A noise, less a cheer than a sort of collective sob of relief, passed through the crowd of hundreds of people.
Raleigh smiled, pleased to be the bearer of good news, and turned to one of his junior officers, who nodded at a grizzled noncom. The man barked some orders, and a handful of soldiers lugging duffel bags and five-gallon jugs stepped forward.
“I figured you'd be in the mood to celebrate,” the captain continued cheerfully, “so here's some chocolate and powdered lemonade, courtesy of the Northern League. Offered with sincere respect and gratitude to the citizens of Camptown, who waged a mountain war with the Sangue of Central Utah that brought the bloodies to their knees!”
This time it was definitely a cheer.
The mood of the crowd was one of almost giddy relief and jubilation, cheering and surrounding the soldiers in a friendly mob as they filled cups and jugs with lemonade and handed out bars of chocolate in foil wrappers. The fighters were gently but firmly shoved to the front of that eager line, and it was obvious to see which ones had fought on the ridge; they flinched and stumbled amidst a storm of backslaps, handshakes, hugs, and other enthusiastic accolades.
Some of them tried to answer the attention with sickly smiles, but most simply lurched along in a daze to receive their treats, buffered by a protective huddle of loved ones they held onto like lifelines.
The fighters who'd led the refugees down to the foothills, however, were another story. Off to one side Skyler saw Brandon, grinning like an idiot, break free from a crowd of well-wishers to toss a happily shrieking Fiona over one shoulder and spin around with her until they both fell to the ground laughing, cushioned by a dozen supporting hands.
Trapper was actually picked up and passed overhead in the crowd to be deposited in front of the line, although the mountain man looked almost panicked at being separated from his wife, who hung back away from the press clutching Miles protectively, with Skyler at her side cushioning her from the worst of the jostling.
No doubt Jonas would've received an equal hero's recognition, if he hadn't been one of the first wounded rushed into the camp.
Skyler was confused when a grinning Wendy gently plucked Molly out of his arms. Before he could ask why he was ambushed from the other side by a squealing Tabby, who threw herself into his arms like she meant to tackle him to the ground.
He laughed and hugged her back, so caught up in the moment that he almost didn't realize what she was doing when she lifted her face to his to kiss him.
He jerked his head back just in time, then felt terrible as deep hurt flashed across his friend's face. It was replaced by brief anger, then a sort of weary resignation. “Lisa,” she said, letting him set her down then stepping away and crossing her arms as if cold.
Skyler shifted miserably. He wanted to make some reassuring gesture, but was pretty sure it would just be a slap in the face under the circumstances. “You heard Captain Raleigh. They're taking us north, the way she went. This is my chance to find her.”
Tabby plopped down on the grass a few feet away, a short distance from the crowd, and scowled down at the valley stretching into the distance on the far side of the road. “You know, I say this with complete affection, but your family are all so hardheaded you can crush rocks with your foreheads.”
Hard to argue that. He made his way over to join her, unable to think of anything to say, and an uncomfortable silence settled. After a few seconds he dropped down to sit beside her, also looking at the unfamiliar view.
His friend sighed. “What if she's not up there?” she asked in a tiny voice.
He glanced at her to see her biting her lip, looking miserable. He hated to see it, hated it so much he just wanted to wrap his arms around her and banish that sadness. He couldn't deny that he had feelings for Tabby, which just frustrated him even more because he felt like he was betraying Lisa in spite of himself.
Why did everything have to be so complicated? He sighed too, glancing back down at the valley. “Then I guess I'll have to keep looking until I find her.”
She looked at him like he was crazy. “And if you can't?”
The words stung, as if she was suggesting the worst. But Skyler forced down the surge of defensiveness and shook his head. “I don't know. Move on, I guess.”
Tabby snorted. “Which makes me what, your last possible option? You know, half the boys we know have huge crushes on me.”
“They should,” he said earnestly, even though the words made him blush. “You're incredible, Tabby. I don't think I could've made it if you hadn't been there for me through all this.” She turned to look at him, blue eyes wide, and he cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed about saying all that. He hurriedly continued, forcing a bantering tone. “Also, you know, you're super cute.”
“Well duh,” she said in the same tone, although he thought her cheeks might be a bit pink too. She sniffed. “But noooo, I have to pick the idiot who's already in love with someone else.”
“Sorry,” he said lamely. “You know you're a good friend. Probably my best friend, now.”
“Just what every girl wants to hear.” But his friend's tone was resigned, even wry, and she nudged his shoulder playfully as she started to stand. “Forget the future, we're still supposed to be celebrating. Come on . . . I want to see what chocolate and lemonade taste like.”
* * * * *
The celebration passed in slow motion for Tom.
He didn't taste his lemonade or chocolate, although he must've eaten them since when he thought to check his camp mug was empty and all that was left in the wrapper was a few chocolatey smears. The people talking around him all sounded like they were far away, or he was underwater, an incomprehensible babble he didn't even want to try to interpret. And then suddenly with a jarring lurch he'd look around and all the people he'd been talking to would be gone, new people in their place.
