Nathan Jones

SHORTAGE

Prologue

Prisoners

With the power out and batteries, lamp oil, and candles hard to come by the Larson household had taken to going to bed early. Which is why even though it was only a bit past midnight, Matt felt like it was the middle of the night when Trev came around to warn him about the tied up bandits in Aspen Hill Canyon due west of town.

Matt supposed that’s what midnight was supposed to be, give or take an hour or two, but before the attack he’d often been up at that hour even on a school night. He told his sleepy family members, and a sleepy but insistent Sam who still wanted to come along, to go back to bed as he slipped on his boots and grabbed a can of bear spray before heading out the door.

Trev was already long gone, headed back to the canyon so he and his cousin could make themselves scarce before anyone from the town arrived. Matt wasn’t super pleased about having this task dumped on him while his friends bailed, but he supposed he understood where they were coming from.

The rest of the town seemed to share his sleeping schedule as he hurried over to Officer Turner’s apartment above his office in town hall and roused him out of bed. The policeman wasn’t too happy about being woken up, especially since it was technically no longer his duty to lead the town’s defenses, but once Matt explained the situation he reluctantly belted on his service pistol and grabbed his shotgun and followed Matt out into the night.

After a bit over a half hour of walking they found the camp just where Trev had said it would be, with the three robbers trussed up with zip ties like presents. Matt confirmed that the biggest of the three was one of the men who’d robbed them that morning, and on his word and Trev’s passed on statement about their intentions Turner cut the ties on their legs and hauled the men to their feet, shining his heavy flashlight in front of him so they could see as he led them down the canyon. Matt paused a moment to kick dirt over the smoldering embers of the fire and then hurried to follow, walking alongside Turner at the back of the group.

“Awfully conscientious of the cousins, patrolling the canyon road behind town late at night even after Ferris told everyone protecting us was his job,” the policeman mentioned.

“Yeah well this Razor guy had them spooked,” Matt replied evasively. It was true enough, he was sure, but he wasn’t about to tell Turner that his friends had only been in the canyon because they were booking it for the mountains. Not when earlier in the day Turner had been there helping Ferris take their home away from them.

When they got back to town hall with their prisoners in tow they discovered that not everyone was asleep after all. It turned out Matt’s dad had gone to give Mayor Anderson a heads up about the bandits, and he and Catherine Tillman were waiting outside the town’s single pair of holding cells in the town hall’s basement, which usually ended up being used as drunk tanks for unruly teenagers or one of the town’s few alcoholics on a bad night.

“I let Ferris know what’s going on, or at least as much as I know,” Anderson said as they arrived and Turner herded the robbers into the cells.

“Good.” The policeman slammed the barred doors shut and yawned into his fist. “Do me a favor and wait around for him, all right? I’m going back to bed.”

Catherine gave him a surprised look. “You’re not going to stick around to sort things out?”

Turner shrugged. “According to Ferris it’s not in my job description anymore.” Matt couldn’t be sure but he thought the man sounded almost pleased about that. “Night, everyone.” He made his way out of the room with his shoulders slightly hunched, as if expecting to be called back.

Anderson stared after him, shaking his head. “I’d gotten the feeling we were piling too much on his shoulders, and he was never too eager about taking on the job to begin with. Still, didn’t expect him to just wash his hands of everything the moment someone else showed up to take the responsibility.” He sighed and turned to Matt. “Oh well. Anyway your dad didn’t have much to tell me aside from the basic details. What’s this about?”

Matt quickly explained being awakened by Trev and his friend’s explanation of what had happened, confirming again that the biggest thug had been one of those with Razor that morning. Then he needed to explain the robbery when they’d arrived in town and lost all their things, including Razor assaulting Terry with the bear spray.

Catherine had been looking the three men over thoughtfully as he went over everything he knew, but once he finished she turned to look at him. “What were Trev and Lewis doing in Aspen Hill Canyon this late at night? Officer Turner shut down all the patrols, and anyway that’s not even their route.”

“They had a good reason,” Matt said stoutly, but left it at that. His friends had already suffered a lot from their secrets getting out, he wasn’t about to betray any more about them.

The councilwoman sighed. “They left, didn’t they? I can’t really blame them after being kicked out of their home and having all their things stolen.” Matt tried to keep his expression neutral and she waved at him. “You don’t have to tell me one way or another. The town’s going to be worse off without them, though. Such a shame.”

Anderson gave her an irritated look. “Stolen, Catherine? Ferris was operating under Federal authority.”

Her return glare was equally irritated. “Are you seriously going to tell me that anything agents of the Federal government do is all right since it’s them doing it? Where’s the justification for stealing from honest citizens and kicking them out of their homes? Isn’t there enough suffering around here?”

The Mayor’s irritation turned to unease. “I’m not sure how smart it is to be calling the FETF administrator and his people immoral.”

Matt was almost disappointed that Catherine backed down a bit at that. “Well no, I wouldn’t necessarily say Ferris and his soldiers are bad people, although I certainly find the man unpleasant,” she said. “But bad or not they’re following bad policies, and I think it’s safe to say under the circumstances that they’re using this crisis as an excuse to exceed the limits of their authority and deprive US citizens of their inalienable rights.”

“Like what?” Anderson demanded.

“Well how about the third amendment?” the councilwoman responded. “They’re housing troops in my family’s store!”

The Mayor scratched his cheek. “That only applies to times of peace, doesn’t it?”

Catherine paused, suddenly looking a bit unsure of herself. “Well I’d say Aspen Hill was pretty peaceful before they arrived,” she rallied. “Besides, that’s not the only thing they’ve done. How about this mandatory food for firearms program, or confiscating people’s food?”

“Well you have to weigh that against the aid FETF brought us,” Anderson argued.

An uncomfortable silence settled as Matt stared between the two. It was obvious Catherine wanted to say more and was debating with herself whether to bother. He was almost surprised when she abruptly spoke up. “I wonder if you could even say FETF brought aid at all.”

“What are you talking about?” Anderson demanded. “They brought an entire truck full of food!”

“And thirteen more mouths to feed. If they plan to stay for any real amount of time they’ll eat more than they brought. And as soon as they arrived they immediately took what little the town had to spare at the storehouse and “redistributing” it among the refugees, which I’d call a major net loss. At this rate we’ll all run out before winter even begins and we can starve to death together.”

“We should at least look on the bright side. The “mouths” FETF brought also have guns to protect the town.”

The councilwoman shook her head irritably. “And how many guns did they take from Aspen Hill residents? We already had a decent patrol and roadblock system going, and they dismantled it and deprived us of our ability to defend ourselves. In exchange for what? Even days after his arrival Ferris still hasn’t done anything about the atrocities I’ve reported to him that have been going on in the refugee camp, or about the bandits following this thug Razor who’ve surrounded the town and are attacking and robbing anyone they encounter. In fact, if what they did to the cousins at their shelter holds true then Ferris and his men are just interested in taking what little we have. Soon they’ll be going door to door.”

For his part Anderson flailed around for an answer. “It’s a transition period. Once things settle down they’ll impose order. But I’ll talk to Ferris and get him to do something about the refugee camp and this Razor fellow.”

Catherine pointed at the men in the cells. “You see that? That was the work of two residents of Aspen Hill who’d just lost everything to FETF, and probably watched the entire town help Ferris empty their shelter of all the things they needed to survive, to the point where they were literally driven out of town. And they still cared enough to stop a group of thugs right outside our borders from continuing their attacks. They also willingly gave from what they had back when we were asking for donations, while FETF gives you what they’ve taken from others at gunpoint and calls it helping. If you ask me I’d prefer a town full of Halssons and Smiths over a dozen Ferrises bringing “aid.”

“You think I wouldn’t?” The Mayor demanded, although he looked a bit guilty. He was the one who’d organized the townspeople helping FETF empty Trev and Lewis’s shelter. “Whatever we like this is how it is. We just have to make the best of it.”

Catherine looked over at Matt, who was standing uneasily over by the cells trying to pretend he wasn’t there. He looked away from her questioning eyes and she sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Although the cousins weren’t the only ones to leave yesterday. Charles Mercer and his family vanished sometime in the afternoon while the town was so hard at work emptying cousins’ shelter. Word is the Mercers kept a good bit of the stock from their store for themselves once they realized how bad it was. They probably didn’t want to have it stolen from them by Ferris so I’ll bet it’s gone with them. And it’s likely others who were similarly prepared to survive the winter will be leaving in order to keep what they have, going out into the wilds and exposing themselves to bandits and worse and depriving Aspen Hill of some of our best people and supplies we desperately need to survive. Where does that leave the town?”

“I don’t know!” Anderson burst out, suddenly angry. “I’m just doing the best I can here, when I’m not getting voted down by the entire town or taking orders from FETF administrators who just walk in like they own the place. Meanwhile all the blame falls on me.”

In the face of the Mayor’s obvious misery Catherine relented a bit. “You weren’t the only one out there emptying Lewis’s shelter,” she said with a sigh. “It’s just, well… I almost wish it was bandits who’d taken over our town. At least we could fight back.”

“Are you threatening Federal agents, Councilwoman Tillman?” a cold voice from behind Matt asked.

Matt whirled in time to see Ferris sweep into the room, flanked by two FETF soldiers. For her part in spite of her surprise Catherine recovered quickly. “Consider it a complaint about the way you’re running things, Administrator,” she said stiffly. “For you this may be just an assignment but for me this is my home. I have my friends and family to think of, as well as my duty to Aspen Hill as a member of the City Council.”

“Duly noted,” Ferris said, equally stiff. He walked over to stand beside Matt staring through the bars at the three bound men. “These are our highwaymen, patsies of this criminal “Razor?”

“That’s right,” Matt said. He briefly explained Trev coming to him about the bandits they’d captured, as well as adding his own confirmation to his friend’s statement about the big guy at the end being one of the ones with Razor who’d robbed them yesterday on their way into town.

The entire time he was talking Ferris frowned at the three, and when he was done the administrator spoke. “Your friends Trev and Lewis are not here to testify against these men.”

Matt shifted uncomfortably. If he didn’t want Catherine knowing where the cousins had gone he doubly didn’t want Ferris himself having even a hint of it. “No, they aren’t.”

“Very well then.” Ferris turned to the pair of soldiers with him and pointed at the two bandits in the lefthand cell, neither of which was the big guy who’d robbed Matt and the others that morning. “Let these men go.”

Anderson stiffened. “What? They were caught robbing people just outside our town!”

“They’re accused of that, an accusation made by people who refuse to personally come and testify,” Ferris answered. “This is still a nation of law and order, Mayor, and without witnesses to a crime we can’t charge them.” He pointed at the one who’d robbed Matt, April and her family, and Trev, sitting alone in the other cell glowering at them. “That one, however, has a witness against him, and I’m satisfied with the testimony.”

Catherine stepped forward. “If you let these two go they’re only going to rob more people!” she protested.

The administrator looked bored. “And if evidence of their crimes is found they will also be punished.” The soldiers had finished opening the barred door and were ushering the two men out of the cell. As the first one emerged Ferris caught his shoulder, pinching the cloth of his shirt between finger and thumb as if holding a dead mouse. “You. Tell this Razor that I’d like to talk to him. He has my assurance he’ll be allowed to leave afterwards.”

“Yeah okay,” the guy said, fidgeting nervously.

Matt did his best not to seethe as he watched the two men practically bolt for the door, escorted by one of the soldiers. That was an obvious threat to the town Ferris was letting out, all because he didn’t believe Trev and Lewis, or Matt himself for that matter. It was bad enough that Trev had woken him up after only a few hours of sleep to deal with this, but now he got to watch as his work going out to the canyon camp and bringing the criminals back to town was two-thirds of the way undone.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Matt said once the two men were gone, “what are we going to do about Razor?”

Ferris’s eyes thinned. “We aren’t doing anything, Mr. Larson. While I appreciate your civic mindedness in bringing these men to my attention, the last thing I need is some gung ho vigilante running around causing problems. Leave this so-called Razor to me.”

Matt wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “He threatened my family. He threatened the town! Am I just supposed to twiddle my thumbs and hope he doesn’t do anything?”

“It’s my job to make sure he doesn’t carry out those threats, which I’ll do,” the administrator replied. “As for you, maybe you should spend less time taking the law into your own hands and more time worrying about surviving the winter.” He smiled condescendingly and gestured towards the door in an obvious signal for Matt to leave. “In case you haven’t figured it out it’s going to be a hard one, and FETF can’t do everything for you.”

Or anything, it looks like, Matt thought somewhat resentfully. But Ferris was at least right that the best thing he could do was go home and put his efforts to taking care of his own family, finding them the food they needed and defending their house.

He left without another word, more than ready to go back to bed.

Chapter One

Climbing into Winter

It took them 6 days to get to the hideout.

Even with having to deal with the heavy wagons the length of time surprised Trev, considering the distance was around 15 miles as the crow flies. But then again he hadn’t anticipated how the winding, switchbacking roads would require them to go more than half again the distance along steep mountainsides and over high passes.

But what he really hadn’t anticipated was the weight. He’d thought towing it on wheels would help, but even that only did so much when he had to deal with well more than double his own weight. Lugging his heavy backpack Aspen Hill from his car had been brutal, and going over 250 miles to Antelope Island and back had been a long exhausting grind, but towing the cart was like weightlifting.

Except with weightlifting he’d do it for an hour or so, drink a protein shake, and watch a movie or do homework, while with the wagon they went as far as they could without exhausting themselves, then paused for nearly as long to rest and recover before starting again. And if he was lucky he’d be pulling the 400lb wagon, while half the time he had to manhandle Lewis’s heavier 600lb one with the only consolation being that the wheels were larger and the entire thing was better designed and balanced.

Actually it was a tossup which wagon was worse to pull, since Trev’s slapped together cart made from a moving dolly frequently got stuck on anything bigger than a pebble. And since the four wheels all turned in every direction it had a tendency to drift to one side or another as he pulled it, making it hard to control and increasing its chances of getting stuck on obstacles he was trying to avoid.

In fact, after the first day he was really starting to hate the thing.

Those difficulties were bad enough on the mild uphill slopes, but where the road got steeper in many places they had to double up to tow each wagon for as far as they could without losing sight of the other wagon, then hurry back to bring it up and just in sight past the first one in a sort of leapfrogging pattern. And downhill was nearly as bad because they both had to put their weight against the wagons and strain to keep them in control for every foot. At least there Lewis’s wagon had a hand brake that they could ride, and Trev found himself constantly thankful that his cousin had taken the time and expense to get a quality wagon.

Leapfrogging slowed their pace to a crawl, but they weren’t moving fast at the best of times; one mile an hour was a stretch when they were actually moving. Not only did they have to deal with exhaustion and the constant uphill or downhill climb with flat stretches few and far between, but every time a wagon got stuck on a rock, which was happened now and again even on gravel roads and was a regular hassle on dirt roads especially with Trev’s wagon, they had to stop and take a moment to either back the wagon up and maneuver it around or manhandle it over. Individually the delays didn’t take more than a few seconds, but over time they added up.

To add to that Lewis insisted that they stop at any suspicious bend in the road, moving ahead cautiously in his body armor while Trev took cover behind a wagon with his rifle ready. At those pauses they’d both pan the area thoroughly with their binoculars, but even while lugging the wagons they also did their best to keep their eye on their surroundings. The entire way they didn’t see any sign of people, so either nobody was there or they weren’t feeling sociable about approaching two armed men, but Trev didn’t complain about the precautions after everything he’d been through. In truth he remained just as vigilant as his cousin.

Between the pauses to scout, the rest breaks, and the slow pace they were lucky to make five miles on a good day. They also spent nearly as much time resting or scouting as moving, and each night found the best spot they could find that was sheltered from outside observers and collapsed into their tents, sleeping til dawn and nearly too sore to move when they got up. Lewis had them drink protein powder three times a day, along with enough other food to nearly double the calorie intake he’d kept them on in Aspen Hill, but he spaced the meals out throughout the day and had them wait for a while after eating so their stomachs were never full to the point that digestion would get in the way of the hard work.

The first night Trev actually had trouble sleeping because his muscles were so sore, but after the second day he was so exhausted that he practically passed out as soon as he slipped into his sleeping bag, not even the plummeting temperature enough to bother him in there while wearing his balaclava.

And the temperatures did plummet the higher they went. Down in Aspen Hill the first snowfall was a month away at the earliest, and he’d be surprised if it got in the 30s on the coldest nights. Yet up several thousand vertical feet among the mountaintops the temperature variance with Carbon county below was anywhere from 10 to 15 degrees during the daytime, and even more extreme at night.

Snow was already beginning to accumulate in shaded areas on the higher mountainsides, among the trees or on north facing slopes. In some places the drifts were already several feet deep, and they even encountered a couple across the road that they had to navigate around. And while in the afternoon the air was bearable with a light jacket, or even shirtsleeves while they were exerting themselves pulling the wagons, at night the temperatures plummeted below freezing and gave them a taste of the coming winter.

Trev had the gear to comfortably handle sleeping out in those temperatures, but even with that gear it required some getting used to while getting ready for bed and especially waking up in the morning. And every time he found himself shivering as he got dressed laying on his back in his low one-man tent he couldn’t help but wonder if they weren’t making a huge mistake coming up here.

He hoped his cousin was right about the wood stove in the hideout and the “minor” weatherproofing required to make it livable when the temperatures plummeted far below zero and ten foot snowdrifts piled up around them. He also had to hope they’d have enough food to last until spring, because going hungry in that sort of extreme cold would make it even harder on the body.

As they got higher into the mountains the vegetation changed from scrub oak and meadows in the foothills to an about even split of aspen and evergreens in the lower mountains, still with long stretches of meadows covered by sage. Higher up on the highest mountains that changed to a dense blanket of primarily blue spruce and douglas fir covering the steep slopes, broken by denser thickets of aspen struggling to hold their territory, usually around small meadows. Only at the tops of those highest mountains did the trees give way to sage-covered meadows again.

That was the area they’d built their hideout in, on one of the highest mountains along Highway 31 with Huntington River running at its base.

On the sixth day they reached 31 and followed it the rest of the short distance to their hideout. Thankfully it was on a lower slope of that tall mountain, only a few hundred feet above Huntington River on a 10-acre plot of land Lewis’s parents owned. There was no real road to get there, which in a way was nice since it guaranteed their privacy but in another way was a pain when they had a thousand pounds of stuff to lug up to the lean-to.

Most of the time when they came up here they crossed the Huntington at a narrow spot using a few large stones they’d long ago firmly embedded in the riverbed, then climbed the steep slope, densely treed and choked with deadfall, up to 10 to 20 foot overhanging cliffs with only a few ways to climb past them to the gentler slope above. A hundred or so yards across that gentler slope, at the far end where the hillside grew steep again, they’d built their hideout. Although that had been years ago when they were still kids.

It was an excellent spot for looking out at the surrounding mountainsides from the hideout’s front door, and only a relatively short walk to the tops of the cliffs, which they could follow to look down at the entire stretch of Highway 31 in the valley below and the river running alongside it. Getting down to the river through all the slippery mulch beneath the dense deadfall, or up from the river to the hideout, was so tricky that even though they’d cleared a path and did their best to maintain it the climb was rough.

Getting supplies up it would be daunting, even with ropes.

Luckily there was another option. Old logging roads spidered the mountainsides up here, and one of them came within a few hundred yards of the hideout on the mountainside above. It meant they had to follow 31 north past the hideout for a few more miles to get to a bridge across the river, then follow that dirt road to where it branched off to their logging trail.

So even though they came within a few hundred yards of the hideout before noon, it was late afternoon before they managed to reach the spot on the logging road above it where they could tie ropes to their wagons and slowly ease them down the slope using a small pulley rig his cousin had brought tied to a nearby tree.

“We’re going to have to keep a watch on this road,” Lewis said idly as they worked, looking down it both ways. “Shame it isn’t below the hideout. As it is we won’t be able to see anyone coming unless we’re standing right on it looking.”

“At least they can’t see the hideout from here, either,” Trev replied wearily, unable to work up too much interest in the conversation even though he knew it was important. He was beyond exhausted and more than ready to give his overworked muscles a break after six days of heavy exercise. Even so, as they climbed down the slope after their wagons he couldn’t help but notice how much that work had built up their muscles. He only hoped they’d have enough food over the coming months to keep up that muscle mass.

Once they reached the gentler slope below they left their wagons behind for the moment to walk the last fifty or so feet to inspect the hideout.

It wasn’t anything like Trev remembered. The old structure made of crooked logs, piled sticks, and used particle board hammered here and there had been completely torn down and replaced by a small but sturdy south-facing log frame snugly covered by plywood, which had plastic and then tarps nailed over it for waterproofing and protection. Finally his cousin had used a shovel to bury the entire thing in dirt as completely as possible. A small stovepipe stuck out from the roof near the back, covered by a cone of odd mesh that his cousin explained helped break up the smoke so it wasn’t as visible.

When they went inside he saw the small wood stove in the corner that the pipe belonged to, along with a cot along the left wall, a card table and a few folding chairs on the back wall in front of the stove, and a kerosene lantern hanging from a hook on the ceiling. Another cot was leaning against the wall behind the first one and it looked like there was just enough room for it along the right wall. The floor was also made of plywood, and Lewis confirmed that he’d covered the bottom with plastic and tarp as well. Not only that but he’d dug a French drain below the structure to help channel any groundwater away.

Trev finished looking around the rebuilt lean-to and turned to give his cousin a rueful smile. “You wanted to spring this on me, didn’t you? Here all this time I thought we’d be huddled in a tiny dirt-floored hovel covered by sticks.”

Lewis grinned back. “I told you I’d improved it.”

“Was this another part of your preparations for the end of the world as we know it?”

His cousin hesitated, then shrugged. “Yes and no. I’ve been spending enough time up here cutting firewood that it was worth building a decent place to stay, but at the same time I suppose I did have a scenario like this floating in the back of my head.”

The interior was a bit chilly from disuse, although mitigated by the sun shining on the front, but even so Trev didn’t feel any drafts. The small stove would be enough to heat the space even during the coldest months, and as long as he didn’t mind the cramped conditions this was the kind of place he could picture himself spending a harsh winter.

He turned back to Lewis. “Have I mentioned before how lucky I am that you’re letting me enjoy the benefits of all your hard work?”

“Plenty of times, although hearing it never gets old.” His cousin clapped him on the back. “Come on, let’s get everything packed inside. Then we should think about building a sturdy icehouse a bit away where we can store any meat we might hunt or fish, or anything else that needs preserving or might attract predators. I’ve got some leftover plywood and nails that should be enough.”

Trev did his best not to groan at the thought of all that work, tired as he was, and Lewis laughed at his expression and as he finished. “Starting tomorrow. For now let’s just get our supplies inside and get this place ready to live in. I for one wouldn’t mind turning in early after a big meal.”

The first thing they did after unloading their supplies and doing a few small tasks to make the hideout more comfortable was fire up the stove, just in time as it started to really get colder with the sun set. Lewis had it lit in no time at all, and as the small wood fire inside started to blaze and the small metal box began radiating heat they took the opportunity to cook their first hot meal in a week: more canned chili.

It was a surprising luxury for Trev to strip off his winter clothes and relax in one of the chairs in pants and shirtsleeves, enjoying the feel of warm air radiating against him as the chili heated. Although when Lewis joined him Trev couldn’t help but be reminded that their clothes could do with some serious washing and so could they.

His cousin caught his expression. “Get used to it. We should definitely try to keep clean, of course, but it doesn’t hurt to remember that even a hundred years ago daily showers were a luxury, and two hundred years ago the majority of people stank to high heavens. Humans are one of the more smelly animals out there, after all. Easy to forget that with modern grooming.”

Trev made a face. “This is a great conversation for building up an appetite.”

In spite of his grumbling when the meal was ready he dug into his chili with a ferociousness only known to someone who’s done nearly a week of heavy exercise eating his first hot meal in all that time. Although even as much as he enjoyed it, as he ate Trev still suggested going fishing the next day; just the thought of fresh trout dusted with lemon pepper made his mouth water.

Lewis agreed that that was a good idea. After they finished building the icehouse.

Once the meal was over they banked the fire and set up Trev’s cot, which just barely fit on the other side of the lean-to from Lewis’s with the table and chairs in between. Since it was still a bit early to turn in his cousin suggested they heat some water and do some of that aforementioned bathing, and Trev was quick to agree. That was another luxury he’d missed.

One of the things Lewis had brought was half a dozen large but light metal water pails with wire handles all stacked one inside the other, one of which they packed with snow and set on the stove. His cousin volunteered for that task, hauling himself back into his winter clothes.

When he got back with the packed bucket they watched the snow inside slowly melt, until Lewis began fidgeting impatiently. “Listen, why don’t you wash up first while I go scout the surrounding area and make sure we’re alone up here?”

Trev was about to argue that in the dark his cousin wouldn’t be able to see much, but then he remembered his night vision goggles. There was also the fact that with the temperature plummeting it was almost certain that anyone traveling along the logging roads or down on Highway 31 would light a fire to stay warm, even if it made things more risky for them. They might try to hide that fire or keep it small, but from the hideout’s elevated position his cousin would have a better chance of seeing it. For that matter anyone planning mischief had better have a flashlight out in that darkness, which would be even easier to spot than a fire.

“Are you sure?” he asked. He really didn’t want to go out into the cold, but then again it wasn’t fair to expect his cousin to do it either.

Lewis grinned. “I’m not doing you as big a favor as you think. First wash means you’ll be using the water before it’s really heated up. Besides, you can take some shifts tomorrow. We’ll probably want to patrol here same as down in Aspen Hill, although we probably won’t need to go nearly as far and can just set up some good observation posts around the perimeter. Especially on the cliffs overlooking the road.”

Left alone, Trev impatiently waited until the last bit of ice in the bucket melted and then got started. The water was still freezing, but that wasn’t so bad while standing next to the stove. Actually refreshing in a way. After a quick scrubbing down with a soapy cloth, then a more thorough rinse, Trev put on his last set of clean clothes and shrugged into his coat to go out and dump the water, then scrub the bucket with snow and refill it for Lewis. After setting it on the stove to melt he climbed into his sleeping bag on the cot and pulled on his balaclava, settling into the blessed comfort of a reasonably soft bed in a warm room.

He wasn’t sure when his cousin got back or whether the water was nice and hot for him, because less than a minute later he fell asleep and didn’t so much as roll over until morning.

* * *

The next morning they both slept in, giving their tired muscles a chance to recover now that they’d finally finished their journey and most of the urgency that had kept them going was gone. It also gave the rising sun a chance to warm the cold night air a bit, so when they finally emerged bundled up and puffing in the chilly air they could get right to work on the icehouse.

They made their way to the same shaded hollow near the woodpile where they’d drawn snow from the night before and found a fairly flat patch, then with a bit of shovel work smoothed it the rest of the way, then began gathering smaller logs they could use to build a frame. Lewis had plenty of thick waterproof plastic and tarps to use, along with 6 full sheets of plywood, several boxes of nails, and a hammer. He also had screws and a power driver, but unfortunately that far more convenient building tool had no electricity to charge it.

His cousin was far more experienced with the planning and designing part of building, while for the most part while helping with the shelter Trev had just followed instructions and placed boards, hammered, or put screws where he was told. Now, however, as he watched Lewis calculate a structure that would use as many of their boards as possible, a sudden thought occurred to him. The thought was brought on partly by the chill in the air and partly by the nice big meal last night that’d had some time to digest.

“Um, have you thought of what to do about a heated outhouse?” he asked.

Lewis slowly turned to look at him. “Oh. Actually I hadn’t.”

Trev had been afraid of that. “We should probably think about it before the temperature hits below zero and we’ve got snowdrifts up to our eyeballs. What if we built an attachment to the hideout so the stove can warm it too?”

His cousin made a face. “Not a fan of that for a lot of reasons.” He frowned, thinking hard, then abruptly brightened. “Here’s an idea. What if we’ve always got some nice big stones warming up by the stove, and we built a small outhouse by digging it partly underground with a log frame thatched with mud-chinked branches and covered in plastic and tarp for the upper walls and ceiling? The stones would heat the small space, at least enough to be comfortable.”

It was hard to believe Lewis had come up with that on the spot. “Do you think it would work?”

“It’s that or use some of these boards and have a much smaller icehouse.” His cousin kicked at one of the sheets of plywood. “The pessimistic side of me wonders if we could even find enough game to fill a 4ft cubed box, let alone anything bigger. But the optimistic side of me says I’d rather have too much space than not enough, and we need to make sure it’s nice and sturdy so unfriendly animals can’t get at our winter stores. We can’t afford to cut corners.”

Trev nodded. “No hurry on the outhouse I guess. We won’t want to use it until there’s no other options anyway.”

Under Lewis’s direction they ended up building a 4ft by 8ft box using four of the plywood sheets standing on end, with a fifth cut in half using a hacksaw to make the floor and roof. The trickiest part was rigging up one of the sheets as a door, but luckily his cousin had some spare hinges and even a sturdy hasp that could fit a padlock. The final step was to use rubber rope and the last of a bucket of roofing tar to fill in the seams, then cover everything with nailed on plastic and tarp.

After a bit of consultation while putting on the last touches Lewis rethought standing it on end and instead tipped it sideways so the door was pointing straight up, kind of like a freezer. That would help them get to it when the snow started piling up, and it would also be less vulnerable to being blown or knocked over.

It was a bit after noon by the time they finished, and during the work they’d shed winter gear until they just had their coats on. Trev was even considering doffing that while standing in the sunlight looking at the finished product. He couldn’t help but feel proud of it, even though it wasn’t exactly a difficult bit of construction. “Now we’ve just got to fill it,” he said, clapping his cousin on the shoulder. “Speaking of which, now seems like a good time to go fishing.”

“Mind going solo?” Lewis replied. “I want to do another patrol of the area and look for good places to put up watchposts. Also I can keep an eye on the road and make sure nobody’s coming along it while you’re standing less than a hundred feet away by the river.”

Trev grimaced. He hadn’t thought of that, but Huntington River was actually at a lower elevation than the highway so it would be really hard for him to watch for danger while fishing. He’d also be in plain view of people coming along the road for quite a ways. “Yeah, that would be a good idea, although I’ll try to find a more out of view spot. I’ll listen for your whistle while I’m fishing just in case.” He hesitated. “Um, all my fishing gear was in the lean-to before your renovations.”

“It still is. I’ve got it stowed under my cot where it won’t accidentally get stepped on.”

He nodded at that and hurried to the hideout to gather up his gear. It was just where Lewis had said, still in good shape even after years of neglect. Or at least neglect on his part: his cousin had probably diligently maintained his things in his absence. Trev also gathered up his Mini-14 and some spare mags and picked up one of Lewis’s metal buckets to carry anything he caught. Optimistically speaking he hoped to fill it up, but then again he’d never fished at this time of year and didn’t know if he’d even catch anything.

The last thing he did before setting out was head a short distance from the hideout and spread his coat flat on the ground, then pull out one of his cans of bear spray.

He was about to start spraying when he saw Lewis hurrying towards him, a look of alarm on his face. His cousin had been checking his G3 while also preparing to set out, but for some reason this had caught his attention. “What are you doing?”

Trev paused with his finger on the trigger. “Using one of the cans of bear spray Matt gave me. We’ve mostly been using it for self defense, but I figured up here I’m actually more likely to use it for its intended purpose. I was going to spray my coat to keep away any unfriendly visitors.”

He almost thought Lewis was trying not to laugh as his cousin slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “That’s not its intended purpose, man. You’re supposed to spray it in the face of an attacking bear.”

It was hard not to glare. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Of course I know that. I just figured if bears don’t like it then smelling it will keep them away.”

Lewis carefully plucked the can out of his hands, as if afraid he’d still use it on his coat. “Actually it’s the exact opposite. It’s an irritant when it gets in your eyes, nose, or mouth in spray form, but once it’s sprayed on something it’s basically just hot sauce and can attract bears. You remember the Metz’s going on a camping trip when we were younger?” Trev shook his head. “Well they had the same idea you did and sprayed their tent before going on a hike. When they came back it was crushed flat from bears rolling on it, curious at the smell.”

“Well okay then,” Trev said, feeling like an idiot. He took the can back and put it in his pocket. “I guess I’ll just bring it with me.”

His cousin nodded, still trying not to laugh. “Good luck with your fishing.”

Trev shrugged back into his coat and started down the gentle slope to where the cliffs began, heading along the familiar path which squeezed through a gap in the cliffs that was traversable with a bit of climbing. There was a good sized overhang below the cliffs there that was nearly a cave, and they’d speculated it would be good for camping in, or for watching the road while well hidden by the screen of trees on the slope below. But with the hideout so close they’d never actually used it.

As for the slope it was incredibly steep and treacherous, with a bed of fallen pine needles and mulch that might be a few inches to a few feet deep with no way of knowing until you put your foot down, which slipped easily on the mud below. It was also criss-crossed by deadfall everywhere that had to be carefully maneuvered over and around, and the icing on the cake was the snow that was already accumulating in the shade under the tall trees and making everything even more slippery.

The path down to the river at the base of the slope looked as if it hadn’t been maintained in a while, and possibly not even used. There was a spring higher up the mountain that they usually drew clean water from, saving them from having to purify river water, and if Lewis had just been here for collecting firewood he might not have even gone down to the river at all.

Still, even in poor condition it was far, far better than trying to trailblaze down the slope, and with just a bit of effort Trev was able to make it down to Huntington River. In some places the terrain around the river was flat and meadowy, or even a bit marshy, but here it went from steep slope to flowing water with no transition, the riverbanks thickly clustered with trees and deadfall and in a few places with fallen logs stretching all the way to the other bank. In his braver youth Trev had used logs like those, or maybe those ones themselves, to cross the river, but now he preferred the slightly safer path of rocks.

At the moment he had no intention of crossing, though, and instead he found a nice little curve in the bank where he was obscured from the road unless someone was directly in front of him, and at that point he’d be able to see them too. Once satisfied the area was safe enough he braced himself against a tree leaning out over the water and prepared his pole.

Trev had only fished during the summer before now, but while Lewis was his usual fishing buddy they’d both also gone more than a few times with his uncle Lucas, Lewis’s dad, who was an avid fisherman and fished year round. Since there was plenty of time to shoot the breeze on those trips they’d heard all about fishing in cold weather from the older man, gleaning the experience and skills he’d acquired over the years.

The most important things to be aware of were that trout were cold-blooded and their metabolism slowed down in the cold. They still had to eat, but it could be harder to get them to take the bait and you had to search for the right conditions.

Trev followed all his uncle’s advice today, waiting until the hottest part of the day, finding a place where the river ran slower and deeper so the fish didn’t have to expend as much energy going after the bait, and moving his line very slowly to make an easy target they might go after.

Lucas had been a good teacher and Trev’s listening seemed to pay off, because after only a few hours of patient effort, moving from one good spot to another but always aware of the highway on the other side of the river, he caught five trout that were quite a bit bigger than he was used to seeing in the summer. Maybe it was the extra months of growing and the fact that there was nobody around to fish them, but he almost never had success like this. After Lucas’s warnings about cold weather fishing being more challenging he had to wonder if he was lucky, or if the high price of fuel before the Gulf refineries attack keeping tourists and regulars away all summer had more to do with it.

Either way he wasn’t complaining as he gutted and scaled his catch and packed them in snow in the bucket to take back up to the hideout. Then, after cautiously looking around just to be safe, he picked his way up the treacherous bank to where the path began and started up. At this time of day it was warm enough that the exertion made him start to sweat, but removing his coat and carrying it would’ve just made the climb even more awkward so he kept on.

Trev had just made it to the cliffs and was doing his best to scale the gap one-handed when a sharp crack reached his ears. In that odd way in the mountains it echoed and reverberated confusingly, making it hard to trace exactly where it had come from, but Trev was pretty sure it was from above, near the hideout.

He immediately dropped his bucket of fish and unslung his .223, then wedged himself farther back into the gap facing outward and began panning the lower slope and the parts of the highway he could see with his scope, just to be safe. To his relief a few moments later he heard Lewis’s famous piercing whistle, letting him know that not only was it his cousin who’d fired the shot but that it was safe to keep coming without getting his head blown off.

He retrieved his bucket and rushed the rest of the way up the gap to the gentle meadowy slope leading to their hideout. A year ago the exertion combined with the thinner air at this elevation would’ve left him heavily winded by the sprint, but in his current shape he just needed a few seconds to steady his breathing as he looked around warily.

Lewis was entering the clearing from the south when he arrived, to the left of the path Trev had taken and farther down the meadow to where it curved down past the cliffs in a gentler but still steep slope to the river below. His cousin looked like he was in a good mood, and from his forced nonchalance as he cut across the meadow to meet Trev he had a feeling it was big news.

“Hey, how’d the fishing go?”

Trev grinned at his own good news. “Five big ones,” he said, lifting the bucket.

Lewis grinned. “In this cold? That’s awesome! We’ll have to take advantage of the fact that the fish are biting like that with however many warm days we’ve got left.” He paused and significantly hefted his bulky .308 on his shoulder. “Of course first we should be thinking about big game.”

It was Trev’s turn to be delighted. “That shot earlier?”

“An 8 point buck, pretty impressive size,” his cousin confirmed, finally letting his exuberance show. “Just standing there at the edge of the meadow a stone’s throw away like he’d never even heard of humans. It was a clean shot but I still wanted to make sure he was out of his misery before coming back for my skinning knife and a tarp.” He waved impatiently. “I’m glad you got back when you did, I could really use your help.”

“Sure,” Trev said, trying to hide his sudden uncertainty. He’d gone with his dad and uncle on a few hunts when he was younger, but they usually hadn’t brought down anything and the one year his uncle had he did the gutting and skinning himself. He’d kept Lewis there to observe as he instructed him, but Trev’s dad had felt a bit squeamish about that and kept Trev away until the job was done.

