Nuclear Winter | Book 2 | First Spring

by Jones, Nathan

  Matt died a little at the sight. “Enough,” he snapped, hurrying forward and motioning for Catherine to retrieve a bowl of hot soup from the pot they'd prepared for all the defenders who'd gone out. He quickly ushered his friend through the crowd, talking over his shoulder. “If you don't have business here then get out.”

  “Excuse me?” an older woman in the group snapped. He thought her name was Judy, one of Ben's refugees who'd come in the winter after the Gulf burned. “He dropped the ball and people are dead! We have a right to answers.”

  “Not right now,” he snapped back. “We're still finding those answers, and when emotions are high is the worst time to have this discussion.” He pointed at the tent flaps. “Out.”

  The crowd of anxious townspeople reluctantly filed out, muttering resentfully. Last of all was Judy, who spoke under her breath loud enough for someone a hundred feet away to hear. “Answers? Hah! Couldn't find your own butt with both hands, a compass, and a map.”

  Trev allowed himself to be seated near the makeshift brazier that heated the tent, accepting the bowl of soup Catherine handed him. “They're not wrong,” he said, eyes on the glowing coals as he breathed in the fragrant steam.

  Matt smiled grimly. “Sure they are. I only need one hand and a map to find my butt.” His friend didn't so much as crack a smile, and Matt sighed as he sat down on a seat across the brazier from him. “They're not right either. None of us expected to be attacked at night during a storm, way up here in the mountains isolated from everyone. The psychopaths who did this managed the near impossible, but you could've just as easily found their frozen bodies next to the discarded #10 cans.”

  “It's my job to expect things like this,” Trev replied dully, “and I failed. If you want me to step down I will.”

  Catherine, who'd gone to give Chauncey Watson at the radio another bowl of soup and exchange a few quiet words with him, came to stand at Trev's shoulder. “Funny thing, that,” she said dryly. “Aspen Hill isn't taxing residents and none of us who're working for the town are getting paid, aside from the occasional meal. You're basically working for free under tremendous pressure, and I can't see many people standing in line to replace you.”

  Matt doubted that was what his friend needed to hear at the moment. “Nobody does things perfect, and most people are far from the mark. As far as I'm concerned if somebody gets it right 9 times out of 10 they're well ahead of the curve, and nobody who replaces them is going to be any better.”

  Trev opened his mouth to respond, but Catherine cut in and talked over him firmly. “What happened tonight wasn't due to carelessness or laziness on your part, was it?” Trev hesitated thoughtfully, then shook his head. “The town leaders are as responsible for not giving you enough people to properly protect the town, and even the Weavers share some responsibility for what happened.”

  What? Matt stiffened with the beginnings of outrage, and he wasn't alone: apparently nobody liked hearing that any more than he had. “What?” Chauncey called from his seat, peering over the top of the radio at them.

  The former Mayor continued resolutely. “Even within the safety of town, even with defenders on patrol, each individual is responsible for themselves and their loved ones. Like Matt said, we can't be perfect, and anyone who expects us to be and makes no effort of their own has to blame themselves as well if they're caught unprepared. Crime doesn't completely cease to exist just because the police are out there fighting it.”

  “I guess,” Matt said reluctantly. “Although it seems a bit soon after the tragedy to be saying it.”

  Catherine shrugged wearily. “It still needs to be said. The Weavers had weapons and a few men who knew how to use them, but their door was unlocked and they were all sleeping off their Thanksgiving feast. They could've prevented this disaster with a lock and their guns close to hand, or at least put up enough of a fight to alert the defenders and their neighbors in time to help.”

  Matt had to admit that matched his earlier thoughts. “I suppose it would be a good idea to encourage all our people to bar their doors and be ready to defend their homes if need be.” He turned to Trev. “And we'll give you more manpower to guard our perimeter, and be extra vigilant during storms and other times when an enemy might be able to slip in unnoticed. This is a lesson for all of us, and a chance to do better.”

