He flinched back slightly, momentarily thrown off. “What?”
Carrie waved vaguely. “I don't stick my nose into people's business, but word gets around.”
“Word?” Smooth, Casanova.
“That you went buggy over the winter. First you're all gung-ho to wipe out that bandit camp, then you break up with your girlfriend for no reason, then you spend the entire winter avoiding everyone and living like a hermit in the middle of town, or going off on pointless all-day or even multiple day treks through deep snow.”
Okay . . . for not sticking her nose in she seemed to have picked up quite a bit. The only reason he could think of for that was if she'd been asking around, and the only reason he could think of for that was if she was interested. So . . . good news?
And she'd decided he was crazy. Not so good. “Those are mostly true,” he agreed cautiously. “No context though. Why are you asking?”
Carrie abruptly turned back facing forward, and he almost thought she was blushing again. Her face in profile really was stunning, and he remembered the entire sneaking an arm around her thing again. “I just want to know if you're only interested in me because I'm as broken as you are,” she whispered.
Romantic thoughts vanished, and Raul leaned back sharply. “Seriously?” he demanded, fighting down outrage. “I don't think I'm broken.”
She turned to look at him, although not quite as close as before. “Don't BS me. I've been around guys who just learned they'd be crippled for life, or who were hit seriously hard with PTSD. I know the signs.”
Raul was silent for a moment. “You think I have PTSD?” he asked finally.
“Do you?” Carrie shot back. He was slow to answer and she continued. “I think you need to do some serious introspection.”
In spite of the gravity of the topic he couldn't help but laugh at that. “Believe me, this winter I've done practically nothing but introspection.”
“I'm not sure you can call it that, if your view of yourself is skewed. I don't know you well, I'll admit, but I know you well enough to know you don't see yourself the way other people see you.”
Raul really wasn't happy that this had shifted from trying to make a move into delving into his psyche. “Okay, I've got my problems,” he admitted grudgingly. “And you're right, I'm interested in you. But even if I might be broken I don't think you are. At all.”
The young woman opened her mouth, and he could just tell she was going to go off about her face again. He kept going before she could. “We're not all as fixated with your scars as you are.”
He should've guessed that would set her off. Carrie abruptly stood and walked away, her posture suggesting if he tried to follow or even opened his mouth he'd regret it. More than he already did, that was.
With a sigh Raul settled back staring at the dying flames. So much for doing some wooing by firelight.
It was probably a bad idea, but he retrieved his pack and fumbled in it for his bottle of tequila. It was emptier than he'd thought, which added to his annoyance; so much for a few gulps every now and then and stretching it out to make it last.
Well, if he'd already gotten a good start on wasting what he'd spent so much on, he might as well keep going. He popped the lid off and took a good swig, forcing down his gag reflex against the acrid burn.
What was it with him and Carrie? Just when he thought things were going well they always seemed to explode in his face and she'd storm off. She always came back, not literally but figuratively, so he had to assume she felt something for him. But man did she try her best to keep him guessing. Or maybe she was just torn up herself and was dealing with her own issues, and he had nothing to do with it other than being caught in the whirlwind.
Or maybe a bit of both. Raul muttered a few choice phrases in Spanish and took another swig.
He wasn't in the mood to entertain visitors, so of course Ned Orban decided now was the time to swing by their camp. “Que tal, Raul?” the trader called as he ambled over.
“Hey,” Raul replied, reluctantly standing. “Make it through the attack in one piece?”
Orban half smiled, half scowled, probably the first time Raul had ever seen an expression like it. “Aside from having to use a few very expensive rockets. Our ambushers got the worst of that trade, though.”
Raul could imagine. He recalled what was probably at least one instance of the man's handiwork from the fight, taking out a blockhead truck as it swooped in to strafe the convoy. “Well it might be small compensation, but let me at least offer you a drink in thanks.” He held up his bottle.
The trader stepped up beside him at the fire and accepted the drink, hissing slowly through his teeth after taking a healthy swallow. “That's some bad tequila,” he said.
“Price was right.” Raul took another swig himself. Now he was really just shattering all his plans at moderation, but after his fight with Carrie he hardly cared. Besides, a good host should be polite.
Orban waved away the bottle when he offered it again. “Speaking of the attack, and the price being right, that's why I came around.”
Raul tucked the tequila into his pack and settled back into his seat, offering the one Carrie had vacated to the man. “Yeah? Did you need to talk to Lewis?”
“Actually, no.” The trader settled down and crossed one ankle over his knee, leaning back comfortably in the camping chair. “I'm going to get another truck after this run. The profits are too good not to make the investment, and now's the time to buy while vehicles are cheap, before Canada's fuel hits the market and people realize they might be useful again.”
“Makes sense.”
“I know, right?” Orban gave him a serious look. “But part of the investment of another vehicle is manpower. Two to a truck is a good arrangement, and I like having Paul riding shotgun with me.”
Ah. “So it was me you came to see. You're offering me a job?”
The trader grinned. “Exactly. I've been asking around a bit and heard you handle yourself well, both in a firefight and in close quarters. You've also got leadership experience.” He shrugged one shoulder. “And the fact that you speak Spanish and most of my trading is going to be with Mexico is definitely a point in your favor.”