The biggest thing he’d ever cleaned was a fish, and he’d never skinned anything. Still, there was literally no time like the present to learn so he tossed the bucket of fish in the icehouse to stay frozen and went to fetch his own knife, the one Razor’s thug had left in his backpack down in Aspen Hill Canyon. He just hoped it was sharp enough: Lewis had spent some time last night while their food was cooking sharpening his own knife to a keen edge, but that was another skill Trev didn’t have yet and after a brutal climb from the valley he hadn’t been in the mood to learn.

He could honestly say it, he wasn’t sure he could survive up here without his cousin. But it was as much a desire to share the load as any fear that he might end up alone that made him determined to learn everything he could. As much as he regretted not gaining these skills before the world ended, he didn’t intend to put off learning them any longer.

So if he had to he was ready to get elbow deep in guts.

Lewis led the way down the meadow to where the deer had been standing beside a small thicket, probably nibbling at the few remaining leaves among the undergrowth. It was a bit sad to see the majestic animal sprawled dead on the grass, shot clean through the neck, but at the same time that was a lot of meat sitting there. Trev’s stomach grumbled at the memory of roasted venison from when his uncle had brought down the deer years ago.

His cousin paused to stand silently beside the deer for a moment, and Trev wondered if he was observing the old Native American tradition of thanking the deer for the gift of its meat. Trev was certainly thankful, although not in such a formal way. Then his cousin knelt down beside the deer and pulled on a pair of plastic gloves before looking up at him. “Step one is the trickiest,” he said with a grim attempt at a smile, “and lucky for us we get to do the most unpleasant thing first. Gutting.”

Trev made a face. “You know how?”

“I’ve seen plenty of videos and I watched my dad do it that one time. If everything goes right nothing is ruptured and we get the innards out clean in one piece and toss them off the cliff for any scavengers to find. If things go wrong…” he trailed off and shrugged. “Well, we salvage what we can. Watch this time, you’ll get to do it next time.”

He watched his cousin make careful cuts to expose the innards enough to get everything out in one piece. Then, not looking quite as confident and definitely a bit squeamish, Lewis reached right deep inside to detach everything, working with both hands for what seemed like forever before reaching for his knife.

“Ugh.” Trev didn’t so much say the word as it was forced from his gut as he watched his cousin carefully cut everything free and roll it out in one piece. In spite of himself he stumbled a few steps back.

Lewis grinned over at him as he removed the dirty gloves, that task at least complete. “Suck it up. This meat could mean the difference between life and death as it gets colder. Not to mention a good meal tonight.”

Trev reluctantly returned to keep watching. Even with the smell and the mess he wasn’t really in the mood to complain. He knew how important this was as much as Lewis did: not only did it mean immediate food and a hide they’d be able to make use of, but it meant that if they could do it once they could do it again and learn to survive in these mountains even when the supplies they’d brought were gone.

His cousin left the innards where they were for the moment and got Trev’s help in rigging a pair of ropes tied to the ends of a sturdy stick, to hang the deer from a nearby leaning tree by its back feet with the stick keeping them spread. With some effort they managed to get the job done, then Lewis retrieved his knife and frowned at the hanging carcass. “I’ve seen people skin and quarter a buck in under fifteen minutes. Let’s see if I can do it in a half hour.”

That seemed impossible to Trev, but he watched in admiration as his cousin clumsily but with purpose cut the hide along the legs and then peeled it off in one piece, leaving the meat behind. He hung the skin from the tree, then had Trev spread the tarp as he began quartering the deer.

Trev had thought this part, at least, would be messy and difficult, but as he watched his cousin cut free the shoulders and joint the meat, then get to work on the back straps, tenderloins, and ribs, and finally cut free the hams and joint them as well, it all seemed to go smoothly.

“You got all that from watching videos?” he asked incredulously.

Lewis smiled as he set the last ham on the tarp. All that was left hanging was the ribs and hips with a few scraps of meat, sinew, and cartilage, and the intact neck and head. In a pile with the innards were the discarded lower legs and hooves. “It helps to have a sharp knife and know exactly what you’re doing. Copying what I saw seemed to work pretty good.”

“Think you managed it in fifteen minutes?” Trev asked. He’d been so intent on the job that he hadn’t really noticed the passage of time.

“How should I know?” His cousin chuckled and motioned to the meat piled on the tarp. “Come on, let’s get this packed in snow in the icehouse. Then we can gather up the rest and toss it off the cliff.”

Trev glanced at the hanging carcass. “What about the meat on the neck?” There wasn’t much, but there was some.

Lewis hesitated. “Not sure,” he admitted. “In the videos it’s usually kept intact to mount, or just discarded.”

Fair enough. Trev grabbed one end of the tarp as his cousin grabbed the other, and together they carried it towards the icehouse.

* * *

Their first day on the mountain and they’d already bagged a buck and caught five fish. Trev wasn’t sure whether to credit that to incredible good luck, divine providence, or the fact that with the lack of people able to get up here the fish and game were more plentiful. Maybe all three.

What he did know was that he couldn’t believe all the refugees starving in the valleys to the east and west weren’t coming up here to enjoy the same bounty. Then again most of them probably didn’t have the equipment or shelter to make it work the way he and his cousin were.

After they’d tossed the rest of the carcass and washed up it was still sunny and fairly warm outside, so while Lewis scraped the hide to prepare it for curing Trev got a fire going in the old pit they’d used when a stove hadn’t been available. Once it was crackling merrily, not smoking much with the dry wood he used, he cut strips from one of the shoulders and seasoned them with a rub made from the spices Lewis had brought, then got out the skewers they used to use for marshmallow and hotdogs years ago. The skewers were beneath his cousin’s cot with all the other stuff they’d had in the lean-to, and after sitting them in the fire to sterilize them he skewered the strips and got them cooking over the coals.

The smell was enough to lure his cousin away from his work and he came over, staring at the searing venison in anticipation. As soon as it looked done they were quick to pull off the skewers and dig in, tearing into the hot meat with their teeth and burning their mouths on the first few bites. Trev didn’t think he’d ever had anything as delicious. Not in his entire life.

Lewis finished chewing the last bite on his skewer in record time and leaned back with a sigh of contentment, crossing his hands behind his head. “Savor these moments, Trev.”

“Okay, Mr. Greeting Card.”

His cousin glanced over at him and grinned for a moment, then his expression grew serious. “I mean it, though. I know it seems like it’s just been a bad thing and then a worse thing and then outright disaster ever since the attack, but we can’t just look at the evil in the world.” He pointed vaguely in the direction of the little icehouse they’d built, where the rest of the venison and Trev’s trout waited packed in snow. “We can conquer our environment, same as our ancestors did, and not just survive but thrive. The future might be difficult but there’s more good times than bad ahead.”

“If we can survive this winter,” Trev said, but after the exceptional day they’d had his heart wasn’t in the dour words. And as he took another bite off his own skewer he paused for a moment to enjoy the taste, same as he had for every bite, and feel some satisfaction that this meat was about as fresh as it came and he’d cooked it. He’d be even more satisfied with the next deer, perhaps even one he brought down himself, knowing he’d be the one to do everything to prepare it the way his cousin had this time.

Lewis leaned over to clap him on the shoulder. “We’ll survive it,” he promised. “And when we do we’ll know we can survive anything.”

Chapter Two

Civility

The ration line Ferris had set up at the town storehouse allowed anyone who came through it to receive a day’s worth of food once a day, no restrictions or reservations.

Assuming you were a refugee, of course. The residents of Aspen Hill had to be green-lighted to get on their own special list, and the only way to do that was to allow the FETF soldiers to “inspect” their house. Ferris’s justification was that if they were hoarding in excess of two weeks’ worth of food then they didn’t need the ration line.

Considering that FETF was giving out the townspeople’s own food that reasoning rang completely hollow to Sam, but incredibly enough there were plenty of Aspen Hill residents who accepted it. The Larsons hadn’t, thankfully, and although Ed had hidden what food the family had he still refused to submit to an inspection, or for that matter try to get rations from the line. He wasn’t about to give up their food, but he wouldn’t lie and claim they didn’t have any, either.

Sam admired their independence and integrity, but she couldn’t join them in their silent boycott. For all of the family’s insistence that she was one of them she couldn’t shake the knowledge that she was a burden, so she used her refugee status to stand in line every day and receive her pound and a half of coarsely ground wheat flour. Between that, Mona’s garden which they harvested the moment things in it became ripe enough, and whatever foraging of weeds or other edibles they managed in town, they’d managed to keep the hidden food in reserve.

As for Trev’s cache up on Highway 6, one of their main topics of conversation was finding a way to get it down to Aspen Hill. That was hundreds of pounds of food they had to move, not only having to worry about actually transporting that much but also avoiding those who’d want to steal it from them.

Since Matt’s father had lost his hunting rifle at the roadblock and Matt’s pistol had been confiscated in Spanish Fork they had nothing but the bear spray to defend themselves. Even more worrisome was the knowledge that Razor and his goons were waiting out beyond the town’s limits. Even though there’d been no reports of attacks by them in the last week Sam had no doubt that they were still there, working their villainy quietly and in ways that avoided notice.

Mona, April, and Terry argued that between their garden, what they could forage, and the little remaining in their pantry they could last a bit longer, and maybe wait until there was a better opportunity to go retrieve the cache. Their main argument was that when it got colder the flow of refugees along the highway would slow to a trickle. Matt had argued that that might not even be a good thing, since it would just make them more noticeable. Ed wanted to try finding backroads through the foothills and mountains to bring the food down, a position Matt had ended up leaning towards. As for Sam, she was willing to go with whatever the family decided and had offered to help with whatever they ended up doing.

When Sam started going through the ration line April and Terry had tried to go through as well, but even though they were technically just as much refugees as her they’d been refused with the explanation that they were living in the home of family members, and so the same conditions applied for them as for the Larsons. To solve that problem they’d talked to Mayor Anderson and got his permission to move into the house abandoned by Councilman Watts. They’d been happy to let FETF inspect their new home to their hearts’ content, at which point there was no more trouble with them and the ration line.

Sam had been standing in that line every day for a week now, and had recently received her day’s rations. Mrs. Harris had been waiting in line not far ahead of her, and even though the Larsons’ house was just a block away she felt like it was only kind to volunteer to help the elderly widow back home. Especially since Mrs. Harris had been so generous in letting her help harvest her root crops and earn some badly needed food storage.

So they’d gone arm in arm west along the streets with Sam carrying both sacks of flour, towards the outskirts of town. The chat along the way was pleasant, and although Sam asked at the old woman’s front door if there was anything she needed Mrs. Harris staunchly insisted she had things under control, thanked Sam, and pecked her on the cheek before sending her on her way.

Once back on the street Sam paused to collect a few dandelions beside the road, not looking forward to the bitter taste but definitely looking forward to the added nutrients. Yesterday they’d managed to collect enough that they could save some of her wheat, although that had mostly been a fluke thanks to Matt finding a Potawatomi plum tree growing along the banks of the stream that flowed down out of Aspen Hill Canyon and curved south to follow the town’s southern border.

The little fruits were sour enough to make her mouth pucker, but she’d eagerly eaten her portion along with everyone else. Even April’s boys had seemed to enjoy the unexpected treat, and the expressions on their little faces on the first bite was just too adorable for words. Matt was back there today searching for more, and she fervently hoped he’d have some luck.

Sam frowned, thinking of the tall young man as she searched around for more dandelions. She definitely liked him, no questions there, and she was almost certain he liked her too. But first he’d left for weeks to bring back April’s family, which she certainly understood, and since then he kept taking a slow, cautious approach to things that made her want to grab him by the ears and scream in his face to hurry up and do something already.

She supposed she couldn’t blame him when they had so many more pressing things to worry about, and it was hard to think of a romantic future with someone while worrying about whether you were going to starve to death within the month. But with how chaotic and uncertain everything had become Matt was one of the few calm and certain things in her life, and she just knew that it would be much easier to deal with whatever problems they faced if they were well and truly together. Couldn’t he see that?

“Well aren’t you a cute little thing?”

Sam jerked her eyes up from the ground and around to look down the street she was on, freezing in pure panic when she saw three men approaching. Her instincts told her to run but the only way she could go was west, away from the Larsons’ house, and she was already at the outskirts of town.

Her panic only increased when she saw that the small, nondescript man who’d spoken had his hands thrust deep into his front pockets. That was enough to recognize Razor, the same man who’d robbed Matt and April’s family and had hurt Terry.

While she’d stood frozen the man and his two friends had continued to saunter her way, the bigger goons circling around to either side of her in case she suddenly tried to bolt. Sam regretted her decision to not run when she had the chance, but she’d never been a very fast runner and she was certain if she tried now she’d be quickly caught by the longer-legged men.

Besides, she had the bear spray Matt had given her in her pocket. Maybe she could brave it out and get past them and just go home. Razor hadn’t seemed to want to hurt the others when he’d robbed them and had only sprayed Terry when he talked back. Not to mention it was broad daylight, and even if she was close to the outskirts she was still in town, with houses visible in every direction.

“Are you lost, miss?” the nondescript man said. “Or maybe you need a place to stay?”

“I’m fine,” she said politely, starting forward past him. “Excuse me, I need to get home.”

A hand that wasn’t much larger than hers closed around the forearm of her hand holding her daily ration, stopping Sam’s forward progress, and she felt her flesh crawl under his unexpectedly iron grip. “Got your day’s worth of gritty flour, eh?” he said, still in that same pleasant tone. “Bet you’re sick of just eating that for every meal, and it hurts my soul to see an unhappy woman. Wouldn’t you like a proper meal?”

Sam’s heart was beating out of her chest, but she did her best to keep from shaking as she pulled her other hand out of the sleeve of her coat and pointed the bear spray at him. “Let me go.”

Razor threw back his head and laughed, but at least he let her go. “No need to get scared and start threatening people, sweetie. I just wanted to know if you’d like to work for me out in the camp. I guarantee you’d eat better than anyone in town, and the work’s so easy you can practically do it lying down.” He winked lewdly. “Or literally.”

She knew exactly what he was talking about and the thought filled her with disgust. Especially after he’d put his hand on her. “No thanks, I’m doing fine.” She lifted the bear spray a bit higher and took a step back, opening her mouth to tell him to leave her alone.

That step slammed her right into the chest of one of Razor’s thugs, who’d moved to stand directly behind her, and Sam barely had time to squeak before the large man plucked the bear spray from her hand. “There, that’s more like it,” Razor said. “A sensible girl like you should really know better than to threaten someone, especially these days. I’m perfectly within my rights to defend myself if I’m threatened, although I’d rather not hurt a woman.”

Was he seriously trying to pretend that she was threatening him? Sam tried to step away from the thug, only to feel his heavy hands on her shoulders pinning her in place. “I’ll scream,” she warned.

Razor grinned and put his hands in his pockets, and Sam felt a sudden surge of dread. While describing their encounter with the bandits on the way home Matt had told her why the nondescript man liked to have his hands in his pockets, and what he kept there. Her dread turned to alarm when he started to pull one hand out again, obviously holding something.

Before he could complete the motion a taller figure slammed into him from the side, seemingly out of nowhere, and bore the bandit leader to the ground. Sam felt an overwhelming sense of relief when she realized it was Matt, positioning himself atop the smaller man and making sure to use his knees to pin Razor’s hands in his pockets. The entire time his fists flew, slamming into the bandit leader’s face over and over again.

Sam immediately turned and yanked the can of bear spray out of the hand of the surprised thug standing behind her, stumbling backwards even as she aimed it up at his face and pulled the trigger. He staggered away cursing and screaming before his breath faded away to choking coughs, and Sam turned to help Matt.

Razor was still caught completely unprepared by the tall, wiry man’s attack, but the other thug reacted quickly to lumber forward and direct a brutal kick right at Matt’s face. He saw it coming in time to duck away, but the kick still caught him in the shoulder hard enough to throw him off the bandit leader.

Sam hurriedly raised the bear spray and aimed it at the large thug’s face, but unfortunately he saw her and ducked aside in time. She had to keep spraying as she readjusted her aim to hit him, and only managed to connect with a short blast before the can emptied and the spray petered down to a fizzing mist that barely shot a foot. The man still fell back coughing and swearing, but she didn’t think it would distract him for long.

In the meantime Matt had managed to roll over and come to his feet, backing away defensively as Razor also sprang to his feet and yanked his namesake weapon out of his pocket, swiping at his bloody mouth with his other hand. The nondescript man had looked furious as he stood, but now he was smiling broadly.

Sam screamed at the sight of the sharp blade, helpless to do anything as Razor lunged towards the man she was quickly coming to love. Guided by pure desperation she turned the bear spray upside down to try to get anything that was left, but it barely released a dribble that just dripped down to the ground. She could only watch in horror as events unfolded.

The bandit leader swung his razor at Matt’s face with blinding speed, and Matt barely managed to yank his head back in time. He tried to reach out and catch Razor’s arm, but the bandit leader yanked his weapon back towards his chest and without hesitation slashed at the back of Matt’s hand.

Again Matt barely managed to avoid being cut, but while he was focused on defending himself from the weapon the thug who’d taken a short blast of pepper spray lumbered in blindly and backhanded him with a heavy fist to the face. The blow knocked Matt to the street with a jarring impact, and Sam screamed again.

Smile widening to a snarl, Razor dropped to his knees straddling Matt and pinning his arms out to the sides, then brought his straight razor around for a precise cut.

Before it could land a deafening gunshot from behind Sam froze everyone where they were, even the thug she’d sprayed first who’d been rolling on the ground. Sam slowly turned her head to see a FETF soldier approaching with deliberate steps, M16 pointed at Razor’s chest. “Drop it and back away, now!” he barked.

The bandit leader reluctantly complied, tossing aside his weapon and stumbling to his feet as he swiped his hand across his bloody face again. His noise was bleeding like a faucet from one or more of Matt’s punches. “Did you see what these two did to us?” he demanded.

“Are you kidding?” Sam shouted incredulously as Matt stumbled to his feet and hurried over to put an arm around her shoulders. It was part comfort, part protective, and for Sam completely welcome.

The soldier shot her a warning glare before turning his eyes back to the three refugees. “I’m not stupid, man,” he said with just the slightest Spanish accent, which fit his classically handsome Latin features and dark hair and eyes. “I didn’t think you were stupid either. At least not stupid enough to come into town when everyone knows who you are.”

Razor slowly held out his arms as if to demand the world acknowledge his innocence. “You’ve got this all wrong, uh…”

“Private Gutierrez,” the soldier barked. “You going to tell me your real name, Razor?”

The nondescript man ignored the question. “You’ve got this all wrong, Gutierrez. I was just talking to this cute girl here when that whackadoo tackled me out of nowhere and started hitting me. Is it illegal to talk to girls, now?”

“That’s not what he did!” Sam protested. “He stole from me and restrained me so I couldn’t leave, then started threatening me.”

“That’s not true at all,” Razor said reasonably. “While I was talking to her she threatened me with pepper spray, so my friend Curtis here took it from her.” His hands were back in his pockets and he seemed to be losing his patience. “Listen, man, I’ve got a deal with your boss. I haven’t broken it so get off my back before your boss gets on yours. Do you have any idea what happens if you decide to start trouble with the refugees?”

Gutierrez didn’t look happy about that at all, but the threat seemed to have some effect. He slowly lowered his rifle. “I’m going to get this sorted out, but either way you and your friends should stay out of town,” he warned. “If I see you on these streets again we’re going to have trouble, no matter what deal you claim you made with the Administrator.”

“Who am I to argue with the man with the gun?” Razor said sarcastically. He turned to them and in spite of everything Sam jumped in fright. She also noticed Matt’s arm around her tightened slightly. But it wasn’t her the refugee was looking at. “Hey I know you. Matt, right? You got Al arrested.”

“Get walking!” Gutierrez barked, raising his gun.

Razor held out his arms innocently again and started heading past them all towards the western edge of town, pausing only to retrieve his razor and shove it back into his pocket. “Looking forward to seeing you around, Matt,” he said. Somehow he managed to say that without the slightest hint of a threat in his tone, which made it all the more threatening. He left without waiting for his friends, leaving the thug who’d kicked Matt and was in slightly better shape to haul the first thug Sam had sprayed up to his feet and help him along as they followed

Once the three refugees were well away Gutierrez turned to look at her. “Are you all right?”

Sam nodded, slightly surprised that she was the source of his concern when Matt was the one who’d been hurt in the scuffle while protecting her. “Yes, thank you.” Reminded, she hurriedly turned beneath Matt’s arm and began fussing with his face, where an ugly bruise was already forming around his eye and across his cheekbone from the thug’s heavy punch.

Matt stoically put up with her ministrations, eyes still on the FETF soldier. “What did he mean?” he demanded. “He made it sound like you weren’t going to do anything to him!”

The soldier gave him a troubled look. In spite of his uniform and confident bearing Sam suddenly realized the man was probably her age, or maybe even a year or so younger. “We know all about Razor leading the group that robbed you, and he’s definitely in charge of some gang in the refugee camp,” Gutierrez agreed. “He’s trouble and we should be doing something about him.”

He fell silent, and Sam turned her eyes from Matt to look at him. “But you won’t,” she guessed.

“Maybe if he does something serious, something we can’t ignore,” the soldier said with an uncomfortable shrug.

“He just attacked Sam in broad daylight!” Matt nearly shouted. “I’m lucky I didn’t get my face sliced off trying to defend my girlfriend, but you can see the black eye his buddy gave me.”

Sam nearly jumped under his arm. Girlfriend? Where had that come from? She wasn’t necessarily annoyed at him calling her that, but he could’ve at least clarified their relationship with her first!

Gutierrez took a deep breath. “It’s like this. Ferris called Razor in to talk to him after you brought in those three of his men robbing people west of town. Since then there haven’t been any more reported robberies or other trouble beyond the town’s borders, and more importantly all the complaints we were getting from refugees in the camp stopped. Completely. Razor’s gotten the camp under his control, and as long as he keeps it that way we’ve been told to leave him alone and let him do his thing.”

Sam couldn’t believe what she was hearing, although she supposed it explained why things had been so relatively calm for the last week. Not that it excused anything. “He wanted to be my pimp!” she said heatedly. “And he didn’t sound like he was going to give me a choice. He threatened to do the same to Matt’s sister when he robbed them, so you know he’s probably forced other women to work for him!”

Gutierrez looked away. “No one’s complained. Until they do we can’t touch him, Ferris’s orders.”

“Anyone who complains has to know they’re going to get the business end of that nutjob’s shaving razor,” Matt pointed out. “Do you have any idea what you’re turning a blind eye to?”

The soldier’s jaw tightened. “You should take her home,” he said sharply. “I need to get back to patrolling.” Without waiting for a response he turned and headed the same way Razor and his thugs had gone.

Matt’s arm around her shoulder turned Sam back towards home, but she was angry enough that she shrugged free of him and started stomping down the street. “Can you believe that?” she seethed. “For all his faults I at least thought Ferris believed in justice and law. I never thought he’d make a deal with the devil, not even to keep peace in the refugee camp.”

After a few seconds Matt caught up to her. “Maybe he doesn’t know the devil when he sees him. Back when Razor robbed us outside of town he did an awful good job of looking friendly and harmless. He might’ve fooled Ferris into thinking he wasn’t so bad.”

“But you told him about Razor robbing you!” Sam protested. “You told him about Terry getting threatened with the razor and then getting sprayed in the face, and him and his goon robbing you at gunpoint, right?”

Matt hesitated. “I did. Ferris seems to have a problem with us “townies”, or at least a bias in favor of the refugees. Maybe he didn’t believe me.” He took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder. “The important thing is that we got out of that in one piece. At least the FETF soldiers are doing something.”

“You saved me, not Gutierrez,” Sam said fiercely. “I don’t even know where you came from, you just swooped in from nowhere like a guardian angel.”

He flushed in embarrassment at the praise and hesitantly reached out to take her hand. “You have no idea how scared I was when I saw his thug holding you while he reached for his razor. I’d been sneaking up, trying to find a chance to get you out of that safely, but when I saw that I just bolted for him, and the next thing I knew I was tackling him to the ground.”

A tense silence fell between them as they contemplated just how dangerous the confrontation had been. To lighten the mood Sam nudged Matt on the shoulder. “Girlfriend, huh?”

He went pink with embarrassment. “Sorry, it just slipped out in the heat of the moment. Wishful thinking on my part.”

“Well we haven’t even been on a date yet,” she teased.

“I know. I shouldn’t have said it.”

Sam almost wanted to laugh, wondering if he was deliberately being dense. “That was a hint.”

Matt turned and looked at her, surprised, then smiled wide. “Oh. Well I can’t exactly take you to the movies, and much as I’d like to take you to a restaurant they weren’t really a thing in this town even before the attack.”

She slipped her arm through his. “I’m sure we can think of something. People were wooing each other long before technology showed up.”

He abruptly snapped his fingers in annoyance. “You know, the cousins had hard drives full of books, movies, and music in their shelter before Ferris took it from them and stripped it of anything of value, including the solar panels. We could’ve watched a movie there!”

Sam leaned her head against his shoulder. Terrifying as the confrontation had been, now that she was with Matt and Razor was long gone it was already starting to feel like just a bad dream. “It doesn’t matter what we do as long as we’re with each other. How about we spend the rest of the day doing our chores together?”

“I’d love to,” Matt replied. He shifted his shoulder slightly under her head, trying to make the motion seem casual, and with a start she realized she was putting weight right where Razor’s thug had kicked him.

“Oh, sorry!” she said, yanking her head back. She immediately began fussing over him again, tugging at his shirt collar so she could see the shoulder beneath where a large bruise was forming. “Are you going to be all right? Do we need to talk to Terry?”

Matt shook his head, but he seemed pleased with her ministrations and let her fuss over him all the way home.

Chapter Three

Spirits of Huntington River

Trev stood near the northern end of the cliffs a couple hundred yards from the hideout, staring northward at Highway 31 at the point where it meandered into view in the direction of the earthen dam that formed Electric Lake.

Just coming into sight was a small huddle of dispirited refugees. There were thirteen as best he could tell, mostly women and children shivering beneath blankets, coats, and anything else they had to protect them from the constant flow of cold early morning air pouring down from the mountains all around.

He didn’t know the signs well enough to guess whether it would be a harsh winter or a mild one, but he knew for sure that even a mild winter up here was going to be brutal. He really hoped those poor people managed to find their way through to the other side before they were trapped by the first major snowstorm of the year, or failing that managed to find a place of shelter and could gather enough food and firewood to survive.

The soft rustle in the undergrowth behind him turned him around to see Lewis approaching. He nodded as his cousin came up alongside him behind the thin screen of foliage he stood behind, which allowed him to see anyone below but effectively hid him from sight.

“Things must be bad down in Sanpete Valley if they’re sending refugees over the mountains,” Trev said quietly.

His cousin grunted. “Where else can they go? Without vehicles south is a death march into desert wastelands and so is west. North takes them back into the chaos of the cities and whatever violence is still happening there. That just leaves east by whatever way they can make it over the mountains.”

Trev nodded. “Nowhere else to go, but they’re going to be disappointed if they’re hoping for anything better when they reach Huntington on the other side.”

Lewis was silent for a while as they watched the refugees make their slow progress along the highway. “What a mess,” he finally muttered. “We could just as easily see refugees coming the opposite way, fleeing Emery and Carbon counties for Sanpete. Larger highways have a steady flow of refugees fleeing population centers, but along 31 they’re going from nowhere to nowhere.”

“They won’t be going anywhere for long once the snows really start to fall.” Trev felt deeply saddened by the sight of the poor people below, but he couldn’t look away.

“We should scout around our hideout,” Lewis abruptly said after a few more minutes of watching. “They might not all be down there, and however peaceable their intentions running into people can only be trouble, if for no other reason than they might tell other people where to find us.”

“You think starving refugees would trailblaze across steep slopes covered by dense forest and deadfall when they’ve got an easy road below?” Trev asked. But he was mostly pointing it out for conversation since he agreed that they should definitely be looking around just in case.

In the week since they’d arrived at the hideout they’d been steadily building supplies, fishing and gathering edible plants and keeping an eye out for more game to bring down. Progress had been good and Trev was feeling optimistic about having enough to survive the winter, but if bandits managed to steal anything, whether those bandits be lawless criminals or desperate starving refugees, they could find themselves in as desperate circumstances as the miserable group below.

Lewis seemed to understand his unspoken agreement, because he abruptly turned to their right. “I’ll swing around the southwest, you take the northeast. Meet you on the other side.”

Trev nodded. That would take him along the mountainside in the direction of the refugees for a bit, before it was time to loop up towards the logging road above the hideout and follow it to where he’d meet his cousin. He got out his binoculars and began scanning the slope, pausing every now and again to check the refugees, then picked his way around the end of the cliffs to a vantage point that would allow him to check spots he couldn’t see before.

Everything seemed normal as he worked his way around, then began climbing his way up the steep slope to the road above, still pausing to listen and to scan the area with his binoculars. He’d almost reached it when the faint sound of unfamiliar voices made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Trev went completely still, then slowly eased down behind the log he’d been walking on to get over a particularly rough patch of deadfall, eyes riveted on the slope above. He could only see a small strip of the logging road farther north from this position, the rest obscured by the trees around him or the shoulder of the road itself. As best he could follow the voices they were talking at a normal tone, which meant they were close, and coming from somewhere above which almost certainly meant the logging road.

To his dismay he wasn’t able to get a view of anyone approaching from the strip of road he could see. The voices continued to get louder until finally he saw a head and shoulder appear through the trees on the road almost directly above him, less than thirty feet away. Trev had been still before but now he froze, gripping his rifle in preparation to bring it to bear, as the head passed out of sight and was replaced by another, then another, and the barest view of another man walking beside the third on the other side.

Please hear them coming, Lewis, he thought, dreading the thought that his cousin might already be heading up the road and would walk right into them. That fear spurred him to action, and once he was sure they were past him he began slowly picking his way up the hillside, doing his best to make no noise. He reached the road and poked his head up enough to see along it in time to watch the group rounding a bend up ahead.

Seven men, assuming they didn’t have hidden scouts out. Three were carrying visible guns, two rifles and a shotgun, while another had a machete hanging from his belt and the man next to him had an axe strapped to his backpack. The other two men weren’t armed that he could see, which could mean pistols. Then again they were loaded down with the heaviest packs so they might’ve been muling for the group.

Luckily they didn’t seem to be scouting the area at all and there was small chance of them discovering the hideout: from what Trev could see before they disappeared their eyes were on the highway below and the refugees walking along it. Although Trev couldn’t really call that lucky, at least for those poor souls.

He paused for several long moments to look around in all directions and listen carefully for any sign of hidden watchers, then unslung his gun and loped up onto the road, crossing it to the other side to climb the slope there and get to a game trail they’d found that ran parallel to it about a hundred feet above. Once on the trail he moved quickly but cautiously, still looking and listening as he hurried to catch up to the men below.

The trees were thick enough on this slope that there was little danger of him being seen, especially in his tan coat and brown pants, and he could barely catch glimpses of the road downslope through the branches. He once again heard them before he saw them, and as he quickened his pace he was relieved to see Lewis crouched on the game trail ahead staring down at the road. His cousin had his HK G3 out and balanced in a firing position with his elbows on his knees. Before Trev could get too close Lewis must have heard him coming, because he abruptly stiffened and began to pivot his way, bringing the larger caliber rifle to bear.

Trev froze, hoping his cousin wasn’t trigger happy. Luckily Lewis looked before he aimed, and recognizing him he immediately lowered his weapon. His cousin gave him a relieved smile and motioned, and as Trev caught up he led the way along the trail, ghosting after the interlopers.

They tailed the group for over a half hour, well past the hideout, and then once he was satisfied the men below planned to continue following the logging road Lewis found a spot where they could see the road for a ways from behind cover and posted up there. Trev settled in beside him, taking out his binoculars to follow their progress.

What he saw didn’t please him. His earlier suspicion that the men were tailing the refugees was correct, since although they were moving faster than the huddled group on the highway below they were constantly passing a few pairs of binoculars between them and looking through the single scoped rifle they possessed. Their eyes were always either on the refugees or on the road farther south, and from the way they kept pointing that way as they talked Trev had the unsettled feeling they were planning something.

And soon.

When he expressed these fears to Lewis his cousin frowned. “Maybe they’re guarding the refugee caravan and they were using their binoculars to make sure their friends are all right.” But as he said it he lifted his rifle to look at them through the scope and see for himself.

Trev shook his head. “They didn’t look like guards. Believe me, they’ve got nothing good planned for those people down there. I think they’re planning on setting up an ambush where the valley narrows a few miles south of here. They could position themselves on the slope directly above the road and the people below would be sitting ducks.”

After a moment Lewis sighed and lowered his rifle. “Maybe you’re right. If so what do you plan to do about it, go down and warn the refugees? By the time you got there it could be too late, or you could end up getting ambushed along with them.”

Trev couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What are you saying, that we should just head back to the hideout like it’s not our problem?”

“It isn’t our problem,” his cousin said patiently. “And that’s lucky for us, because if it was it’d be two of us against seven of them. Your aim may be a bit better after some practicing this last week but you’ve never been in a gunfight. Neither have I for that matter. What if those guys down there are retired soldiers or deserters from the Armed Forces? 99 times out of 100 we’d be committing suicide.”

“They aren’t wearing fatigues or anything,” Trev pointed out. “And their weapons didn’t look standard issue either. I think they’re just a bunch of hoodlums searching for easy pickings. Maybe rioters down from the cities to the north now that they’ve been picked clean.”

“It’s still seven against two and we don’t know what we’re doing in a fight. Those sorts of numbers will get us killed.” Lewis looked at his face and made an annoyed sound. “Look, I can guarantee you they’re not staying in the mountains, and once they get through to the other side we’ll probably never see them again. Let’s just head back to the hideout and let them do their thing.”

His cousin had a point, but at the same time Trev didn’t think he’d ever be able to forgive himself if he let those refugees get attacked without doing anything about it. “Can you just really walk away from a bunch of innocent people who are about to die?” he asked quietly.

“Do you really want to die trying to stop them?” Lewis shot back, although the question had clearly gotten to him.

Trev shook his head. “Of course not. But maybe it’s not as bad as you think. If they’re following the road looking for an ambush spot then once they arrive their eyes will be on their victims. If we can get behind them then they’ll be the ones who’re sitting ducks.”

“What if their ambush spot is a copse of trees that covers them from all sides?” Lewis argued. But his cousin was wavering.

A surge of relief filled Trev. He knew Lewis took responsibility for keeping them both alive, but he hadn’t believed his cousin would just walk away from innocents in danger. “We can at least go and check, right? We know this area better than them and we’ve got more practice making our way quietly through this terrain. They’ll never see us coming.”

“If they do we’re dead,” Lewis predicted gloomily. But he motioned in the direction of the slope above the logging road. The game trail had long since petered out, but they’d found a narrow strip of relatively flat land they could follow.

Grinning with relief, Trev took the lead and hurried to catch up to the men below.

They caught up to the group and trailed them for about an hour to a spot where the mountainside sloped down steeply to the river below, which flowed swift and narrow right next to the highway. The seven men had left the logging road behind and descended most of the way down the slope to a flat clearing. It had a large log at one end overlooking the road less than 50 yards away, and as Trev and Lewis watched the bandits positioned themselves behind the log, readying their weapons.

Along with the two rifles and a shotgun one of the bandits produced a massive revolver that had to be a .44, while the other one he hadn’t seen with a weapon pulled out a heavy knife that looked like a small machete and prepared himself to rush down and corner any refugees who tried to flee. There was a narrow wooden footbridge across the river below, available for the use of fishermen to reach good spots farther up and down the river, and it was obvious they planned to use it.

While the slope down to the road was fairly barren, making it ideal for an ambush, the slope above the clearing was just as thickly wooded as anywhere. With the seven men lined up behind the log Trev couldn’t think of a more ideal situation for them.

He glanced back at Lewis, and his cousin gave him a resigned look and nodded as he spoke some last advice. “Remember, even if you hit the thoracic cavity your .223 might need two or three shots to bring an enemy down.” He reached out to grip Trev’s shoulder. “Don’t die.”

Trev nodded and started picking his way carefully down the slope, keeping behind cover, as Lewis did the same about twenty feet farther on.

About halfway down he found a fairly good spot behind an uprooted tree, where he settled in with his rifle clutched to his chest while he waited for his cousin to get into position. The longer he waited the more he felt his heart pounding in his chest and his extremities starting to go numb as the reality of the situation washed over him. It didn’t help that he could hear the bandits talking, and he poked his head around just enough to see the men behind the log. Their eyes were on the road below, where the refugees were just trailing into view.

“Look, those trick or treaters are all dressed up like beggars,” one of the bandits said, eliciting a few chuckles. “Not very imaginative. Should we give them tricks or treats?”

Trev gave a start of surprise. Was October already over? He hadn’t realized today was Halloween.

The bandit with the small machete was using the binoculars at the moment, and in response to his companion’s comment pointed. “See that one? She’s definitely got some tricks for us.”

“Who?” the bandit with the group’s only scoped rifle hissed back, peering through it.

“That redhead in front with the parka and snow pants. I’ve got a treat for her, too. Dibs.”

A few of the other bandits guffawed, although quietly. “What’re you doing staking a claim when there’ll be plenty to go around?” one asked.

“That’s what I’m calling dibs for. I want my pick of the best one.”

“No way. We might want to keep some of these around for a while, unlike that last group, and you’re always the worst about breaking your toys. You can have the old biddy next to her.” That caused another outburst of harsh laughter from the bandits.

Shaking slightly with rage he was having trouble controlling at these awful words and the casualness with which they were being spoken, Trev glanced up the slope at where Lewis crouched behind a stump. His cousin was using it for the bipod of his rifle and sighting down his scope at the bandit ambush below. When Lewis noticed Trev looking his way his cousin gave him a doubtful look, still worried about the numbers, but Trev motioned firmly to go ahead.

Then, galvanized by what he’d just heard, Trev raised his own rifle and pointed the crosshairs of the scope dead center on the back of the bandit who’d called dibs. Only taking a moment to calm his shaking hands and steady his aim, he held his breath and squeezed the trigger.

