who was keeping her company like she had for most of the trip so far, asked worriedly. “Do you need to stop for a bit?”

  Kristy looked down at the young woman, forcing herself to speak through labored breaths. “Can you fetch your mom and Fiona, sweetie? My, um, water just broke.”

  The girl's blue eyes got huge, and without a word she bolted back the short distance to where her family was trudging along, gesturing furiously back Kristy's way as she spoke in a hushed, frantic voice.

  Almost before Kristy realized what was happening, Mary was surrounded by a huddle of her closest friends. Their voices murmured up at her soothingly as they lifted her down to the ground. At least until Leanne, all brisk business, took charge. In a dizzying flurry of organization she sent women out to get containers of water to be heated, and to gather clean cloths, or at least clean enough to be usable after being sterilized in boiling water, and sent someone running to talk to Sheriff Mitchells about what was going on.

  All the while Tabby crouched beside her, squeezing her hand comfortingly. “It's going to be okay, Mother Kristy,” she said, blue eyes full of warmth and complete conviction. “You'll see, it'll be fine, and over before you even know it.”

  In spite of her mountain of pain and worry, Kristy couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for the girl as she squeezed back. Mother. Tabby really was just the sweetest thing; Kristy knew her son was still pining for Lisa, and she did hope the Hendricksons returned safely once this was all over and things turned out like he hoped.

  But if they didn't, well . . . in that case, she hoped Skyler had the good sense to see the amazing young woman standing right in front of him.

  Assuming her son ever got over this wild streak of his and came home. Assuming he was okay. Assuming her husband found him and they both came back safe and sound. She wished they'd hurry, since they'd left her here on her own to have this baby with a thousand bloodies hot on her heels, and-

  She wasn't sure if the pain came in response to the panic, or if it was just a coincidence, but she gasped and forced herself to keep breathing as a new wave of contractions washed over her.

  Distantly, she heard Leanne talking. “That was fast. She was having contractions just before we stopped?” Her daughter mumbled a reply, and her mom continued briskly. “In that case this baby's in a hurry. Which is a good thing, all things considered.”

  Kristy felt another hand grip her free one, and Leanne leaned over her. “Kristy, honey,” she said gently. “How long have you been having contractions for? Do you remember when they started?”

  She panted as the wave of pain steadily faded, closing her eyes. “I don't know. I was in such misery all day, just trying to keep from falling out of the saddle.
They could've been going on for hours if they were mild.”

  Her friend patted her hand. “Well, we're going to get you settled in comfortably so you're all ready to have this baby, okay? You just focus on breathing and let us take care of everything else.”

  That was a bit hard to do, because into the huddle of bustling women came Mitchells, Jonas, one of the men from the slave camp Brandon had helped free, and a handful of other leaders from the various groups that had made up Camptown.

  The sheriff gave her an uncomfortable smile that was probably meant to be supportive, although she couldn't blame him for his awkwardness; what man wasn't at a loss when confronted with childbirth? For that matter, if she had a choice she wouldn't be flat on her back going through contractions with half the convoy looking on.

  Mitchells turned to the other men with him. “Get our biggest tent set up for Mrs. Miller and the women helping with the birthing. We'll stop here for the night.”

  Kristy wasn't sure whether to be relieved or dismayed. “We can't,” she protested through gritted teeth, although part of her screamed for her to keep her stupid mouth shut. “Sangue might be hot on our heels.”

  “I hate to be the bad guy here,” said Jonas, who she'd observed most definitely didn't seem to hate that, “but the lady has a point. We'd be doing all of us a favor, including her and her little bundle of joy, if we slung her back on her horse and kept going before the bloodies catch up to us and start-”

  “You're in charge of defending us, right?” Mitchells growled, interrupting the younger man's stream of unpleasantness. “How about you secure the area so we're defended? We haven't seen any sign of pursuers so far, it's only two hours to dark, we've been pushing hard for two days, and we have an emergency. We're camping.”

  Jonas stormed off, muttering something under his breath about what was going to happen to them because of the sheriff's decision. From what little Kristy heard of it, she was glad she didn't hear more.

  Mitchells ignored him, turning to give her another smile, this one more genuine. His expression was resolved. “Besides, I'm not letting any woman suffer a forced march in the middle of childbirth. Especially not Trapper's wife.”

  The men hurried to work, while Kristy's friends made a protective huddle around her fussing and doing their best to make her more comfortable. Fiona snugged a thick blanket over her, both for privacy and for warmth as the sun lowering behind the mountains to the west stopped offering its heat, allowing the early autumn chill to quickly descend.

  Her friend was about to settle down beside her to begin mopping her brow, but Kristy caught her arm urgently. “Logan. Has he checked in yet?”

  The young woman gave her a quizzical look. “He's usually scouting until we stop for the night, then he checks in to see if he's on the night patrol roster before finding us.”

  Kristy knew all that. Her grip tightened, enough that Fiona winced slightly. “Tom! Has he seen Tom coming in?”

  She needed her husband here, with her, right now. He'd been a complete disaster during Molly's birth, but the fact that he'd been there with her had made all the difference. And on this isolated mountain slope, exhausted and frightened and with the cold settling in and Sangue possibly ready to descend on them in blood and death, she was desperate for his solid, comforting presence beside her.

  She needed Skyler too, of course, and desperately hoped he'd show up out of the blue as well. But at the moment, even if Tom hadn't managed to find their son and bring him back, she still needed her husband.

  Fiona rested a comforting hand on hers. “I'll get in touch with the scouts, make sure they're looking for him, and the night shifts too. The moment he gets here, I'll make sure he's at your side.” In spite of her words, her tone said she had no reason to assume that Tom was anywhere near them, or would show up in time to be a comfort during the birth.