Wow, that was more than expected. “Are you saying you want me to be in charge of your new truck?”
“Kind of. We'll start off in convoys, since there's no reason not to.” Orban leaned over to clap Raul's shoulder. “But once we get you trained up and if there's a reason for it, I don't see why you couldn't go off on your own runs while I handle other business. There'll be plenty of local trading opportunities that don't justify the time and fuel for both trucks.”
That was a lot to swallow. Raul didn't want to run out on Aspen Hill, but at the same time . . . the town was his home, and he was loyal to it and its people, but the thought of walking away from it didn't bother him as much as he'd expected. There just wasn't much of a future for him there, aside from a tiny cabin and long winters trapped with his past.
“I hate to bring it up, but what's the pay looking like?” he asked. He'd worked for free way too often with Aspen Hill, mostly because they needed him. But he wouldn't do that for a businessman like Orban.
The trader smiled. “By all means, do bring it up. It's part of the deal, and how can I trust you to look after my interests if you're bad at looking after your own?” He paused to think. “I'd been considering a percentage of profits. It would start off fairly low, but over time would increase until you might eventually become a partner on Paul's level.”
That was definitely something. Ned had been bragging, discreetly, about his profits this entire time. Raul definitely had no problem getting in on that, even if it was on the ground floor. And as a plus he'd have a direct connection to Aspen Hill and could probably make arrangements to take the town's goods to Mexico. Lewis would jump for joy at having a connection to sell his reloaded ammo through.
Of course the trader hadn't talked specifics yet.
Orban seemed to sense his doubts. “I get you don't want to abandon your people,” he said. “But if your situation is open to it I could use you. Heck, I'll need to find someone to ride shotgun in your vehicle, too.” He pushed to his feet with a soft grunt. “Anyway, I hate to say time's a factor but I need to find someone before I buy the truck, and you guys'll be heading out in the morning. Why don't you think it over tonight and give me your answer before you leave?”
That really wasn't that long. Still, he appreciated the chance to think the offer through. “Sure,” Raul said slowly, also standing to watch the trader depart.
After a few steps Orban abruptly stopped. “Oh by the way, I'll have Paul come around with some proper liquor. You can use that other junk as a solvent or antiseptic or something.”
Raul frowned. “I appreciate it, but I don't-”
“I like to do things for friends, and one bottle is literally nothing to me,” the trader said with a wink. “A situation you could also be in if you accept my offer.” He kept walking, waving over his shoulder. “Consider it compensation for taking the time for an interview.”
“That wasn't really an interview . . .” Raul started, but Orban was already gone.
A couple minutes later Paul came around and shoved a full bottle of tequila into his hands. It wasn't top shelf, but it was definitely a pricier brand.
Raul stared down at it for almost an hour as the fire slowly flickered down to coals. Finally he tucked it into his backpack and fetched a log to start the fire going again.
Wasn't that a thing? This was probably the chance of a lifetime, and he was having trouble thinking of reasons to refuse.
* * * * *
They prepared to leave early the next morning.
As they worked Lewis couldn't help but notice that Gutierrez looked thoughtful and a bit distant, while Carrie kept shooting him miserable looks. Had they had another fight? He remembered hearing somewhere that a relationship that started with fighting was a huge red flag, and wondered if he shouldn't try to talk to them.
Then again, getting into other people's business was usually not appreciated and didn't end well. Carrie had already asked him to stay out of it once.
As they gave the truck a final once-over before departure Lieutenant Faraday came around to say his goodbyes and wish them luck. “Any word on what our response to the attack will be?” Lewis asked him.
The lieutenant made a face. “On top of their continuing raids into the US and Canada, and hitting the Canadian convoy?” At their surprised looks his grimace deepened. “Yeah, they hit them too. Took out nearly half, escaping with many of the stolen vehicles intact while the rest of the convoy fled and were harassed almost all the way to the Mississippi.”
“So we have to respond, right?” Gutierrez demanded.
“Right.” Faraday sighed. “Officially, our response will be to pressure Mexico into issuing an ultimatum to cut off trade with the CCZ if blockheads continue attacking convoys coming to trade with them. Which should've been their stance anyway, since customers being attacked is bad for business. And our own ultimatum will be that if Mexico doesn't take a stand then the US and Canada will launch a joint operation, taking and holding every inch of land between Mexico and CCZ territory and turning it into their worst nightmare of a controlled border. We'll lock that sucker down tighter than even our own borders, to make sure Mexico loses a customer and the CCZ starves.”
The lieutenant's expression darkened as he continued. “And we'll also make it clear that if we're forced to do that then we'll be angry with Mexico for taking a side by not taking a side, as it were, and once our positions become more stable they might be out more customers and allies. They may have a strong bargaining position now, but they still don't have all the power here.”
Lewis wondered if the two countries could manage that sort of operation, even working together. “I suppose that's the danger of not talking a side for fear of turning the other side into an enemy: you might end up with both as enemies.” Then he picked out the key word in all that. “And what about unofficially?”
