Nuclear Winter | Book 2 | First Spring

by Jones, Nathan

  His second was that even though he'd feared a possible attack along this stretch of I-15, the news really wasn't something he wanted to hear. Hadn't the scouts covered this area?

  The officer on the CB continued, giving terse instructions for forming up in a defensive double line facing forward so that once the forward guard broke through they'd be able to escape as quickly as possible. His instructions were joined by the voice of a soldier shouting the same things through a bullhorn from somewhere up ahead, for the sake of those who either didn't have a CB or for some insane reason had theirs turned off.

  “One last thing,” the officer concluded. “I'm guessing not many of us have any moral qualms about shooting up blockheads by this point. But General Erikson still wanted to relay the news that as of the day before yesterday, the Canadian and US governments have agreed that banditry and the taking, possession, or trafficking of slaves are officially hanging offenses. So, uh, go nuts on these attackers.”

  If it came to it, Lewis certainly intended to.

  “This is unbelievable,” Gutierrez muttered as he maneuvered their truck into the awkward dance with the others as they all tried to turn around again. “We took the most bass-ackwards route we could find and drove like fiends from the moment we left the summit, and they still found us.”

  Lewis replied as he checked his weapons and spare mags. “There's only so many ways to get into Utah from the south.”

  The former soldier shook his head. “Even so, they had to have either scouted dozens of roads approaching Utah or set up multiple ambushes large enough to take us out. All that effort for one convoy?”

  “A convoy with General Erikson,” Carrie pointed out. “Getting him would be a big win for them.”

  Lewis nodded. “Not just that but taking out the first trade convoy we sent would be a huge victory for them, and not just a symbolic one. We desperately need these supplies to keep going, and without them the next convoy will be much, much harder to send out. Which would give the CCZ time to move in and completely cut us off from Mexico. And it would still be symbolic on top of that, crushing morale and seeming like an even bigger loss than it is.”

  “So let's make sure we win here.” Gutierrez abruptly stiffened and whistled sharply to cut off the conversation, pointing out the driver's side window to the northwest.

  Lewis looked that way and felt a surge of dread at the sight of several large dust clouds drifting in the wind, led by fast-moving metal objects shining in the harsh early morning sunlight.

  Even though I-15 was ostensibly the only way through this area there were still other roads, dirt tracks so small they wouldn't even appear on any map. And for that matter the barren landscape was flat enough that most sturdy vehicles could trailblaze a path right to where they wanted to go.

  Which allowed for a dozen blockhead trucks to approach from the side, spread out like a pack of wolves ready to pounce on the disorganized vehicles in the middle of the convoy, many of which were still scrambling to get back in line. That included the Aspen Hill truck, since Gutierrez had them off the road trying to get room to turn around.

  In fact, it meant they'd be one of the first vehicles the ambushers hit.

  Lewis hastily looked along the road in both directions to confirm his worst fears: their military escort was still pinned by the enemy ahead and behind, and even if they sent help it would take time to arrive. Which meant these guys were all theirs to handle.

  Even worse, when he lifted his binoculars for a better look he saw that all the trucks carried mounted machine guns or missile launchers.

  His mind snapped to the obvious conclusion. “Out!” he shouted, throwing his door open and leaping free.

  Around him other similarly vulnerable trucks were also being abandoned, their occupants forming up behind the protection of their vehicles with weapons ready. Lewis planted his G3 on the hood of their truck as Carrie then Gutierrez piled out behind him, taking aim for the lead vehicle.

  Before he ever got a shot off he was forced to snatch his gun back and drop to the ground. Moments later a line of bullets crawled across their captured blockhead truck, doing a number even on its reinforced sides. The machine gunner quickly found their cab, although half his shots were wild from firing from a moving, jouncing vehicle. But while some flew into the air or pinged off the ground all around Lewis, the majority were on point.

  From his hiding place he listened as the tough windows and windshield of their vehicle cracked, fractured, and finally shattered in a spray of gunfire. Then the line of bullets moved on to the next vehicle, one that wasn't reinforced, and ripped it to shreds in a far more impressive display.

  Lewis had been in some terrible situations, but at the moment this was looking like the worst. Gritting his teeth, he scooted forward until he could aim past the front of their truck from a prone position and returned fire.

  * * * * *

  Raul tumbled to the ground only moments before the cab behind him was raked by machine gun fire. Carrie was on her knees in front of him, panting raggedly as she fumbled to retrieve her rifle from where she'd dropped it on the ground.

  Barely stopping to think of it he threw himself on top of her, pinning them both to the ground as bullets whined and pinged the road around them. The truck blocked most of the shots, but some ricochets bounced beneath it or from other vehicles around them.

  After what seemed like an eternity but was probably less than five seconds the hail of bullets moved on to other targets. Raul rose, paused only for a moment to make sure Carrie was unharmed, then hefted his M16. Since Lewis seemed to have the front of their truck covered he charged towards the back, taking up position behind the trailer hitch.

  The other vehicles in the convoy around him were putting up a surprising amount of return fire considering the overwhelming firepower they faced. Most of it was less than useless, but at least it kept the blockheads manning the mounted guns ducking and guessing rather than just raking the vehicles with bullets.