His gun bucked in his hands and the bandit lurched forward. There was no sign of a wound, but somewhere among the folds of his heavy winter coat a small but deadly hole had punched through, possibly into a larger and messier hole on the other side.

Tactically speaking he probably should’ve shot the bandit with the scoped rifle first, but after listening to that exchange he wanted to make sure this guy didn’t walk away. He reset his aim and fired again at the same bandit’s back as he slumped down, then swapped targets to the bandit with the scoped rifle who was just now whirling onto his back behind the log they’d been using as cover. The unkempt man searched desperately for where the shots had come from, but before he could solve the mystery Trev shot him somewhere in the torso, and with no other options he pulled himself over the log to hide behind it.

Up the hill he heard Lewis’s heavier .308 barking as his cousin took his own shots, and down below the bandit with a shotgun went down gurgling and clutching his throat. Either a lucky shot or the scope was aiming high.

That was a good start, but unfortunately from there things went south. The remaining bandits also managed to get behind the cover of the log, one grabbing the shotgun from his fallen partner in crime as he fled. Two of the bandits, the ones without guns, apparently lost stomach for a fight against armed enemies hidden in the trees above. They unexpectedly broke free of the log, leaving their packs and weapons behind as they dashed wildly down the slope southwards to take them away from the fighting and the refugees both.

That left three more, maybe only two if the bandit with the scoped rifle had survived his shot, but although Trev could hear them shouting he didn’t see any targets as he whipped his scope back and forth. Then he heard some shots that weren’t coming from his rifle or his cousin’s, and to his horror he heard a high pitched whine and saw a white streak appear on the uprooted log directly in front of his face where a bullet had grazed it.

He ducked behind cover, heart thumping. He’d only been looking at the top of the log, but maybe there was a hollow below it and the bandit with the scoped rifle was shooting at them from there? Or maybe he hadn’t been looking far enough to either side and someone had shot at him from one of the ends.

Either way he couldn’t just sit here hoping for Lewis to bail him out or they were both dead. They’d taken out two bandits, maybe three.

Trev took a deep breath, then burst from cover and sprinted back the way he’d come, staying behind some of the largest trees as cover. He heard more gunshots and flinched with every sharp crack, but he didn’t get hit or see any sign of bullets coming near him, let alone hitting him. Did that mean they were going for Lewis?

He ducked back behind the nearest tree and leaned out enough to check with his scope. From this position he was a bit higher up and had a better angle on the log, although he was also farther away. Just as he’d guessed he saw legs and the lower part of a torso sticking out from beneath the log, as if someone was beneath it shooting through a hole. He could see a bloody stain on his lower back and guessed this was the bandit with the scoped rifle.

He aimed as high up the torso as he could, putting his crosshair’s on the man’s spine, and taking as much time as he dared he worked to line up the shot perfectly and remain motionless as he squeezed the trigger.

A high-pitched scream tore the air and the man rolled out of cover, rifle tumbling from his hands as he writhed and tried to clutch at his back. He was kicking his legs so Trev must have missed the spine, but it still looked like a serious wound. He took aim and put another bullet in the man’s upper torso, and as the man went still he had to content himself that three wounds were enough to take him out of the fight.

As he was searching for another target he heard the differently pitched crack of the shotgun, and in the nightmarish seconds that followed he heard Lewis yell in pain.

The sound was almost enough to make him freeze, but Trev grit his teeth in determination and kept searching, finding another bandit just in time for the man to point the rifle without a scope, some sort of bolt action, his way. Trev ducked behind the tree as the shot rang out. Then, praying that the man was slow with the bolt, he leaned back out and took aim. He saw that the man had dropped the rifle and was lifting that big .44, but he could only hope that at this distance through so many trees a pistol shot would take longer to line up than his scope.

He took aim for the man’s torso, watching the revolver’s barrel shift over to point what seemed directly at him, and had to force himself not to yank the trigger and instead squeeze it calmly.

His shot connected and the man dropped, thrashing in a way that suggested he wasn’t going to get back up again as his revolver flew from his hand. Trev still lined up another shot just to be safe, after which the man went still. Then he ducked back behind cover, even though he didn’t hear any more gunshots, and went so far as to bolt to another source of cover and lean out from it to check the log.

There was no sign of the shotgun and Trev had no idea who’d been shooting it, but with some searching he was able to find five men down. Combined with the two who had fled that accounted for everyone. Trev took a moment to make sure they were all motionless, and as he did he worked to slow his frantic breathing and settle his nerves.

The last few minutes had felt like a nightmare, half of it he barely remembered and half of it stuck in his mind with merciless clarity. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten from behind the uprooted tree to the second tree he’d taken cover behind, but he could still see the way that last rifleman had writhed on the ground after he’d shot him.

Even after satisfying himself that none of the bandits were moving he still did his best to stay out of sight as he bolted for the stump Lewis had taken cover behind. As he went he called softly, ignoring the danger of giving enemies a way to find his location, and to his vast relief he heard his cousin call back equally softly.

He rounded the stump, already dropping to his knees beside where Lewis slumped. But as he landed next to his cousin he froze, horrified by the sight of blood-smeared snow as Lewis clutched his upper left leg with both hands and blood oozed around his fingers.

“Did you get them?” Lewis demanded, somehow focused on the important thing in spite of his condition. “Are they all down?”

Trev shook his head. “Two bolted like rabbits. Neither one of them was carrying a weapon, though, so they shouldn’t be a threat. The others I checked after the shooting stopped and none of them were moving.”

Lewis jerked his head towards the .223 Trev still clutched to his chest. “Check again.”

Trev nodded and rose, positioning his rifle on the stump to peer through the scope. In a way it was almost a relief to turn his attention to something besides the terrible sight of his injured cousin bleeding into the snow, although he knew he couldn’t afford to waste any time. Still, he also had to be careful. So it was only after almost thirty seconds of checking that he ducked his head back down behind cover. “All clear.”

Lewis suddenly hissed in a breath, hands around his leg clenching until the knuckles started to turn white. “Man that hurts,” he panted. “And the other two aren’t trying to sneak back or get above us?”

“I didn’t see them but I seriously doubt it. Going by the last time I saw them they looked like they didn’t plan to stop running until they reached Huntington.” Trev left the gun on the stump and fell to his knees next to his cousin, feeling sick as he stared at the wound. He could see it wasn’t good. “How bad is it?”

After sucking in another breath through gritted teeth Lewis answered with a grim smile. “Well I’ve got a thigh full of buckshot, but on the plus side I was beyond effective range so it didn’t tear my leg to shreds.” He took his hands away from the wound for a second, frowning at it. “It doesn’t look like anything’s spurting either and I haven’t bled out, so I don’t think he hit any vital areas.”

Trev couldn’t stop the tears that filled his eyes. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have—”

“I’m the one who got cocky with my body armor and had my leg sticking out of cover like an idiot,” his cousin cut in. “Anyway we don’t have time for that. We need to act fast, so do exactly what I say.” Trev nodded and blinked a few times to clear his eyes. “Okay. First, we bind my wounds tight to slow the bleeding as much as possible. That’s as much as we can do until—” he suddenly swore, face twisting with a sudden jolt of pain, then with some effort continued. “Until we can get back to the hideout where I’ve got tools to dig the pellets out and treat the wounds.” He paused for another labored breath and to collect himself, then gave Trev a serious look. “Next you need to go collect all the bandits’ weapons.”

Trev nodded in realization. “In case their two friends come back while we’re trying to get you to safety on your wounded leg.”

“Or if the refugees turn out to be dangerous.” Lewis closed his eyes slowly and motioned to his leg, an invitation for Trev to begin.

Trev quickly removed his coat long enough to strip off his shirt to tear into strips for bandages, then carefully cut away the left leg of his cousin’s pants above the wound. It looked ugly, at least 3 pellets that he could see and the flesh already swelling and bruising, and he quickly folded up the bloody pant leg as a pad over the area then bound it tightly with the strips.

By the time he was done treating his cousin as best he could Lewis was looking pale, and Trev knew he didn’t have much time to waste. He got up and turned to head down the mountain, but before he’d taken his first step his cousin reached out and grabbed his ankle to stop him.

“Watch out for any of them pretending to be dead so they can shoot you before you know you’re in danger,” Lewis said soberly. “Keep your .45 handy just in case.”

Trev paled slightly. He hadn’t even considered that possibility. But he did as his cousin suggested and left his Mini-14 behind on the stump, taking out his Glock and holding it ready as he moved cautiously down the mountain. He constantly roved his eyes over the bandits as he hurried to the first and quickly patted him down, removing his weapons. The moment he was done he hurried to the next one and repeated the task.

Five minutes later Trev finished collecting the guns and other weapons from all but one of the bandits, including the shotgun wedged underneath the body of the man to the far right end of the log. The last man he checked was still alive, although he was unconscious from loss of blood and would be dead soon.

Trev patted him down like the others, doing his best not to be seen from the highway below, and left him there. Then, satisfied he had everything that could be a danger to him and his cousin as they made their escape, he returned to a hiding spot behind the log and piled the weapons on a heavy coat he’d stripped off one of the bodies. He spread another heavy coat across the top and used their belts to tightly tie the bundle, which he slung over his shoulder.

After that was done he straightened for just a moment to peer south, making sure the two bandits who’d escaped weren’t in sight and the coast was clear.

There was no sign of them, but he did see two men and a woman from the refugee group crossing the bridge over the river below and peering up in his direction. They must have heard the shots and had found the courage to investigate them. As he watched the redheaded woman leading the group reached down to draw the pistol at her hip.

Trev ducked back down and scuttled across the clearing in a crouch, then began climbing up the hill to where his cousin waited.

“What is it?” Lewis demanded, painfully craning his neck to peer down the slope behind Trev.

“Refugees on their way to see what’s going on.” Trev slung his .223 over his shoulder, then the G3, noting that in spite of Lewis’s state not a drop of blood had touched it. Finally after a quick check around to make sure he hadn’t left anything he crouched and did his best to help his cousin to his feet, offering him his free shoulder. “Do you need a crutch?”

“It’s not too far up to the road. If you can get me there you should be able to drag me the rest of the way. It’ll lead anyone following nearly straight to our hideout, but we’ll worry about covering our tracks once we get closer.” Lewis set his mouth in a thin line and hopped up the slope, doing his best not to put weight on his leg. Trev stumbled forward as well, nearly losing his balance in the slick deadfall, and his cousin hopped again.

Somehow they managed to make their way up through the trees along the steep slope, laboriously climbing over deadfall and through densely clumped blockages of evergreen branches. The entire time Lewis hissed out quick, labored breaths and his face got paler and paler. It seemed like an eternity they stumbled along, and Trev even heard a few shouts from the refugees now far below them. He ignored the noise, although with every step he expected to hear a gunshot from the redheaded woman’s pistol to accompany it, or maybe a bloodcurdling shriek as one of the two remaining bandits caught up to them and attacked from behind a tree.

Neither of those things happened. Maybe the investigating refugees saw the scene of the ambush and decided to get out of there before they were next, and for all he knew the two remaining bandits might still be running south like he’d assured Lewis.

At last they reached the road, and Trev felt a bit less urgent as he used some straight sticks to splint Lewis’s leg. Once he’d done the best he could they rested it on the bundle of coats and bandit weapons and tied it tight. Lewis, true to his penchant of always being prepared, had popped a few painkillers he’d had in his pouch and was slumped in an awkward laying-down position on the road, face still pale.

Trev felt like a bit of a jerk as he pulled his cousin’s arms up above his head and tied his wrists-over the sleeves to avoid welts-to the stock and barrel of the G3, but he couldn’t think of any other way to pull him. Thanks to a week of pulling wagons it didn’t feel particularly tiring dragging his cousin’s weight over the dirt, grass, and for some better stretches snow, pulling him along by the weapon’s strap. It also wasn’t nearly as quick as he would’ve liked and left a huge flat track behind them, but there wasn’t much he could do about that aside from frequently check their back trail to make sure nobody was sneaking up on them.

He wasn’t sure he was mentally ready for another fight, but he knew he had to be for his cousin’s sake.

* * *

Her group had immediately scattered in all directions when they heard the gunshots. Even after realizing that none of those shots seemed to be aimed at them and two men were fleeing south along the river everyone remained in cover, doing their best to hold a heated whispered debate about what to do. Most had wanted to just turn back and look for another way to go, while others insisted that gunshots or not Highway 31 was the only way to go and they had to find a way forward.

Jane Mathers had had de facto leadership of the group fall into her lap, just when she was least emotionally and mentally prepared to take it on, but there was no choice but to rise to the challenge. So she convinced middle aged Tom Harding, the only other person in the group with a gun, in his case an old .22 rifle, to come with her to check the gunshots out. When Tom agreed to go 15 year old Alvin, his son and the only other man in the group, insisted on coming as well.

She thought she’d seen hints of movement around the log on the slope above, although everyone had been so worried about hiding for the first few minutes that nobody had seen much, and by the time they calmed down the gunshots had ceased.

Although she was afraid it was suicide to check it out, especially as they crossed the bridge and she saw a man duck out of sight behind the log before she’d even managed to draw her pistol, she knew that if they didn’t their forward progress would cease. At that point they’d either have to backtrack and find another way or go all the way back to Fairview.

They couldn’t go back to Fairview. Only starvation waited for them there. So they’d just have to be careful as they checked this out.

It didn’t take long to climb high enough up the slope to clearly see the ground below the log and what lay there, and once she’d gotten a good look Jane paused to tuck a strand of red hair behind her ear. It was that or scream out loud at the sight of bodies. These men had definitely been the targets of the gunshots, and by the looks of it things hadn’t gone well at all for them.

The moment she got her shock under control she immediately dropped into a crouch, yelling to her companions. “Get down!” As they hurried to comply she felt her heart in her throat, expecting a shot to ring out at any moment. She’d been afraid this was what they’d find when they investigated the gunshots, but since they had to follow the road right beneath the spot there hadn’t been much choice but to either check it out or go back the way they came.

Whoever had the skills and firepower to take out these men could just as easily attack her group, so Jane couldn’t think of much to do aside from confront the problem directly. “Hello?” she shouted, cautiously climbing the rest of the way up to the log but keeping it between her and anything higher up. “Whoever you are, we’re friendly!” She really, really hoped the people she was talking to could say the same.

Uneasy seconds passed. Jane tried shouting a few more times, trying to get a response, but there was only the eerie rustle of wind in the trees around them. Finally Tom awkwardly climbed his way up to her on the steep hillside, still doing his best to stay low. “Think they’re gone?”

Jane gave him a dubious look. “You think whoever it was would just shoot a bunch of guys then walk away?”

She almost yelled at the fool when he abruptly snapped his arm up over the log and into view of the hillside above, waving frantically. No gunshot sounded, and after a moment he slid over to a different spot and cautiously poked his head up, doing his best to see without exposing himself too much. “Two dead up there. That makes five when you add them to the three on the slope below the log, and none of them have guns. Also some of their coats are gone. I think whoever killed them has already been and left.”

That made sense to Jane, considering the man she’d seen had probably been looting the bodies. And since no one had fired a shot at them yet and they’d given some fairly good opportunities for that she figured it was as safe as she could hope for. So she also cautiously lifted her head above the log, looking the two men over. Almost immediately she gasped, eyes locked on one of the men slumped against the log farther down. “That’s Dad’s snowsuit!”

The reason leadership of the group had fallen into her lap was because the former leader, her dad Mitch, had gone out scouting a few days ago and hadn’t come back. He’d had the group’s only large caliber rifle with him, a good bolt action .30-30 with a scope, along with the black and gray camouflaged snowsuit she was looking at now.

When he’d disappeared there’d been no sound of gunshots or anything else to suggest what had happened to him, and since they didn’t know exactly where he was scouting they couldn’t really go looking, either. Especially if there were enemies lurking up on the mountainsides to the left and right of the road, since that would mean either leaving the group vulnerable to attack or putting the searchers into the same danger her dad had run into. And he was lifelong gun nut and a pretty amazing shot.

She’d tied her stomach in knots worrying about him ever since, checking the hillsides to either side for his return as much as for signs of enemies. Now, looking at his winter gear on a dead man’s body, she finally had to accept the horrible truth she’d resisted all this time.

Her dad was dead.

The breath went out of her in something between a gasp and a sob, and Jane curled herself up behind the log in a fetal position, doing her best not to make any noise. Her world was crashing down around her, but that didn’t change the danger she and the others were in. A few moments later she felt strong arms around her, as Tom mumbled awkward but sincere condolences.

He should’ve known her better than to offer her any comfort, since her usual response to these kinds of situations was to seek solitude. But maybe he was doing it for his own sake as much as Jane’s; he’d been her dad’s close friend for years. Either way in her current state it was hard not to snap at him.

She firmly pushed the older man away and stood, throwing caution to the wind. They’d seen no sign of whoever had killed these men, and anyway the enemy of her enemies was her friend. She hoped. Drawing her Glock she began cautiously checking the bodies. They all seemed to be dead, their wounds taken during the firefight.

Jane had a hard time feeling sympathy for their fate after what they’d done to her dad, especially since a quick look down at the road confirmed what she’d feared during the climb, that this was an ideal spot to ambush anyone passing below. These men had been planning to attack her group same as they’d attacked her dad, she was sure of it, and with his rifle and whatever weapons they’d already had it would’ve been a massacre.

No gunshots rang out from their hidden benefactors as she made her way over to the man in the snowsuit, trying to hide how it made her skin crawl to see a face other than her dad’s wearing it. A closer inspection of the body confirmed that on top of the bloodstains from the two bullet wounds he’d taken there was also a torn patch and a much larger bloodstain on the suit’s back, as if from a stab wound.

That seemed confirmation enough of Mitch’s fate. Jane went very still, unable to look away from the torn patch for what could’ve been seconds or minutes.

Sometime later she pulled herself together to find that Tom and Alvin had gathered the bandits’ packs and any other useful gear they’d been carrying to bring back to the group. There was valuable stuff there, even a little food in the form of cans of beans and jars of peanut butter. Tom even convinced her to let his son have the snowsuit, and in spite of the thought of being torn with grief every time she looked at it Jane had to admit that the young man needed the warm clothing, so she agreed.

As she and Alvin packed up the first load of supplies to bring to the group Tom went to investigate some footprints he’d discovered in a shaded and snowy part of the hill. While he did Jane gave the clearing behind the log one last look.

“It’s hard to believe that this could’ve been us getting robbed or even massacred if these men had had their way,” she mused to herself.

Alvin heard her and shivered slightly. “Are you sure you saw someone?”

She gave him a surprised look. “Of course I did. The guns are gone, right?”

The young man nodded. He looked almost like a kid, or at least more of a kid, as he glanced around uneasily. “It’s just, well, it’s Halloween, right? And you always hear old Native American legends about haunted mountains and ancient curses. Maybe some spirit sensed their evil intent and took them out.”

Jane chuckled, trying to hide her sudden uneasiness. “The Spirit of Huntington River?” she asked. She glanced up at the early afternoon sun. “Come on, it’s broad daylight. Don’t try to spook me with ghost stories.” In spite of her flippant response she found herself thinking back to the man she’d seen. He’d been so silent and had disappeared so suddenly, but he certainly hadn’t been see through!

“If it’s a ghost then it’s one that bleeds,” Tom abruptly said, picking his way across the clearing. “There’s a stump up there with a lot of bloody snow around it. Either the bandits had someone up there or our friend got hurt protecting us.”

Jane hesitated, torn. It seemed pretty clear the “spirit” didn’t want anything to do with them, and seeking him out to offer help might just cause trouble. It was probably better to thank their good fortune and be satisfied with her dad’s death avenged, small consolation as that was in her grief.

“Let’s get this stuff back to the group,” she said, starting down the slope. The other two were quick to follow.

* * *

It took almost twice as long to get Lewis back to the hideout as it had taken for them to trail the bandits, even at the leisurely pace the seven men had set. Trev had hurried as much as he could without jarring his cousin’s wound, but all the time he’d secretly dreaded what would happen when they got home.

He would have to dig the pellets out of Lewis’s leg, clean the wounds, then bind them up again. It wasn’t squeamishness that worried him but that he would do something wrong and worsen his cousin’s condition. Or, even worse, would discover that the wounds were more severe than they’d thought and there was nothing he could do. After convincing his cousin to protect the refugees he would never forgive himself if Lewis suffered permanent injury because of it.

He managed to manhandle Lewis up onto his bed, then hurriedly got a fire going from the banked coals in the stove and gave it plenty of fuel. As he was waiting for the small space to warm up enough to strip his cousin out of his winter gear Lewis murmured something about livestock antibiotics in one of his totes, and Trev hurriedly dug around until he found them and gave his cousin the recommended dose for humans, which naturally Lewis knew.

There were more serious painkillers there as well, but since Lewis had already taken some and anyway needed to be lucid to talk Trev through the process he insisted he’d hold off unless the pain grew unbearable.

Under his cousin’s guidance Trev quickly got out the small bag of medical tools and spread the ones he’d need on a clean cloth, dousing the forceps and smallest retractor with rubbing alcohol. He then unwound the makeshift bandage and wiped down the area around the wound, then doused it with rubbing alcohol as well.

Then he brought the lantern over and turned it up all the way, along with giving Lewis a flashlight to further illuminate the operation. The last step to prepare was to wash his own hands thoroughly and douse them with more alcohol. And finally, with some reluctance, he hesitantly set the forceps to the first entry wound.

“Don’t just dig around in there,” his cousin warned. “You could do more damage. But don’t be afraid to get in and get hold of the pellet.”

Trev wasn’t sure how to follow those seemingly contradictory instructions, but he hesitantly explored down into the wound with the forceps until they hit an obstruction and couldn’t go any farther. Even if he hadn’t felt it he would’ve known from Lewis’s sudden intake of breath. Feeling as clumsy as if he was trying to thread a needle with numb fingers, he did his best to work the tips of the forceps around the obstruction and get a tight hold of it, then as slowly and carefully as he could he eased it out.

It was the pellet, intact. Trev breathed a sigh of relief and set it on the cloth. Using a small bladder and hose he thoroughly flushed out the wound with more alcohol, pinched it tightly closed between thumb and forefinger and dabbed it dry with a swab, then taped it. That was as much as they could think to do so he moved on to the next one.

The second pellet was a bit trickier, unfortunately, because it had fragmented inside the wound. Trev had to dig around to find the pieces, all the while his cousin grit his teeth and clenched the flashlight and the side of his cot with white knuckles. In a way it was good Trev had done this one second, because he had the first pellet as an example and could guess at how many pieces there were. When he was as close to certain he’d gotten them all as he could be, and anyway didn’t dare do more digging, he flushed out that wound as well and taped it.

Fortunately the third pellet was intact when he pulled it out, although the sudden welling of blood frightened him. It wasn’t spurting, at least, so there wasn’t much to do aside from flush it out as best he could, pinch it closed, swab it as dry as possible, and tape it as well.

Last of all he used proper bandaging to wrap the wound again, then helped his cousin strip down to his boxers and zipped him into his sleeping bag. “We’ll need to check the wound again in a few hours but it should heal well,” Lewis muttered, looking drained but still alert. He sucked in another sharp breath. “Although I wish it was later and I felt tired enough to sleep. This pain is killing me.”

Trev brought a bottle of water for his cousin, who gulped it down and then leaned back on his pillow. “Guess you won’t be going out trick or treating, huh?” he said, trying to lighten the mood. The relative ease of the operation and the knowledge that the wounds really weren’t too serious filled him with a tremendous amount of relief.

Lewis snorted. “I completely forgot today was Halloween. Too bad we don’t have any candy.”

“I don’t think anyone in a costume is going to be ringing our doorbell looking for a treat.”

“I hope not.” His cousin closed his eyes. “Although speaking of which, I think you should patrol around the hideout just to be sure for the rest of the day. Especially along the logging road. Try to hide the tracks you made dragging me here, too.”

Trev jolted to his feet. He’d completely forgotten they might still be in danger. “Right. You’ll be okay in here?”

Lewis waved at his leg. “I’m not going anywhere. Maybe I’ll get lucky and fall asleep, but if not I can always browse my book of edible plants.”

Nodding, Trev hurriedly shrugged back into his coat and retrieved his Mini-14. He’d probably want to clean it soon since it had been fired, but for now there was decent chance he’d be firing it again before too long.

He stepped out into the late afternoon sun and immediately started up the hill to cover their tracks.

Chapter Four

Trick or Treat

As a young child Matt remembered dressing in a costume and going out with his dad to trick or treat at all the houses in Aspen Hill he could manage to visit before his dad got sick of the long walk and insisted it was getting late.

About the time he started to feel he was too old for it the custom changed and the town organized a Trunk or Treat activity along Main Street where all the parents would bring their car around and park them in a line so the kids could get their candy in safety. Matt had always thought that took the fun out of things and was a bit overcautious for a quiet town where everyone knew each other, but he supposed people had gotten more suspicious while he was growing up.

There’d be no Trunk or Treat this year. If anyone had candy they wouldn’t be giving it out to a bunch of other people’s kids while their own went hungry, but most people didn’t since Ferris and his goons had altered their inspections. Two weeks was too lenient, it seemed, and now they were confiscating any food they found. They justified it with their ration line, but it was looking less and less like organizing relief and more and more like outright theft.

At least they still only inspected houses when the owners gave them permission, holding the daily rations as the carrot, but there was no telling how long that would last. Matt had heard from a few people that food wasn’t the only thing the soldiers were taking anymore, and if their restraint was slipping in that area it was only a matter of time before they kicked down the doors of the few people who refused inspections.

There was also the fact that refugees were starting to make themselves more at home around the town, wandering the streets begging or offering to work for food, or hinting at even more questionable services. Most of Matt’s neighbors who had fruit trees or berry bushes they still hadn’t harvested were discovering that the uninvited guests had no qualms with walking right into their yard and picking the unripened fruit, getting belligerent or even violent if the owners tried to stop them. Matt had spent the last few days with his family digging up the garden for every single scrap of edible plant matter in it before the refugees hopped their fence as well.

So needless to say no parents were comfortable taking their children out to seek out candy, and it was shaping up to be a pretty miserable Halloween. The only bright point was that Ferris had announced that any children who came to the storehouse that evening would receive a chocolate bar, and in an attempt to brighten spirits around town many parents were dressing their kids in costumes for the event and trying to make it an informal party.

Matt was well aware that Ferris’s chocolate was an obvious ploy to regain some scraps of goodwill from a town that was quickly becoming hostile to the presence of him and his shoulders. That didn’t stop him from agreeing to join April and Terry in escorting his nephews to get their chocolate. His sister had managed to scrape together some costumes out of the clutter in their parents’ attic, and in spite of the grim mood around town it did make Matt smile to see the boys looking so happy and excited.

That wasn’t the only thing that made him smile, though. He’d been trying to find ways to take Sam out on “dates” without putting her in danger, an increasingly difficult task, but tonight was a perfect opportunity. The dark-haired woman had used a bit of twine to turn her bedsheets into a simple ghost costume, while Matt had dusted off his old high school basketball uniform. They were now walking hand in hand beside April and Terry, while Aaron and Paul kept running ahead as far as they could get away with before their mother called them back. For a while Paul had insisted on riding on Matt’s shoulders, but after watching his older brother running around he’d gotten too excited and had practically jumped off before Matt could lower him to the ground.

It was a chilly evening, no surprise for the end of October, and Matt couldn’t help but worry about what the cold portended. That and the fact that his basketball costume wasn’t meant for cold weather and he was slowly freezing. He used the cold as an excuse to put his arm around Sam, who saw through his motivations and turned to grin at him through the small face hole she’d managed to finagle without cutting the sheets.

“I should’ve been a blanket ghost,” she teased. “We could’ve been a two-headed one and you wouldn’t be trying so hard to put up a stoic front about not shivering.”

“It wasn’t this cold when we left to pick up the boys,” Matt defended, but from the laughter of his sister and her husband he had a feeling public opinion wasn’t on his side.

“You know he did it on purpose so he’d have an excuse to snuggle up,” April said, further ganging up on him. Matt endured the ribbing good-naturedly as they left behind Tom Watts’s house, where the Lynns were now staying, walked past his parents’ house, and continued another block to the storehouse.

Half the town was already there, along with most of the remaining refugee families that had children. There weren’t as many of those in the camp these days as there had been when Matt and Trev returned with April’s family from their trip north. Small surprise with Razor running clandestine prostitution and other unsavory and illegal activities out among the tents. The families that remained did so out of desperation, and in spite of the attempts at a cheery atmosphere Matt could see that desperation on the faces of the refugee parents ushering their children through the chocolate line.

Seeing it Matt felt his blood boiling in spite of himself. In town Ferris was coming down hard on the slightest infraction and was on the verge of kicking down doors, but he wouldn’t do anything about what was going on in the refugee camp.

Sam must have felt the tension in his arm around her, because she abruptly leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder in support. Then, clapping her hands, she went and took Aaron and Paul’s hands and helped them get in line, while Matt followed close behind with his sister and her husband.

The boys had found an instant friend in the dark-haired woman, and Sam warmly returned their affection. Even though she’d been introduced as just Sam and that’s what everyone called her, the boys had somehow decided to call her Aunt Sam. Aaron had even started asking embarrassing questions about whether Matt and Sam were going to get married.

Waiting in line quickly got old for a 5 year old and 2 year old, and Matt and Sam were doing their best to occupy the boys when he was sharply prodded on the shoulder. He turned to find Mandy standing there, smugly nibbling on a chocolate bar even though they were only meant for the kids.

“Hey guys!” she said brightly. “Taking the little monsters out trick or treating?”

“Mandy,” Matt said, doing his best to keep any hostility out of his voice.

Surprisingly Sam looked even more hostile, the first time he’d seen an expression of dislike from her. Her tone was hostile too when she spoke. “Didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you’d be off enjoying your two weeks of reward food for ratting out someone who helped you.”

Matt supposed he shouldn’t be surprised at Sam’s reaction, since she’d been forced to put up with Mandy for almost two weeks while he’d been gone. Because of that at first the dark-haired woman hadn’t liked Trev at all and had been very vocal in detailing everything Mandy had claimed about him. When Matt refuted all of it and explained everything his friend had done for the family Sam had changed her opinion about him, which increased her dislike for the family’s former houseguest even more.

If the blond woman felt the slightest bit of shame for her actions she didn’t show it. “I haven’t been enjoying it, actually, since I haven’t even had to use much of it. I’m with Private Gutierrez now and he’s been taking care of me. One of the FETF soldiers, you know. He’s exactly what I’m looking for in a man.”

Gullible? Matt thought. Gutierrez was the soldier who’d helped them during the fight with Razor, and however he might feel about the FETF presence in town it was hard not to feel sorry for the man. Dating a viper would be more appealing than a relationship with Mandy.

But he kept that thought to himself. However he might feel about her, and whatever he might like to say to her after what she’d done to his friends and family, she’d already proven she could be trouble if you got on her bad side. And if she was dating one of Ferris’s men she’d just have that much more influence she could bring to bear in whatever petty retribution she might decide to enact.

His family had enough trouble to deal with already, and calling her out wouldn’t do any good anyway. Better to avoid stepping on the viper. “Excuse us,” he said coolly.

Mandy took another nibble of her chocolate. “Sure, I should go see how Raul is doing anyway. That’s his first name, you know.” She winked at Sam. “And I’m sure you’ve noticed his Latin good looks. It’s okay if you’re a little bit jealous.”

As she sauntered off he couldn’t help but notice Sam deliberately turning to fuss over the boys. “I really don’t like her,” she muttered.

“I don’t blame you,” April said, giving the younger woman a quick hug. “Ugh, she’s awful. I’m impressed you put up with her for so long. Mom said you were practically a saint.”

“And of course she’d land on her feet even after everything she’s done. Let’s just forget about her.” Sam picked up Paul and kissed his cheek. “Are you excited for chocolate?” He nodded solemnly.

Matt was only too happy to follow her advice, although he couldn’t help but notice Mandy and Private Gutierrez getting all lovey dovey near the door of the storehouse and handing out chocolate bars together. Luckily the arrival of some neighbors in line and their kids making friends with Aaron and Paul distracted him, and he let himself relax and enjoy the moment.

After about fifteen minutes of waiting the boys finally got their chocolate bars, and Matt and Sam helped them open the wrappers. They immediately began devouring the treats with obvious enjoyment, and Sam leaned against him as they watched. Matt put his arm around her.

“Cold?” she asked. She had that intent, expectant look he recognized from the few girlfriends he’d dated, and to top it off was leaning a bit closer as she stared directly into his eyes. It was a signal only a moron could miss.

“Freezing,” he said, then leaned down and kissed her. It was a moment he’d been waiting for, for far too long, and now that it had arrived it confirmed everything he felt for this remarkable woman he was fortunate to have in his life.

They were interrupted by April clapping and whistling behind them, and Matt broke away grinning, noticing that Sam’s cheeks were flushed as she grinned back at him.

“Okay you two lovebirds,” his sister said, ushering her sons away from the storehouse in the direction of home. “Were we going to head back to Mom and Dad’s for games or did you two want to get all PDA on us?”

Sam took Matt’s hand as she answered. “Well we have to be a couple before we can play couples Spades, don’t we?”

Matt let two banter as they headed home, content to enjoy the moment. There were a lot of things wrong in the world, but it was important to remember that there were a lot of things right with it, too.

Chapter Five

Storm

Lewis’s leg had healed slowly but steadily over the last week.

The swelling had gone down, the bruises fading to brown and yellow, and his cousin removed the tape over the wounds regularly to let them drain, until eventually they closed and scabbed over. Although he could move around after the first few days he avoided doing so, giving his body a chance to recover, and when he did need to get on his feet he made liberal use of the crude pair of crutches Trev made for him and did his best to keep his weight off his leg.

As for Trev, he alternated his time between patrolling, gathering food, and building the outhouse he and his cousin had talked about. He also kept his rifle handy at all times, not only in case he needed to defend himself but in case he encountered another deer and the opportunity presented itself to bag more meat.

He’d seen no sign of the last two bandits since the gunfight on Halloween, and the refugee group they’d saved seemed to be long gone. He did glimpse other refugees heading along Highway 31, and just as Lewis had predicted the few groups he saw were divided into those heading northwest and those heading southeast. He wondered what the refugees said when they passed each other: no good news, he was sure.

He always watched the passing groups, but so far all had stayed to the road and traveled along it at the best speed they could. If there were any more bandits preying on the poor people he saw no sign of them.

In spite of his caution he never looked too closely at the refugees, unable to witness the constant display of human suffering. The guilt of wondering if he shouldn’t be doing something for them constantly warred with the knowledge that there wasn’t really much he could do, not for so many people. And anything he did risked giving away their presence on the mountain and could potentially put them in danger.

As for the bandits he and Lewis had killed, on the day after the fight Trev had taken the time to go out and bury them, noting when he did that the refugees had stripped them of any useful supplies Trev had left behind. Trev didn’t begrudge them what they’d found, and in a way almost regretted taking the weapons and depriving them of that added defense.

He and his cousin now had more firearms than they needed, especially considering Trev hadn’t found much ammo for them, and the refugees might have found better use for those guns. He had a hard time picturing that group of mostly women, an older man and teenaged boy, and a few children turning to banditry, while if better armed they could deter any more bandits they encountered.

Hindsight. They’d had a good reason for taking those guns, in case the other bandits came back. And while the refugees had been less of a risk to them, with Lewis wounded they couldn’t afford to take chances.

The burial had been an unpleasant task, reminding him of the lives he’d needed to take, but he couldn’t very well leave them sitting on the mountainside to rot for multiple reasons. Not that he necessarily thought they deserved to be buried: he’d contented himself with digging a big hole as deep as he could manage in the clearing behind the log, dumping the bodies into it, filling it in, and leaving it unmarked.

Trev had done other digging that week, a much deeper hole at one end of a slightly larger hole with a ramp leading down to it where they’d put the outhouse. At the moment he was spreading a few final dabs of mud on the stick thatch he’d tied over the outhouse frame, both for insulation and to make the structure more sturdy. It was nearly the last touch to finish the structure.

The day was chilly and windy, with ominous clouds building to the northwest and around the mountainside above them, but Lewis had still made his way outside to sit on a camping chair with his leg propped up on one of the larger logs from the firewood pile watching Trev work. Both for the company and to get out of the cramped space in the lean-to for some fresh air.

After a bit of discussion they’d agreed to dig the entrance to the outhouse facing southwest, away from the prevailing winds. For the door Trev had built a simple log frame with a tarp wrapped around it., which would just sit in the opening and could be easily moved aside. To prepare for deeper snows he’d built another frame with more tarps, as sturdy as he could manage, to go over the ramp leading down to the outhouse and prevent it from getting snowed in. Using rope hinges he’d tied the top square of the frame so it could open upward like a cellar door, which would hopefully keep it accessible even during snowstorms.

The outhouse was constructed inside a copse of trees a bit north of the hideout that would further keep off the snow, as well as hiding it from unfriendly eyes, especially on the logging road above. It was also on a slope that curved the other way so any runoff would carry the refuse in the opposite direction of their home and the icehouse.

Trev finished slapping on another bit of mud near the peak of the conical roof, then threw the prepared plastic and tarp over the structure and nailed them to the log frame against the ground. With that final task complete he was happy to call the job done.

When he turned to get his cousin’s approval he found that Lewis was looking past him at the looming clouds. They were quickly darkening to an ugly color. “That’s looking like the first major snowstorm of the year,” his cousin said grimly.

He nodded and looked back at the outhouse. “We got this done just in time.”

“And thank goodness for that. If I had to lean back against a tree one more time because I can’t squat with this leg I’d be tempted to stop eating.” Lewis levered himself to his feet, grinning. “I’ve already got some rocks heating up on the stove, so if you don’t mind I think I’ll take it for a test drive.”

“Go for it,” Trev said, but he couldn’t share his cousin’s levity. Those clouds really bothered him because he’d never been through a major snowstorm on the mountains. And even if the weather cleared up a bit after the storm and the next one was a while in coming it meant the easy time they’d had fishing and gathering edible plants was over. It might drive deer farther down the mountain and into his sights, but then again it might’ve already done that and they were all in the valleys now, well out of reach.