  His friend nodded and stood, still clutching the steaming soup in his hands. “All right. If you still trust me to lead the defenders then I will, and I'll be better prepared if they come again.”

  “They probably will,” Chauncey said. “They succeeded this time, and once what they took runs out it won't be long before they're desperate enough to try again.”

  That was likely true. The thought made Matt, already exhausted, want to just curl up and sleep right there by the brazier. The warmth and happiness of yesterday's meal and spending time with family and friends seemed like a week ago.

  And he'd been here organizing things, a far less tiring task than wading through heavy snowfall straining to find signs of the murderers.

  He leaned forward and rested a hand on Trev's shoulder. “For now get some sleep. I'll handle making sure the town is defended for the rest of the night, and we can look over all this with a fresh eye tomorrow.”

  His friend obviously wanted to argue. It was a testament to just how wiped out he was that he just nodded and shuffled out the door, still holding his soup. Matt watched him go, then with a sigh got back to work. There'd also be the funeral for the Weavers to arrange for tomorrow, and all the town's other needs he couldn't overlook just because they were in the middle of a crisis.

  The thought of Sam cuddled up against him in their cozy bed beckoned like a siren's song, but from the looks of things he wouldn't be getting any more sleep tonight.

  Chapter Four

  Minefield

  The next nine days passed in a blur for Trev.

  First off he implemented a lot more aggressive patrol routes, adding a bit of variation to the paths his defenders took so they didn't become predictable, and even having them go through town regularly to check on houses. He also placed sentries farther out in reasonably comfortable shelters, so they could have maximum time inspecting the area without freezing to death. And finally he stayed more on top of things when he wasn't on shift, and had Gutierrez take over for him when he was.

  Trev went on shift every day, a rotating schedule that put him in every sentry position and on every patrol route. During his shifts he looked for ways to improve the routes and give the sentries at their posts better visibility.

  It was a stressful, draining grind, but he was determined the town wouldn't be caught unprepared again. If and when those attackers came back they'd be the ones caught by surprise, even if they came during a blizzard.

  Because of his busy schedule he didn't get to see much of Deb, although she did her best to make opportunities for him. Because she was occupied planning the wedding she'd begged off taking shifts, and she often visited him to discuss some detail of the preparations or just spend time with him. He definitely welcomed her company, and the prospect of the impending wedding was what kept him going during the long hours.

  The attackers hadn't come back yet by the morning of the wedding, which Trev spent away from the house so he wouldn't break the superstition of seeing the bride before she came down the aisle.

  He used the time to tie up a few final loose ends with scheduling before passing the duty over to Gutierrez. The defenders had given the newlyweds the wedding present of taking over their shifts and other duties for a week, giving them a honeymoon period with time to themselves. Trev had to admit that after how hard he'd pushed himself since the attack he was looking forward to a break, and he patiently endured the ribbing about how even though it was a vacation he and his new bride wouldn't be getting much sleep.

  Maybe it was pre-wedding jitters, or maybe he was still being a bit of a perfectionist after dropping the ball with the Weavers, but Trev stuck around longer than
he should've filling Gutierrez in on everything he'd need to do for the next week. The former soldier already knew all of it, since as his second-in-command he'd been part of most of the planning.

  Finally his friend shooed him out the door, assuring him he had things under control.

  Trev made his way to the Halsson cabin, where Lewis was letting him use his and Jane's room to wash up and get dressed for the wedding. Although beforehand his cousin took one look at his unkempt hair and stubble and dragged out a safety razor and electric clippers. At Lewis's insistence Trev got to work shaving while his cousin cut his hair, and in less than fifteen minutes Trev felt shorn like a sheep, his hair short and his face smooth and miraculously nick-free.

  He was left alone to wash up, including sparingly dabbing on some cologne his cousin had left for him, then he quickly dressed in a suit he'd borrowed from his dad. It was a nice one, a solid dark blue that had miraculously come through all this time with no noticeable stains or scuffs. More importantly it was thick cloth, obviously meant for use in colder weather. Trev would still have to wear a coat over it, and probably gloves and a hat, but at least there'd be some sign he'd made an effort.