  Although even there it seemed to him like the ambushers weren't doing as much damage as they could. For one thing they'd barely used their missile launchers, aside from one he'd seen slam into the engine block of a single military truck in place to try to defend the convoy. The vehicle flipped on its side and the missile launcher went silent again.

  Maybe they wanted to take as many vehicles intact as they could, along with their precious contents. This was a raid after all.

  But it presented an opportunity: if they weren't going to just destroy everything then their ability to suppress the convoy's defenses was hampered. They'd take more losses trying to maximize their loot, and Raul intended to take full advantage of that by shooting as many of the SOBs as he could.

  Of course if the blockheads started taking heavy losses they'd almost certainly stop holding back and really begin blowing things up, so . . . mixed blessing.

  Raul focused his fire on the windshield of the nearest enemy truck, watching with frustration as his shots barely dented the reinforced glass. He wished he had a .50 caliber with him, even the town's bolt-action that he'd used back when fighting the raiders. They'd done some good work against reinforced vehicles with it then.

  Still, enough shots were peppering the glass that spiderwebs of cracks had started to form. The intensity of the return fire must've spooked the driver, because the truck turned to approach at an oblique angle that would allow the gunner to keep up his fire while making the windshield a more difficult target.

  In response the gunner also sped up his sweeps, sending the gun raking across wider lengths of the convoy to pin defenders down. The fire was unaimed and lacked the punch of concentrated bursts, but for a moment the return fire petered out as everyone ducked down, giving the threat more weight than it deserved.

  Not Raul. He hunched down further and focused fire on the gunner, who was more exposed in this position. He didn't know if it was one of his shots that got the man, but moments later the enemy soldier went down clutching his s
ide. Of course he was soon replaced at the machine gun by another blockhead who resumed fire, but it still felt good to see at least one ambusher drop. Like they might actually have a chance.

  Which was when Carrie screamed, “They've got more coming from behind!”

  Raul ducked back behind the cover of the truck and stood on his tiptoes to peer through the tangle of convoy vehicles on the road towards the other side. Sure enough, more telltale plumes of dust heralded the approach of another half dozen enemy trucks from the southeast.

  His first reaction was a blistering curse. Not exactly appropriate for mixed company, but Carrie was doing plenty of swearing of her own.

  Raul abandoned his spot at the trailer hitch, which would've left him open to the trucks coming from behind, and ran to the cab. The inside surfaces were covered with shattered safety glass and the windshield was a ragged ruin. He took a moment to kick out enough glass on the driver's side to see through and dropped into the driver's seat.

  “Get ready to move!” he shouted at Lewis and Carrie, hoping they heard. They must've, or at least had seen what he was doing, because moments later Lewis threw himself onto the seat beside him while Carrie hopped up on the passenger's step, gripped the door and roof of the cab, and nodded at him.

  He'd left the engine running, and it was miraculously still running in spite of the abuse it had taken from the machine gun. There might be slow leaks or other issues that wouldn't turn up immediately but could be disastrous when they did, but for the moment he was glad that they still had a working vehicle.

  With the trailer and the tangle of vehicles he didn't try any fancy driving. He just jammed the truck into gear and sent it careening forward to crunch into another nearby truck at an angle, making a wedge of safe space between them.

  Rather than being angry at the damage the truck's two occupants, huddled behind it with no body armor and only one shotgun between them, gave him a grateful look at the added protection. They quickly rushed into the wedge and began unloading sacks of grain from their truck to make a crude sandbag wall along the exposed side.

  Raul, Lewis, and Carrie piled out to cover them and resume firing at the enemy, who had converged on the convoy from both sides and now seemed to be coming from everywhere.

  Inside the cab their CB squawked, barely audible over the din of gunfire, roaring engines, and screams. “Hold it together!” the same officer was shouting. “We're almost clear up here. We'll give you advance notice to get your vehicles ready to move and send some of our own down the lines to either side to push the ambushers back and give you some space.”

  That might be good news, assuming they actually had that long. Raul wasn't holding his breath.

  Towards the back of the convoy he saw blockheads piling out of trucks parked strategically to protect them as they dove into the cabs of convoy vehicles. Other stolen trucks were already bumping their way back to the hills to the northwest and southeast from which the ambushers had sprung their trap.

  That seemed like good news to Raul. Obviously not good news for the trucks' owners, assuming they were still alive, but if the enemy was taking their loot away instead of trying to secure the entire convoy, it suggested that they thought they were losing and wanted to get away with whatever they could. Unfortunately that also meant they'd want to start doing as much damage as they could to the trucks they couldn't take, which-

  The next thing Raul knew he was slamming into the side of their truck's trailer. As he dropped to the ground he heard a roar of sound and force and felt heat blasting the exposed skin on his face and hands, as well as numb stings that might've been shrapnel. In the blur of the next few moments he got the vague sense of the other truck in the protective wedge flipping away to slam into a nearby vehicle in the convoy, before coming down on its roof with a violent crunch.

  Raul stumbled to his hands and knees, fumbling around for his gun. He found Carrie first, lying limp near the sandbags, and his heart stopped for a sickening moment until she abruptly groaned and rolled over, groggily trying to stand.