They still had about 50lbs of meat from the buck Lewis had brought down, as well as another 30 or so of frozen trout. Most of the edible plants they’d foraged wouldn’t store well and they’d been eating them as they found them, but they did have a roughly 20lb bag of frozen currants from some bushes he’d found. They could hope to find more game even after the snows fell, but as far as Trev knew what they had would have to last them until the spring thaw.

He hoped it was enough.

By the time Lewis emerged from the outhouse, holding the heating rocks in his gloved hands, large flakes of snow had begun to fall in swift flurries. Higher up the mountain and farther north they could see signs of thicker snows already falling. His cousin looked up, blinking away a flake that landed in his eye, then sighed. “Better go bring as much firewood as you can manage to pile against the lean-to before the snow really starts falling. We’ll want it handy if this storm turns out to be as bad as it looks. Sorry I’m not in any shape to help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Trev said, hurrying ahead of his cousin towards the woodpile. As he was gathering his first load he also checked to make sure the icehouse was still locked. More to keep out any animals that came sniffing around than because he expected thieves to show up during the storm.

The snowfall quickly thickened from flurries to a constant howling blast that drove snow into his face and sent it swirling all around, to the point that everything beyond thirty or so feet became blurry silhouettes or was completely obscured. He managed to get in a dozen or so loads in ten minutes, piling them beside the door where they could be quickly retrieved, before he was forced to flee to the warm sanctuary of the lean-to.

The storm came in with him, bringing snow and noticeably chilling the room in the moments it took him to close the door. Trev dusted snow off his head and shoulders beside the stove, shivering slightly, and glanced over at his cousin. “We built a protected entry for the outhouse, but maybe we should think about one for the hideout too.”

Lewis snorted. He was reclined on his cot, scribbling in his journal. “I brought the tools in while you were gathering up wood. You’re welcome to get started on that right now if you want.”

“Yeah, no thanks.” Trev shucked off his winter gear and settled into one of the chairs in front of the stove. “So this storm could last anything from hours to days. What now?”

“Settle in, I guess.” His cousin tucked his pencil into his journal and closed it, then awkwardly moved over to the other chair. “I got some playing cards from Matt. Want to play Speed?”

Trev nodded, although he wasn’t exactly ecstatic at the suggestion. “This might be a boring winter.”

“Hopefully.” Lewis’s expression darkened. “Shame about the terabytes of entertainment I had back at the shelter. It’s probably all still there, but without the solar panels those hard drives might as well be paperweights. And without us there to take care of things damp might set in and it’ll probably all be ruined by spring.”

There wasn’t much to say to that. Lewis started dealing, and as the wind howled outside the shelter, rustling the few exposed corners of tarp near the door, they settled down to wait out the storm.

* * *

The FETF soldier finally stepped back, lowering his crowbar to rest at his side as he wiped sweat from his forehead with his free hand. That made a dozen holes he’d punched in the walls around the room looking for hidden compartments, which of course he hadn’t found.

“Satisfied?” Matt’s dad asked, trying not to let his hostility show. He stood with his wife, Matt, and Sam, huddled in the corner as they did their best to stay out of the soldier’s way.

Ferris must’ve heard it in his tone anyway because he turned from the hole and frowned at him. “You make it sound like this is personal, Larson. This is just a standard inspection, same as we do for everyone else in town.”

Sure it was. Matt was sure everyone else in town had their couch cushions torn open, walls smashed into, and floorboards ripped up, not just the family living in one of the only households in Aspen Hill that had held out and refused to voluntarily allow an inspection even when the administrator made them mandatory. Not to mention the fact that Matt was friends with the cousins who’d had a treasure trove of supplies for Ferris to loot and the man was probably hoping for more of the same here. If so he’d be disappointed.

It was probably not a good idea to mention any of that, although he couldn’t keep completely quiet. “So now we’re eligible to go through the ration line?”

The bureaucrat’s eyes narrowed. “You are. Once the inspection is complete. Although I should inform you that we’ve had to go to half rations.”

Matt tried not to show his alarm. That was a bad sign. “Even people going through the line are already starving. This is going to make it worse.”

“And whose fault is that?” Ferris snapped. “Hoarding food while others are starving is a crime against the law as well as a decent person’s conscience. We’re trying to keep everyone alive here.”

Yeah, and making sure everyone starves in the process, just like Dad and the cousins warned at the meeting a month and a half ago, Matt thought. “Why are you talking like there’s a bunch of food out there? You’re gathering every spare scrap you can find to hand out in the ration line, so if there’s not enough that means there’s more mouths to feed than food to feed them.” Ferris just glared at him, so he continued. “If you’re satisfied we don’t have any food maybe you can let us get back to trying to survive.”

For a moment he was afraid he’d pushed the FETF administrator too far, but before Ferris could say anything one of the soldiers who’d been investigating the yard burst into the room. To Matt’s horror he was holding one of the sacks of root vegetables Sam had harvested weeks ago. “Found some food hidden beneath the gardening tools out in their shed, sir!” he said excitedly.

Sam grabbed Matt’s hand in worry as Ferris slowly turned to look at them, as well as at his parents. “So much for not having any food,” he said sarcastically.

Matt’s dad stepped forward. “We never said we didn’t,” he protested.

“No, you never said anything. You’ve got to be the most uncooperative people I’ve ever met.” Ferris looked each of them over for an uncomfortably long time, expression slowly darkening. “You might have other hidden food, so permission to go through the ration line is denied. Including the refugee staying with you, since it looks as if she’s been double dipping from the line and your hoard.” The bureaucrat motioned to the two soldiers with him and stormed out into the yard to investigate the cache in the shed.

Once they were gone Matt’s mom and dad started quietly picking up their scattered possessions.

Sam broke away from his side to join his parents in cleaning up. For a moment Matt continued to stand where he was, shaken by what had just happened. Their home invaded and trashed, their food taken, all within less than an hour. And even worse, not only did they not get access to the ration line as a consolation but Sam had been barred from it because of them.

There was nothing to be done about it, though. It was what it was. Matt stepped forward to help, but before he could begin his mom stopped him. “You were going to go out, right?” she asked gently.

He nodded. He’d been about to go searching for food when Ferris had unexpectedly shown up to finally insist they let him inspect the house. Now that they’d found the food hidden in the shed, the family’s only cache, it was all the more important he go find what he could. “Yeah. I’ll be home for dinner.”

“With dinner too, I hope,” his mom replied. She sounded equal parts woeful and shaken. “We have nothing to fall back on, now.”

He was glad even in her shaken state that she’d remembered not to talk about Trev’s cache. Or maybe in her shaken state she’d forgotten about it. Either way he couldn’t reassure her while Ferris was around, so he gathered up a few plastic grocery bags and started outside, pausing at the door to look back at his parents.

His dad’s shoulders were hunched as if the weight of the world rested on them, while his mom was plucking hopelessly at the shredded couch cushions she’d spent so long fiercely protecting from stains and misuse. They looked tired and hopeless, and older than their years.

When he came out onto the porch Ferris and his soldiers were carrying the bags of food out of the shed, what looked like a pathetically small amount in their arms, especially to make such a fuss over. With a last venomous look at him the administrator and the soldiers left the yard and started down the street to the storehouse.

Sam met him at the stairs leading down to the driveway. “Want some help?” she asked quietly, eyes filled with worry.

Matt immediately shook his head. Even with the “protection” FETF provided the town it was getting more dangerous. Even after numerous complaints about theft the refugees still had free access to walk the streets, since Ferris insisted it was a free country and they had every right to go where they pleased as long as they didn’t trespass. Trespassing he seemed happy to turn a blind eye to, and even a few break ins Matt had heard about. The would-be thieves had to be disappointed at what they found since FETF had already been through and taken anything of value.

Crime had also risen drastically, especially in the refugee camp, and Ferris seemed too busy collecting and not redistributing food to do anything about it himself. Even with whatever deal Razor and the administrator had made the gang leader had been getting bolder and bolder as Ferris continued to go easy on him. Razor still tried to keep what he did quiet, but in spite of that Matt and the other townspeople had heard stories of assaults, robberies, and much much worse among the tents.

Since Halloween Matt had slept poorly with a can of bear spray next to him, fearing some of the bolder criminals might break into the house and come after his parents or Sam. He really worried about April and her family living in another house, and had made sure they both had a few of his remaining cans of pepper spray to defend the house or if they had to go out.

No, it definitely wasn’t safe. As much as he enjoyed Sam’s company, more and more with every day, Matt had started to feel like he couldn’t protect her when she came with him. To be honest he was getting more and more worried about whether he could even protect himself.

He grit his teeth at the thought of his dad’s .30-06 being confiscated at Roadblock 1 when Ferris first arrived, and all the other weapons the townspeople had given up to FETF. He really wished Anderson had held his ground and never allowed the administrator to get away with confiscating those weapons, although it had probably been too late the moment the trucks drove into town.

The Mayor still insisted they were better off giving up their guns, since not only would they avoid violence but the refugees would be disarmed as well. That would leave the only weapons in the hands of FETF patrolling the streets keeping the peace. But even Anderson was losing conviction in his reassurances. Especially since Ferris and his thugs had become no better than looters in their “inspections”.

In fact just a few minutes ago one of Ferris’s soldiers had taken a break from tearing holes in walls when he discovered Matt’s dad’s collection of old coins, ripping the books apart to pull the coins free so he could shove them in his pocket. They had other valuables in the house, but either they were too large or weren’t quite tempting enough because Ferris had left them alone.

Matt left Sam on the porch, although not before she caught him with a quick kiss and told him to be careful. As she went inside to help his parents clean up he crossed the yard, one hand holding the empty grocery bags he desperately needed to fill, the other in his pocket clutching the can of bear spray. His decision to empty that display in the store what seemed a lifetime ago had been inspired, since the pepper spray had done more to protect him, his family, and his friends than anything else. Especially after they’d lost their firearms.

At first he moved quickly down the streets, past areas he and others had already harvested. His luck was getting worse lately as people either figured out what was edible or tried eating it anyway, and upon discovering it wasn’t killing them or making them sick kept on eating it hoping it would do some good.

He was grateful his mom had always been frugal and forced them to eat salads made of weeds when he was growing up: dandelion, purslane, lamb’s quarters, and other edible plants he saw all over the place. Back then he’d hated every bite, but now he blessed each little green treasure he found on these foraging missions.

In the past weeks he’d been able to find enough to fill his bags just by walking down the streets, plucking weeds from sidewalk cracks and unkempt roadsides, but now he had to actually leave town and wander around searching, and even then he found evidence that others had been there before him.

He always went west, towards the mountains. Not just because the vegetation was greener there but because it took him in the exact opposite direction of the refugee camp. The farther he could stay from that place the better.

On this trip he went farther south, towards areas he hadn’t visited before because they tended to be larger chunks of land held by a few landowner families. The nearest one to town was owned by Jack Dawson, ten or so acres south and west of town where in earlier years he’d kept livestock. Jack had to be in his 70s by now and his days of tending livestock were over, but he stubbornly refused to sell his land and kept making a go of it.

Matt could tell he’d reached Dawson land by the shoulder height split-rail fence along the road, well maintained in spite of the man’s advanced years. Along the fence he found a decent haul of edible weeds, and he silently thanked his good fortune as he bent to the task of gathering them into the bags. He was so intent on the task that he didn’t even realize Jack was out and about until he heard a shout and looked up to see him swiftly approaching.

Old the man may have been, but he certainly looked spry enough as he made a beeline across his fields towards Matt, waving one arm and continuing to shout angrily. Matt couldn’t help but notice that the Jack’s other hand stayed hovering near the small of his back the entire time.

He hurriedly straightened from the patch of weeds and waved back. “Afternoon, Mr. Dawson!” he called.

Jack slowed slightly, some of his anger fading. “Matt? Matt Larson? How about that. I know it’s been a while, man, but you look as if you’ve lost weight and aged 5 years since I saw you last! And you were pretty skinny to begin with!”

Matt smiled bleakly. It had been a few years, sure, but nowhere near that long. “Been a rough few months. Although you look the same as ever.”

The old man turned a sudden suspicious glare at the grocery bag he held. “What you got in there?”

“Weeds,” Matt admitted frankly, holding the bag out. “The edible sort. I’ve been gathering them along the road. Hope you don’t mind me foraging near your property.”

Jack finally seemed to fully thaw out, both hands dropping to his sides as he ambled the rest of the way to the fence and rested his arms atop it. “I’m not so bad off that I’m eating weeds yet. Not for lack of trying from those jack booted thugs who come by like clockwork to poke around my house, of course.”

Matt frowned. From what he’d seen of Ferris in the last three or so weeks it was hard to imagine the man going easy on anyone. “Glad to hear that, although I’m kind of wondering how you manage it.”

“Fowls,” the old man said with a snort. “That FETF weasel and his goons don’t do a lick more work than absolutely necessary, so for now they’re only going for the easy food. I hear they’re rounding up livestock to be butchered when needed, but my chickens and geese are way too much bother. They didn’t seem interested in hauling a few scrawny birds back to town, let alone slaughtering them, plucking them, and cooking them.”

Hearing that sort of made Matt wish his mom had kept the rabbit hutch she’d maintained when he was in his early teens. He doubted Ferris would’ve been any more interested in them. “Glad to know they’re letting at least that much go for now,” he said. “How about besides Ferris? You handling things okay way out here by yourself?”

“Yeah, been pretty quiet around here, thank the Lord,” Jack said. “Although I found a few members of the entitlement crowd squatting on the far southern end of my land a couple days ago, looking like they’d been there at least a week. Explains where some of my missing stuff got to.”

Matt furrowed his brow. “Entitlement crowd?”

The old man looked embarrassed. “Ah, yeah. That’s what I’ve taken to calling their sort. I noticed with the influx of refugees that in a crisis humanity seems to split into two groups: those that are mostly decent and hardworking, grateful for what they have and respectful of other people’s privacy and property, and the entitlement group. The people who feel like the world owes them something and they’re entitled to whatever they can get by any means.”

Jack spat off to one side. “They’re the ones who sit around in the refugee camp waiting for FETF aid and complaining about lack of food and poor conditions even though that weasel Ferris can never get enough volunteers to dig latrines, build shelters, and do all the other stuff that needs doing before the snows fall. The ones who sneak into people’s houses and steal, and when caught doing it act like the owners are bad guys for not sharing. The ones who turn nasty and violent to get what they need. I’m still hoping Anderson will grow a pair and send most of them on their way, even though I know Ferris never will.”

Matt nodded. He didn’t like the term, but he could see a few instances where it applied. “So what did you do about them?”

The old man seemed to take offense at something in his tone or what he said. “I wouldn’t have minded if they’d been polite and decent about it,” he snapped. “Apologizing for trespassing and asking if they could stay at the least. And more willing still if they’d offered to help out and acted like human beings instead of animals. Heck I could use a little help around the place, and someone to watch the fences way out there where I have trouble getting wouldn’t have gone amiss. I would’ve been willing to help them out with what I could spare in return.

“Instead I see a pile of my possessions, tools and antiques from the shed attic mostly, sitting in the center of the camp mouldering in the wet. They immediately get all belligerent and in my face when I walk up, like I’m the one trespassing, and one vicious little weasel even tries to club me from behind with a bit of my own fencepost!”

Matt wished he was surprised by that. “What did you do?”

To his surprise Jack casually reached behind his back and pulled out a new looking SP101 to rest on the fence between them, as if to emphasize that he still had it even though FETF was confiscating weapons. It didn’t take much to put two and two together and guess that the vicious little weasel was inhabiting a shallow grave somewhere nearby, courtesy of the small but high caliber weapon.

“I exercised my God and constitutionally given right to defend myself and my property,” the old man said with a steely glint in his eye. “Wasn’t happy about it, would’ve preferred not to do it, but when push came to shove I did what I needed to. And wouldn’t you know it, after that the other squatters ran off to cause problems somewhere else. All except one middle aged lady who offered to stay and be my wife if I’d take her in.”

That did surprise Matt, although it made him think of Trev and Mandy. “Did you?”

Jack spat off to the side again. “I’m too old for that sort of nonsense. Besides, I may be getting closer to the finish line but I’m not eager to lose what years I’ve got left in me. Don’t relish running the risk of getting my throat cut in the night by sharing a bed with a complete stranger. Besides, even if I did ever find I was over my Suzy and wanted another missus I wouldn’t pick her from the entitlement crowd. Things’re so hard these days you want someone willing to buckle down and work to survive alongside you.”

Matt thought of Sam, and for what seemed the millionth time felt a surge of gratitude for having her in his life. “I hear you. Especially when ever since FETF showed up things seem to be getting harder and harder.”

The old man snorted. “Funny, just about everyone I talk to seems to be saying that. I thought those pencil pushers were supposed to come in and make things easier for people, but all they seem good at is stealing what little folks have and spreading it around to people who don’t deserve it. FETF? Hah, more like fed up!”

Matt smiled for the first time in what felt like days. “Me and my family were set up all right, but not an hour ago Ferris finally kicked down our door and stole what little food we had. Now I’m going around picking weeds for dinner. Having a hard time of it too since everyone else has the same idea.”

Jack hesitated for a moment, looking conflicted, then shook his head. “Ah well, your Mona has been coming around with a hot plate for me every month or so for the last decade making sure I’m still kicking, so I suppose I owe you something. Better you than one of Ferris’s goons anyway.”

“What?” Matt asked with a puzzled frown.

“Come on.” The old man waved for him to follow and turned to stomp away. Matt ducked under the fence’s top rail and hurried to catch up. Without saying a word Jack led him a good ways onto the property not far from his house, to a modest coop with a small yard completely fenced in with chicken wire, even for a ceiling. Waving for Matt to wait outside, he disappeared into the coop and after a moment came out with a flapping and ruffled hen tucked under one arm.

Ignoring the clucking and pecking the old man shoved the fowl into a small carrying cage, also made of chicken wire, and fastened the door, then pushed it into Matt’s arms. “This isn’t a meal, understood? She’s one of my best layers, should be good for an egg a day as long as she’s fed. And chickens’ll eat almost anything. Just make sure she’s fed, watered, kept warm, and given a safe, quiet place to brood. I know it ain’t much but it’s something.”

Matt held the cage, so overcome with an unexpected surge of emotion that he was at a loss for words. Not much? Protein had already been a huge source of concern, and now that all their food storage was gone anything at all was a godsend.

An egg a day wouldn’t solve all their problems, but it tipped the scales that much farther towards survival. He did his best to clear his throat as he shook his neighbor’s hand. “I’ll come around more often, help out around here as much as I can.”

“For the gift of a chicken?” Jack snorted, although he accepted the handshake. “I can care for myself around here, at least for now, and I’ll be sure to let you know if that ever changes. Until then save your worry for your family.”

Matt nodded, and after several seconds of the awkward silence that comes after being given an appreciated gift and wanting to say or do more, only there’s nothing else really to say or do, he thanked Jack again. “I should get back to picking weeds.”

“Yeah, I’ve got no end of things to do myself. You take care now, Matt Larson. If I don’t see you before the snows fall I hope to see you after the thaw.” The old man glanced west towards the mountains. “That snow could come this evening, you never know. Looks like it’s already flying up there. I sure pity any fool caught up in that.”

Matt thought of his friends up at the hideout, for the first time in a while, and felt an immediate surge of worry. Those idiots were caught up in that. He hoped they’d managed to sort out their situation. “It might not snow, but if those clouds keep pushing this way we might get rain or sleet. I’d better hurry and gather what I can before heading home. I’ll be along the fence gathering more weeds, all right?”

“That’s fine. Take care of the hen, okay? Hard to be fond of chickens but somehow I manage.”

He nodded and left Jack pottering around the coop as he hurried back across the fields to the fence. The storm approaching from the north and already pounding into the mountains from the northwest continued to get darker and fiercer, and as Matt tore up weeds and shoved them into his plastic bags the thin layer of clouds above thickened until he started to feel the occasional splatter of rain. In her cage his new hen squawked crankily.

Winds started gusting, and Matt decided the job was good enough as he broke into a trot back for town, keeping an eye out for any possible threats as he went. He didn’t see anyone at all, everyone likely either driven in by the approaching storm or by the desire to avoid trouble with roaming refugees. Although when he got home Sam must have seen him approaching through the window because she hurried out onto the porch to greet him, shivering slightly at the blasts of wind.

“Where’d you get a chicken?” she asked, startled. When Matt offered the cage she was quick to accept it so she could get a closer look at the brooding hen.

“Jack Dawson, out to the southwest of town. He keeps birds and offered a layer as thanks for Mom looking out for him all these years.”

“How sweet of him.” Sam beamed down at the cage. “I don’t know much about animals but she looks well cared for. We should call her Henrietta!”

For some reason that made Matt laugh in spite of the day he’d had. Although he flinched as a cold drop of rain splashed the back of his neck. “Let’s get inside.”

The house was still a mess from the inspection. His parents seemed to have abandoned cleaning up to sit together on the slashed cushions on the couch. It looked as if his mom had been crying. When he and Sam entered his dad quickly stood, and although he made a big deal about Henrietta he was quick to get down to business. “I think it’s time to talk about going for that cache.”

Matt frowned. “Ferris just kicked down our door, and he said himself he thinks we have more food hidden around here. He’s going to come around again to look for it, or at least have us watched.”

His dad hesitated. “We can’t survive on weeds, even with Jack’s kind gift. If we wait too long we’ll be too weak to make the journey. And now that Ferris cut Sam off from the ration line she’s in the same dire straits we are. We have to go.”

It was hard to argue that, but at the same time circumstances couldn’t be worse for making that kind of trip. He looked down at the pathetic few handfuls of weeds he’d gathered, anguished. “Razor’s thugs are still running around outside of town. We might not even make it there.”

There was a long, tense silence. “I think we should wait,” Sam said quietly. “Things can’t stay the way they are now. If Ferris is kicking down doors and cutting rations that means he’s desperate. The town might not put up with him for much longer, and when his welcome wears out it might give us a better chance to safely get the cache.”

His dad looked torn. “We’ll all have to start foraging for food,” he finally said. “Together in pairs, for safety. At least until we can think of something to do.”

There wasn’t much more to say after that, so they had a sparse meal of weeds and sat around the table playing board games for a while, trying to ignore the rain beating down on the roof and windows and the hunger digging a hole into their bellies. But Matt knew his dad well enough to know he hadn’t put the problem out of his mind, and although he did his best to stay involved in the family evening his troubled thoughts were far away.

Matt was worried as well, but he knew his dad had to be feeling the weight of responsibility even more since he was the one who’d insisted on refusing the inspections and had personally hid the food in the shed. Not to mention he still grumbled about losing his .30-06 at the roadblock when Ferris first arrived.

After a while his dad went out to the porch, and even though Matt knew he probably wanted to be alone he followed him out. He found his dad leaning against the railing, hands and arms being spattered by cold rain quickly turning to sleet.

Matt came to stand beside him, noticing that he was looking north. Towards the storm or the cache? “We’ll figure it out.”

“Or die trying?” his dad said grimly. “None of us have the skills or knowledge to really fend for ourselves without trucks bringing us food. We’ve stripped our garden of everything, even stuff rabbits would turn up their noses to, and we’re eating weeds. We don’t have any livestock, we don’t have guns to hunt any deer coming off the mountains to escape the cold, and if we do manage to survive this winter we don’t know anything about planting crops or long term sustainability. The fact that your mother’s managed to gather the heirloom seeds from the garden is something to hope for, but they won’t give us a real crop like grain or corn.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Matt said uncomfortably.

His dad shook his head. “Generations of farmers worked the same land, learning when to plant, when to harvest, how to irrigate and what weeds and pests to look out for, and how to tell by the weather if there was something they should worry about. The town could lose more crops than we brought in before we figured it out. If we even had the seed.”

It was hard to argue with that. But then again talking about this stuff didn’t help them in the short term, which was what they really needed to worry about. “We can cross that bridge when we come to it. For now let’s just focus on finding enough food to get by.”

“Our foraging has been feast and famine up til now,” his dad answered. Even in the fading light he looked old and tired. “We can’t afford to have bad days when there’s nothing to fall back on. And our good days? If we bring in enough to last us a few days who’s to say Ferris won’t come and take it?” He punched the railing. “Thanks to my stubbornness none of us are going through the ration line. At this rate we’ll be the first ones in town to starve.” He abruptly turned to face Matt. “Son, we have to go for the cache while we still have the strength to make the trip!”

“We already talked about this,” Matt said impatiently. “It’s too dangerous to just run off after it. We have to figure things out here first.” He put his hand on his dad’s shoulder. “Come on, you’re going to freeze out here. Things won’t look so hopeless in the morning.”

His dad resisted his hand. “Go on. I’ll be in soon, I just want to brood a bit.”

Matt considered insisting, but he couldn’t see what good it would do other than to make his dad feel even less in control of things. So he nodded and turned for the door.

Just before he reached it his dad spoke quietly. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known this was coming.”

He turned. “You did. You buried our food storage.”

His dad waved, almost angrily. “Not Ferris. The attack, the nation running out of gas and no trucks coming in bringing food. I should’ve done more to prepare, like Lewis did. Even if I hadn’t subscribed to all his doom and gloom predictions anyone could see where things were going with the price of gas shooting up and necessities getting more and more expensive. I should’ve prepared when I had the chance.”

Instead of replying Matt went back inside, noting how his mom and Sam gave him worried looks. He could only shake his head. His dad wasn’t thinking rationally with his talk about Lewis, since for all his preparations Lewis had still ended up getting his shelter and everything else stolen by Ferris. If his dad had prepared he would’ve just ended up in the same boat unless they’d made their preparations somewhere else, maybe up in the mountains. That or Aspen Hill had kept FETF out from the start and stopped Ferris from taking over.

Either way there was no point dwelling on the past. What had happened had happened, and the only thing they could do now was find a way to go forward. Matt just hoped worry didn’t give his dad a sleepless night since he didn’t seem to want to be reassured. They’d all just have to try harder to find food tomorrow, and hope that whatever they found wasn’t immediately snatched up by FETF.

And while they were at it they’d have to seriously plan out how they were going to safely get the cache and prevent it from being stolen once they got it back.

Before bed Matt and Sam sat together on the couch talking quietly, not about anything significant but mostly just to spend time together. The storm was still going strong when they kissed goodnight and she headed up to the guest bedroom while he went to his room and did his best to fall asleep.

He was woken up the next morning by his mom’s frantic cries. He stumbled half awake out of bed and rushed to her room, clutching his bear spray in one hand and the baseball bat he’d taken from the would-be mugger up in Orem in the other.

Sam arrived at the same time, looking disheveled and sleepy in her pajamas, and together they burst into the master bedroom to find his mom slumped against the foot of the bed, clutching a piece of paper in her hands. “The old fool,” she said, tears streaming from her eyes.

As Sam hurried over to comfort the older woman Matt took the note and read it over. It was in his dad’s handwriting, apologizing for his stubbornness in balking Ferris and getting them all banned from the ration line, as well as his failure to protect and provide for the family as he should.

He taken Matt’s old wagon and gone after the cache, hoping to bring back as much as he could manage to tide them over until they could figure out a better solution.

Matt crumpled the note in his fist. He had no idea which way his dad had gone other than him often talking about trying to find back roads through the hills to the north, to not only reach the cache more directly but on a path where they’d be less likely to encounter other people. But more importantly, the note had specifically forbidden him from trying to follow, and given him the responsibility for taking care of his mom and Sam and looking out for April’s family until his dad returned.

Struggling to keep his legs from shaking, he made his way over to sit next to his mom on the side opposite Sam and put his arms around them both. He didn’t know what comfort he could offer, because whatever he might say he felt mostly dread.

His dad was a capable man, physically strong for his age, who’d led by example all his life, and Matt had every confidence that if it could be done he’d manage it. But at the same time it was a dangerous journey and his dad wasn’t a young man, not to mention he was already weak from hunger. What if he got injured like Trev had, all alone out in the middle of nowhere? What if he ran into Razor’s thugs or some other bandits?

He wanted to go after him, but he knew his dad was right that he was needed here. All they could do was pray, pray and trust that he knew what he was doing.

Chapter Six

Moving On

The first storm lasted for just under two days.

Lewis and Trev endured it restlessly in the small confines of their hideout, only popping out for firewood, to use the outhouse, or to check around during lulls. When it finally ended they emerged to a world covered with snow, with iron gray clouds still brooding over the mountains. It was impossible not to admire the wild beauty of the scene, but the lingering clouds warned of the possibility of more snow to come and encouraged them to make the best use they could of the time they had.

Their first priority was to take what they’d learned from conditions during the storm to set things up more comfortably, as well as clearing trails in snow that was already a few feet deep to the outhouse and the woodpile and icehouse.

After he’d packed fairly decent if narrow trails Trev got to work transferring the woodpile over to within easy reach right next to the lean-to, while Lewis threw together a crude screen in front of the hideout’s doorway so the snow wouldn’t pile up in it and force them to dig their way out every time they needed to make their way outside. His cousin also cut lengths of rope and stretched them at waist height between the hideout and the necessary locations, so even if a storm got bad enough to pose the risk of them getting lost they could follow the ropes where they needed to go.

Their hasty modifications and adjustments took most of a day, and they were just settling in to enjoy some venison steaks when growing gusts of wind rattling the new screen outside the hideout confirmed that another storm had blown in.

This one lasted less than a day, although it deposited another several inches of snow, and when it finally ended the day dawned clear and cold.

That cold wasn’t enough to deter them. With little to do aside from wait and plan Trev and his cousin had agreed that once it was clear they should get back to searching for food. Foraging was going to be difficult to the point of impossibility with the snow, but they could still try fishing and hunting. It wasn’t all bad, either, because the snow would reveal tracks and allow them to set snares or follow big game. They’d both seen rabbits in the area so they knew there were warrens nearby, and traps were just what they needed there.

Lewis had learned how to do most of the standard snares and spent some time during the storm teaching Trev. Trev was ready to try setting them along any rabbit tracks he discovered, but they’d agreed that since he had more experience with fishing he’d make his way down to the river and see if he could catch anything while Lewis did a search around the hideout for any signs of game he could hunt or trap.

His cousin’s leg was healed enough for some exertion, and Lewis insisted now was the time to start pushing himself a bit to keep his muscles stretched. There was no saying how many chances they’d have to get out when the snows got deep enough to make moving around difficult, even with the snowshoes they’d brought.

So Trev finished checking his Mini-14 to make sure it hadn’t gummed up or anything in the cold, then grabbed his fishing pole and blazed a trail to the gap in the cliffs where he’d climb down. He took it very, very slowly, aware of how treacherous snow would make the gap and then the steep mountainside below, which had been treacherous enough beforehand. It took him what felt like forever to wind his way down through the thick tangle of deadfall and trees to Huntington River, and he didn’t see any signs of animal tracks along the way. He dearly hoped the fish were biting to make this trip worth it.

When he reached the river, however, all thoughts of fish vanished.

A bit down the road to the south, on the other side of the river, there was a turnoff with a sign of information for fishermen. A few tents had been set up around the sign, as if in some vain hope it might offer shelter from the storm. Trev pulled out his binoculars to check the tents and what he saw worried him.

For one thing the snow piled around them confirmed that they’d been there since the storm began yesterday, and he didn’t see any sign of tracks. And even though it was late morning he saw no signs of anyone stirring. There was no sign of a campfire, either.

The temperature had dropped sharply with the storm, enough that for the first time since arriving Trev had donned his full set of winter gear, including ski goggles. Part of him hoped that these refugees were just late sleepers reluctant to venture out into the cold, but in the back of his mind a sense of dread was building that those meager tents weren’t enough to offer any sort of protection from the cold, and if the people inside hadn’t come equipped for the sudden storm it might have sealed their fate.

Caution urged him to head back up to the hideout and report this to Lewis, but at the same time if those people were in serious trouble he wasn’t sure they could afford that sort of delay. So he made his way to the ice-crusted rocks they regularly used to cross the river and hopped across them, being extra slow and cautious to avoid the disaster of falling into icy water.

Then he unslung his rifle and started forward quickly but cautiously, alert for any signs of people emerging from the tent or approaching along the road. He didn’t see anyone, and it was unlikely there’d be too many travelers during a storm, but unlikely wasn’t impossible.

Although he had the urge to call out he kept quiet, and moved quietly as he approached. He wasn’t sure if that was to avoid risk if these refugees were unfriendly or because he was secretly bracing himself for the sad sight of tents full of frozen corpses.

He’d come within twenty feet of the still camp when he abruptly froze, ears picking up the softest murmur of conversation from the tents. The noise filled him with a surge of relief, and he cautiously moved a bit closer.

“Come on, Jen,” a man was urging. “The storm has stopped and the sun is out. We need to get up. We need to see if everyone else is all right and then keep moving. If we stay here we’ll die.”

A weak, listless woman’s voice replied. “If we go out into the cold we’ll die too. I’m freezing even next to you in the blankets. Can’t we at least wait until afternoon when it’s warmer?”

“What if it doesn’t get any warmer? Or what if there’s another storm? Our only hope of survival is getting out of these mountains. It’ll be warmer down in Sanpete Valley, and they might have the help for us we couldn’t find in Huntington.”

Trev wasn’t sure if Jen’s response was a sharp catch of breath or a quickly held back sob. “We won’t make it. No food, not enough warm clothing, already exhausted, and now we’ll have snow to trudge through.” There was a long, miserable pause before she continued. “Let’s just stay in here, Peter. No matter what we do we’re going to die. We might as well be together and as warm as possible when the end comes.”

The two fell silent, and Trev slowly backed away for a while before turning and trotting back to the crossing. He had nothing to offer aside from the clothes on his back, which he wasn’t about to give, but as dire as the camp’s situation sounded it didn’t seem like they were in danger of dying within the next hour. Now it was time to go back to the hideout and talk to Lewis.

He took the trail a bit quicker on the return trip, although he still moved cautiously, and when he reached the hideout he left the fishing pole and bucket by the door and hurriedly followed his cousin’s tracks south along the meadow.

About five minutes later he found Lewis crouched beside some distinctive rabbit tracks breaking the pristine untouched snow in a line as far as his eye could follow. His cousin was using a nearby branch to set up a snare across the tracks. Trev hurriedly caught up to him and explained the refugee situation down below.

To his relief Lewis immediately straightened, wincing slightly at his wounded leg. “Let’s gather up as much firewood as we can carry, and enough food to keep them going for a few days. We can also give them those coats and the axe you took from the bandits. They’ll need it to chop firewood.”

Trev nodded and led the way back to the hideout, where they quickly got to work. When he’d been carrying firewood during the lull between the two storms he’d debated building a sled, but since the snow was still shallow enough that he could still trudge through it he’d elected to construct a carrying frame instead.

He’d used the simple, effective design people had used for hundreds or even thousands of years, with long sturdy sticks bound together with twine in parallel L-shapes that he could pile firewood high on, then use more twine to tie everything in place and keep it from falling loose. More rope with padding made straps so he could wear it like a backpack, which allowed him to carry about five times as much as he could holding a load in his arms and only took a bit longer to load and unload.

While Lewis loaded up a backpack of food and a few other necessities they could spare, along with the coats and axe, Trev filled the frame with as much firewood as he thought he could carry while going down the steep path and trying to cross the rocks. When he was ready to set out he noticed his cousin rolling up the deerskin they’d gotten from his buck to also give the refugees.

Lewis had spent the last couple weeks cleaning and curing the hide as best he knew how and had seemed fairly satisfied with the end product, even talking about making moccasins and belts and other things from it. Looking at it now Trev hoped it would help keep the refugees warm.

Satisfied they had as much as they could manage, Trev led the way back through the gap and down the mountainside to the river, then opted to be the first to cross over the rocks. It was more than a little tricky picking his way over the slick surfaces while dealing with the slightly unbalanced load of firewood, but somehow he managed it. Lewis came next, even more uncertain on his wounded leg, and there was a frightening moment halfway across when he started to slip and had to take a quick step to the next rock to catch himself. If he’d slipped again he would’ve been in the river, but luckily his footing stayed firm.

“Do we announce our presence?” Trev asked as they followed his set of tracks towards the tent.

His cousin hesitated. “I’d say let’s just leave the stuff and go, but they could follow our tracks if they were really curious. Let’s have a little conversation and make sure they know their best bet is to get out of the mountains before winter traps them in.”

The camp remained eerily still as they approached, but now Trev could hear conversations in all the tents, and even a bit of talking back and forth between tents. When Lewis called a greeting the talking died down at once, and a moment later a shivering man wrapped in a blanket stumbled out of a tent, holding a walking stick defensively.

Lewis helped Trev shrug out of the frame and drop the firewood to the ground. “We’re going to light a fire and get some venison cooking, okay?”

The man opened his mouth as if fumbling for a response. “What?”

“We’ve got canned food that you’ll have an easier time preparing, but better to save that for the road.” His cousin began kicking a space clear of snow while Trev got the smallest sticks and bits of bark he could find out for kindling.

It was starting to dawn on the man, and he looked at the backpack and firewood with desperate hope. “Those are for us?”

A few other men were ducking out of tents, with women and a few children crowding the doors staring out with wide eyes. Most had light jackets, sweaters, or blankets, with only a few real winter coats to be seen. Trev thought Lewis looked slightly uncomfortable at suddenly finding themselves outnumbered, but none of the men seemed unfriendly. Actually they all looked cold and weak, and the most common expressions on those unshaven faces was shock.

“As much as we could spare,” Lewis confirmed. “It should help get you to Fairview, if you hurry before another storm hits.”

As his cousin continued working on the fire Trev unloaded the backpack, handing out the food, coats, deerskin, fire starters, and axe. It felt a bit strange to be giving a potential weapon to a perfect stranger, and as if realizing it the man quickly set it down beside a tent.