  Performing a wedding was a major challenge with waist deep snow outside and no large buildings in town where people could gather.

  On that subject he went outside to the clearing between the shelter group houses, where the men of the group and several friends were already out shoveling and trampling out a spot for the ceremony. His mom and Deb had already arranged to borrow dozens of chairs, and Trev, Jim, and Lewis had been hard at work for the last week cutting the larger firewood logs into sections to use for more seats.

  As they worked their friends started to gather, and his mom and Aunt Eva began organizing things for the ceremony itself and getting everyone in position. Since everyone would be bundled up to the ears there wasn't really a chance for color-coordinated bridesmaids, or a blushing bride in an elaborate wedding dress. Not to mention that their resources were limited and none of those things were available.

  In a concession to trying to look nice without freezing to death they'd all wear their best with as little cold weather covering as possible and keep the ceremony short, so they could all get out of the snow. Then they'd spend the rest of the time indoors for the reception and socializing.

  It was a clear day but it had dawned cold, and nobody complained about the abbreviated timetable.

  All too soon Trev found himself standing atop a flat mound of packed snow strewn with gravel for traction, in front of a seated crowd of friends. His dad, Jim, Chauncey, Rick, Wes, Alvin, and Gutierrez all stood behind him as groomsmen, although in this case Chauncey, with his prosthetic leg, had been given a seat if standing became too tiring or painful, and was sitting now until the ceremony began.

  On the other side of the mound his mom, Aunt Eva, Mary, Linda, Sam, Jane, and Alice were serving as bridesmaids, waiting for Deb to come down the aisle. Matt stood between the two groups where he'd officiate the wedding as Mayor, looking slightly uncomfortable about the task like always.

  As for Lewis, at Deb's insistence his cousin would have the honor of escorting her down the aisle in the father's traditional place, to give away the bride.

  Deb confessed she felt a bit bad about not asking George to perform the role, since she was fond of her soon to be father-in-law and respected him a great deal. But she hadn't forgotten that Lewis was one of the people who'd helped Trev get her and the other prisoners out of the blockhead camp, along with Rick and Jane. That was a debt she'd never be able to repay.

  With everyone in position an expectant hush fell over the crowd. Off to the side Hailey Nelson sat with a small electronic keyboard on her lap. She'd been playing soft prelude music to set the tone with a fair amount of skill, but at a nod from Clair she let the music trail off to silence, which she turned into a dramatic pause before she began playing the Bridal Chorus.

  Everyone's eyes turned to the aisle, where Deb, in a simple white dress topped by a white coat and hat, all borrowed from generous friends, glided down the aisle on Lewis's arm.

  Trev's breath caught slightly at the way the cold gave his soon to be wife's cheeks a rosy flush, highlighting her loveliness. And the way her eyes shone as they stared into his while she approached made him want to hold her close and never let her go.

  He didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky, but he felt incredibly fortunate to be here in this moment with her.

  With Lewis's help she mounted the snow platform and took her place, and Trev felt a small thrill when she took his hand and held it. He barely heard Matt's words as his friend smoothly spoke through the ceremony, when the moment came speaking his own vows in a numb daze. When it was Deb's turn he tried to commit hers to memory, wanting to treasure them for years to come.

  Finally the Mayor declared them husband and wife, and he didn't think Deb's slight shiver at the pronouncement was entirely from the cold. He certainly felt his own thrill of excitement at the words.

  He thought he'd feel self-conscious about sharing their first kiss as a married couple in front of a crowd, but his focus was all on his new wife and he barely even noticed the applause and scattered cheering. He pulled away to Deb's radiant smile, and put and arm around her and pulled her close as they turned to face everyone.

  Now that they'd shared the kiss there was a hasty line for everyone to come around offering hugs and handshakes to the new couple, as well as a few photos of the new bride and groom together, then with the entire family, and finally with the bridesmaids and groomsmen lined up to either side, all snapped by Scott Tillman using Lewis's phone.