  He wasn't in fantastic shape himself, but he hurried over and got an arm under her to support her weight. Her eyepatch had been knocked askew when she fell, and he caught a glimpse of the scarred, withered socket where her left eye had been as she blinked dazedly. As soon as she realized he was there, even in spite of everything, her first instinct was to hastily straighten the eyepatch, looking away in mortification.

  The brutally honest part of him could admit that it hadn't been the most pleasant sight, but he barely noticed in the urgency of his concern for her. “Are you hurt?” he shouted, overloud to compensate for the ringing in his ears. Without waiting for her to respond, in case her hearing was also shot, he started to check her for injuries.

  “I don't know,” the young woman shouted back. It sounded like a muffled whisper next to the air raid siren going off in his head. “Nothing feels broken and I don't think I'm bleeding badly.”

  Raul had already confirmed that much. She was scorched and scratched up and would probably have some wicked bruises, but he didn't see any serious injuries. “Head to the cab and wait there,” he ordered. “Lay flat, feet elevated, and focus on your breathing in case you're going into shock.”

  “I can fight,” Carrie said firmly. She straightened, pulling away from his grip.

  He wanted to argue, but he realized that was the irrationally protective side of himself. She'd been a soldier, and he was probably in just as rough shape as she was anyway. “Okay, cover the front of the truck,” he said, looking around. Lewis was nowhere in sight, and he hoped his friend was okay. “Actually get in the cab after all, just crouch in the foot space for cover and shoot through the windows.”

  “Copy that, Gung-ho,” the young woman replied, stumbling away.

  Raul found his rifle, and as he checked to make sure it was still operational he finally allowed himself to notice the rest of the world. He probably shouldn't have lost his situational awareness while talking to Carrie in the first place, but combined worry for her and shock from the explosion had muddled his thinking.

  Things were bad. The blockheads were letting the convoy have it with every weapon they had, and the trucks around him were riddled with bullets and surrounded by several unmoving bodies. More vehicles had been hit with missiles, and he caught sight of a small group of blockheads prowling through the wreckage closer to the rear, looking for a vehicle in good enough shape for them to steal.

  Raul dropped behind the makeshift grain sack fortifications their friends in the blown up truck had started, taking aim. Before the enemy soldiers could catch sight of him he opened up with several bursts that dropped a few before they knew what hit them. The others scattered for cover, although Raul still managed to tag one more, hitting him in the hip. As the blockhead rolled on the ground screaming Raul took closer aim and finished him off.

  Then he dropped behind his own cover as the scattered ambushers returned fire.

  Okay then, this was a unique situation. In spite of all the fighting he'd been in, he'd never found himself alone in a shootout against multiple enemies behind cover. He couldn't think of any reasonable way to poke out and search for a target without getting shot. He supposed he could try moving to different places behind the sparse sandbag wall so they didn't know exactly where he'd be popping out, but they had enough guns on him that he'd be lucky to succeed even once.

  Before he could start to panic a burst of gunfire from around the other side of the truck was followed by a scream from one of the blockheads. “Covering you!” Lewis called over the noise of gunfire and the ringing in Raul's ears.

  Relief surged through Raul, and not just at the confirmation his friend was still alive; this was probably the best chance he was going to get. As Lewis laid down more covering fire Raul popped out and snapped off a few shots at the enemy, who were scrambling to stay hidden from him while also get out of line of sight of this new threat. It gave him a few precious seconds before he jerked back beh
ind cover, just before a spatter of bullets chipped the pavement where he'd been.

  He sucked in a few sharp breaths and hastily reloaded, staring back towards the space where the other truck had been covering them. He could now see that one of its occupants was unmoving on the ground, while the other one was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully that meant he'd fled to a better position.

  Reloaded and with Lewis laying down another burst of suppressive fire, Raul was just about to find a new place to pop out for some more shots when the roar of an engine preceded the arrival of a blockhead truck. The enemy vehicle skidded to a halt near where the other truck in the wedge lay upside down, less than twenty feet away. With a shout one of the soldiers in the back pointed towards Raul, and his buddies all turned and raised weapons.

  Time seemed to slow down as Raul's brain assessed the situation, coming to the conclusion his gut had already figured out. He was pinned down by the scattered blockheads in front of him, and this truck flanking him from farther along the convoy now had their full attention on him.

  That meant if he tried to find better cover he'd get tagged by the first group, while if he stood his ground he'd be in a shootout against half a dozen ambushers. He might gun down a few before they got him, but he was definitely dead.

  He didn't want to die, but if it was going to happen there were worse ways to go than taking some of the enemy with him.

  Raul dropped to the ground to make himself a more difficult target. That wasn't super helpful in this situation since his enemies were elevated several feet off the ground, shooting down at him from the open bed of the truck. It was also harder to shoot up at them from a prone position, and murder on his back if he kept it up for too long. But it improved his chances slightly, and from the looks of things his back wouldn't be the first thing murdered around here anyway so he did it.

  Then, just as he opened fire and the first spray of enemy bullets peppered the ground around him, a miracle happened.