Within ten minutes they had a good fire going and venison steaks skewered on sticks cooking over the flames. As they worked the refugees explained their situation, which was nothing surprising to Trev. They’d come down from American Fork, sent to Huntington by FETF. But when they arrived they were dismayed to find that along with the few hundred people the Task Force had sent there were already over a thousand other refugees there, and the town didn’t have much to spare. After a bit of discussion they’d decided to try their luck going over the mountains into Sanpete, which was reputedly greener and had more available food.

The residents of Huntington had warned the sixteen people that they’d have to hurry to get over the Manti-La Sal range before getting snowed in, and there’d been refugees coming along Highway 31 from Sanpete that refuted the rumors of bounties to the west of the mountains, but with no other available options they’d decided to go and hope they’d find a solution.

It was a miracle none of them had died when the storms hit, forcing them to huddle together for warmth in the inadequate tents and hope for some relief. As the refugees were quick to express, with fervent gratitude, that relief had come in the form of Trev and Lewis and their offerings.

Once the venison was cooking Trev and Lewis bid the group farewell and left them gathered around the fire warming themselves by the flames and salivating over the roasting meat. Together they trudged back the way they’d come with just the empty backpack, since Trev had left the simple carrying frame behind for the refugees to use.

“It feels good to give them some hope,” Trev said. “Even if it’s just a few people, to do something for them besides having to sit and watch. It feels good.”

His cousin grunted in reply. He didn’t seem to feel the warm glow of charity Trev had felt, maybe contemplating the grim winter the group had ahead of them. The help they’d given might be enough to get them out of the mountains, with any luck, but what then?

“I hope these are the last refugees we see this winter,” Lewis finally said. “The next group might not be alive by the time we get to them.”

And Matt accused Trev of being a downer. Still, in spite of his cousin’s grumbling Lewis had given them his deerskin. That was a personal touch that spoke volumes about his true feelings, and hinted that in spite of his cousin’s fatalistic words he was genuinely concerned about the welfare of those refugees.

“Maybe the little nudge we gave them today is enough to get them on the road to survival,” Trev suggested. “Maybe we saved some lives today.”

“I hope so. But I hope even more that if they do get to Fairview they don’t tell anyone about us.” Lewis started across the stones. “Still, as the voice of pragmatism I say we do our best to cover our tracks back to the hideout, and watch from the cliffs until they’re out of sight. We should also start patrolling again. Once the snows get higher they’ll be a better defense, but we should never let down our guard.”

Trev couldn’t help but think it would be pretty despicable to try to rob someone who’d just helped you, but personal experience had shown there were despicable people out there so he didn’t argue. Once they were across the river they did their best to hide the trail leading up to the gap in the cliffs, and above the gap they settled down to watch the camp down below, where people were passing around cooked venison as they huddled by the fire.

* * *

His dad had been gone for 5 days, now.

Rationally Matt knew it was too soon to start really worrying, that if it had taken Trev a week to make the same trip the first time it might take his dad nearly as long, and he had to go there and back pulling first an empty and then a loaded wagon on unfamiliar back roads. For all he knew he shouldn’t expect to see him back for at least two weeks, and there was no reason to start worrying until then.

Really worrying, that is; only seeing his dad coming back safe and sound would calm the constant tension in his gut.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on that, though, since most of those days had been spent searching for food, from morning until evening. Ferris had come again yesterday to look for more hidden stashes and his soldiers spent an hour poking around the entire yard with shovels. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, they had no extra food from what they’d gathered for the administrator to confiscate. Matt had even gone so far as to beg Ferris to let them go through the ration line before his family starved.

Ferris had been unsympathetic. He’d even threatened to take Henrietta and deprive them of their daily egg, out of spite Matt guessed. And once he’d satisfied himself that there was no other food he’d started questioning where Matt’s dad was, and Matt did his best to deflect the question by replying that he was out foraging for food, and the rest of them would be too if Ferris hadn’t come around for another “inspection”. That seemed to satisfy the weaselly man, barely, and he’d left them alone.

Once his dad left the situation was dire enough that in spite of his protests his mom and Sam had to go out searching for food as well. They went together, both with bear spray and Sam also carrying his bat, although it was hard to view the petite woman as particularly imposing even with the weapon. Still, he hoped it would be enough to deter potential threats, and they’d agreed to stay to safer areas while Matt searched outside of town, out along Jack Dawson’s lands in fact.

Speaking of the old man Henrietta had layed consistently, just like he’d promised. They’d used the daily egg and whatever herbs they could find to make a soup each day to share among the three of them, and while it wasn’t enough it was something.

It was early afternoon now and Matt had gone as far as he dared along the street, past where Jack’s fence ended. Out this far he couldn’t help but think of the old man’s mention of the group who’d squatted on his land in the area, and although they’d been kicked out they might still be somewhere around causing problems. Them or Razor’s goons. So he turned and started back the way he came, with barely half a bag full of edible plants.

He’d made it about halfway home when a nearby bleat made him go completely still, heart hammering in his throat. He turned to see a chocolate brown buck goat wearing a collar ambling along a side street, nibbling at the weeds alongside the road.

Matt stared at the animal, stomach rumbling. That was food, food for days for his entire family. Real food, food with substance, not bitter weeds and a third of an egg a day. He’d only had goat once and hadn’t much liked it, but now he could practically smell it cooking, taste the tough stringy meat between his teeth. That could be the answer to a lot of their problems.

Unfortunately what it was, without a shadow of a doubt, was one of the Watsons’ herd. The Nigerian dwarf goats had been too small to interest Ferris when he was rounding up the town’s livestock, and Chauncey had talked a bit about how valuable the animals had been for meat and milk while the rest of the town was struggling. He’d even given them a pint two days ago when he heard of their situation with the ration line. That fresh, creamy, odd tasting milk had been a blessing they’d been deeply grateful for.

As he stared at the buck, torn with temptation, his mind darted back to what seemed an eternity ago while on the road with Trev to bring down April’s family, when they’d talked about refugees. Trev had basically said that honest refugees died while dishonest ones survived by taking from others.

Would his friend eat that goat? Matt had a feeling that in spite of Trev’s pessimistic words he was the sort of person who’d starve before stealing. But it didn’t really matter what Trev would do, did it? What mattered was what Matthew Larson would do.

The goat ambled up to him, bleating and wagging its stubby little tail. He was young, and probably a wether judging by how friendly he was. Matt crouched down to pluck up a viny weed and offered it, and as the goat nibbled at the treat he grabbed the wether’s collar with his other hand. The goat didn’t balk as he stood and led it down the street.

Towards the Watsons’ place.

There had to be more to measure a person than what they were willing to do to survive when times were hard. The difference between the sort of person Matt would like to call friend, and more importantly would like to be, and parasites like Razor and his thugs, or for that matter Ferris and his goons.

If it came down to it he’d either find a way to live honestly or he’d face the consequences. He only hoped Sam and his family could forgive him. Even with that resolution, though, he had to wonder if he was just lying to himself. Desperation was a long ways from the Larson family as long as they had Trev’s cache waiting for them, if they could find a way to get it here past Razor’s siege and then keep it from Ferris’s inspections. And in the back of his mind rode the hope that his dad would be back with a wagon full of food any day now.

Maybe he was only being honest because in spite of their plight they weren’t truly desperate. The food up there could help them survive for most of the winter, maybe all of it if they severely cut their rations. And without that desperation he wasn’t facing the same crisis of conscience Trev had talked about.

Before reaching Chauncey’s house he encountered Wes Watson searching the streets. The fifteen year old brightened when he saw Matt and the goat and hurried forward. “Oh good, you found Coal,” he said, grabbing the goat by the collar. “Thank you so much for bringing him back. I was sent out to look for him while everyone else got to go watch the excitement.” The young man turned and hurried the spirited wether up the street towards his house.

Matt followed, a bit annoyed by how matter of fact Wes was being about him returning the goat when it had been a bit of a tough choice for him. But he had something more important to worry about. “Excitement? What’s going on?”

The young man turned to give him a surprised look. “You haven’t heard?” he whispered, a smile fighting to break free. “Ferris and his soldiers are pulling out!”

Matt stopped dead, eyes widening. “Seriously?” Wes nodded and he found himself grinning. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a month!”

“I know, right? Once I get this little cage breaker tethered I’m going right over to see what’s happening.”

“I’ll go with you,” Matt offered, catching up to the young man again. “What happened? Why are they going now?”

Wes shrugged. “Ferris claims he got a radio transmission from the FETF coordinators up north recalling him, but my dad insists he never heard anything like that on his radio. It’s been weeks since he heard anything about the Task Force at all, aside from bits and pieces concerning the relief convoy down in Price. Not since the Antelope Island refugees rioted and basically eliminated the FETF position in Salt Lake City.”

Matt nodded. He’d been pretty shaken to hear about what had happened at the refugee camp where he’d found his sister’s family, considering they’d just been there and could’ve been caught in the violence if they’d stayed just a little longer. When April heard about it too she expressed her fervent gratitude that Matt and Trev had come to get them out when they did.

When they reached the Watsons’ house Wes just dragged Coal over to the fence and tethered him right there with a bit of baling twine, then lifted him up over into the front yard. Matt couldn’t help but wonder about theft, since the refugees continued to wander the town causing trouble, but the young man seemed more interested in what was happening at the storehouse. He took off at a trot and Matt fell in beside him.

A few blocks over they found a crowd gathered at Tillman’s, a few refugees but mostly townspeople. In front of the store fourteen bicycles waited on kickstands, six of them attached to bike trailers, and soldiers were coming in and out of the store carrying buckets of grain and other food to put in the trailers or stuff into camouflaged backpacks.

Matt was surprised at the sight for a moment, until he realized that of course with even what little driving Ferris and his soldiers had done around town they’d be out of gas. This was probably their best means of transportation.

Better than walking. Matt couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of bicycles when he and Trev headed up to the cities.

Just as he and Wes arrived Ferris emerged from the storehouse-turned-FETF headquarters carrying his familiar clipboard, tapping it thoughtfully with a pencil. Behind him, completely ignored by the bureaucrat, Anderson dogged his heels looking desperate.

“You can’t leave, the town needs you!” the Mayor insisted, hurrying after Ferris as the man made his way over to watch the bike trailers being loaded.

At that Ferris paused to give him a disgusted look. “Oh, so now you care? You people have been whining about us being here since the moment we arrived.”

Anderson hesitated uncomfortably. “Well I suppose some may have been. But that doesn’t change the fact that we rely on your protection. You took our guns!”

“Relax, Mayor,” the FETF administrator said, contempt dripping from the word. “All your guns are in the storehouse. You can pass them out to every Tom, Dick, and Harry once we’re gone. Shoot each other up for all I care.”

Catherine Tillman hurried out of the crowd to intervene. “But you’re loading these bike trailers with as much of our food as you can take, not to mention a good chunk of ammunition!”

Ferris turned to her. “Your food? Have you forgotten we brought an entire aid truck to this miserable town? What we’re taking is nothing in comparison.”

The councilwoman put her hands on her hips as she glared at the nearest bike trailer. “I think you’d be surprised how it adds up, especially with you folks here for a month eating that entire time. Besides, those buckets you’re loading up have L.H. written on them. I’d bet every dollar left in town that those initials stand for “Lewis Halsson”. This food isn’t yours.”

“No offense, but twelve M16s disagree with you.” Ferris jerked his head towards his soldiers, busy loading up the trailers with their assault rifles slung across their backs.

Catherine also turned to look towards the working soldiers, but her attention was on Randall Turner, who was working alongside them. Matt wondered if he should even be surprised that the former contracted police officer for Aspen Hill was with them preparing to leave, since he’d been helping Ferris from the start. He was even wearing the same uniform as the others. “And you? You’re leaving with them?”

Turner set down a pair of buckets and straightened. “People swear at me behind me back, and a few even spit on the ground or flip me off when they think I’m not looking. I’m not feeling the love keeping me in Aspen Hill.” He glanced around at the soldiers. “Besides, I have a feeling I’ll be better off going with FETF. There are other places that need our help.”

Under the circumstances Matt didn’t know how the man could say that with a straight face, but amazingly he seemed sincere.

Wes started over to where the rest of the Watsons were gathered, and Matt followed to greet the couple and their oldest son. “Can you believe this?” Chauncey asked, grinning. “It almost feels like a holiday.”

Matt looked around at the crowd. “I’m happy to see them leaving, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s celebrating.”

“Well they are taking a bunch of food,” Edna Watson pointed out.

“At least they’re leaving our guns,” Chauncey replied. “With those we can hunt for more food. We should’ve been doing that all this time as the deer came down from the mountains to escape the cold, but Ferris was more interested in kicking down doors than filling bellies.”

His wife put a hand on his arm, shushing him. “They’re not gone yet,” she whispered.

As they watched the trailers being loaded Matt’s attention was drawn to a commotion near the door, where Private Gutierrez had been helping the other soldiers work but was now being dragged off to one side by an irate Mandy Townsend. The soldier seemed impatient at the distraction.

“What do you mean you’re not taking me with you?” Mandy demanded, loud enough for Matt to hear clearly where he stood in the parking lot over 30 feet away. “I love you!”

At that Gutierrez actually laughed in her face. “Sure you do. Listen, lady. Administrator Ferris says no tagalongs, but even if I could take you with me I wouldn’t. I’m sick of your bad attitude and lazy lovemaking, which by the way is literally the only thing resembling work that you actually do. And baby, you don’t do it well… I’d see more life out of a store mannequin, and I wouldn’t have to do every single little chore for the mannequin and put up with its nonstop pissing and moaning either.”

“So that’s it?” she demanded, livid. “You’re just going to use me and leave me with nothing after almost a month together?”

“Don’t try to talk to me about who was using who,” the young soldier snapped, expression darkening. “You got a place to stay, food, and my protection for weeks. Not to mention I doted on you like a puppy and actually had feelings for you, at least until I figured out what a spiteful leech you are. You should feel grateful I didn’t kick you to the curb weeks ago, but then again gratitude isn’t something you do, is it?”

Mandy looked like she was going to leap at Gutierrez and go for his eyes, but something in his stance must have made her think better of it. Instead she kicked the wall next to him and started to storm away, only to stop and turn back after ten feet. “I’ll find someone else. I can replace you in a day.”

Gutierrez just laughed at her again. “Give my regards to the poor sucker if you can find anyone stupid enough to go for it.”

Fuming, the blond woman turned to rejoin the crowd only to suddenly realize that just about everyone had been watching her public humiliation. Mortified, she turned and hurried the other way, circling around the storehouse to flee into town.

Not too long after that the bicycles and packs were loaded and the soldiers were all mounted and ready to go. As he prepared to get on his own bike, one without a trailer, Ferris turned to the crowd. “In my absence the world will have the chance to see the kind of people you are in how you treat the refugees. If I’ve taught you anything then maybe this town has a chance.”

The words were greeted by stony silence by the townspeople. Matt wasn’t usually one to swear, but after that pompous speech he could think of a few choice words he’d like to toss the bureaucrat’s way. Almost as if he was satisfied by the hostile reception, like it confirmed some strongly held belief, Ferris mounted the bicycle and started out, wobbling awkwardly at first until he got some speed.

Behind him the rest of the FETF convoy followed, pedaling north along Main Street. In their wake they left their two trucks abandoned on one side of the sporting goods store’s parking lot, as if to symbolize the mess they’d left behind.

Before too long Turner, at the back of the convoy on another bike without a trailer, disappeared from sight. The silence in the crowd continued as everyone looked at each other, wondering what to do next.

That silence was shattered by Scott Tillman bursting out of the store with Anderson hot on his heels, waving frantically for him to stop. “There’s no food!” Tillman shouted, ignoring the Mayor’s angry glare. “Forget what that FETF pencil pusher said about being called north, he left because the storehouse is empty and we had nothing left for him to steal!”

Anderson sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat as the crowd erupted in rage at that news. He raised his hands for quiet, which took an embarrassingly long time. “It’s true,” he finally shouted over the fading noise. “Even though we were involved in distribution Ferris and his goons never let us see inside the storehouse. We had no way of knowing the situation was this bad. It looks as if that food they packed up to carry out was the last of it.”

“The food’s bad enough, but who’s going to protect us now that the Feds are gone?” Eve Anderson, the Mayor’s own wife, demanded anxiously. “Our policeman left with Ferris!”

“Good riddance, the traitor!” a man in the crowd shouted. “He helped Ferris and his goons rob his own neighbors!”

The Mayor held up his hands for quiet against the general murmur of agreement that swept over the crowd. “Easy people, easy. FETF didn’t have anything aside from their bicycle trailers to haul a load with so they left behind most of what they’ve confiscated, including our weapons and most of our ammo. We can still handle protection for ourselves. I’d recommend we set up our roadblocks once more and renew our guard and patrol rosters.”

“Why set up the roadblocks?” the same man shouted. Matt thought it was Ian Childress, Pete’s dad. “You’ll just take ’em down again the moment another government official comes and we’ll be right back to having all our stuff stolen to give to refugees!”

That got another wave of agreement from the crowd, at least until angry swearing over near Ian parted the crowd slightly. Matt saw the older man stagger as a raggedly dressed young man shoved him. “That’s my family you’re talking about!” he shouted. “FETF kept us alive when you would’ve let us starve to death on your doorstep!”

The young man stepped forward to shove Ian again, but before he could the older man recovered his balance and socked the refugee right in the nose, sending him wheeling to the ground. “You wouldn’t be starving!” Ian shouted. “And don’t pretend you’re a victim. Don’t think I don’t recognize you, kid. Even though you had the ration line to feed you I saw you stealing apples from Mrs. Harris’s tree!”

The crowd roared their agreement, and the few refugees who’d been watching FETF leave suddenly found themselves surrounded by a hostile crowd. They started to back away, looking nervous.

“People!” Anderson shouted from the front of the store, waving his arms. “This isn’t who we are! Everyone go home and give us a chance to figure things out. We don’t want violence starting the moment Ferris and his soldiers leave.”

The crowd hardly paid attention to the Mayor, turning to follow the refugees and shouting angrily for them to leave. Matt wasn’t sure whether his neighbors meant leave town or leave altogether, and he had a feeling they weren’t sure either. All he knew was that he wasn’t shouting, and neither were the Watsons. A few other families hung back, including the Tillmans, but for the most part it looked as if the town meant to relieve some of their pent up resentment on the unlucky refugees who happened to be around.

Things might have gotten ugly if a new source of shouting hadn’t drawn everyone’s attention. Matt turned with the others to see Carl Raymond pelting down Main Street from the direction of the refugee camp, wildly waving his arms.

“Razor’s coming!” he shouted again. “He’s got dozens of armed men with him!”

Chapter Seven

Assault

Pandemonium broke out in the crowd at the news. Many immediately bolted, some towards their homes and some south in the opposite direction of the refugee camp. As for Matt he stood stunned, not surprised that Razor would try something but not quite able to believe he’d act so quickly.

“Everyone into the store!” Catherine Tillman yelled, waving towards the doors. “Quick, we need to pass out the guns and prepare to defend ourselves!”

“Wait!” Anderson called frantically. “Everyone stay calm! We’ll go and talk to Razor.”

“Talk to him?” the councilwoman demanded. “Are you crazy? He’s not here to talk, he’s come for the storehouse! We need to get everyone armed to defend this place!”

The Mayor glared at her. “We don’t know that, and if we start grabbing guns we guarantee there’s going to be violence. I want to find a peaceable solution so I’m going to go see what he wants.”

Catherine shook her head. “Well I’m going to stay here and get these guns ready to use for when your plan fails.”

Not looking quite as certain, Anderson pushed through the crowd streaming for the store to head north along Main. A few people followed, although farther behind as spectators rather than support. Matt looked helplessly after the man, then towards the store. The Watsons were already headed for the doors to follow Catherine inside, but when Chauncey noticed Matt still standing there he paused. “Come on, we need you!”

“Save me a gun!” Matt answered as he pulled out his bear spray and trotted after Anderson. The man had his faults, but he couldn’t leave him to die alone. If worse came to worst he could maybe disable anyone who came after the Mayor and buy him time to escape.

Just as Carl had warned, the road leading to the refugee camp was crowded with a group of rough, raggedly dressed men stalking purposefully into town. All carried some sort of weapon, from axes to machetes to simple knives or even ugly looking heavy sticks with nails stuck through the ends. There were also a disturbing number of rifles in view. All told Matt guessed there were at least 50 people, and in front of them ambled their deceptively nondescript leader.

The sight caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. Razor had gotten bolder and bolder about whatever deal he’d had with Ferris, to the point that rumors of atrocities in the refugee camp were becoming more and more common. With the administrator gone it looked as if the gang leader wanted to bring the same atrocities into Aspen Hill now that there was nothing to stop him.

Nothing but the townspeople, if they could.

To his credit Anderson strode forward to intercept the mob, holding out a hand. “That’s far enough!” he called sharply, only a slight quaver betraying his nervousness, when the refugees were about 30 feet away. “What do you want?”

Surprisingly Razor actually stopped, slouching back with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans. Matt knew from personal experience that that was a bad sign, and he only hoped the Mayor did as well. “What makes you think I want anything, townie?”

Anderson straightened to his full height. “In that case go back to camp. Ferris is gone, which means we’re going back to how things were before he came. The town is closed again and we’ll be setting the roadblocks back up.”

Razor looked at the taller man in open contempt. “Fair enough,” he said, voice deceptively mild. “It’s not like we came to burn this place to the ground or anything. We just want our share of the supplies those FETF soldiers gathered, including all our stolen weapons. I’d say that’s fair, wouldn’t you?”

“Not happening,” Anderson said. “I’m Mayor, and as such Ferris left me in charge of the town and surrounding areas. Furthermore Ferris took all the remaining food with him, so there’ll be no more ration line.”

Matt wasn’t the only one who jumped a little when Razor suddenly burst into laughter. The man sounded like he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world, but somehow the expression on his face said he was only moments from sprinting for Anderson and ripping him apart with his bare hands. Even though Matt was a good twenty feet behind the Mayor with the rest of the small crowd of onlookers the reaction made him nervous.

“No more ration line,” the gang leader repeated with another guffaw straight from his belly. “You mean like before that weasel showed up, when you kept us away at gunpoint and were going to let us all starve to death on your doorstep?”

The Mayor shook his head. “The situation’s changed since then. Like it or not we’re all in this together, so we’ll do things fair.”

Razor turned to look at his followers, raising his voice to a shout. “Fair, he says! The American Dream! How about it, boys, are you enjoying how fair things have been since we got here?” The question was met with a chorus of boos and shouts of “No!”

The psychopath nodded in satisfaction and turned back to Anderson, and suddenly his mild tone was gone, replaced by the sort of open menace that made Matt wish he’d grabbed a weapon from the storehouse before following after the Mayor. “Yeah, me neither. In fact, townie, I think I’d rather just take everything and see how you like coming to us hat in hand like beggars. We’ll be sure to be just as generous to you as you were to us.”

Anderson took a step back, looking behind him at the small huddle of townspeople for support. The fact that they were so far back didn’t seem to reassure him, but he still tried to put up a brave face as he turned back to the mob of refugees. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”

In answer Razor pulled a small caliber pistol out of his pocket and shot the Mayor in the head.

Matt stared frozen in shock as Anderson fell, all thoughts of defending him with bear spray gone in a moment, and time seemed to stop as the world went entirely silent. That psycho had just murdered the Mayor of Aspen Hill in broad daylight in front of dozens of witnesses. Even with everything he knew about him Matt hadn’t fully expected it.

Then the gang leader shifted his aim to point the gun at the crowd of Aspen Hill residents and pulled the trigger again, and somewhere to Matt’s left he heard a scream of pain. Razor raised his voice to be heard over it as he turned to the refugees. “Let’s tear this place to the ground!”

The thugs surged forward with their weapons raised, screaming in almost inhuman hatred, while the crowd around Matt scattered in all directions. Matt ran as well, but not randomly. He was making for the storehouse. “Everyone get to Tillman’s!” he shouted at the top of his lungs at the people running around him. “We’ve got the guns there!”

Behind him he heard more scattered gunshots, from the surprisingly large number of weapons Razor’s thugs had managed to keep from Ferris, as well as screams of fear and pain as the people behind him went down. Matt wanted to help them but the mob was closing the distance fast, and if he slowed they’d catch up to him. It was lucky he hadn’t been shot yet.

He pelted into the sporting goods store’s parking lot with a dozen townspeople, sprinting for everything he was worth for the huddle of people in the doorway waving them forward and shouting in encouragement. A few of them held rifles, and Matt felt a stirring of alarm as they took aim past him at the attacking gang members and opened fire.

Then he was inside, turning back to see that Razor’s men were scattering for cover while shooting at the door, as well as at the glass windows at the front of the store. In seconds every single one was shattered, glass spraying the space inside as people dove for cover.

“Everyone grab a gun!” Catherine shouted as more people came in behind Matt, hurrying towards them. “If you’re not ready to defend yourself I hope you’re ready to die helpless!” She shoved a Glock and a few full magazines into Matt’s hands as she continued for his ears only. “Where’s Anderson?”

“Razor shot him,” Matt said dazedly, looking down at the pistol. “Just pulled out a gun and shot him in the head, then he and his thugs started shooting into the crowd.”

“We’ll make sure he faces justice,” the councilwoman said grimly, then shooed him back towards the windows Razor’s thugs were shooting through.

Matt awkwardly shoved a magazine into the port and made sure it slid home, then cocked the gun and did a quick chamber check. It looked like a .40 rather than the 9mm he was used to, but since it basically functioned the same he supposed that wouldn’t matter too much, aside from a heavier recoil.

Around a hundred townspeople had made it into the store, and many of them carried weapons. But in spite of all Catherine’s urging only a few had taken up positions by the windows to defend the store. The rest were huddled at the back, in the area the FETF soldiers had used for their sleeping space, crouched low and doing their best to stay out of the line of fire.

Since he was one of the few people actually defending the place Matt felt the pressure to do his part. He leaned out the window slightly to look for targets, only to immediately jerk his head back as wood splinters peppered his cheek and he saw a bullet hole appear in the frame only inches away.

More cautious now, he focused on what he could see from cover beyond the opposite side of the window, in the direction of the side street that led to his house. One of Razor’s thugs was ducking into cover behind the fence of the house opposite the store, holding what looked like a .22 rifle or possibly even a BB gun. Matt took aim, waiting, and when the man reappeared he fired.

Unfortunately he jerked the trigger, and instead of hitting the thug he hit the fence beside him. It was still enough to make the man flinch behind cover. He didn’t reappear.

At a window along the wall that faced that same street Carl Raymond abruptly yelled and went down clutching his shoulder. Catherine cursed and abandoned her place handing out firearms and replacement magazines to rush to his side, calling for help pulling him to safety. A couple of men in the huddled crowd hurried forward to help, while Tam took her husband’s place place at the window with a rifle to cover them as they pulled him back to safety. Unlike Carl she leaned out into view more cautiously to take quick shots.

“I can’t believe that rat Ferris spent the last month feeding Razor and his gang with our food,” the councilwoman muttered, barely audible over the chaos as she and the others lifted Carl onto a soldier’s cot. “No, we can’t arrest him or run him and his thugs out of camp, but we must make sure they don’t miss a meal in the ration line.”

Matt turned his eyes back outside in time to see the same man he’d shot at earlier duck out of cover aiming right for him. He threw himself backwards as a bullet whinged past his ear, and was about to start looking for a new source of cover when Tam yelled to him that she’d got the guy. Matt leaned out, shaking from adrenaline, and fired randomly at one of the few remaining vehicles in the parking lot where he could see the feet of a few men from beneath the undercarriage.

The next couple minutes were pure chaos as Matt did his best to hold his spot, ducking shots when they came his way, as he shot desperately at any targets he saw outside. He was almost certain he missed everything he was aiming for, wasting his bullets, but he had to hope he was at least providing cover for people in the store with better aim.

He’d just finished reloading his .40 with the second to last clip Catherine had given him when a swiftly cut off noise from outside made him freeze in slow mounting horror. It came from the direction of his house, he thought, far away and barely heard over the constant noise of gunshots, but in spite of that he picked it out immediately.

It was Sam’s voice, screaming for help.

Matt stood rooted in place at the sound, every single ounce of self control spent forcing himself not to go dashing out into enemy gunfire in response to the heartrending sound. His protective instinct screamed for him to respond to Sam’s clear distress, but he needed to think things through rationally.

Why had she screamed? Razor was attacking the storehouse and he hadn’t seen her while Ferris was leaving or while going after Anderson, which meant she was either out with his mom gathering food or back at their house. She might have come to investigate the sound of gunfire and seen Tillman’s being attacked, and if she knew he was in here she would certainly be worried about him. But if that was the case she wouldn’t have screamed since that would only draw attention to herself.

Unless…

Matt abandoned his spot at the window and ran over to where Tam had positioned herself along the other wall. “How many people do you see out there?” he demanded.

The petite woman frowned. “Half a dozen or so. Why?”

“It looks like there’s seven or eight out front. Razor had over 50 men with him.”

Tam’s expression became alarmed. “Wait, you’re saying they’re just keeping us pinned here? That means they could be trying to find another way in here, or they could be—”

“Attacking the rest of the town that doesn’t have weapons to defend themselves,” Matt cut in. That explained Sam’s screaming.

More importantly, if she was screaming she must have been in immediate danger and he’d already wasted half a minute. He left Tam at the window and sprinted through the door at the back of the store into the stockroom. On the other side of the room there was a rolling loading door at the back of the building that was shut and locked, and beside it a normal sized door. Both barriers were shaking and thumping to the sound of men trying to break in, while Chauncey and his son Rick crouched behind piles of stuff Ferris had confiscated ready to open fire on the first attackers to make it through.

Matt hurried over to the two men. “Razor’s keeping us pinned here while his men attack the rest of the town,” he hissed.

Chauncey went white. “I sent Edna and Wes home to hide! We thought he was only interested in this place.”

The memory of Sam’s yelling was making Matt physically sick at how long it was taking him to go to her. “I heard Sam screaming for help,” he snapped. He pointed at the normal sized door. “I need to leave through there!”

“Wait wait wait,” Rick said, almost frantic. “You can’t go out that door. Don’t you hear them trying to break through?”

“If they’re trying to break in they won’t expect us to just open the door,” Matt replied in a whisper, sincerely hoping he was right. “Cover me.”

Without waiting for a response he rushed to the door and, holding his Glock ready with one hand, unlocked it with the other and yanked it open. Outside two men holding sledgehammers stood frozen in shock, while behind them two other men holding pump action shotguns who’d been looking nervously to either side began to turn towards him.

Matt emptied his .40 into the four men and they scattered, all thoughts of attacking him vanishing in their need to escape being shot at point-blank. Three went down while the fourth, one with a shotgun, managed to bolt for cover behind the Tillmans’ delivery truck. Matt ducked to snatch up the other shotgun with his free hand and pursued the lone survivor, seeing but not caring about the six other men gathered around the loading door. One of them had a rifle, which he did care about, and he burst into an all-out sprint for the same cover behind the truck.

Behind him Chauncey and Rick ducked out the door and began firing at the six men off to the left, who suddenly had bigger issues than attacking Matt. The rifleman got off one shot towards the two Watsons before going down with several bullet holes, but since Matt didn’t hear either of his friends cry out in pain he hoped the man had missed.

As Matt reached the cover of the truck he shoved his empty pistol into the front waistband of his pants so he could properly hold the shotgun. He’d gone around the side opposite the thug with the shotgun, and by pure luck the man was so focused on what was behind him that when Matt burst around the back of the truck from the other direction he caught the guy facing the other way.

Matt shot him in the chest before the thug could turn fully around and aim his shotgun. As the man fell Matt racked another shell into the chamber as he bolted for the fence of the house behind Tillman’s, desperate to reach Sam.

He knew there were others around who might be a threat but he couldn’t afford to waste time, so his only option was to go as fast as he could and run a zigzag pattern as he went. When he reached the fence he dove over it, losing the shotgun as he awkwardly caught himself with his hands and rolled to keep from breaking his neck.

He’d heard plenty of gunfire as he ran, but as far as he knew none of it had been aimed at him. Matt crawled on his stomach back to the fence and picked up the shotgun, checking its feed. He could see at least one shell in there, which meant when he’d pumped the action it had injected another shell into the chamber. That gave him two or more shots. He also had the remaining magazine for the Glock, which he took a moment to reload before shoving it back into his waistband to hold the shotgun.

Even those necessary tasks felt like a waste of time as he pushed to a crouch and hurried across the yard, eyes alert for any threat.

Now that he was outside Matt could see that his fears were confirmed that Razor wasn’t just attacking Tillman’s Sporting Goods. It looked as if the nondescript psycho had kept half his men there keeping Aspen Hill’s defenders pinned down while the rest of his gang spread out ransacking houses.

Matt didn’t know what the refugee thugs thought they’d find after a month of Ferris’s “inspections”, but almost immediately to his horror he learned that they’d found something they wanted as much as food.

In the direction of his home and Sam’s danger, the next house along from the yard he was in, was the Thorntons’ residence. At first he thought it was abandoned as he approached the neat rose-lined picket fence leading to it, with the door thrown open and a few bits of furniture strewn over the lawn, but then a muffled noise and a motion by the door made him dive behind the fence in front of him.

A member of Razor’s gang emerged from inside dragging the Thorntons’ 16 year old daughter Alice by her long blond hair. The girl’s face was bloody and she was half naked, begging incoherently between terrified sobs and clutching her hair desperately to keep it from being yanked out at the roots as the thug tossed her onto the front lawn and began fumbling with his grimy pants.

The sight enraged Matt, but it also made him almost frantic with panic as he thought of Sam suffering the same fate because he couldn’t get to her in time. Still, in spite of his overpowering emotions he forced himself to move smoothly as he set aside the shotgun and carefully rose, propped his arms on the fence, and sighted his .40 on the rapist’s center mass.

He couldn’t afford to miss and possibly hit Alice, but he had to take the shot. So just like he’d practiced all those times at the range he fired, regained the target and fired again. Immediately after firing the second shot he snatched up the shotgun and hopped over the fence in case anyone was coming up behind him, doing his best to keep his sights on the falling thug as the man crumpled thrashing atop Alice.

The young woman’s sobs became screams at the sound of gunshots and the man falling on her, and Matt pocketed his Glock again and hurried over to yank the body away one-handed and check that Razor’s thug was dead. He wasn’t, yet, but from the looks of things he would be soon.

Alice stared up at him in numb terror. “Run!” he told her, doing his best to keep his voice calm for her sake. “Find someplace to hide and stay there until this is all over.” Without waiting for a response he sprinted across her yard towards his house once more.

“My dad!” she shouted behind him. “He needs help!”

Matt grit his teeth but kept going, calling out an apology over his shoulder. Much as he would’ve liked to help Mr. Thornton his only thought at the moment was getting to Sam.

The other yards along the street were also strewn with debris from inside the houses, most doors gaping open, but nobody else was in sight so the looters must have moved on. He found out where they’d gone when he reached his house and saw that the front door had been broken open and heard cursing and cries of pain coming from inside.

He sprinted up the porch steps and burst into the living room to a scene of horror. His mom was huddled in one corner clutching her face and coughing phlegmatically. From the looks of it she’d tried to defend herself with bear spray and had her can stolen from her, and her attacker had thoroughly sprayed her with it before discarding the can nearby.

Even more heart-wrenching, in the center of the room Sam was curled in a fetal position clutching her face and trying to twist and writhe out of the grip of two men leaning down to pick her up. Meanwhile a third man stood in front of her with his fist cocked back, ready to punch her once she was lifted high enough.

From her swiftly swelling and blackening eye and the bleeding gash along the third man’s forearm, inflicted by a bloody knife kicked out of the way in another corner, it was obvious Sam had tried to defend herself and had injured the looter. But her attempts had only made them angry, and now they were in no hurry as they took their time punishing her.

Matt took all that in the moment he stepped through the door, also seeing that there was no way he’d be able to get a shot off without risking hitting the woman he loved. He dropped the shotgun at the same time the third man, annoyed at Sam’s struggles, kicked her solidly in the stomach with all his weight behind it, nearly knocking her out of the hands of his friends.

At that Matt’s rational mind vanished and he unthinkingly charged the trio, digging into his other pocket for the bear spray as he went. One of the thugs holding Sam let go of her and leaned over to pick up an ugly club from the couch. It was made of rebar with a cloth tied around one end for a handle, and the man swung it even as he charged to meet Matt.

Matt sprayed him right in the face, barely pausing as the man dropped his weapon and went down with a strangled, choking scream. Matt bent to pick up the discarded club without slowing, lifting it to swing down at the third looter who was just now abandoning his attack on Sam and turning to meet him.

The thug had a police baton hanging from his belt, but before he’d done more than reach for it Matt slammed the length of rebar into his head with all the rage of watching this monster hurt the woman he loved behind the swing. It hit with a solid crunch he felt all the way up his arm and the man went down like a rag doll.

The second man holding Sam pushed her away to crumple to the floor, backing away as Matt turned for him and reaching into the front waistband of his pants to pull out a revolver. Matt froze mid-charge as the looter lifted the gun to point at his chest, although his senses screamed for him to keep going and at least try to bring the looter down before he went down himself to keep his loved ones from any further harm.

Razor’s gang member swore at him and squeezed the trigger.

Just before the gun went off Sam, huddled in a ball at his feet, desperately kicked out at his shins with both her legs. The thug stumbled as the gunshot crashed around the room, deafening in the small space, and Matt felt a sting like a dozen bees along his upper arm.

He leapt towards the falling man, swinging his club down with all his strength. It hit the looter’s gun arm, breaking it with a sickening snap and sending the weapon flying away. The thug, who was younger than Matt had expected, probably no older than late teens, curled up around his injured limb whimpering. In spite of his rage Matt couldn’t bring himself to hit the looter like he had the other man, so he dropped the crude club and fell to his knees, hitting the looter solidly in the face with his fist. Then again, and again, and finally one last time as the kid slumped unconscious to the floor.

A noise at the door turned him in time to see the looter he’d sprayed stumble outside, still coughing and hacking. Matt yanked the Glock from his waistband and strode towards the door, already lifting it to fire.