  A few of their congratulatory friends made it a point of addressing Deb as Mrs. Smith, or even Mrs. Debra Rutledge Smith, which sounded weird to Trev's ears.

  Not that he minded.

  * * * * *

  Raul had to admit this was the most uncomfortable wedding he'd ever attended.

  No, it wasn't the temperature or the snow. Or, well, while those weren't terrific they were nothing he couldn't handle, especially if it meant giving one of his best friends a proper sendoff on that grand adventure known as marriage.

  The fact that he'd had a very awkward sort-of breakup with that friend's cousin, using the friend as the go-between to deliver the message, then did his best to avoid her after that point, was also something he might've been able to handle.

  Assuming he wasn't acting as a groomsman for that friend, trying to focus on the bride and groom and what was going on. All the while pretending that during the entire ceremony he wasn't standing directly across from the woman he hadn't had the guts to personally break up with or talk to since. It also didn't help that she happened to be in his direct line of sight, so all it took was a slight refocusing of his eyes to stare directly at her face.

  Poor Mary. Her shy, sweet nature was one of the things that'd drawn him to her in the first place. In this situation her flawless pale skin was flushed flaming red from more than just the cold, and she looked as if she wanted to be anywhere else.

  Raul knew exactly how she felt. Bad enough he had to endure the awkwardness himself, but even worse he was ruining her enjoyment of the wedding too.

  He wished the snow platform would collapse beneath his feet and bury him in an icy tomb, just so he could escape this. Couldn't whoever had planned this wedding have at least put him and Mary on opposite ends of the lineup, so they could avoid eye contact? Was it a well-intentioned attempt to patch things up between them and force a reconciliation, like some nightmarish romcom?

  Matt, bless him, didn't take long to get Trev and Deb hitched. To Raul it felt like an Ice Age passed, but it couldn't have been longer than five minutes. And afterwards he was able to slip away before too long, retreating to the periphery to watch the proceedings.

  He really was happy for Trev and Deb. It was impossible to explain the bond you formed with people you'd fought beside, faced death beside, whose life you'd saved time and again and in turn been sa
ved by them. It was almost like family, in a way. He knew the couple's relationship hadn't all been smooth sailing, but he hoped they'd have a happy life together. They deserved it.

  The casual escape he'd made put him close to the women and children from Jane's group. With them was Carrie Grant, one of the veterans the town had taken in. While Raul was trying to edge away from Mary's line of sight Carrie turned to give him a curious look, and he did his best to act casual as he nodded at her. “Hey.”

  The young woman immediately turned her face away self-consciously, so he wouldn't be staring directly at the eyepatch and scars where shrapnel from an explosion had blinded her left eye and torn up that side of her face. Raul wondered if something in his expression had embarrassed her: out of politeness he'd done his best to pretend he didn't notice what was literally staring him in the face, but he'd never been much of an actor.

  “Hey, Gung-ho,” she replied coolly, eyes on the bride and groom.

  Raul winced. “Where'd you hear that nickname?”

  For just a moment Carrie glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Made it up. I heard you were just the right amount of eager to go after the displaced refugees who killed your friend and the rest of his patrol.”

  That made him wince again, but for a different reason. He didn't want to think about Brandon. “No offense, but I could do without being called that again. I'm Raul, but if you have to use a nickname use Gutierrez. Everyone else does.”

  “Gutierrez, then. Whatever.” The woman did her best to ignore him.

  It was Raul's turn to glance at her out of the corner of his eye. He'd assumed her behavior was all self-consciousness about him looking at her, but now he was starting to think her bad mood had nothing to do with him.

  Not too hard to put two and two together. Judging by the undamaged side of her face Carrie had been smoking hot before her injury: shiny walnut brown hair, chocolate brown eyes . . . or, um, eye, heart-shaped face and perfect skin, and a stunning figure even bundled up in winter clothing.