He was still on that ridge, ordering people to throw themselves against machine guns and grenades to buy their loved ones time. He was still seeing the carnage, hearing the deafening racket, the screams. The stink of gunpowder and blood and worse.
How had he survived unscathed, when so many good people hadn't?
With a shudder, Tom forced himself back into the present. His arm was around Kristy, like it had been for . . . however long they'd been here. She was his anchor, the only reason he was still on his feet and hadn't been washed away. He didn't see Skyler or Molly or even Miles, although he had to assume someone was caring for them.
He leaned down and kissed her gently, smiling reassuringly into her worried expression. “How about you go find the kids? I need to talk to our hosts.”
“You sure?” she asked, squeezing his arm.
He nodded. “Focusing on what comes next is a good way to block out . . .” he trailed off, not even wanting to mention it.
His wife briefly hugged him. “We'll be here.”
Tom reluctantly parted from her and strode off in search of that lieutenant who'd arranged the evacuation. The man had seemed no-nonsense and practical, while Raleigh looked more the sort for big gestures and grand platitudes.
Practical was what they needed.
It turned out Kristof was already back in the camp, doing some sort of after-action meetup with his troops. He didn't seem terribly pleased when Tom asked if he had a minute. “If this is about your buddy Jonas, his surgeon is optimistic about his chances. Probably walk with a limp for the rest of his life, but he'll walk.”
That actually wasn't what Tom was there for, although it was good to hear. “Thank you for letting me know. But I wanted to talk about something.”
After an uncomfortable silence the man sighed. “Fine, you can have a minute.”
“Fair enough.” Tom led him a brief distance away, and decided to get straight to the point. “I need to know what happens to us now.”
The lieutenant shifted impatiently. “You heard Captain Raleigh. We'll take you north, make sure you're taken care of.”
“As refugees?�
�� The man's expression didn't so much as twitch. “I've got more experience than I'd like with that. My people need help, that's plain enough, but we don't need charity. We can trade if need be.”
Kristof stared doubtfully through the tents at the exhausted, ragtag group still celebrating near the vehicles. “Trade,” he repeated flatly.
“We have resources hidden away,” Tom said, trying not to sound defensive. “I don't suppose this coalition of yours uses precious metals as trade?”
The lieutenant's lip curled. “You don't suppose correctly. Even before the trouble with Sangue, we preferred to trade for useful goods and services.”
Shoot. Well, he supposed he couldn't be surprised since no one else was either. “We had to leave most of our best stuff behind, but we hid it and it might still be there. And you might not have noticed, but pretty much all of us are armed. Those guns aren't going to do us much good now that we used up most of our ammo in that last fight.”
“Well, I will warrant you've got to be the most insanely well armed refugee group I've ever seen. And unless I'm crazy I even saw some of your people lugging rocket launchers and big machine guns empty on ammunition.” The man shrugged disinterestedly. “There's always a demand for guns, so I'm sure you'll do fine. But trade is not my responsibility, sir. If you want to sort that out with someone up in the Northern League, that's your business.”
Tom looked helplessly across the flat at his people. “We're on the brink, Lieutenant. We need assistance.”
Kristof sighed. “Listen . . . Trapper,” he said with a faint twist to his lips, obviously hating the nickname as much as Tom himself did.
“Tom Miller,” he interrupted, offering his hand.
The man ignored it. “Listen, Mr. Miller, we're not here for humanitarian purposes. Our mandate is clear: drive Sangue as far from our borders as possible. Ideally back into Mexico. Something we're on the verge of doing, so we can't afford distractions.”
Speaking of distractions, that bombshell was enough to provide one from Tom's purpose. He let his hand drop and leaned forward intently. “You're on the verge of driving Sangue out of the States?”
“We're getting there,” the lieutenant said stoutly. “In fact, Sangue didn't have the resources to spare for chasing you the way they did for long, and our victory today might've broken them in Utah. They may be forced to withdraw out of the state after this, which means you could just go home again.”
Home. A burned ranch and a burned high mountain town and a burned Emery. That was enough to turn Tom back to his original topic. “Even if we're able to return to our homes, we'd need to trade to rebuild, to survive the winter. There must be something you can do.”
“Well if you really intend to sell the lion's share of your weapons, we can certainly provide you a buyer. And the League could spare supplies to get you started again, at reasonable rates.” Kristof glanced back towards his waiting platoon, looking tired. “A discussion for later. It's been a long day, Mr. Miller. From the sounds of it you went through the sort of hell up on that ridge that even veteran soldiers struggle to get past. Go rest, worry about all this tomorrow.”
Tom nodded and wound back through the camp to rejoin his family. Kristy, cuddling Miles, spotted him and immediately came over, looking concerned. “What's going on?”
He smiled wearily. “The League intends to send Sangue packing, all the way to Mexico. They think our victory today might've already driven them out of Utah. The fighting might be over soon.”
Her beautiful eyes shone with new hope at the words. Although also with her familiar stubbornness. “For us, Tom Miller, the fighting is over.”
No argument there. He nodded and put an arm around her, leaning down to kiss Miles and then pressing his forehead against hers. “For us, it's over,” he agreed solemnly. “Let's focus on rebuilding our ranch. Our lives.”