“Matt,” a weak voice behind him said. He turned to see Sam, hunched around her hurt stomach looking at him pleadingly, and felt his heart breaking at her bruises and the pain in her eyes. “Don’t go, please.”

Matt wanted nothing more than to rush to her and gather her in his arms, but the attack wasn’t over yet. “He could hurt someone else.”

“After getting a face full of bear spray? He’s not going to care about anything but finding a place to suffer in peace.” Matt couldn’t believe she could sound so calm after what she’d been through. She held out her hand for him. “Please.”

His indecision vanished and he shoved the gun back into his waistband and rushed over to her, dropping to the ground beside her so he could gather her in and hold her tight. As soon as his arms closed around her shoulders Sam’s show of composure vanished and she collapsed limply against his chest, breaking into gasping sobs.

“Oh thank God, Matt,” she cried. “Thank God. I’ve never been so terrified in my life.”

“It’s all right,” he murmured, stroking her dark hair. “It’s all right now. Are you seriously hurt?”

She shook her head against his arm. “It hurts so bad, but I don’t think it’s anything serious.”

Matt turned to look at his mom, who was still huddled in the corner coughing and retching. The sight rekindled his rage. “Mom? Are you okay?”

She managed to catch her breath long enough to answer. “I will be with some water,” she mumbled. “I wish Ed was here.”

Matt held out his arm and she came to kneel beside him so he could enfold her in his embrace as well. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to them both. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry for what they did to you.”

At that Sam calmed a bit and looked fiercely into his eyes. “You stopped them!” she said fiercely. “You came for us, that’s all that matters.”

He tenderly lifted a thumb to brush beneath Sam’s bruised eye. It looked like it was going to swell shut. “Not soon enough,” he said, ashamed of his failure to protect her. “When I heard your screams from Tillman’s I came as fast as I could, every moment terrified at what I was going to find.” The dark-haired woman dropped her head to rest against his shoulder again, taking his hand and holding it with both of hers, and he hugged her and his mom tighter to him. “But it’s all over now.”

With a last shuddering breath Sam pushed away from him and came up to her knees, looking around the room. With a pained groan she managed to push to her feet, waving away Matt’s efforts to help her, and hobbled over to pick up the revolver the kid had dropped. “It’s not over yet,” she said grimly. “The town’s still under attack, isn’t it?”

Matt kissed his mom on the cheek before also standing, looking down at the two men he’d taken out, then at his beloved as he thought about what had nearly happened to her. “I can’t leave you here by yourselves after this.”

“You have to! What about April and Terry and the boys? The looters will be headed their way.” Sam fumbled a bit until she managed to flip open the revolver’s chamber and check inside. The number of bullets seemed to satisfy her because she pushed it back shut again and lifted it to aim down the sights at the door. “We’ve got this now, and also the house’ll look looted like the others so they shouldn’t come around again. Besides, if the town falls we won’t be safe anyway.” She turned to give him a fierce look. “We’ll be fine, Matt. Go. Help your sister’s family.”

He nodded, but before he left he gathered Sam into his arms again. “I love you,” he said quietly. “I love you right down to the depths of my soul. Please, please stay safe.” He turned to look at his mom, who was still slumped wheezing where he’d left her. He’d have to have Terry look her over as soon as possible. “Both of you, stay safe.”

Sam hugged him back tightly, lifting her bruised face to look at him with tearful eyes as she raised onto her toes to press her lips to his. “I love you,” she whispered, resting her head against his shoulder. “Don’t you dare die out there or I’ll never forgive you!”

He reluctantly backed away, doing his best to hide his fear that if he left he’d come back to find a tragedy. Before he went he took a moment to tie up the kid he’d punched out and check the looter he’d hit with the club. From the looks of things tying that one up wouldn’t be necessary, so Matt dragged him out of the house with some effort and hid him in the shed.

He came back outside to find Sam standing on the porch holding the shotgun. “Take this with you,” she insisted. “You’ll need it more than we will, and Terry can use it to defend his family.”

Matt nodded and strode over to take it. He’d completely forgot about the weapon. Sam gave him one last anguished look before ducking back into the house to kneel comfortingly beside his mother, although she still gripped the revolver tightly.

* * *

By running through backyards and staying behind cover Matt was able to make it to Tom Watts’s house without running into any more looters. When he threw open the door he nearly got sprayed by Terry, who was crouched behind the couch with a can aimed at him. He could hear the sounds of his nephews asking anxious questions somewhere upstairs while his sister frantically hushed them.

“Matt!” his brother-in-law exclaimed, lowering the spray with relief. “What’s going on out there? All we’ve heard is gunshots and screaming. It sounds like a war zone.”

“Razor is attacking the town with dozens of men,” Matt answered. Upstairs he could hear his nephews shouting his name with relief and excitement, and ignoring April’s angry shouts for him to come back Aaron came bursting down the stairs to throw his arms around Matt’s waist, staring at the shotgun he held with wide eyes.

Matt hugged his nephew tight for a moment, then pried his arms free. “Go back upstairs,” he said sternly. The boy started to complain and he made his voice even more firm. “Now. This is important.”

Sulking, Aaron stomped back up the stairs. In a way Matt was relieved that the child didn’t realize how serious the situation was, and hoped he wouldn’t have to see anything that changed that. He locked the door behind him and posted up beside the window, handing the shotgun to Terry and pulling out his Glock as he stared outside. He didn’t see anyone out there.

Calming down a bit, he explained everything that had happened, loud enough for April to hear upstairs, as he continued to keep watch. In spite of his relief at finding his sister’s family safe he kept seeing his mom struggling to breathe and Sam’s bruised face and reliving what he’d seen when he came through the door. It was safe here for the moment, but his parents’ house was only a block from where the fighting was thickest. Now that Terry had the shotgun and Matt saw that things were quiet here his instincts screamed for him to get back home.

Terry seemed to understand. “We seem to be out of the fighting here,” he offered. “We’ll do our best to stay hidden, and if anyone comes after us we’ve got the bear spray and this.” He said that last while lifting the shotgun a bit.

Matt nodded. “Stay safe. And once this is all over try to get to our house. I’m worried about Mom.”

After receiving a few fearful farewells he ducked out of the house and started back the way he’d come. But he’d only gone a block before a commotion ahead drew him out of the Millers’ backyard to peer at the street from behind a fence.

Razor and a dozen men were retreating down it, ducking from cover to cover and shooting back towards the storehouse. It looked as if their attempts to pin down Catherine and the others had failed, which was good news. The fact that they’d retreated past Matt’s house was also possibly good news, as long as they hadn’t taken a detour and no stray shots had caused Sam and his mom trouble.

“Go around!” Razor abruptly yelled at a couple of his thugs, shoving them. “Come on, guys, we’ve got the entire town and they’re following us along one street! Haven’t you idiots heard of flanking?”

Matt stiffened as the two thugs bolted for the house one down from the Millers, vaulting the fence not ten feet from him. He still had 13 rounds in his last magazine, assuming it had been loaded to capacity. Since both were carrying guns he couldn’t let them sneak around behind the others and catch them by surprise, so he raised his Glock and fired.

One went down with a surprised cry of pain while the other ducked down behind the fence, cursing. Matt tried shooting at the fence itself, but he wasn’t sure if he hit anything since the cursing continued. He was about to duck back behind his own fence and try to find a new place to shoot from when motion from the street caught his eye and he saw Razor pointing his small caliber pistol at him.

There was no time to do anything but let his legs buckle and drop behind the fence. He heard a quieter gunshot and something tugged at his hair, and then he was on the ground panting.

“Did I get you, Matt?” the psycho yelled. “I almost hope I didn’t. I want to peel the skin off you one strip at a time.” There was another flurry of gunshots from down the street, and Razor abruptly swore bitterly. “Forget this, everyone break free and head south! We’ll regroup by the stream!”

Matt heard the slap of footfalls and a few more exchanged gunshots, and he finally found his wits and bolted around the house to the other side. He was in time to see Razor and most of his gang break left down a street and burst into a sprint to put as much distance between them and their pursuit as possible, disappearing out of sight before Matt could lift his gun to point at a target.

He was so focused on the gang leader that he almost didn’t notice the man vaulting the fence behind him, the one he’d shot at but hadn’t hit.

Whirling, Matt didn’t have time to properly aim and just sprayed bullets in that direction. By some miracle one hit the thug in the chest and he went down with a cry, and Matt rushed over and kicked the gun from his hand, then stood over the man as he gurgled and twitched for a few moments before going still.

It was horrible, watching him die. Even though Matt had acted in self defense and had little doubt about whether this man deserved his fate, the horrific sight was enough to turn his stomach. He staggered a few steps away and fell, retching.

Calls from the street, voices he recognized, dragged him back to his senses. Matt lurched back to his feet and stumbled over to pick up the dead man’s gun, then went in search of the other thug he’d shot to make sure he was dead as well and collect his weapon.

He almost got shot in the process, as Catherine and a dozen Aspen Hill residents moved down the street in pursuit of Razor. Chauncey, clutching a shotgun that might’ve been claimed from the man Matt had killed by the truck, had seen him and instinctively opened fire.

“Don’t shoot!” Matt yelled as the fence beside him blew apart. He hastily stood from his inspection of the dead gang member and let the man’s gun, along with his Glock, drop from his hands. “It’s me, I’m on your side!”

“Matt?” Chauncey said, hastily pointing his shotgun at the ground. The former teacher went white as he realized what he’d almost done. “Matt, I-I didn’t think. I just—”

“It’s fine,” Matt said, feeling slightly dizzy now as well as nauseous as his panicked mind worked its way to a full realization of what had almost happened. “I should’ve let you know I was here.”

Chauncey’s eyes dropped to the thug at Matt’s feet. “That’s who I thought I was shooting at,” he said lamely.

From up the street Catherine shouted. “Come on! You heard Razor, he’s headed for the south side of town! We can’t give him a chance to regroup and try anything else!”

Matt hastily stooped to pick up his dropped weapons, wondering what he was going to do with three handguns, all empty as far as he knew. He shoved them into his waistband and both front pockets and ran to join Chauncey as they followed the councilwoman up the street.

“Here,” the older man said, pulling his .45 off the holster at his hip. “I’ve got the shotgun.” He patted the straps of the pack on his back. “And if you’ve got any weight to unload I’ll take it.”

“Yeah, okay.” Matt hastily transferred his two new guns into the backpack, barely even aware of what kind they were, then tucked the offered .45 into his waistband while he checked his Glock. It still had five or six bullets, from what he could tell. “I don’t suppose you have any extra magazines or .45 or .40 ammo?”

“Sorry.” Chauncey grimaced. “This is a complete mess, isn’t it? Is your family okay?”

“I think so.” Matt tore his mind away from thoughts of those first moments through the shattered front door when he’d seen his mom and Sam. “Yours?”

“I sent Rick to check. Razor’s looters looked like they were going a different way, though, so I think they’re safe.”

They caught up to the rest of the group and Matt hurried forward to walk beside Catherine, Chauncey close behind. “I saw Razor booking it south along this street,” he said. “He might’ve changed his mind and set up an ambush, or left some people behind to attack us, but I think it might be safe to go faster.”

The councilwoman nodded. “Could you take Chauncey and go a street over, then run ahead? I don’t want to get caught by surprise.”

Matt glanced at the retired teacher, who sighed. “I’m too old for running,” he complained. But he took off at a jog for the nearest intersection as Matt hurried to catch up to him. They went fast, outpacing the Aspen Hill residents coming along the street behind them, and before too long they were on the next street running along it, peering anxiously through the yards and across gaps towards the street they’d just left. They made it three blocks without seeing anyone.

He almost missed it, passing along a plank fence running beside the sidewalk they were on. But one of the planks was missing and Matt slowed to peer through it, only to stop dead with ice trickling down his spine.

The yard he was looking into was fenced in on all sides, and along the fence on the opposite side four men were hiding, guns ready.

Razor had been bluffing with his talk of regrouping at the stream south of town. He’d planned to make it look like he was running to lure the residents of Aspen Hill into an ambush. Beside him Chauncey looked through the fence and saw what he saw, then groaned. “Radios,” he muttered. “I knew we should’ve passed out radios before we left! But we didn’t even have enough time to bring extra ammunition for our guns!”

Matt ignored him. He had no idea how close behind him Catherine and her group was. They could be walking into the trap even now. He shoved Chauncey. “Go around the block and see if you can find Catherine.”

Without waiting for a response, or even for the older man to recover his balance, Matt threw back his head and yelled at the top of his lungs. “AMBUSH! Razor’s leading you into an ambush!”

Through the gap in the fence he saw the four thugs curse and whirl towards him. Matt shoved Chauncey’s .45 into the hole and began firing at them, sending them all ducking for cover even though he missed spectacularly.

The retired teacher was still standing next to him. “For the love of-could you have found a way to warn them without giving away our position?” Without waiting for a response he finally bolted for the intersection back the way they’d come to do as Matt had asked. Or maybe just to get away.

Matt turned and ran the other way. Razor had the right idea with flanking, and if everyone’s attention was on Catherine’s group coming up the street, or where Matt had been shouting the next street over, then he might be able to catch someone by surprise. He reached the end of the block, where the fence continued sharply at a 90 degree angle to follow the intersecting sidewalk, and pelted around the corner with his .45 ready to bring to bear on the first target he saw.

In time to see Razor, not three feet away, raise his small caliber pistol to aim at Matt’s face and pull the trigger.

In the eternity that followed Matt heard a click instead of a bang, and in the brief moment where they both stared at each other in surprise he desperately lifted his .45 to shoot the gang leader point blank. He managed to get one shot off, hitting Razor in the hip, before the psycho knocked his .45 out of his hands. With a feral grin the gang leader yanked the straight razor out of his pocket, not even seeming to feel the gunshot he’d just taken, and slashed at him.

Matt fell backwards and time seemed to slow around him as he frantically scrabbled in his coat pocket with his free hand to pull out the bear spray. He probably should’ve reached for the Glock in his waistband instead, but the bear spray was an old familiar habit and in that panicked moment his first instinct.

Razor dove for him, slashing again, and in desperation Matt kicked with both feet and held the man back just long enough to aim the spray and shoot.

A searing pain along his leg told him Razor had got in a cut, but his spray hit home and the gang leader howled and fell off to the side, his weapon flying out of his hands. Matt dropped the spray and went after the shaving razor, even as Razor blindly caught at his legs and pulled Matt down on top of him. The smaller man flailed at him blindly, tearing Matt’s skin with his fingernails, while Matt stretched for all he was worth until his fingers closed around the razor’s handle.

He hunched and twisted, and as Razor stared at him through bloodshot eyes Matt plunged the man’s namesake into his throat.

The gang leader let him go and began thrashing and gurgling in his death throes. Matt scrambled away, not quite believing what had just happened, and went after his .45. His fingers had just closed around the grip when he heard a scream from farther down the street.

“Razor’s dead! They got him!”

Matt heard some yells and cursing from the other side of the fence he stood beside, farther down near the street ahead, then the four members of Razor’s gang he’d seen earlier vaulted over it and fled south down the street, outright running in panic. Without their leader it looked as if the fight was over.

Relieved, he dragged himself to his feet with his pistol clutched in his hand and limped along the sidewalk to follow the thugs and make sure they didn’t stop running until they were well out of town.

He was almost to the street when a knot of Aspen Hill residents burst past him, Catherine in front. The councilwoman whirled towards him, lifting her weapon, and Matt froze, expecting to be the target of friendly fire for the second time in less than fifteen minutes. Luckily she recognized him and stopped. Then her eyes widened as she looked past him to where Razor lay.

“It’s true, he’s dead!” she called, lowering her weapon and rushing towards Matt. She dropped into a crouch, tearing off the sleeve of her shirt to wrap around the deep cut Razor had made just above his knee, and called over her shoulder. “Someone go get Terry and tell him we have wounded, including his brother-in-law! The rest of you keep chasing those monsters out of our town!”

Chapter Eight

Aftermath

The fighting that started so brutally had a grim ending. Some of Razor’s thugs ended up running after their leader died, others got surrounded and fought until the very end or surrendered. More skulked from house to house looting and committing atrocities and then vanished through the outskirts of town when a group was assembled to flush them out.

All in all 31 refugees were killed and 11 wounded, while 7 had been taken prisoner and were being held in the back of the storehouse until the rest of the town could be completely secured and they could be transferred over to the cells beneath the town hall.

Among the townspeople the numbers were nearly reversed, with 26 injured, 14 killed, and dozens unaccounted for who had likely fled the town to escape the fighting. Matt was saddened to learn that three women hadn’t been as fortunate as Sam and Alice, and a dozen more would’ve faced the same fate if their attackers had found the time during the chaos. A small group of teenaged girls had been kidnapped, tied and gagged and kept under guard by a few members of Razor’s gang who ended up running away after his death. If the thugs could be said to have any saving grace, it was that in spite of their barbarity at the very least they’d left the terrified girls unharmed when they fled.

Another sad loss that struck the town hard were the newlyweds Andrew and Kristy Metford, married only a few weeks before the Gulf refineries attack. The town’s defenders going door to door to make sure everyone was all right found the young couple on the couch in their living room, their house one of the first the looters visited. It looked as if neither one had even realized there was any danger until members of Razor’s gang broke through the door and murdered them in cold blood before going on to loot the house.

Andrew’s father Abel arrived too late to save them, although Matt heard he’d gone after the looters on his own and played a big part in driving them out of town. Those that escaped his wrath, that is. He would’ve pursued any who fled out beyond Aspen Hill’s borders if one of the groups Catherine had sent out to secure the town hadn’t convinced him to come back with them.

In the aftermath the townspeople were stirred to a boil by the atrocities committed in the attack, and many of those who’d gathered in front of Tillman’s Sporting Goods were shouting that they should go out to the refugee camp and drive the rest of the refugees away, then resume the roadblocks and patrols to make sure they stayed away.

For his part Matt’s own blood was still boiling at what had been done to his mom and Sam, and even worse what his beloved almost suffered. The thought of it was enough to make him want to lead the charge to the camp.

Not that he was in any shape to charge anywhere at the moment, laid down on one of the cots Ferris’s soldiers had slept on inside the store when it had been their headquarters. Terry had his hands full trying to help the more seriously wounded, including Carl Raymond. He was helped by April, Chauncey, Sam, and a few others. Matt’s mom was there as well, seated on a camp chair near where Terry worked and reading to her grandsons through puffy red eyes. To his relief she looked much recovered from the pepper spray, although she blew her nose often and frequently dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

After a quick look at Matt’s cut Terry had told him to rinse it out thoroughly with mild soap and water, then bind it tightly again until he found time to stitch it up. Bad as the wound was it wasn’t life threatening, which put Matt low on the list of people who needed his immediate attention. With that advice his brother-in-law went back to the more seriously wounded.

Matt complied, although he wondered if he shouldn’t be using stronger antiseptics considering the weapon used to cut him. There was no telling how many other people that razor had tormented, and who knew how well or how often it had been cleaned. As Matt worked on cleaning the cut Sam broke away from helping Terry whenever she had a spare moment to come over and help him, and then once he finished that and bandaged it again she’d sit lightly on the cot by his head and stroke his hair, whispering comfortingly.

Her soothing wasn’t completely for his wounds. Matt couldn’t help but ask her if she was doing okay every time she came over, and he kept trying to convince her to get Terry to look at her to make sure she hadn’t been more seriously hurt than she realized. It made an odd situation, with both of them trying to make a big deal about the other’s injuries while downplaying their own.

Finally Sam kissed him firmly on the mouth and left to turn her focus completely to helping Terry, satisfied that if he had enough energy to fuss over her he couldn’t be that bad off. He still caught her looking at him whenever she had a spare moment, though.

From Matt’s place in the store it was a bit hard to see what was going on outside, although he could certainly hear it. He did have a good view of Councilwoman Tillman and the other two remaining members of the City Council just outside the store, doing their best to maintain order as the crowd in front of them grew larger and became increasingly more unruly as tempers flared. To start off they’d tried to distract the townspeople with electing a new Mayor in the wake of Anderson’s murder, but that didn’t last long since there was only one obvious choice.

The town would have an election to get everyone’s vote, of course, but in the interim the crowd had unanimously nominated Catherine Tillman. Not only had she kept her head during the crisis and led the defense of the town, but she’d shown herself to be far more reasonable and levelheaded than her predecessor.

Matt approved of the decision. He just hoped she hadn’t taken the office right in time to watch the town disintegrate around her.

The new Mayor was doing her best to prevent that right at the moment, trying to impose order on the chaos of the crowd. But in spite of the respect the townspeople had for her tensions were too high, and most of them wanted to vent their rage at what they’d suffered at Razor’s hands.

“We don’t have time for this!” she finally snapped. “We’ve got to chase down the rest of Razor’s gang, we’ve got to restore order in the town and secure our borders as soon as possible, we’ve got to figure out where our next meal is coming from now that Ferris has emptied our storehouse, and most of all we need to figure out what to do about the refugees!”

That quieted the crowd somewhat. “I say we’ve been nice enough to those vicious parasites,” Ian Childress called. “Let’s do what we should’ve done in the first place and run them off, make sure they all stay far, far away from Aspen Hill.”

“Why stop there?” Abel demanded. He’d come to get help burying his son and daughter-in-law, but stayed as the crowd gathered. “After what they did to my boy and his wife I say they deserve the same. Let’s go in and shoot every last one of them!”

“Every last one?” Catherine demanded, raising her voice to a shout over the murmurs of agreement. “Including all the innocent men, women, and children who had nothing to do with Razor’s gang and if anything lived in greater fear of them than we did? We’ve all heard the rumors of what’s been going on in the refugee camp. I agree we need to punish the guilty, and we will. But the others deserve our sympathy, not our anger.”

“We’ve given them enough sympathy!” Ian shouted. “Thanks to Ferris they got far more “sympathy” than they deserved.”

The new Mayor raised herself up to her full height on the impromptu platform she’d made of the hood of the car nearest to the entrance to the store. “I wonder how much of our anger at the refugees is there to cover our guilt for how we’ve been treating them,” she said firmly. “For the uncharitable thoughts we’ve had of them, for how we’ve ignored their plight when we could’ve helped.”

An angry roar of protest rose from the crowd and she shouted over it. “I’m not talking about food! I’m talking about all the other ways we could have helped them but didn’t because we were jealous of our food and thought giving them anything meant we’d have to give them everything.”

Catherine pointed back at the storehouse. “Well now we don’t have any food either. We’re in the same desperate plight as the refugees. It’s time to forget everything that’s happened and do things a new way, go forward instead of looking back.”

“I won’t share any more food,” Chauncey shouted from his place at the front of the crowd. “And after Ferris I’m not about to let the town take anything from me at gunpoint, either. If you want to rob me in the name of the public good you’d better be ready to shoot me and have one less mouth to feed.”

This spurred another rumble of agreement. “No!” the new Mayor shouted, sounding frustrated. “That’s not what I mean at all and you know it. In fact, just to prove that I’m proposing we implement two new resolutions effective immediately. First and foremost no more theft, not by individuals and not by any authority, official or unofficial. I propose Aspen Hill dedicate itself to protecting the personal property of all its citizens with no exceptions. Any theft will be punishable by exile. I want the town to work together to survive, but ultimately it’s up to each and every one one of us to see to our own needs and no one has the right to prevent us in that. Charity is one thing, but now that Ferris is gone that charity will be completely voluntary, each person’s own decision to make and with no stigma if they keep what they have.”

The crowd quieted. There were no calls of agreement for Catherine’s proposal, but at the same time the dissent was dying down. She didn’t look especially pleased by the lukewarm response but she stoically continued. “Second, we crack down on crime. Hard. Ferris let Razor and those like him commit atrocities while he looked the other way, but we won’t. We’ll do our best to follow our country’s best tradition of fair and unbiased justice, but since we can’t afford to care for prisoners that leaves us with two options: for lesser crimes we can think of some useful punishment, but for major crimes the penalty must be either death or exile.”

This finally drew some approving shouts from the crowd, although from the way the new Mayor was shaking her head she didn’t seem to like where the townspeople’s thoughts were going. “As I’ve said theft will result in exile, as will unprovoked violence and a host of similar crimes. The death penalty is far more serious, and we’ll have to think hard about what crimes are deserving of it and of each individual case that requires it. But I think it’s safe to suggest that we should put any members of Razor’s gang we capture on trial with a sentence of execution if they’re found guilty, not just for the sake of justice but for the safety of the town.”

Matt found himself nodding, and over where Sam was helping Carl Raymond with a drink of water she was nodding as well. In truth it was almost a relief to have Catherine speaking reason after all of Ferris’s insanity.

The new Mayor took a deep breath. “Now I’m going to suggest something that will solve many of our problems, but will require a lot of work and cooperation and above all rethinking a lot of our biases. I’m certain you’re not going to like my idea at first, but hear me out.”

* * *

Catherine was right, the townspeople didn’t like her suggestion. Didn’t like it at all.

But they heard her out, and after over an hour of heated debate and more than a little shouting, along with some people leaving in a huff, most of the town agreed to go along with it. Now close to a hundred residents of Aspen Hill were making their way towards the refugee camp, most of them armed.

Matt limped at the head of the group beside Catherine, leg sutured and properly bandaged by a frazzled Terry who clearly hadn’t been ready to go from interning as a surgeon in a clean and orderly hospital to what basically amounted to battlefield triage. Sam walked at his side to offer a shoulder when he stumbled, but mostly so she could stay close to him.

He was surprised to find that he’d become the town hero as word spread of his part in the attack. Not only had he broken through the attackers at the back door of the storehouse in his nearly suicidal charge and given the townspeople a way out so they could take the fight to Razor’s thugs and retake their town, but he’d been the one to kill Razor himself and effectively end the fight.

Matt was embarrassed by the attention, especially since he felt like he hadn’t really set out to do any of what he’d done. He’d just been responding to the situation as best he could. And every time he looked at Sam’s bruised face he was reminded that in spite of everything else he’d failed to protect her.

She didn’t seem to see it that way, though. When he looked into her eyes there was no blame there, only love and pride. His gratitude that she was in his life was compounded by his gratitude that she was still here with him after the terrifying afternoon they’d had.

When the townspeople reached the camp they found the refugees in a panic. Obviously they’d seen them coming up Main, the same way the people of Aspen Hill had watched Razor coming from the camp, and assumed they were there for the same thing. Many were outright fleeing, while others ducked behind whatever cover they could find clutching rocks, sticks, or other makeshift weapons. Matt could hear children crying and women screaming.

Catherine hurried ahead of the group to try to deal with the panic. “We’re not here to fight!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, holding out empty hands. “We’re just here to talk! Nobody will be harmed.”

Her reassurances didn’t seem to do much to help, but the camp quieted down to tense silence as the townspeople got close enough to be in range if the refugees started hurling rocks, although thankfully no one did. With some help the new Mayor found a table to stand on and climbed atop it.

“Razor’s dead,” she said first thing. “He tried to attack the town and failed. The men who followed him are either dead, captured, or have run away.”

The tenseness in the camp ratcheted up a notch. Matt wondered how many of these people had known Razor was going to attack the town, or for that matter had approved. And once again he had his doubts about whether Catherine’s idea was prudent.

“The roadblock is going back up,” she continued firmly. This elicited an angry roar from the refugees, along with hurled insults and obscenities. Catherine raised her hands for quiet but didn’t receive it, so she raised her voice instead. “The roadblock is going up, but all of you are going to be inside it with us!”

The angry shouts faded to confusion, and standing behind and a bit to the side of the table Matt sucked in a nervous breath.

That was the new Mayor’s solution. The surest way to have lasting peace with the refugees and end the trouble in the camp was to invite them into town as citizens. Since Ferris had taken all the food the original reason for keeping them out was gone, and if things continued as they were nobody would be able to focus on surviving the winter because they’d be too busy suspiciously watching each other or even fighting. They needed to cooperate, which required a show of trust.

That was the idea, at least. Matt had no idea if it would work in practice.

“We can’t feed you,” Catherine continued firmly. “We can’t feed ourselves either. Ferris left the storehouse empty and that’s the plain truth. But we’ve decided to move our people out of enough houses for you to all have shelter for the winter. We’re also willing to lend you firearms and ammo, provided you swear on a Bible to use them for the defense of the town. We’ll allow you to send men along on our hunting parties and forage for food on any Aspen Hill public land, and keep whatever food you find or hunt, aside from a portion of the meat going to the town for the rent of the rifles and ammo.”

There was silence among the refugees. “It’s not a perfect offer or a perfect solution,” the new Mayor said, still calm but rushing her words slightly due to the lukewarm reception. “But nothing about this situation is perfect and it’s the best we can do. We’ll give you the tools to feed yourselves if you’re able, and be right there beside you working to feed ourselves as well. It’s time for us to stop fighting and cooperate or none of us will survive the winter.”

The silence stretched on, as if trying to crush the older woman with its weight. But it looked as if the refugees were at least thinking it over.

While they were doing that Scott stepped up on the table beside his wife. “The town has a few conditions,” he called. “Fair ones. First of all we want you to give up anyone who was involved in today’s attack on the town, planning or carrying it out. However you may feel about us “townies” or your situation in the camp, that attack was unprovoked and the men involved committed heinous atrocities, including against innocent women. We want those who can be positively identified brought to justice.”

“They were just trying to get us our fair share from the storehouse!” one refugee protested.

Scott turned a hard eye on the woman. “They killed 14 of us, looted our houses, and violated three women. If you don’t give Razor’s people up our offer is off the table, and we’ll even go a step further. Since we won’t know for sure who among you attacked us we’ll have no choice but to drive you all out of camp and far away from Aspen Hill, then do whatever’s necessary to make sure you don’t come back.”

“You think me and other women in camp haven’t been violated?” the same refugee shouted. “You think there weren’t murders among the tents? You didn’t do anything when it was happening to us, but suddenly when your own are affected it becomes a problem you have to do something about?”

Catherine put a hand on her husband’s arm before he could answer. “Administrator Ferris is the one who let the situation in camp get so out of hand,” she said firmly. “He took control of the town and put Officer Turner under his direct command. He confiscated our firearms so we couldn’t have intervened even if we’d dared to go against his directives, and then he ignored everything that happened to you because Razor kept the camp quiet and that’s all he cared about. Yes, it’s horrible, and yes, it’s not fair, but don’t try to pin your problems on us.”

She paused, then continued. “In fact you should be thanking us, because now Razor’s dead and Ferris is gone and we’re in a position to punish those responsible for everything that’s been happening to you and stop them from committing any further depravities. So give up the rest of the thugs who’ve been terrorizing you, come into town and spend the winter in warm houses, and let’s put the bitterness and hatred behind us.”

Scott held up his hands again. “With two more conditions. First, the town guarantees everyone the right to their own property. There’ll be no more gathering up and distributing food or anything else. To add to that anyone caught stealing will be exiled, no matter the circumstances, and if they try to return they’ll be turned away. That goes for refugees and townies alike. Secondly the violence stops. Now. Anyone caught disturbing the peace will also be exiled or, if their crime is severe enough, executed. Land and order is returning to Aspen Hill.”

“The choice is yours,” Catherine continued as her husband fell silent. “Come into town, head to Price or some other place where you might have better options, or even stay in the camp if you wish. But as of this moment the camp is also part of Aspen Hill, subject to our laws, and anyone caught breaking them will receive the same punishment.”

She looked around at the crowd of refugees, hundreds in all, and her voice became firm. “Now. We want Razor’s people, or any information you have on them.”

* * *

Hundreds of refugees took to the road to head for Price, distrustful of the offer to join the town right after it had come under attack by people from their camp. The rest, 338 people in all, were invited in, and Catherine managed to find enough families to double up to make room in houses for all of them. That included the Watts’s house, as April and Terry and their boys moved back into the Larsons’ house.

Not a single one of Razor’s accomplices was turned in. The remaining refugees insisted that everyone in the gang had taken part in the attack and none had returned to camp afterwards. Others who might have known about the attack fled with the group going to Price. Catherine wasn’t too happy about that, but under the circumstances decided it wasn’t worth pursuing the matter.

Most of the women Razor had kept in his employ, not all entirely willingly, had also headed south to Price, but a few were welcomed into Aspen Hill. They were happy to give detailed descriptions of everyone in Razor’s gang, identifying the bodies of those who’d died attacking the town and giving the names and faces of those who’d escaped. That included some 27 men, including one of Razor’s top men named Simons. Catherine made sure the descriptions were ready to be passed around when the patrols started up again that evening.

Things had just begun to be sorted out and the storehouse was still a busy hub of activity as volunteers from the town and even a few from among the refugees were directed in everything that needed doing. Matt would’ve liked to help, but Terry insisted he stay off his leg as much as possible or he’d tear open the sutures. Lacking antibiotics there was also the possibility the wound would become infected, especially considering its source, and he needed to rest and keep his strength in case he became feverish.

So Matt sought Catherine out to excuse himself and head home with his mom and nephews. Terry, April, and Sam were going to stick around to continue to help as much as they could, and Matt hoped they stayed safe.

Before reaching the new Mayor he was intercepted by one of the refugees, an older man who’d done most of the speaking for his people. “Matt Larson?” he asked stiffly. “The man who killed Razor?”

Matt nodded, a bit wary. “That’s right.”

The refugee abruptly held out his hand. “Ben Thompson. On behalf of the camp I wanted you to know how grateful we are for ridding us of that parasite.”

That was a bit of a surprise. Matt had assumed the refugees looked up to Razor as their leader. “Do you speak for the refugees now?”

Ben snorted. “Now? I’ve always spoken for them.” At Matt’s confused look he motioned irritably in the direction of the camp. “We all did what Razor said or we faced the consequences, but it was me everyone came to for help. I did what I could without getting myself killed.” As he spoke those last words he rubbed absently at a faded bruise on his cheek.

Matt felt a bit bad that he’d avoided learning anything about the refugee camp, probably to avoid feeling guilty about not doing anything to help them. He hadn’t realized anyone but Razor was looked to as a leader there, although he supposed the decent people who’d endured the rule of Razor’s gang would have their own opinions on things.

A slightly uncomfortable silence settled. The attack was too new and feelings were too raw to share pleasantries, and while Matt had nothing against Ben he still felt a bit wary of the refugee. For the older man’s part he seemed to be holding back resentment. Matt supposed prejudices that had been building up for over a month wouldn’t disappear overnight.

“Do you think your people will be able to get along?” Matt asked, then immediately regretted his choice of words.

“With townies?” Ben scowled slightly. “We’re not too fond of you, I can tell you that much. But I can also tell you that Razor set the bar pretty low when it came to our treatment. Give us time and a little kindness and we’ll come around eventually.”

Matt thought giving up dozens of houses was fairly kind, but he knew what the man meant. “Hopefully we can talk again, Ben, but at the moment I’m having trouble just staying on my feet.”

“I’m not surprised. Most people Razor got to with that shaver of his didn’t do much walking afterwards.” Ben shook his hand again, and Matt continued on to where Catherine was speaking to a huddle of townspeople and refugees, sorting out housing arrangements.

To his surprise when he approached the new Mayor she excused herself and pulled him aside, out of earshot of everyone else in the storehouse. “I haven’t seen Ed for almost a week. Did something happen to him?”

Matt hesitated. “He went to look for food.”

Catherine smiled grimly. “Now that’s a cagey answer if ever I’ve heard one. Didn’t you hear me promise the town everyone’s property will be protected? There’s no need to be fearful or suspicious anymore, so wherever he is you can tell me. I won’t give away your secrets or try to take what’s yours.”

He supposed that was true, although he wasn’t nearly as trusting of everyone else. Especially when the refugees who’d been thieving from residents of Aspen Hill just yesterday were now living next door. Still, it was Catherine he was talking to. “Trev had a cache 50 miles north of town,” he whispered. “He gifted it to my family when he and Lewis headed out.”

“Is that why you didn’t use the ration line?” she asked, eyes widening in understanding.

Matt hesitated. “Yes and no. We haven’t managed to get any of it yet and have just been doing our best to get by. But now we’re out of food and have been since Ferris took what little we had, and since we couldn’t go through the ration line our situation’s even worse. Dad felt responsible for that so he’s gone off on his own to collect as much as he can. That was 5 days ago, though, and I’m worried about whether he can make the trip. Especially with Razor’s men out there.”

“I understand.” The older woman pulled him into a sincere hug. “He’ll be in our prayers, and I’ll ask the patrols to keep an eye out for him.” She must have felt him stiffen in alarm. “Without letting them know anything else,” she promised hastily.

Matt pulled away. “Thank you.” He started to turn to leave but paused when Catherine rested a hand on his arm.

“One more thing. I want you to take over for Officer Turner leading the town’s defenses.”

Matt’s jaw dropped in shock. “What?”

“I’m not joking, Matt. You’re the town hero and you showed us today you have what it takes to defend us.”

“But I’m injured,” he protested. “And anyway I need to take care of my family. Not to mention I have no idea how Turner organized everything or how to do any of it myself.”

Catherine gave him a weary smile. “Nobody’s expecting you to be perfect overnight. We’ll muddle by until you’re healed enough to get started, and you’ll have good people helping you every step of the way. I think it will make a lot of people in town feel safer knowing the man who killed Razor is defending them.”

“The only reason he didn’t shoot me in the head is because he ran out of bullets,” Matt argued. “Besides, wouldn’t Scott be better for the job? Or Tam? Or Chauncey, or half a dozen other people I could name off the top of my head.”

The new Mayor patted his arm again. “Think about it, at least.” Her expression suddenly darkened, becoming reluctant and almost frightened. “But if you’re well enough tomorrow we need to prepare a firing squad for the prisoners, as well as organize a mass grave for Razor’s men and proper funerals for all the townspeople who died. I’d appreciate any help you could offer.”

Matt could understand her revulsion. He’d killed men today to defend himself, but an execution was something else entirely. He wasn’t sure he could do it. “So the firing squad is going to happen?”

“We’ll have a trial, as any lawful town would, but I think we both know what the outcome will be.” She sighed. “What are the alternatives? Keep them in prison and feed them when decent law abiding citizens are starving to death, or exile them and watch them prey on other innocents out in the world the same way they did to us? I’d rather have their deaths on my head than the deaths of any innocents they might harm.”