  Kristy settled back as her friend hurried away, stifling a groan as a fresh wave of contractions hit her. They'd come on with unexpected suddenness, far quicker than her other births, and seemed to be progressing faster as well.

  Leanne began patting her forehead with a cool, damp cloth. “Set everything else aside and focus on your breathing, Mother Kristy. It'll all work out okay.”

  She felt a moment of amusement at the incongruity of the woman, a little bit older than her and with a daughter around Skyler's age, calling her by that term of endearment. But she nodded and settled back, focusing on taking deep, even breaths as a camp sprang up around her. People were already getting fires started, calling for pots to heat water for her. They were also searching for clean cloths, or frantically working to wash some.

  To her relief, the tent was set up in record time. It was a decent sized cabin tent, enough for the other women to set up a comfortable bed for her, as well as room for everyone helping her to work without crowding her or each other.

  In no time at all she was in a warm, safe, private space, surrounded by friends, and ready to face the coming ordeal in as ideal a situation as possible under the circumstances.

  * * * * *

  Tom wondered if it could be possible zombies were actually real. If so, he was just about ready to turn into one, stumbling along blearily through the dark with no thought in his head but to hold Horse's reins and put one foot in front of the other. It was practically a miracle they hadn't walked right into a group of bloodies.

  How many days had it been? In their desperation to find their family, they'd pushed practically day and night, only pausing to rest for scant hours in hidden camps. At least Skyler had been able to doze in the saddle, his wounded arm draining his strength to the point he couldn't walk far in spite of his determination. Thankfully it didn't seem to be festering.

  Still, it left Tom having to shoulder the burden of guiding them, keeping them moving, and pushing his already exhausted body so far beyond its limits he wondered if he was going to drop dead.

  He was too old for this. Especially since he had to have aged at least a decade after seeing the smoldering ruins of the summer retreat, Camptown, and the Grand Junction refugees' new settlement, all swarming with bloodies looking to find anything they could in the bowl valley.

  His fears that the residents hadn't managed to get out in time were eased by the lack of any bodies or signs of a fight. Somehow, Gray must've got advance warning that Sangue was coming, probably over the radio, and evacuated everyone in time.

  It had been a trick to sneak close enough to find all of that out, through the squads of Sangue patrolling everywhere. He'd had to leave Skyler behind, sending him to circle south around the valley, while he'd made his way in over the course of a few hours.

  They'd chosen that plan after assuming that, with the bloodies mostly operating from the ranch, Emery, Highway 29, and the closer edge of the mountains to the east, Gray and Mitchells would decide to evacuate their people to the west or southwest. Skyler had agreed to push hard on Horse towards where they assumed their family was waiting for them, while Tom scouted the situation and then met up with him again.

  That had been a bad few hours. Leaving his injured son behind with hundreds of enemies swarming the area, getting closer and closer to the bowl valley and becoming certain it had fallen. Seeing the ashes of the place being picked over by bloodies and for a moment fearing the worst.

  He'd found the tracks left by the fleeing townspeople, which led him to the grim certainty that Sangue would've also found them. So he'd pushed hard, caught up to Skyler, and together they'd used every tidbit of knowledge about the terrain they were passing through to move as quickly as possible.

  They'd passed a few dozen bloodies a few hours before dark. From what Tom could see, they were following a false trail Gray's fighters must've created, while the more obvious trail left by the townspeople had been erased for just far enough to fool the enemy.

  Although not for long, he feared.

  He had to keep going. He had to be there for Kristy, for Molly, for . . . was it possible the baby had already co
me? That he had another child and he didn't even know if it was a boy or a girl? His heart seized in his chest as a less welcome thought struck him.

  Was it possible something had gone wrong with the childbirth? That he'd left his wife to suffer that alone?

  “Think we're getting close now?” Skyler asked. His voice was hoarse, weaker than Tom would've liked. Most likely just exhaustion, same as him.

  “Kind of hard to tell,” he drawled, “seeing as we're ambling along in the pitch dark.” The words came out more testy than he would've liked.

  There was a cautious pause. “I can take over for a bit, lead Horse while you catch some sleep,” his son offered. “You haven't taken a turn in the saddle all day. That means you've gotten, what, two hours of sleep in the last thirty-six? Maybe five in the last two days?”

  If that. “I'm fine,” Tom said curtly.

  “You're meandering worse than a drunk coming out of Neal's bar at closing time,” Skyler insisted. “I swear you would've run smack dab into a tree half a dozen times if Horse hadn't been tugging to keep away from branches. And you have been smacking branches ever since full dark.”

  “And you can barely stay in the saddle, let alone walk a hundred yards!” Tom snapped. He took a steadying breath. “You're at the end of your rope, I'm at the end of my rope. Nothing for it but to keep going and hope neither of us snaps.”

  It was probably a worrying indication of his son's condition that he gave in without another word. Tom forced himself to keep moving, numb mind nearly blinding him to his surroundings as he bumbled through whatever obstacles he encountered.

  Deep down, he knew he was more than likely wandering in circles at this point, in spite of his effort to periodically turn and orient himself on the north star. He should've already stopped; a few hours of rest would save time in the long run, since he'd be moving with a clear mind and rested muscles. He knew all that.

  But he couldn't stop.

  The haunting memory of the blackened ruin of their summer retreat, the sight of bloodies swarming the place that had been their home, all combined with the dread he'd been running on from the moment he realized Sangue must've found the valley and were on their way there. Even if he did give in and slump down in a stupor somewhere, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, wouldn't be able to really relax his over-exhausted body, until he laid eyes on his wife and daughter and knew they were okay.