* * * * *
Lisa's family had settled in to the point where they felt like New Bozeman was their home.
Even the other citizens they'd befriended here considered them welcome neighbors. The herds were doing well, continuing to grow and produce, and her dad had been talking about building a permanent house either in the city or on the outskirts near the grazing land they rented. Lisa had grown content with her new life, to the point where she'd almost forgotten the fear of Sangue that had driven her family from their home.
Which was why they were all immediately on edge when Major Crenshaw, who they hadn't seen since he visited to see how they were settling in a week or so after their arrival, showed up out of the blue to visit them.
Especially since the man clearly looked uncomfortable, even reluctant to be there.
“I have news about the war with the Panteras,” he said with false cheer. “Quite a bit has been happening lately, quite a bit.”
Lisa's parents glanced at each other warily. “We're grateful to hear it,” her dad said jovially. “Will you join us, have some coffee and sweetbread?”
Refined sugar, spices, and coffee were all luxuries they'd been able to indulge in since coming to the League. Along with chocolate, of course. Lisa wasn't a fan of the coffee, thought it always tasted like it had somehow been burned, but she liked everything else.
Crenshaw hesitated, then nodded and joined them at the outdoor table in their camp. “Thank you.”
An awkward silence settled as Lisa and her mom bustled to get the soldier his food, while her dad struggled to tease conversation out of him. The major eventually dove into current events, seeming eager to talk about good news.
Which made Lisa worry that he'd also come with bad news. She dreaded her guess at what it might be.
The radio chatter the Northern League intercepted from the enemy, along with reports from soldiers in the field, all confirmed that the tide was finally turning against the southern invaders. Not only were they having more trouble than expected subduing the League, never seeming able to find the hidden settlements within the League's oddly porous borders but finding plenty of ambushes instead, but they were now facing internal strife.
It turned out the Panteras weren't treating the Central and South American countries they'd conquered much better than they were treating the United States, and revolts were breaking out everywhere. Some of it was small scale, delaying or outright refusing to pay the crippling taxes and more and more people resorting to banditry. But a surprising number of countries, most notably Mexico, were in open revolution and fighting hard to push out the occupiers.
Lisa remembered hearing that refugees from Mexico were fleeing north by the thousands, hoping to find some place Sangue hadn't yet reached. But Crenshaw announced that those who'd remained had decided the time to fight had finally come. Not without more than a little clandestine help from the League in sending them supplies and equipment, and assisting them in organizing.
“It's like a foundation holding up a house,” the major said. “It's rotting, being eaten by termites, and soon enough it's going to collapse. The Panteras will have no choice but to withdraw and try to consolidate what they can, deal with their internal strife and abandon conquest for the foreseeable future. Assuming they're not violently overthrown any day now.” He chuckled, seeming in the best spirits Lisa had seen from him since his arrival. “The balloon's about to pop, and just that quickly they'll be gone.”
“Then the Northern League and the rebels in Mexico and those other countries did it?” her dad asked, looking jubilant.
“Credit where credit's due,” Crenshaw replied. “You Americans also did it. Every group across what was once the United States, from a couple to a couple hundred, who picked up guns and went out and started shooting Sangue patrols, making their life pure misery. You're the termites that brought down their house, and you should be proud of what you sacrificed to make this happen.”
That was probably the first time Lisa had ever been called a termite, let alone as a compliment. She wasn't sure she liked it, mostly because it meant the officer had started talking abo
ut them as if they were outside the League. Even now, after being here all this time.
By that point Crenshaw had finished his slice of sweetbread and most of his coffee, and was fidgeting uncomfortably. Lisa's mom leaned forward across the table to take his plate, voice gentle. “You didn't come just to give us this news, Major. What is it?”
The man sighed. “I . . . hate to be the bearer of bad news, Mrs. Hendrickson. Especially for such a lovely family. But I'm afraid with the invaders being pushed back into the southern United States, and ultimately back into Mexico, our leaders have begun pushing to resettle the refugees back where they came from.”
Lisa felt her heart sink at the confirmation of her fears. If the man was here, he obviously included her family in that group.
“You're kicking us out?” her dad said. To her surprise he sounded resigned, rather than surprised or angry or heartbroken.
In other words, all the things Lisa was feeling.
This had become her home. She'd found friends here. She'd finally begun getting past all the fear of Sangue so she could live her life, in a way she hadn't since living at the ranch in Trapper's valley just before her dad returned with the news that the invaders had taken Grand Junction.
Major Crenshaw shifted uncomfortably, looking a bit guilty. “It's not personal, Hendrickson, you have to know that. I warned you right at the start that this is what would probably happen.”
Lisa's mom stepped over beside her husband. “Why? We've become productive members of this community, made friends. Do those friends seriously want us gone, or is it just everyone else?”
The officer shook his head wearily. “True, you've become valued members of the community, and if we had a choice nobody would want you gone. But it's out of our hands.”
“How does that work?” her dad demanded. “Everyone wants us to stay, but we're still getting the boot? Who's putting a gun to your head over this?”
Mountain Man (Book 5): Final Stand [Last Ditch] Page 41