Faraday rubbed his hands together almost gleefully. “As you can imagine, we're all pissed off that the blockheads are taking our people as slaves and mistreating them. We've decided it's time to start doing some raids of our own, infiltrating CCZ territory to learn where their slave camps are, then freeing the slaves and bringing them home.”
Lewis liked the sound of that. The blockhead slavers were managing to raid settlements in spite of the heavily defended US and Canadian borders, but what was good for the goose was even better for the gander. The CCZ was surrounded on two sides and had twice as much border to guard as their victims, but all the same vulnerabilities to raiding. They'd soon have their hands full struggling to deal with the same tactics used against them, which might blunt their aggression a bit.
“I hope you bleed 'em dry,” he said.
The junior officer's smile faded, and he looked a bit uncomfortable. “Speaking of bleeding dry, I should give you a heads up about future convoys. Aspen Hill's welcome to come along whenever you can manage a full truck, but expect to start seeing taxes.”
Lewis wasn't surprised. Taxes were inevitable, and these would just be the first of many once the elections were done and the civilian government started coming together. Collecting money to pay for getting everything up and running would be the first item on the agenda for the newly elected officials.
Gutierrez wasn't quite so sanguine about it. “What kind of taxes?”
The lieutenant shrugged defensively. “You know. We're providing the gas, that's a big one. And once Canada starts sending us enough fuel where individuals can buy it for themselves then you still have to consider that we're escorting the convoy through dangerous territory. Disastrous as yesterday's attack was, it was also a good example of that. So consider what you pay protection money.”
Lewis couldn't help himself. “Protection money?” he asked wryly.
Faraday looked annoyed for a moment, then chuckled. “Okay, bad choice of words.” He offered a final round of handshakes. “Travel safely, guys. Hope to see you again soon.”
Once the soldier had moved on Gutierrez started shifting uncomfortably. “I need to talk to Orban before we go,” he abruptly blurted, not quite meeting Lewis's eye.
“Ned Orban?” Lewis repeated, surprised. “Why?”
“Business.” The former soldier hurried off without a word.
Even more confusing, Carrie was also looking antsy. “I need to talk to him too,” she said, and hurried after Gutierrez. But from what Lewis could see the young woman didn't join the former soldier and Ned in whatever discussion they were having. Instead she waited out of sight until Gutierrez shook hands with the trader and started back for the truck, then slipped in to talk to Ned behind him.
Lewis watched it all, genuinely at a loss for what was going on there. Gutierrez ignored his questions, hopping up into the driver's seat to start the engine. And when Carrie got back she was equally evasive.
He supposed that was another thing that wasn't his business. With a shrug he hopped up into the truck, taking the middle seat, and as Carrie climbed up next to him and shut the door he slapped the dashboard. “Next stop, home.”
“Yeah,” Gutierrez said, a bit doubtfully. Carrie echoed him.
Epilogue
Homecoming
After Lewis and the others radioed ahead to give the town notice, news of the returning truck spread through Aspen Hill like wildfire.
Matt supposed it wasn't surprising that in the couple hours it took for the truck to reach them from Manti pretty much everyone had gathered in the field north of town, just off the road leading through the valley. Pretty much all their neighbors were there waiting even though it was still a good hour until those desperately needed, and much-anticipated, supplies would arrive.
It had become one big party.
Sam was loving it. With the weather warming up to the low 60s over the last few days
the grass had been growing in strong, and his wife had been out as often as she could with baby Olivia, enjoying the fresh air, sunshine, animals grazing in the fields, and the chance to talk to neighbors.
Olivia was loving it too, of course, a chance to explore a whole new world after spending the first months of her life mostly trapped indoors. And Matt had a feeling that seeing their daughter get such a kick out of being introduced to new things was half the reason Sam was loving the warm weather.
He knew it was for him.
Another thing Olivia seemed to love was being fussed over by practically all the women in town. With the entire family packed into the Larson cabin she'd never been starved for attention, and while she was a bit uncertain about being held by new people she quickly warmed up to them.
There were plenty of people to warm up to: the entire field was a press of excited bodies and loud voices, with kids darting around laughing and shouting and adding to the confusion. Matt noticed Aaron and Mindy Williams, the young daughter of one of Sam's friends, playing a game of tag. Sort of. His nephew was running around while Mindy chased after him giving him spontaneous hugs. Aaron stoically endured the affection, although he eventually started to look annoyed and finally began telling her to leave him alone and go hug Paul, who was chasing after the two the entire time. Pretty soon other kids joined in and it became an actual, if chaotic, game of tag.
Not far away Matt heard some of their neighbors speculating on what surprises the truck would bring, as if it was Christmas or something. He heard guesses ranging from toys for the children to labor-saving devices the town could use to clothes to hygiene products.
It was probably harmless enough, but Matt decided he should probably still step in. “Hate to interrupt,” he said as he joined the group. “I just wanted to remind you that this run will only be bringing back food and hopefully medicine for the town. Once our situation becomes more secure and people have more goods to offer in trade, we can talk about shopping lists of useful items or even luxuries. But for now the celebration will be knowing we'll all have full bellies for the next little while.”
Nuclear Winter | Book 2 | First Spring Page 35