“What if they’re not all murderers?” Matt asked.

Catherine held up a hand. “Don’t!” she said fiercely. “Remember the people who died today, and what happened to some of those who didn’t. These men willingly went along with all of it. It’s going to be hard enough to do what I need to do tomorrow without doubting myself, so don’t put any more weight on my shoulders.”

Her shoulders. “Will you be the judge?”

The older woman suddenly looked too weary to stand. “No,” she said quietly. “I’ll be the executioner who upholds whatever ruling the judge decides on. Is that any better?”

Matt suddenly felt as if all the weariness he could see in Catherine had settled on him as well. He hated the entire business, but at the same time he wasn’t sure he even wanted to press the issue. “Good night, Mayor.”

* * *

It was impossible to sleep when Matt got home with his mom and nephews. Every time he tried he’d come awake to the sound of phantom gunshots, his heart hammering in his throat. Once he even dreamed up Razor leaning over him to slit his throat, but it was only his mom draping a blanket over him. He’d fallen asleep on the couch with his .40 next to him, ready to shoot anyone who tried to force their way through the broken front door that he’d barricaded with a dresser.

After the scare with his mom he thought better of that and decided the chances were higher of accidentally shooting a family member in trigger-happy paranoia, so he stuffed the pistol under a couch cushion and determined that he’d well and truly identify an attacker before going for it. It might get him killed, but better that than the alternative in his current state.

He lay in the dark for what seemed like an eternity before the back door finally opened and he heard the soft murmur of women’s voices. April and Sam came into the living room, and when Matt sat up to greet them they both screamed.

“Easy!” he said. “I thought I was jumpy.”

“Are you kidding?” his sister nearly shouted, slapping at him in the dark. “What are you doing on the couch?”

“You guys are in the guest room and Sam’s taking my room,” he said. “Also I wanted to guard the entrances, just in case. Did Terry stay behind?”

He caught the silhouette of April nodding. “He needs to keep an eye on the wounded. It’s going to be a long night for him, and he’s worried he won’t be able to save them all.” She lowered her voice. “Actually he’s worried he won’t even be able to save some of the ones he could have. He’s doing his best, but he doesn’t have the training or equipment to help half the people who need him.”

“He’s doing great,” Matt assured her, although halfway through his words were interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn.

Sam came over to sit on the couch next to him, and he felt her soft hands cup his face. “Go to sleep, Matt. In your own bed. I can keep watch down here.”

Matt shook his head. “I can’t sleep so I might as well keep an eye out. You should be comfortable in bed.”

The dark-haired woman made a noise that might have been frustration. “You’re injured!” At his stubborn silence she abruptly leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. “Fine. I’ll sit with you for a while since I can’t sleep either.”

He wanted to protest, but he also desperately wanted her company. So they said their good nights to April and sat together on the couch with the blanket wrapped around them, talking quietly about everything that had happened. Matt told Sam about Catherine’s offer to lead the town’s defenses, and unsurprisingly she insisted that if he wanted to do it she’d do everything she could to help.

In spite of his nerves being with her calmed him down, and at some point he must’ve fallen asleep. He woke up with a start sometime later with no idea what time it was, sprawled halfway across the armrest with Sam curled up against his shoulder.

It wasn’t a phantom noise this time. He could hear a quiet rustling from the direction of the kitchen.

Matt carefully extricated himself from the couch, ignoring Sam’s sleepy murmur of protest as she wrapped herself tighter in the blanket and curled up against the back of the couch, and reached under the cushion to grab the pistol. He also reached into the lamp table’s drawer to get the flashlight they kept there.

It might be Terry coming back from the storehouse, or April or his mom pottering around the house unable to sleep. It might even, the thought filled him with a surge of hope, be his dad safely home.

He limped towards the noise, flashlight ready to flick on and point at whoever it was he heard. He wanted to wait until he had a clear view at least in case it was an enemy, since shining a light around would reveal his position and make him an easy target.

When he reached the kitchen he realized the noise was coming from the pantry, so he cautiously made his way over there. He could see light filtering out from beneath the closed door, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. They hadn’t used the pantry since Ferris’s first inspection because there was nothing in there.

Holding his breath, he groped for the doorknob with the hand holding the flashlight, getting his Glock ready. Then in one quick surge he threw open the door, stepped back, flicked the flashlight on, and aimed both the light and the gun inside the small room.

Wide green eyes stared at him with a deer in the headlights expression and Matt drew in a startled breath. “You.”

Mandy Townsend slowly set down the empty #10 can she’d been peering inside and turned to fully face him, doing her best to appear calm. “Oh hey. Matt. Good to see you’re okay.” She started to step forward, extending her hand as if to shake.

“Don’t!” Matt said sharply, easing the slack on the trigger until it was nearly on the point of firing. Mandy froze, but just to be safe he took a few steps back to put some distance between them.

To be honest he wasn’t really surprised it was her. She’d lived in the house so she knew her way around it, and from everything he’d heard about her from Sam and his parents, as well as his own observations the few times he’d had the misfortune of seeing her, sneaking into the house of people who’d been kind to her to burglarize it in the night seemed right up her alley. And after she’d lied about Trev and his promise to let her stay in town Matt had zero sympathy for her.

“You’ve heard Mayor Tillman’s new policies, right?” he demanded. “The punishment for anyone caught committing theft is exile.”

Her green eyes widened further in a nearly convincing show of confusion and dismay. “Policies? Theft? I don’t know what you mean. I just came to beg your folks to let me stay here again. I have nowhere else to go and you’ve been so kind to me.”

“Doing that begging in our pantry?” Matt asked sarcastically. “How stupid do you think I am? Also did you honestly think you’d find food in there after Ferris has been all over this place?”

“It’s not like that!” Mandy insisted. “One of Razor’s guys, Teddy, has been hassling me. After Ferris left I had no choice but to go back to the refugee camp and he basically grabbed me and—” she broke off with a shudder. “Anyway he forced me to break into your house and look for food. He said he’d hurt me and you guys if I didn’t. You don’t want to hear what he threatened to do to Sam.”

Matt felt his anger boil over, not because he believed her but for the exact opposite reason. She was blatantly trying to exploit his feelings for the woman he loved to push his buttons and manipulate him. After what Sam had been through during Razor’s attack and because of his feelings for the dark-haired woman, Mandy’s tactic was unforgivable. “So which is it, you came to beg us to let you back in or this Teddy punk is making you steal from us?”

“Both!” she insisted. “When I saw you didn’t have any food I knew he was going to punish me, so I was planning to beg you guys to protect me.” She hunched over slightly, hands fluttering in front of her stomach, and gave him a pathetic look. “I can’t go back out there and I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

The blond woman’s deceptions were almost convincing enough to be believable, mostly because she seemed to believe them herself. No wonder she’d been able to turn everyone in Aspen Hill against Trev even though everyone knew and liked him. She was willing to make completely outrageous claims and fully invest in making people believe them.

Too bad they were so transparent. “A few problems with your story, Mandy. First off we were told Razor’s gang hadn’t gone back to the camp, any of them. Second of all we headed there not long after the attack and invited the refugees to come into town. I notice you didn’t mention any of that, though. Have you even been out to the camp at all today?”

“Matt?” Sam hissed, padding into the kitchen. Matt glanced over just long enough to see her clutching the revolver she’d gotten off the looter. “What’s going on?”

“Your boyfriend’s pointing a gun at me, Sam!” Mandy shouted from the pantry.

“Shut up!” Matt snapped. He turned towards his girlfriend just long enough to answer. “It’s Mandy trying to rob us.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sam said, expression darkening. “After everything we’ve been through today we have to put up with her now?”

“Not for long. I’m going to take her to the storehouse to see what the Mayor wants to do about her.”

Sam pocketed the small revolver. “I’ll come too.”

“I’d feel more comfortable if you were here to guard the house while me and Terry are both gone.”

“Oh, right.” Sam came over and gave him a quick kiss, glancing into the pantry at Mandy as she did. Without saying a word to the blond woman she turned and made her way back into the living room.

Matt reached into the drawer where his mom kept twine for tying up herbs to dry and pulled out a length, then bound Mandy’s hands behind her. “Ooh, I feel like such a dangerous criminal,” she said sarcastically over her shoulder.

“A criminal, at least. Although you’re definitely more dangerous than you look, especially to your friends.” Matt put away his gun and prodded between her shoulders. “Come on, out the way you came in. Let’s get this over with.”

The blond woman stomped towards the back door, where Matt had to open it for her, then shine the light down the stairs to keep her from tripping. They walked across the yard in silence, but once they reached the gate Mandy turned to glare at him as he opened it. “You think your precious Samantha’s any different than me?” she asked, voice dripping with spite.

Matt fought the urge to laugh. “Yeah I do, actually. You guys are just about complete opposites.”

“Oh really?” The blond woman gave him a contemptuous look. “You took her in, fed her, and gave her everything else she needed. The only difference is that you’re such a sucker that she just had to bat her eyelashes to get everything she wanted from you, while I’ve had to work to survive.”

Now he did laugh. “Do you have any idea how sad it is that you think the only value you could possibly have is sex, and you think Sam’s the same? You couldn’t be more wrong. Sam’s part of the family, and she’s earned her place through hard work, kindness, optimism, and determination. She reminds me every day that bad as the world’s become there’s still more to life than hardship and suffering.”

“If you believe she’s like that you really are stupid,” Mandy snapped. “But even if she’s the saint you claim what does that make you? You’re helping her hoping to get something in return and you know it.”

If he were less secure in himself or his feelings about Sam then Mandy’s toxic accusation might have gotten to him, at least a little. But as it was he just gave her a pitying look. “I wouldn’t want to look at the world through your eyes. Are you even capable of finding good in anyone or anything?”

She wiggled her bound arms, then jerked her head towards the storehouse as if to remind him of the earlier attack. “Look around. Any good in the world was just an illusion, waiting for the first real disaster to show that it never existed at all. You of all people should know that by now.”

Matt was already forming a counter argument, that the good was in people not in the world and because she lacked it in herself she couldn’t see it in anyone else. But he was frankly sick of talking to her so he just walked on in silence.

He trusted the new Mayor to stick to her guns, and he really hoped that started with exiling Mandy.

Chapter Nine

New Arrivals

The week following Ferris leaving and Razor’s attack was much more hectic for Matt, but in many ways also far less tense.

The entire town quickly started to show new energy now that the people were back in charge of things. Now they were able to seek food without having to worry about Ferris stepping in and confiscating it, and for that matter weren’t encouraged to sit around completely reliant on the ration line for their meals. And Matt felt far safer with a gun at his hip and the knowledge that all his trusted friends and neighbors were armed too. The entire town felt safer, and people actually started wandering the streets once more.

They dealt with the captured members of Razor’s gang the next day, just as Mayor Tillman had promised they would. Chauncey radioed Price first thing in the morning asking about bringing the prisoners down to them for justice, but after some debate between the Price city government and the FETF coordinators they’d come back and insisted that, while they were accepting all newly arrived refugees, criminals were another matter.

Between that and the residual ill will Price had for Aspen Hill after their refusal to help the refugees, either their own or those gathering in the massive camp outside the county seat, the result had been that Chauncey was told they’d have to deal with the prisoners on their own. When the retired teacher pressed for details about just what exactly that entailed the people on the other end had effectively washed their hands of the issue and signed off.

Which meant Catherine’s fears that the town might have to resort to executions were realized. The new Mayor announced trials soon afterwards and the town agreed on Hubert Peterson, one of the two remaining councilmen, as judge. Bert was one of the oldest people in town, who’d retired to a simple life after a long career as a lawyer. He also had a reasonable temperament and had a reputation for weighing the facts fairly, and most agreed he was a good pick for the job.

The trials were fairly straightforward. Witnesses were gathered to testify against each individual member of Razor’s gang, from among both the townspeople and the refugees, about any crimes they’d seen that man commit either during the attack or at any point after arriving in the refugee camp. The witness standards were fairly rigorous, since the intended sentence was death by firing squad and the crimes had to be severe enough to warrant it.

It turned out that wasn’t an issue. Every single man they’d captured had been involved in Razor’s attack and had attempted or carried out rape or murder, and for most there were also plenty of refugee witnesses to similar crimes out in the camp. It only took a few hours for Bert to settle on a guilty verdict and a sentence of execution for every single prisoner except Al, the man Lewis and Trev had captured a month ago who’d been sitting in prison beneath town hall all this time. Al was sentenced to exile.

Although Matt still had reservations about the executions, if it was going to happen he couldn’t justify asking others to do it while he stood by and watched. So he joined a dozen other men in the firing squad while the prisoners were lined up against a wall a short distance away.

Scott Tillman had stocked a few boxes of blanks in his store before the attack, and as he passed out rifles in the appropriate caliber he assured them that half the guns would be loaded with live ammo and half with the blanks. Matt knew that was fairly standard practice in firing squads, to help the consciences of those doing what had to be done, but even so the thought that he might end up with blanks was a bit reassuring.

He’d had too much of killing the day before.

Once the task was complete he discovered his leg was at the ends of its strength. He felt a bit guilty being unable to help with the shoveling for the graves, both the mass graves for the attackers and the individual graves for the townspeople who’d lost their lives, but even if those who cared about him had allowed him to do something that would certainly reopen his wound he could admit to himself that physically he wasn’t up to it.

One bright note was that one of the refugees who’d been working for Razor assured him that even though the man had cut dozens of people with the weapon he was also obsessive about keeping it clean. Matt hoped that meant his chances of infection were lower, although he did feel feverish for the next few days.

After talking it over with Sam and his family Matt sought out Catherine before the funerals for the citizens of Aspen Hill that evening and told her he would take the job leading the town’s defenses. His leg wasn’t up to anything active, but with the help of the new Mayor and a few others, including a similarly wounded Carl Raymond who was off his feet, Matt organized the construction of new roadblocks, planned patrol routes, and began organizing volunteers into shifts for both.

It turned out there were far more volunteers now than there had been back when the town had seen to its own defense before Ferris came. Not only were the residents of Aspen Hill much more invested in defending their town after the attack but the remaining refugees seemed serious about policing their own to prevent someone like Razor from forming another gang. Matt had hundreds of volunteers to work with, most of whom had some experience with firearms.

While he couldn’t go out and about he could carry out interviews for everyone applying, which he did with the help of Chauncey Watson and Scott Tillman. The other two men only thought interviews necessary for refugee applicants, but Matt insisted he wanted to speak to everyone, both out of fairness as well as pragmatism. They’d be entrusting these people with firearms from the storehouse, after all.

Although for that Matt had to coordinate with Catherine about the use of the weapons: finding food was as important as the town’s defense, in some ways even more important. From the first day the new Mayor armed as many people who were good with a rifle and could be spared from defending the town as she could find and sent them out in hunting parties, with equal numbers of townspeople and refugees.

In the last week a few parties had already returned with deer and elk down from the mountains to escape the snowstorms, and one sent word back that they’d found a small herd of sheep unattended in the higher foothills and were bringing them down.

Between that and some of the livestock Ferris had gathered but never got around to butchering the town wasn’t going hungry, although portions had to be spread thin among so many people. True to her word Catherine had returned a lot of that livestock to their rightful owners, but any that remained unclaimed or were donated to the town provided a vital boost to Aspen Hill’s perilously low stores. Matt and his family counted themselves among those that needed that assistance, although he assured Catherine that he’d repay the food once they could get at the cache.

Until then they weren’t going hungry, and busy as Matt was with organizing the town’s defenses his worried thoughts constantly turned to his dad, who they hadn’t heard from since he disappeared the night of Ferris’s first inspection. He was asking the people he sent out on patrols to keep a special eye out, but so far there’d been no luck.

Even more worrisome, the patrols reported sightings of some of Razor’s gang who’d escaped after the attack roaming the area outside of town. Matt had considered forming a group to go out and track the bandits, but he wasn’t in any condition to lead it and when he ran the idea by the Mayor and a few others they decided after a bit of debate that the town should just focus on defense until things had settled down.

Which left him no choice but to worry and hope that his dad would find a way safely back home.

The seventh day after the attack put them on the day before Thanksgiving, and Matt finally decided his leg was healed up enough that he could start following the patrol routes to personally check them out and see if he could recommend any adjustments.

Sam was watching the boys while Terry and April were out. Sometimes it was April watching while Sam helped Terry with the sick and wounded, and on busier days they both went while Matt’s mom watched her grandsons.

After the attack Matt had argued that Sam was still recovering from her beating at the hands of the looters and needed to rest. But he didn’t really have a leg to stand on considering that he was pushing himself hard with his own duties defending the town even though… he didn’t have a leg to stand on.

Sam had staunchly brushed aside his objections and insisted on helping. At least the physical signs of her injuries had disappeared after a few days, aside from lingering bruises, and he could reassure himself that she was doing just as well as she claimed.

Before setting out Matt kissed Sam goodbye and hugged his nephews, leaving them waving on the porch as he strode out of the yard. His first stop that morning was to the storehouse, which now also doubled as a more permanent clinic where Terry and whoever was assisting him waited ready to treat those in need of medical care.

It was a decent setup in a way, since now that April’s family had moved into their parents’ house even when Terry was off duty resting he was still only a block away if someone really needed him. Matt didn’t envy his brother-in-law that sort of burden of responsibility, although he supposed he had responsibilities of his own now.

Matt had come to get his sutures removed, as well as to ask whether an extended walk was all right. He’d healed up well over the last week and was now moving around with barely any twinges of pain as his leg got stronger, so he thought it would be. Terry agreed, although reluctantly.

The storehouse seemed oddly deserted now that Catherine had moved back to the town hall to run the city from there. But there were still guards to watch over the supplies, at the moment Scott Tillman, Tam Raymond, and Chauncey and Rick Watson.

Matt thought Rick had developed sort of a hero complex after watching him bust out of the back of the store like a crazy person. Matt considered himself lucky he hadn’t been shot or had his face smashed in with a sledgehammer, but the slightly younger man didn’t see it that way.

Chauncey’s son came over to chat while Matt was having his sutures removed, as well as to gawk at the wound caused by the gang leader’s famous razor. Since he was there Matt decided to get some updates on what Rick’s dad was learning about the outside world on the radio.

It turned out there was some fresh news to share there. For one thing Ferris’s decision to cut and run from Aspen Hill hadn’t been sanctioned by his superiors in Price. They hadn’t even realized the administrator and his soldiers had left until Chauncey called in asking what to do about the prisoners the morning after the attack.

Whatever blowup they’d had over that news when they heard it from Chauncey they’d kept to themselves all last week. It was only last night while the town’s radio operator was giving a followup report on how they’d dealt with the criminals that he realized the topic had shifted to Ferris’s departure, and the FETF agents down in Price were subtly grilling him about why the man had left.

They should have known why he was gone if they’d given him the order to leave, and after a bit of questioning of his own the retired teacher was finally told that Ferris was acting off script. Since the coordinators down in Price didn’t know why he’d left they obviously didn’t know where he’d gone or what he planned.

In the last week they’d tried to find those answers on their own with no luck, which was why the FETF in Price finally decided to closely question Chauncey over the radio about Ferris’s activities in the town over the last month.

Although the retired teacher was on the receiving end of the questions he was able to learn quite a bit from what he was asked. For one thing it sounded like while Ferris was overseeing Aspen Hill the administrator had gone far beyond his authority in numerous ways, including confiscation of food storage below the two weeks mark, confiscation of other valuables, allowing his soldiers to form romantic relationships with women from the town and refugee camp and turning a blind eye to less legitimate forms of companionship, using lack of compliance as an excuse to deny access to the ration line, and everything to do with his informal deal with Razor.

Ferris’s authority had also only been meant to extend to relief efforts and coordinating with the town on keeping the peace. The fact that Ferris had completely taken over running Aspen Hill and formed his own little dictatorship on top of all his other infractions made the FETF coordinators down in the county seat very, very displeased.

The long and short of it was that they wanted to know where he and his soldiers had gone, and according to the retired teacher were communicating with every radio operator in Carbon, Sanpete, and Emery counties looking for him, and sending feelers even farther.

Terry shook his head when Rick finished. “We thought FETF was just overstepping their authority in general, but Ferris was playing by his own rules the entire time. Why didn’t we ever think to ask anyone about what he was doing?”

Matt shrugged. “He was in charge, and he was FETF. Also Turner and Anderson both got behind him. Besides, even if he went way overboard it’s not like FETF is all that great either. We know that from personal experience. We saw what we expected from them so we didn’t question it.” He turned back to Rick, wincing slightly as another suture was pulled. “Any other news?”

It turned out there was. And while the news about Ferris had more to do with Aspen Hill the next thing Rick had to share was more pressing and much, much worse.

Apparently the massive refugee camp just north of Price had been suffering major problems with starvation, finding clean water, poor sanitation, and crime, and for all their efforts the FETF coordinators there couldn’t seem to provide any relief. The supplies they’d brought when they arrived were long since gone, leaving them to deal with an impossible situation. Sort of like the situation in Aspen Hill on a much larger scale.

Unfortunately because of the poor conditions sickness had broken out in the camp. The local and FETF doctors had identified it as some type of flu, but whether it was a mild strain preying on the already weakened people in camp or a more virulent strain that had been brought by some group of refugees or possibly even the relief convoy itself, no one could say.

What couldn’t be denied was that dozens of people had already succumbed to the flu and it had spread to hundreds of people. All efforts at containment had failed, and was probably impossible now because many people were fleeing the camp to escape before falling ill themselves, some inadvertently spreading the virus with them.

Price had closed off the town as best they could, forbidding refugees or even FETF coordinators and soldiers from entering. Thus far the flu hadn’t spread to them, but it was anyone’s guess whether things would stay that way.

What concerned Matt was that some of the infected might find their way up to Aspen Hill. Surprisingly, considering all the refugees’ bitter complaints and maligning of “townies” when they’d been on the other side of the situation, now that they were part of the town they seemed happy to get behind the idea of closing the borders.

Only the new Mayor wasn’t having any of it. She insisted that any refugees who agreed to keep the peace and fend for themselves were welcome, same as the refugees in the camp had been. More mouths to feed would mean more deaths when everyone was struggling to feed themselves, but she’d staunchly held to the position that if any incoming refugees wanted to make a go of it they could. As long as they were willing to accept that no help was coming for them and they had to take responsibility for their own survival, and breaking the rules meant being turned out in the cold.

Catherine was holding to her ironclad stance on protecting each individual’s personal property from theft, either from other individuals or from the town itself. Some of the refugees hadn’t been quite as enthusiastic about getting behind that resolution, oddly enough. But she’d made good on her threat to exile anyone caught stealing, making sure the patrols and people manning the roadblocks knew the faces and names of those who were now longer welcome in town, and after the first few days thefts had gone down quite a bit. Mandy was one of the many exiled in the first few days, but as time passed fewer and fewer thefts had been reported.

He supposed it helped that nobody really had anything to steal.

Catherine had managed to convince everyone of her point of view about open borders, so even though the patrols were back in rotation they were there to protect against attack, not turn anyone away. Only now, with this news of flu, maybe they’d have to change that stance after all. Matt’s duty was to protect the town, and while you couldn’t shoot a virus you could certainly keep it from getting anywhere close.

He’d have to argue that point with the Mayor, but until then he’d also need to warn everyone on the roster about the danger of coming too close to possibly infected refugees, and advise them to keep anyone coming from the south or east away from town.

Terry finished removing the last of the sutures, then probed the forming scar thoughtfully with his fingers to check for signs of deep seated infection. Last of all he swabbed the entire area with rubbing alcohol and wrapped it in a clean bandage. “You’re sure you want to go walking around on it so soon?” his brother-in-law asked as he stood.

Matt stood as well, ignoring the twinge. “I accepted the job to protect the town. It’s about time I started doing it.” He turned to Rick. “You’ve been on the western patrol route, right?” The younger man nodded. “Think they can spare you here so you can take me along it?”

“Sure,” Rick said, looking eager at the chance to get out. “Let’s grab a radio so we can let Pete and Evan know we’ll be crashing their party so they don’t accidentally shoot us.”

Young as he was Pete Childress had proven a good man on patrols ever since he’d joined the Watson brothers helping Lewis and Trev on the northern border way at the beginning. He was careful and methodical about searching for anything out of the ordinary, diligent about checking in on the radio, and seemed nearly tireless. Evan, a refugee with a wife and son, Matt didn’t know as much about.

Hopefully he’d get a chance to get to know all the new faces, townspeople and refugee alike. Matt followed Rick over to where the radios were charging. “How’s the power holding up?” he asked.

Chauncey, seated behind the checkout counter listening on the radio with his shotgun propped under the counter, answered for his son. “Great. Lewis’s solar panels are top notch, and he took good care of them. He had an efficient system going with them too, complete with batteries, so it’s a good thing Ferris ripped it out whole to install in here.”

He held out a radio and Matt clipped it to his belt, noticing as he did that there weren’t many to spare: the town was using almost all of them for patrols, roadblocks, and to coordinate with the Mayor’s office at town hall. That could be a problem if the equipment started to break. He’d have to make sure everyone using the radios knew to be careful and practice proper maintenance.

Speaking of which… Matt made his way to the store’s back room, where he found Scott going over the town’s array of firearms and ammunition. “Oh hey, I was just coming to ask you how the town’s stock of weapons is holding up.”

The older man turned to him. “I’m glad you did, because I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you about it.” He patted the table. “Ferris kept these all in good shape while he had them under lock and key, but since the town’s started up the patrols again I’ve noticed firearms coming back with dings and scuffs. One refugee even turned in a rifle with the bore caked with dirt, like he’d shoved it into the ground muzzle-first or something.”

Matt frowned. “I’ll put it in the announcements.”

“Good, because these weapons might be all we’ve got and we have to make them last. I can do minor adjustments and small repairs, and I’ve got a modest stock of replacement parts, but I’d feel a lot happier if your guys weren’t tossing them around or using them as walking sticks or whatever they’ve been doing.”

“I’ll make sure they treat them like their firstborn,” Matt promised. He checked out a scoped .308 assault rifle and a spare magazine, slinging the weapon over his shoulder as he led Rick out of the store.

“Back to patrols,” he told the younger man with a slight smile. “It’s been a while.”

* * *

It had been, although Matt had done enough walking while searching for food to keep in reasonably good shape. Weakness from hunger was more of a problem, even with the modest portions of meat Catherine was giving his family. That and his leg.

Still, it felt nice to be out and about after staying off his feet over the last week. Matt just wished he didn’t have so many worries pressing his mind to keep him from really enjoying it. The air was warm, with enough of a bite from the breeze to hint at winter being just around the corner. That was no surprise, since the weather tended to be nice like this around Aspen Hill during Thanksgiving week. It served as a reminder that tomorrow was Thanksgiving.

They wouldn’t have any feast to look forward to, unfortunately, but it was nice to remember that there were things to celebrate. He only wished his dad making it home safely was one of them: Matt had a good reason to be out here checking the patrol routes, but a small part of him had to admit that he was secretly hoping to see his dad towing a wagon along the myriad of dirt roads criss-crossing the hills around him.

Matt was just about to turn to Rick to ask him about his family’s Thanksgiving plans, more as a distraction than anything, when a sharp crack echoed through the hills around them. He stiffened, motioning for Rick to stop as he listened intently. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

The teenager paused, frowning, as the sounds were repeated, some slightly louder and lower pitched than others. “Gunshots?” he guessed. “With all these hills it’s impossible to tell how far away or what direction they’re coming from.”

They both fell silent, listening intently and slowly turning their heads, and Matt abruptly pointed towards Aspen Hill Canyon. “There. Makes the most sense.” He lifted his radio to his mouth. “Evan, you hear gunshots coming from the canyon?”

There was a short pause before the refugee answered, voice slightly distorted by static. “Nope, but we’re close to the south end of our route. On our way as fast as we can make it.”

Matt nodded, although of course Evan couldn’t see him. “Mayor’s office?”

Catherine’s voice responded almost immediately. “I heard you. Sending some people out there, and I’ll have Terry go along to do what he can for the wounded.”

“Roger. I’m going to check it out and report what I find.” Matt clipped the radio to his belt again and started forward at a quick but cautious trot, unslinging his .308 and pausing regularly to check the hills around them through the scope. Rick followed clutching his shotgun and looking a bit jumpy, and seeing it Matt had to wonder if he should be feeling uneasy himself.

In a way he felt a bit bad bringing the younger man along, since in spite of his duty to investigate whatever was happening for the safety of the town he also had personal motivations. The canyon was a likely direction for his dad to take coming home, and if he was and he had the wagon of food then he would make an ideal target for Razor’s thugs still out in the hills surrounding the town and causing trouble. The theory didn’t make much sense because his dad hadn’t taken a gun with him and the gunfire ahead certainly sounded like a shootout, but it was a possibility.

Whatever his motivation he kept going, ignoring his instincts screaming that it might not be the smartest idea to be heading towards the gunshots.

Or at least where the gunshots had been. They didn’t hear anything more as they walked for roughly half a mile, finally making their way up the tall hill ahead that stood between them and the mouth of the canyon. At the top Matt cautiously poked his head over and saw a ragged, emaciated group, six women and three young children, standing on the canyon road while a middle-aged man and a teenaged boy dragged the bodies of four men into a line beside the road.

A tall, skinny redheaded woman about Matt’s age or maybe a bit older stood off by herself on the road beside the bodies, covering them with a pistol held in shaking hands as her friends moved them. She was obviously wounded, with blood staining the left shoulder of her jacket, and from her alarming swaying Matt was impressed she was still on her feet.

Her caution was sensible, but the men she was covering were clearly dead. Matt could guess easily enough who they were and what had happened, but he wouldn’t know for sure until he spoke to the refugees. “Stay here and cover me,” he whispered to Rick. He pulled the radio off his belt and handed it over. “You can report in too.”

“Cover you with a shotgun?” his friend protested, but Matt was already rising to his feet, rifle held ready but not pointed at the group below.

The redhead immediately saw him and started to raise her pistol, and Matt was torn between the sensible reaction of lifting his own weapon and the kinder tactic dropping flat while he shouted to reassure her. After all, she’d just killed four men and might not have a problem with adding a fifth to that number before he could get a word in edgewise.

In the end it was the fact that he was still about 100 yards away that decided him. Even a good shot would have trouble hitting him uphill against the rising sun at that range, and if it looked like she was seriously aiming for him he could drop and she’d have an even harder time of it. Not to mention she was wounded and looked as if she was barely on her feet.

So he lowered his rifle and raised his voice. “Easy there!”

She hesitated. “Coming to help your friends rob us?” she called in a hoarse voice, motioning. The man who’d been lining up the bodies hurried for cover while the other refugees began fleeing back up the road.

Matt shook his head, although he wasn’t sure she could see the gesture with him partially backlit by the sun overhead. “I’m from Aspen Hill, the town a couple miles east of here, patrolling our borders. These men have tried to attack the town before, and we’re actually grateful to you for dealing with them.”

“Not grateful enough to help when the bullets were flying,” she called back.

“We came as quickly as we could!” Matt answered, irritated by the accusation. The woman looked doubtful, but after a considering moment lowered her weapon. Or maybe she didn’t have the strength to keep it up anymore. Matt felt his shoulders loosen. “I’m coming down! You’re wounded. We’ve got a surgeon on his way who should be able to help you.”

He turned to Rick. “Radio the group. Tell Terry to be ready to stabilize a gunshot wound to the shoulder until we can get her back into town.” He sincerely hoped his brother-in-law knew what to do in this situation, intern or no. He supposed he’d had enough experience treating wounds after Razor’s attack to have some idea what he was doing.

The teenager hesitated. “Are you sure? What if she shoots you?”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to arrest her. But I think it’ll be okay.” Matt smiled grimly. “Anyone who takes down four of Razor’s former thugs is all right in my book.”

He made his way down slowly, noticing that the refugees remained back a safe distance in spite of his assurances. The redhead kept her gun drawn as she made her way over to him, but considering she nearly fell once Matt was more worried for her than about her. He stopped to let her come the rest of the way if she wanted, but she stopped as well. “I’m Matt Larson. I’m in charge of the town’s defense.”

“Jane Mathers,” she replied, still sounding cautious. “I’m in charge of this group.” She abruptly slumped to the ground.

Matt rushed forward to fall to his knees beside her. Her eyes were drooping but still open and alert, but her strength had obviously given out. “We can worry about introductions later,” he said. “We need to do something about that shoulder.”

“It’s not so bad,” she mumbled. “Mostly just fatigue and hunger. Got dizzy for a second.”

Matt rolled up his pant leg enough to get to the bandage wrapped above his knee, the cleanest cloth he had available. He unrolled it and cut off the end that had been in direct contact with his wound, then bunched the rest up and pressed it to the woman’s shoulder. She sucked in a sharp breath when he did, hunching slightly. That gave Matt a look at her back and he saw that there was a larger wound there.

A through and through. That could be more serious than a bullet lodged in the body, or less, but it meant they wouldn’t have to dig anything out and risk doing more damage. Matt shifted the bandage to press against the larger wound, drawing another agonized breath from Jane. He saw her eyes start to roll back in her head.

He knew it was important to keep patients conscious for some injuries, but he wasn’t sure if gunshots were included in that. Was it anyone who was in shock, or just head injuries? Either way it was probably good to get her talking to distract her. “I’m guessing Razor’s men ambushed you. That body at the end is Simons, the last of his lieutenants. You must be good with that pistol.”

With some effort she focused and looked up at him. “Dad taught me. He was always a gun nut. Seemed like more than just a hobby after the world ended.”

Matt heard a soft crunch of gravel and looked up to see the older man approaching. “Only one of the attackers had a gun,” he said, pulling out a handkerchief and offering it to Matt, who took it to press against the front of Jane’s shoulder. “That fellow you call Simons. He was hiding while his friends jumped out at us, so he got a shot off before we even knew he was there. I managed to shoot him before he could shoot again, then kept shooting until he stopped moving.”

The refugee modestly patted the stock of the rifle he held, a .22 Matt thought. “Jane got the rest. She downed two of them before they even got close, then even after getting shot managed to get the third one while she was flat on her back on the ground.” He held out his hand. “I’m Tom Harding.”

In his arms Jane went limp, and Matt grit his teeth. His hands were a bit full at the moment so a handshake wasn’t happening. “Nice to meet you, Tom, but we can get your story once we’re all back safe in town and she’s been seen to. Rick!” He said that last in a shout. “How far is Terry?”

“You’ll let us into town?” Tom asked hopefully. “Do you have food?”

That was always the question, wasn’t it? Matt bit back a sigh, still doing his best to keep pressure on Jane’s wounds. Then an unsettling thought struck him. What if they were from Price and their bedraggled state was from more than just hunger and exhaustion? “Our town’s borders are open. Which direction did you come from?”

“Over the mountains from Fairview,” the older man answered. “We were following Highway 31.”

Matt fought a surge of uneasiness. “31 takes you to Huntington, well to the south of here.”

“We nearly got robbed near Candland Mountain on Halloween and decided it would be safer to take side roads the rest of the way.” Tom gave him a somewhat indignant look. “What, do you think I’m lying?”

“Of course not,” Matt said, and he didn’t. “Still, Candland isn’t too far away and Halloween was almost three weeks ago.”

The teenaged refugee and only other man in the group, who looked a lot like Tom and was probably his son, had led the other refugees along the road to stand close by. At this he interrupted angrily. “Do we look like we’re in any shape to set traveling records? We didn’t know those smaller roads at all and kept getting lost and finding ourselves going the wrong way, forcing us to backtrack or trailblaze. Then a week after we left Highway 31 a storm hit and we were snowed in for days. We lost two people to the cold before the weather cleared enough to travel. We’ve been going slow, gathering firewood and searching for food as we went, and every day we’ve had a bit less strength to put one foot in front of another. It’s a miracle no one else has died since the storm.”

“Take it easy,” Matt said calmly. The kid had claimed the gun Razor’s thug had shot Jane with, a larger caliber bolt action rifle, and Matt had no interest in being shot himself over a temper tantrum. “I believe you, I was just being cautious. We’ve had news of a flu outbreak in the Price refugee camp and want to keep it out of Aspen Hill, that’s all.”

Tom shot his son a stern look. “It’s all right, Alvin.” He turned back to Matt. “I can give you my word we haven’t been through Price. We came to Sanpete through Nephi along I-15, making our way east to Ephraim. They’d set up a refugee camp at the college there, but the situation wasn’t good. They had no supplies and some of our people were attacked, so we decided to move on. South didn’t seem like an option, neither did north or west, so we made our way up to Fairview and tried 31. Folks in Fairview warned us the mountains would be dangerous and the land was drier and more barren to the east of them, but we didn’t see much choice. Now we’re here, and that’s everywhere we’ve been since the Gulf refineries attack.”

Matt nodded. “Now you’re here. We’ll find you shelter, and you’ll have the opportunity to join our hunting parties and forage for anything you can find. I’m afraid the town doesn’t have much to offer in the way of food, but we have weapons you can borrow for hunting and we’ll do whatever else we can to help.”

“What about Jane?” the older man demanded. “She could hunt, but she’s in no condition to fend for herself now!”

Matt hesitated. “You took down a threat to the town,” he offered, “that deserves something. We’ll do our best to take care of her until she can get back on her feet.” Glancing over his shoulder he saw Terry and half a dozen men coming down the hill towards them, Rick in the lead. “Good, our doctor’s here.”

* * *

To Matt’s relief after a quick inspection Terry reported that Jane’s wound wasn’t life threatening. Although serious, it probably wouldn’t have caused her to pass out so quickly either if the blood loss hadn’t come on top of exhaustion and hunger. Terry taped the two holes with patches until he could get her back to the storehouse, then had Matt help him lift her onto one of the four stretchers his group had brought with him.

It was slow going, with Jane on a stretcher and the ten other emaciated refugees having trouble putting one foot in front of the other, but they finally reached the storehouse and set Jane on the cot set aside for surgeries while Terry got to work on her. It was a simple procedure, he was quick to assure Tom when the older man worriedly questioned him, but he needed to concentrate and also keep the area as sterile as possible so he closed curtains around himself and April as they worked.

Sam had been waiting at the storehouse, and as soon as Matt set the redheaded woman down and backed away to let Terry work she threw her arms around him. Then, to his embarrassment, she insisted on checking his leg to make sure the cut hadn’t reopened. It hadn’t, thankfully, although it had seeped a little and needed to be cleaned and bandaged again.

Catherine was also there when they arrived, and while Sam worked on his leg she stood beside his cot to have him go over what had happened. The Mayor had already formally welcomed the new group and offered them cots to rest on, and although there wasn’t much to spare she announced that they’d already contributed to the town by taking out four of Razor’s thugs and insisted they each be given a bowl of soup.

It was humble fare, made by boiling bones, a few root vegetables, and a pile of other edible plant matter that needed softening with some herbs and spices to try to mask the somewhat bitter taste. The bones had then been cracked open and the marrow inside scraped out and added to the broth: they couldn’t afford to waste anything they could possibly eat at this point. Matt wasn’t a particular fan of the soup, but the refugees made no complaints as they ravenously emptied their bowls.

The Mayor insisted Matt and the others who’d gone out to the canyon, as well as Sam, all have a bowl too, so they settled in for a meal. While they were eating Ben came in to introduce himself to the new arrivals, starting a discussion with Catherine and Tom about finding them a place to stay.

Over the meal Matt overheard the new arrivals talking again about the near robbery along Highway 31 on Halloween, and out of curiosity asked a few questions about it. He pretty quickly came to the conclusion that it wasn’t likely Razor’s gang had been the perpetrators, but what surprised him was that he recognized the stretch of highway they described where the ambush had been planned.

It wasn’t far from Lewis and Trev’s hideout, and he couldn’t help but wonder if one or both of his friends were the “Spirit of Huntington River” that the refugees had taken to calling their benefactor. When they mentioned that whoever had taken out the bandits might have been wounded in the fight Matt became even more concerned for his friends. Hopefully they were all right.

Another thing he learned was that Jane’s dad had been killed by those same bandits a few days before the attempted ambush, and she had taken over leading the group even while grieving his death. If Matt hadn’t had reason to respect her after seeing how she’d protected her group at the mouth of the canyon, he certainly would’ve started after hearing how the refugees talked about her.

He hoped she pulled through.

To his relief just after he finished his meal there was a commotion behind the curtains where Terry was working on Jane, suggesting that the redheaded woman was awake and still had some fighting spirit left in her. A few moments later April emerged. “She insisted on talking to you, Matt.”

With a glance at Catherine, who nodded, Matt followed his sister back into the impromptu operating room.

Jane was propped up on the cot, one that had been designed to allow for reclining, with her shoulder bandaged and her arm bound to her chest in a sling. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

Matt came to stand beside her. “We brought you to Aspen Hill. There’s a bowl of soup waiting for you, and you’re welcome to rest here until you’re strong enough to join your group in whatever lodgings we find for them. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to find you a house you can have to yourselves, but we should be able to find enough people willing to take in one or two of you to accommodate the group. Ben, the refugees’ informal leader, has been doing a good job—”

Jane shook her head and cut in firmly. “No. We’ll camp out if we have to but we’re not splitting up. And we’re not staying with refugees, either.”

Matt supposed he couldn’t completely blame her for her suspicion. “The refugees have become regular citizens since moving into town. You’ll be safe with them, I promise.”

“I don’t care, we’ll stay together.”

“All right.” Matt hesitated. There was something he’d been considering since Razor’s attack, especially after the refugee camp north of town was abandoned. He hadn’t talked to his family about it yet or even made up his mind, but it might provide a solution. Still, he couldn’t make any promises until he’d explored the option further. “I’ll talk to our Mayor, Catherine Tillman, about letting you all stay here in the storehouse until we figure something out. We’ll do our best to find a solution everyone can live with.”

Jane hesitated, then seemed to relax a bit. “I suppose beggars can’t be choosers. Thank you for helping us, by the way.” She turned to Terry. “And thank you. We would’ve had a lot of trouble dealing with a gunshot wound and you probably saved my life. Sorry for snapping at you earlier.”

“I’ll go get you that bowl of soup,” Matt said, ducking through the curtains. He also wanted to talk to Catherine about his idea.

But when he entered the larger room he saw Catherine already busy speaking excitedly into her radio. Matt heard a confirmation through it, the continuation of a conversation he must’ve missed while talking to Jane, and the Mayor turned to give him an excited look.

“Matt! That was Pete and Evan, still patrolling the western border. They’ve spotted your father!”

Matt stopped dead, almost unable to think as a surge of stunned surprise, happiness, and overwhelming relief poured through him. He was still processing the news when Sam barreled into him and threw her arms around his chest, grinning up at him joyfully. Matt clutched her to him as he stared at the radio that had brought this news. “He made it? He’s okay?”

Catherine nodded, still beaming. “Tired but unhurt as far as Evan could see. And he’s got a loaded wagon with him.” The Mayor came over and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Looks like you’ve got a lot to be grateful for tomorrow. Happy Thanksgiving.”

Chapter Ten

Thanksgiving

When Catherine described the wagon as “loaded” it was a bit of an understatement. The narrow bed was stacked high enough to be top-heavy and altogether had to weigh a couple hundred pounds. His dad had covered it all in a tarp and tied it down, both to keep everything inside from spilling out and to at least partially hide the contents from unfriendly eyes.

Matt and the entire rest of the family met his dad at the edge of town, amid much hugging and celebration. His dad looked exhausted and even thinner than he had before he left, but other than that he was fine.

On the way back he briefly detailed his trip, although there wasn’t much to say. He saw a few people on the way up and even briefly stopped to chat with someone who had a cabin along the road he was walking along. The visit was friendly enough, if wary, although from then on he tried harder to avoid notice in case someone was curious about him dragging an empty wagon behind him and decided to follow.

Those fears were never realized, and he met no one at the cache or on the way down, which luckily he was able to find without too much trouble thanks to Trev’s ruined car, which had been gutted by fire since Matt and Trev had passed it with April and her family. He did have to be a bit careful while digging up the food since refugees continued to walk along Highway 6, in smaller numbers but far more ragged and desperate, and he did most of that at night in the dark.

In truth his greatest enemy on the trip was his own body. On the way there he was beset by weakness and found almost no food to sustain him, and little enough water. Once he arrived he had to rest for a day to recover his strength, and was somewhat ashamed that he had to eat more in order to have the energy to tow the loaded wagon back down.

That took by far the longest out of anything, twice as long as the trip up, and would’ve been impossible if he wasn’t transporting food and water. He tried to limit what he ate, thinking of the family going hungry back at home, but he found that if he skimped he quickly exhausted himself and barely made any progress, and finally decided it was more important to get the food there fast than to save a bit extra. There was always more at the cache.

His dad was shocked to learn everything that had happened in town while he was gone, and while he was delighted that Ferris had left and Razor was gone he still grieved that he hadn’t been there to protect his family and town during the attack. He was very proud to learn of everything his son had done, although Matt tried to keep the story accurate as the rest of the family exaggerated his heroics. His father was proud of Terry as well, and approved of his decision to open a clinic.

All in all the rest of the day was a celebration. They had their first real meal in weeks, and while Matt did excuse himself to get back to his duties defending the town, and Terry and Sam did a shift in the clinic over the afternoon, that evening they took the time to rest and appreciate all they had. They also made plans for the future, first and foremost retrieving the rest of the cache.

Matt had his own plans formulating, which he’d briefly spoken over with the Mayor and gotten her approval for. He didn’t want to say anything yet until he’d used the key she’d given him and checked things out, and until he was sure it was a good option he wanted to save it as a surprise for his family.

He’d tell them tomorrow, after Thanksgiving dinner.

As the evening settled into night his mom, April, and Sam began talking over preparations for the holiday meal. Matt agreed that when he went into town in the morning to repay the food they’d borrowed over the last week he’d try to trade some wheat for meat, to give the meal more variety. Although he doubted turkey would be on the menu.

Too bad they weren’t in Sanpete on the other side of the mountains, where he’d encountered dozens of turkey sheds stinking up the air on some days while driving to other places in the area. Then again, it was anyone’s guess whether any turkeys remained with such critical food shortages.

Once everyone else had headed up to their rooms Matt and Sam stayed down on the couch for a while talking about their own plans for the future. Nothing formal, although they both seemed to be constantly edging around the topic.

Matt had an idea there, too, something he’d been contemplating for a long time but had kept quiet about because conditions weren’t right for the topic. Now that his dad was back most of their problems were solved, and hopefully after he’d checked things out tomorrow their situation would be even more secure. Either way he’d save it as a surprise for after dinner the next day as well. Assuming he could get some help from his mom.

It was fairly late before they finally agreed they should get to bed. Since that first night after the attack Matt had permanently moved onto the couch to sleep, giving Sam his room. He preferred it since it allowed him to keep watch on the house while the rest of the family was safe upstairs, although he knew Sam felt bad about kicking him out. But for once she didn’t mention it as he kissed her goodnight and settled in to sleep, looking forward to tomorrow.

It could be the most important day of his life.

* * *

Thanksgiving dawned clear and cold outside their hideout, something Trev was more than aware of as he got up to prepare their feast as best he could.

Lewis wouldn’t go in for them gorging themselves on Thanksgiving, and he didn’t relent in spite of the fact that the hunting, fishing, and trapping had been going fairly well for the last few weeks even with the temperature steadily continuing to drop and getting another foot or so of snowfall.

What his cousin would bend on, however, was variety. So Trev had spent the last few days going over all their food to select out small portions of everything. Their dinner would include rabbit, trout, fresh venison from the deer he’d brought down and skinned and quartered himself just yesterday, currants, beans, rice, wheat, chocolate, chili, jerky, jalapenos, and a wide variety of spices to cook them with. His cousin also produced a small container of powdered lemonade for an extra treat.

Trev had to be pretty creative finding ways to cook the small portions with the few dishes and utensils available to them without getting all the flavors mixed up. He also had to make three meals’ worth of portions and promise Lewis they’d eat them over the course of the day. But when dinnertime arrived they came in from tossing around a crude ball his cousin had made from rabbit skin and pinecones and sat down to the meal he’d prepared.

Lewis wasn’t hesitant in complaining about some of the offerings, and Trev would be the first to admit that his attempts were hit and miss. Even so they cleaned their plates with great enjoyment, washed it all down with slightly watered down lemonade, then bundled up again and dragged the chairs outside to sit and enjoy the view of the mountains across the canyon and to either side, as well as the strip of road meandering down below alongside the river, as the meal digested.

After a few minutes of contented silence Trev glanced over at his cousin. “I like the picture and all but it sure would be nice to change the channel.”

“To what?” Lewis asked, idly watching a few scattered clouds to the north slowly drift towards them. “I don’t know about you but I haven’t watched anything on an actual TV with actual channels in years.”

“Well good news, your streak is going to continue.”

His cousin smiled at that, and a comfortable silence settled between them for a few more minutes. Finally Lewis stirred. “Guess we should keep up the tradition, even if it’s just us this year. I’m grateful for this hideout, for the supplies we have, and for the fact that we’re pretty much all alone up here and if we do have any neighbors they’re keeping to themselves as much as we are. Oh, and that chocolate earlier was really, really good.”

“Hey save something for me to be grateful for,” Trev complained. “Not much of that going around these days.” His cousin gave him a patient look. “Well I’m grateful for all that stuff too. And I’m grateful for the knowledge I’ve gained up here and the fact that we’ve been able to find ways to provide for ourselves, and that I didn’t botch the job with the deer yesterday. I’m also grateful to have the best survivalist I know for a roommate.”

Lewis gave him a slightly mocking salute. “Well that’s the tradition taken care of. Want to toss the ball around some more?”

“Not really. No offense but that thing kind of sucks.”

His cousin’s response was to reach down and scoop up a handful of snow, packing it as he spoke. “I guess it’s a snowball fight, then.”

Trev lunged sideways, tipping his chair over as the snowball zipped above his head. Grinning, he rolled over and came up to his knees, bringing an armful of snow with him that he hurled at Lewis. His cousin rose from his chair just in time to get a face full of powder, and with a bit of spluttering he bolted the other way to regroup.

Hastily scooping up a few quick snowballs to tuck under one arm, Trev lumbered through the couple feet of snow in pursuit. His aggression earned him a snowball to the face, and as he did his best to wipe his eyes more snowballs pelted him around the chest and shoulders. By the time he finally managed to launch his own counterattack Lewis was safely hidden behind a tree.

Trev closed the distance at an awkward run and circled around the obstacle until he could get a clear shot. But just before he was about to launch his snowball Lewis slammed his shoulder into the evergreen’s narrow trunk and sent the accumulated snow on the branches pouring down on Trev’s head.

He huddled against the unexpected shower, and before he could think of retreat he found himself tackled to the ground, thrashing as Lewis tried to bury his head in the snow. “Okay I give up!” he shouted.

Chuckling, his cousin helped him up. “You sure? You look better with a snow beard.” In spite of the ribbing Lewis also helped dust him off as they headed back to gather some things for their trip.

Now that the meal had settled a bit they’d agreed they would take the risk of leaving their hideout for a few hours to do some more long distance exploring. They hadn’t seen any sign of refugees on the road since the group they’d helped, and if they did have any neighbors up here neither of them had seen any sign of them. Considering the fact that they’d kept to their patrols and regularly panned the surrounding mountainsides with their binoculars and hadn’t come under any surprise attacks up to this point, Lewis was pretty certain either they were alone or anyone out there capable of staying out of their notice was content to live and let live.

Their day’s route would take them north a few miles, to where the road curved up a hill alongside the slope of the earthen dam holding back Electric Lake. Lewis had pointed out that automated signs along the road and around the dam had solar panels they could scavenge, and if they were lucky and their stuff in the shelter remained in good condition over the winter then they could rig up a system to power them even after Ferris had stolen the solar panels and batteries his cousin had set up there.

Trev wasn’t certain it was worth the effort, but then again he liked the idea of listening to music. Or watching a movie. Or reading one of the thousands of books his cousin had on his hard drives. He only wished they had that stuff up here so he wouldn’t go insane with boredom over the winter.

They took one last careful look at the road below and the slopes around them for any sign of intruders, and once satisfied with their continued isolation locked up the hideout and icehouse and left. A determined thief could break in fairly easily, but they trusted the lean-to’s seclusion and out of sight location to protect it for a short time as they followed the logging trail above the hideout heading north.

It would take them all the way to the hillside over the highway alongside the lake, where they could have a good view of most of it and see if anyone was around. Trev also brought his fishing gear just to try out the deeper water off the dam.

It was a bit of a hike, which felt good after being cooped up in the lean-to or sticking to the same patrol routes around their home. Trev watched his cousin’s stride as they got farther along to see how his leg was doing, but if Lewis’s injuries were still bothering him he showed no sign of it. Moving at a reasonably fast pace they reached the lake in under two hours and settled in behind cover to carefully search the area.

After about fifteen minutes Trev stood and gave his cousin a lopsided smile as he lifted his fishing pole. “Cover me, I’m going in.”

Lewis chuckled. “An ounce of prevention is worth an ounce of lead.” But he also stood and joined Trev as they followed the dirt road the rest of the way to the highway, where it was closed off by a sturdy metal gate.

Neither of them had the key for it, although they knew the people the land belonged to and had gotten their permission to walk along the road to where it ran through their stretch of land farther south. It was a family living somewhere in the eastern states who sometimes came for camping trips and to boat on the lake and ride around their roads on ATVs. Trev had never talked to them, or for that matter seen them using their land. He doubted he ever would at this point, although life was full of surprises.

While he planted himself on the edge of the lake and tried his luck his cousin roamed the road looking for solar powered signs. They were mostly for things like construction warnings or to show the speed of passing cars, and Trev had to agree that they wouldn’t be seeing much use now and would just go to waste if left there to rot.

An hour or so passed, and if the fish were there they certainly weren’t biting. On the other hand when Lewis came back he was awkwardly carrying several bulky panels, and the cloth bag he’d brought was hanging from one elbow weighted down with the small batteries the signs used. “Well at least one of us was successful,” he said, glancing at Trev’s empty pole and bare hands.

Trev nodded and reached over to take a few of the panels. “Should we go back and have the second meal of our “feast?”

His cousin nodded and started for the logging road with his prizes. “Enjoy it. It may seem like one of our moms’ best laid tables from when we were younger by the time the spring thaws come.”

“We’ve got food for months!” Trev protested.

“Winter lasts a long time up here.”

That was unfortunately true, but Trev was still confident in the provisions they’d gathered. Although another fish would’ve been nice. He picked up his pace to walk beside his cousin.

* * *

They all knew they should exercise restraint with the food they had, which would have to last them all winter, but his mom insisted that after going hungry for so long it couldn’t hurt to eat extra for one meal. Discounting the meals yesterday that had been larger than was strictly wise.

Matt couldn’t complain. They had steaks traded from the town’s meat supply, mashed potatoes smothered in olive oil, and pancakes dipped in honey for their meal, with the promise of dessert later once the meal had settled. He didn’t know that he’d ever had anything half as delicious in his life, and although he didn’t go overboard he did eat until he was content for the first time in a long, long time.

The good food was enough to have everyone’s spirits as high as he’d seen them since returning home with April’s family, and once Matt had finished his own portion he sat back to enjoy watching everyone else eat. Sam finished soon after and scooted her chair closer to his to hold his hand.

Once the meal was done they went out. Catherine had organized informal touch football games in the town park, and although Matt had always been more into basketball he was happy to take part. His team lost to a scrappy refugee team led by Ben, but he still considered it a victory because the game remained friendly to the end, aside from a few minor disagreements about rules and ref calls that weren’t too out of place in these sorts of pick-up games.

Matt was embarrassed but pleased when Sam joined Tamara Raymond and a few others in cheering on his team, and he endured a bit of goodnatured ribbing when she ran up and kissed him as his team was coming off the field after the enemy team scored the winning point. Tam pulled him aside to teasingly ask him when the marriage proposal was coming, and when Matt took a bit too long to answer, caught off guard by the question and worried Sam might have overheard it, she gave him a delighted look and made the “these lips are sealed” gesture.

He held Sam’s hand as they made their way over to a few water coolers the Mayor had set up, and was pleasantly surprised to find that she’d splurged and they were filled with various powdered drinks. Normally he didn’t like the gritty taste of those drinks, but this time he very much enjoyed his cupful. He and Sam hurried over to where the rest of the family had been watching and chatting with the Watsons and a few others to make sure they got some, especially his nephews, who nearly danced in excitement at the treat.

After a few hours of socializing they returned home to enjoy each other’s company, with Sam constantly urging them to have the dessert she’d helped make. They probably would have migrated back to the dining room from the living room if Matt hadn’t stood and cleared his throat. Now was probably the best time for this.

“I have something important I want to talk about,” he said soberly.

Everyone paused in getting up from their seats to give him worried looks. “Is there a problem?” April asked.

“A solution, actually. I’ve been worried about how we’d handle winter in this house and I’ve come up with an idea. I think we should move to Lewis and Trev’s shelter north of town.”

There was only a short silence as everyone stared at him in surprise before his mom spoke up. “You’ve got to be kidding. That dank underground bunker?”

“Not so dank,” Matt said with a slight smile. “Lewis carefully waterproofed it, and on top of that it has vents on the roof topped with wind-powered suction turbines to keep the air fresh, which can also be plugged with insulated caps when it gets really cold. In fact, the shelter suits our needs better than the house in just about every way.”

Sam looked doubtful but was nodding in support, while everyone else aside from his slightly bored and fidgeting nephews were exchanging glances. “We’re listening,” his dad said. “Sell us.”

Matt’s smile widened. “This isn’t some used car in an economy where the price of gas is skyrocketing. The shelter practically sells itself. As Mom pointed out it’s underground, which means it’s better insulated than any house in town. It has a wood burning stove capable of heating the entire area and a gigantic woodpile a short walk away. Lewis installed a septic system with a drainage field that should work indefinitely, so we’ll have a working indoor toilet. The bathroom is closed off from the rest of the room and can be well ventilated as well, and the stovepipe goes right over it to keep it heated.

“There’s also a buried water tank on the hill above the shelter that gravity feeds a shower in the bathroom and a sink in the food preparation area. As I understand it’s still mostly full, but it can be refilled with some effort if need be. The living area has a dozen cots which Ferris didn’t bother to take, along with a lot of other stuff that was either part of the structure or wasn’t immediately useful to him like the food and solar panels were. That means pretty comfortable furniture and some extra blankets and cold weather gear. If we had a source of power we’d have working lights and plenty of entertainment too, but we’ll do without.”

“What about protection?” Terry asked. “It’s awfully far from town.”

“It’s inside the patrol area, and more importantly it’s out of the way on a dirt road no one would really have a reason to travel on. It’s also hidden between the two hills and is underground so it’s easy to miss from a distance, and it’s got the heavy door sheathed in sheet metal that you’d need a battering ram to break through. To add to all that there’s an observation post on the tall hill the shelter’s built against where you can see in pretty much every direction, including most of the area past the shorter hill on the far side of the flat in the direction of the mountains to the west.”

“There’s only one entrance?” April said, sounding very concerned. “We could easily be trapped in there. And they can get on the roof.”

“Enemies couldn’t do much from the roof aside from maybe shoot down into the vents or stovepipe, but the vents are capped by pretty sturdy turbines as well as screens to prevent anything being dropped down inside, and the stovepipe’s got its own hat and screen.”

Matt hesitated before continuing, imagining Lewis scowling at him. “As for the entrance… you know that everything about the shelter is a secret the cousins trusted me with, but there’s another secret I’m really not supposed to talk about. Just in case they’re trapped in they built a hidden exit going through a secret underground tunnel that runs for a hundred yards and exits out of view of the shelter. It’s cramped, but if we need to we can use it to escape. And since there’s only one visible entrance and no windows it’ll be much harder to break into, so we can lock up and sleep safer at night.”

His dad was nodding slowly. “Another benefit is that it’ll be a lot easier to bring the food from the cache there without being noticed. And it keeps us out of town in case there’s further trouble here, which is always a consideration. Close enough to help but far enough to be out of the thick of it.”

“What about privacy?” his mom asked, still not sold. “I’m sure I heard it was just one big room.”

“Unfortunately that’s maybe the one thing the house beats the shelter for,” Matt admitted. “There are privacy screens that can be hung around the sleeping areas to make rooms, and it’s a large space so it should never feel cramped, but we’ll have to get used to being in each other’s space a bit more than we’re used to. At worst it’s like an apartment complex with shared facilities and paper thin walls.”

There was a thoughtful pause. Matt was trying to think of other things he could mention, but nothing really seemed important enough to add at the moment. Finally Sam spoke up. “Well I for one like the idea. I love this house and it’s come to feel like home, but I haven’t felt quite as safe here since—” she cut off abruptly, and Matt felt pain stab at his heart at the expression on her face as she continued quietly, “since Razor’s attack.”

Matt put his arms around her, and she leaned into his hug as he looked around. One by one the others nodded, even the boys although it was anyone’s guess how much they understood.

“Well that’s decided,” his mom said, standing. “And to be honest the more I think about it the more I like it, even if it’ll mean moving all our things. But in all your talking you didn’t mention two important questions: can we actually live there, and what do we do with this house if we’re not living here?”

“Well the answer to the first question is yes and maybe,” Matt admitted. “I talked to the Mayor, and she gave me the key to the lock Ferris put on the door to keep the place secure after he took everything he wanted. I checked it out this morning and didn’t see any signs that anyone had broken in, and the inside looks good. Catherine also agreed that since the place is available, as friends of the cousins we’re good candidates to move in.”

He shrugged sheepishly. “As for permission from Lewis and Trev, I’ll admit I never asked. But I do know that it’s going to be abandoned over the winter, and knowing what I do about those two I think they’d be happy at the thought that it would make our lives easier while they’re not using it. We could also take care of it in their absence.

“And as for what to do with this house?” Matt glanced out the window towards the town storehouse down the block. “Jane and her refugees that came in yesterday refuse to be separated, which means their only other option is camping out. That’s a scary thought with the days getting colder and the first real snowstorm just around the corner, so I thought maybe we could loan the house to them. Plenty of our neighbors, dozens of families in all, have generously donated their houses to the refugees and moved in with friends, and I think it would be nice to do our part.”

“All right then, I think that’s that.” His dad also stood. “We’ll start moving in tomorrow morning.”

Sam’s arms around Matt abruptly tightened in a brief hug, then she stood up on tiptoes and pulled his head down at the same time to kiss him. “All right!” she said. “If we’re done talking let’s have some dessert! We’ve got cake from a mix with eggs donated by Henrietta, and canned peaches and goat’s milk to go on top.”

Aaron and Paul cheered and bolted for the dining room, and with a grin and another quick kiss for his girlfriend Matt followed them, relieved that the decision had been made. They still had the cache to get, which meant him and probably Terry would be gone for at least a week, probably closer to two like his dad’s trip. He’d feel much better about leaving his family behind if they were in the shelter.

After dessert they spent the rest of the day relaxing and playing games, eating a dinner of leftovers a few hours later as it was starting to get dark. Once Matt had cleaned his plate he asked Sam if she’d like to go out to the swinging bench on the front porch to spend some time alone together, which she happily agreed to as she rushed to get her coat. On his way out the door Matt’s mom gave him a hopeful smile while Sam wasn’t looking, and he felt his face flush.

He felt nervous and a bit awkward about the second announcement he was hoping to make, and he was afraid Sam would notice his mood and guess what he planned. Luckily as they sat down and began gently rocking the swing his girlfriend was intent on looking out at the yard and the view of the mountains to their right, stretching out of view into the distance to the south.

She sighed. “It’s hard to believe we’ll be leaving this place tomorrow. Your family has welcomed me in and made it my home, and even with everything that’s happened I love it because of that.”

Matt put his arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. “I know how you feel. It’s strange to think we’ll be giving the place where I grew up to a bunch of strangers. But the cousins’ shelter will be a much better place to stay the winter.”

She lightly dug her elbow into his side. “Easy there. You’ve already sold the idea and I was first to get on board.” Without waiting for an answer she leaned against him again and sighed contentedly. “Everything was looking so bad for a while there. But now Ferris and Razor are gone and the town is safe. Your dad’s made it home safely and found a way we can bring the rest of the food home, where thanks to Mayor Tillman we won’t have to worry about it being taken from us. And once we move to the shelter we’ll be in a safe place for the winter.” She snuggled her head deeper into his shoulder. “That’s almost all our worries solved. For the first time in a long time I feel like everything’s going to be okay.”

Matt rested his cheek against her dark hair. “Me too. We have a lot to be thankful for today.”

They sat for a while in cozy silence as the night fully darkened and the air grew chillier around them, content to enjoy each other’s company. Matt spent the time building up his courage, aware that at any moment Sam might suggest they should go back inside where it was warm. He wasn’t sure what had her so thoughtful while he was busy with that, but he was afraid he was going to miss his chance if he didn’t hurry.

She was just starting to stir when he finally acted, sliding off the bench to one knee next to her as she stared at him with moonlight reflecting from her wide eyes. He couldn’t read her expression, which in a way made it easier and harder at the same time as he pulled the ring out of his pocket with trembling fingers. He’d asked his mom for it that morning, and gotten it after a torrent of happy congratulations and spontaneous hugs.

Sam’s eyes were locked on the small twinkling stone as he raised the ring between them. “Samantha Hutchins,” he began solemnly, trying to keep his voice steady. “My life has been better from the moment you scared me half to death that night in the campus parking lot months ago.” She made a quiet sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. “And ever since then I can’t imagine living without you. I love you. Whatever the future holds I want to live it with you.”

He held the ring up a bit higher, noting the way her eyes sparkled a much as the diamond itself in the moonlight. “Will you marry me?”

For a breathless moment she was silent and his heart was in his throat, and then her small hands wrapped around his. “Yes,” she said in a soft voice, then laughed. “It’s about time.”

Grinning exultantly, Matt awkwardly slipped the ring onto her finger in the dark. The band was a bit big, but she didn’t seem to mind as she brought it up to look at it closer. Then Matt stood and lifted her to her feet, kissing her.

When he finally broke away she put her head on his chest. “Whatever the future holds,” she murmured. “I’ve felt the same way for a long time. Whatever comes we’ll handle it better together.” She abruptly pulled away, and in the dark he caught the white flash of her teeth as she grinned up at him. “Should we go in and tell everyone?”

* * *

The party had been winding down, but when Matt and Sam came in and she gave the news to the rest of the family by happily displaying her engagement ring everyone exploded into a new celebration. Aaron and Paul were overjoyed that their Aunt Sam was really going to become their aunt, and they kept randomly coming up and giving her hugs for the rest of the night. So did his mom and sister, for that matter.

When things finally wound down and everyone went up to bed Matt and Sam stayed on the couch for their usual quiet evening conversation, where they seriously talked about things like wedding dates and what their future together would hold. Both agreed that there was no reason to drag the engagement out too long, although there were things they had to consider when it came to the timing.

One thing was going to get the cache. Matt had planned to bring Terry and go for it right after they finished moving, leaving his dad, mom, April, and Sam to watch the shelter. He’d been thinking in terms of the trip delaying the wedding, but Sam insisted that she wasn’t going to be left behind to worry about him this time. He tried to argue about the danger and that they didn’t want to take too many people and leave the shelter unprotected, but she wouldn’t budge.

“I’m going,” she insisted. “Besides, with three people we’ll be able to pull the wagons faster, and if we fit everything in two of them we’ll always have the third person free to stand guard.”

Matt couldn’t argue with that, or the fact that Sam was better able to protect them now. While he’d been recovering from Razor’s wound over the last week he’d finally got a chance to give Sam her wish, when he not only offered to teach her, Terry, and April to shoot but practically insisted they learn, and as soon as possible. He’d taken the time to do a bit more target practice himself.

There wasn’t much ammo to spare for it, but thankfully learning to hit things with a rifle, especially a good heavy one with a bipod, good recoil absorption, and a scope like his dad’s reclaimed .30-06, was easier than learning to shoot a pistol. He planned to leave that rifle behind for defending the shelter and see if he could borrow a lighter rifle for the trip, to go along with the shotgun he’d given Terry and his own .40, as well as the revolver Sam had claimed from the looter that he’d also helped her practice with: although she was still working to get over anticipating the recoil her aim with it wasn’t terrible.

He hoped to borrow an assault rifle in the .223 caliber, but even with that lighter firearm he was a bit concerned about Sam being strong enough to aim the rifle while standing, or even in a kneeling or crouched position. Out on the range just outside of town they’d practiced with his dad’s large caliber rifle resting on a sturdy support, kneeling or prone. He’d have to help Sam get used to holding it in the aiming position long enough to shoot, and with any luck on the trip she could work at it and strengthen her arms enough before she really needed to use the weapon.

All of this was reasoning himself around to accepting her offer to come along. All other considerations aside, Matt honestly didn’t want to leave her for any amount of time either. He knew it would be risky, and the thought of her coming to harm made his heart freeze, but the route his dad had found was a fairly safe, isolated one. And arguably nowhere was truly safe these days.

So he told her yes.

The next morning they got packing. To his surprise when he went to tell Jane’s refugees that they’d soon have a home Tom Harding insisted he and his son would help them move. Matt thanked them but refused, since they couldn’t pay the father and son for their help, but the two men weren’t motivated by that. They wanted to get their group moved in as soon as possible, antsy staying in the town storehouse under the suspicious eyes of the men guarding the supplies in the backroom.

Matt still refused, although politely. They wouldn’t be taking any furniture and what they were taking would only need a few trips with the wagons, their own plus the one they’d borrowed to go after the cache. It wasn’t that he necessarily distrusted the man or his son, but he wanted to keep the location of the shelter a secret both for his family’s sake and out of respect for Lewis and Trev. Instead he encouraged them to join a hunting party and find food, and that soon enough their group would be able to move into a furnished house.

Jane was showing small signs of improvement, with every indication that she’d be up and about after a reasonable amount of time with no permanent damage. When Matt talked to her she offered to join the town’s defenders on a patrol route once she was strong enough, as well as any available hunting parties too on her days off.

After what he’d seen from her Matt had no issue with the idea, but since he’d turned over protection of the town to Chauncey Watson in his absence he told her to seek him out once she was healed. He also warned that he was taking the town’s doctor so she needed to really make sure she was healed before pushing herself.

Their neighbors were oddly incurious, both about them moving and about Matt and Terry’s planned trip. Not that Matt and his family spread either of those things around, but those they did tell didn’t even ask where they were going or why. Matt didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved by the lack of prying, although he trusted that Catherine had things in hand if anyone turned out to be untrustworthy.

When they took their first load out to the shelter his dad climbed the hill to check the observation post first thing. He loved the way it had been set up so the two people the recessed space accommodated could either lie prone or kneel with rifles firmly planted on a low, sturdy sandbag wall that ran the entire way around the shallow hole. His dad even joked semi-hopefully about the chances of a deer finding its way past the hunting parties and wandering right in rifle range of the relatively isolated shelter. Especially at night.

Matt appreciated the thought, but he wouldn’t complain if four-legged animals kept their distance if it meant the shelter was spared the approach of two-legged animals as well.

While they unloaded and went for the next load of possessions his mom got to work in the shelter, lighting a fire in the big stove at the back of the room and opening the vents to air the place out. The next time Matt and the others brought a load out they found the sleeping area curtained off into rooms and everything they’d already brought packed away in chests at the foot of the heavy cots in each room. They were able to unload the wagons directly to where the things were supposed to go on that trip, which took slightly longer but meant less work overall.

It turned out that even though they were moving from the home they’d lived in most of their lives, when it came down to it his parents didn’t have too many possessions they strictly needed to take with them. They brought photo albums, the fine dishware and silverware, their clothes, some of their blankets, other personal things, and anything else that might prove useful. But in the grand scheme of things a lot of their possessions they left behind, packed into boxes up in the attic trusting that Jane’s group would respect their property, but not terribly concerned if any of those nicknacks were stolen.

As for the furniture, his mom definitely didn’t want to lose it, but she had to trust that the refugees would take care of everything while living there. She had a long conversation with Jane about it before the redheaded woman’s group moved in, and seemed satisfied with things after that.

In the early afternoon the move was complete. They were in the shelter and the refugees were in their house. The last thing they did for the move was lock up their new underground home and hike back into town to go over the house one last time and officially welcome the refugees in, give them a tour, and do what they could to help them get settled in.

Then they returned to the shelter to do their own settling in, exploring the space, doing a bit of cleaning, cooking dinner on the new stove, and finally preparing to sleep in their new beds. Matt was a bit disappointed to realize that even with heavy curtains too much sound got through for him and Sam to continue their usual habit of staying up talking quietly, and everyone ended up going to sleep earlier than usual in a sort of uncomfortable silence interspersed by the occasional goodnights. The boys even made a game of it, shouting goodnights loud enough to be heard everywhere in the shelter until their mother scolded them into silence.

The next morning Matt went over the route his dad had taken, making sure Sam and Terry knew it as well as he did, and then they loaded up their wagons with food, tarps, and camping equipment for the trip, along with their weapons and ammo, and headed out. He’d worked out a deal with Catherine to acquire an AR-15, something between renting it and purchasing it, along with a couple hundred rounds of .223, a spare magazine, and the equipment to clean it. He’d pay for the ammo with food when they got back, and the rifle itself he’d use for his duties protecting the town once he resumed them.

It was a generous deal he was happy to accept, and he felt a lot more comfortable about the trip with the assault rifle slung across his back and his Glock at his hip as they set out, with Terry carrying his shotgun slung on his back and Sam with her revolver in a holster on her belt. They were well armed, their route was isolated and fairly safe, and they were all in fairly good shape.

Fingers crossed if they were careful and made good time they’d all be back soon with every single bit of food in the cache.

For all their worry the trip was a fairly uneventful one. The weather turned cold, the days were long and full of walking that tested Matt’s injured leg until it grew stronger, and the hills they passed through seemed oddly deserted no matter how carefully they searched. They saw no sign of any of the people his dad had encountered, either hidden or no longer there.

They did see a few deer on the way up, and there was quite a bit of debate about whether to bag one. Matt argued for it, while Terry argued that they’d end up transporting the meat all the way up to the cache and back and it would be nearly as much work as benefit. Not to mention that even in the cold weather there was no guarantee it wouldn’t spoil. Sam had a more pragmatic argument, that none of them knew how to field dress or quarter a deer even if they brought one down, and learning might take a lot of time and risk providing less meat and possibly even tainting it.

In the end they left the deer behind to hopefully wander closer to Aspen Hill for the town’s hunters to bag. Matt agreed that their focus should be moving as quickly as possible.

The trip up didn’t take long. They reached the cache on the third day and checked the highway, which looked eerily abandoned of any traveling refugees. Small surprise in the cold. Matt almost thought the state of Trev’s car was funny at this point, when every time he saw it it was in worse condition. His dad was right that someone had burned the interior, leaving it a gutted hulk.

The cache remained hidden, and it didn’t take long to dig it up and load everything that remained in the wagons. Matt was a bit concerned to see that after what had already been taken from it what remained wasn’t quite the limitless bounty he’d hoped for. Still, with care and finding other ways to supplement their diet it would hopefully be enough to last the family through the coldest months.

It would have to be.

They split the food between the wagons so each carried about two hundred pounds, not an impossible weight but certainly one that required extra strength to pull. Especially over long periods of time over rough roads. Sam was able to manage the weight with a bit of effort, however, which would make a difference on the trip back since they’d have three people to pull the wagons instead of two.

There were other things in the cache that Trev left behind, either by accident or because he didn’t think he’d need them and they were heavy or bulky, including various useful camping items and a few blankets. They took those as well.

The trip back took longer, slowed by the wagons and their muscles getting used to constantly towing the extra weight. They also paid even more attention to their surroundings in case of attack now that they had precious food to steal. The trip that had taken about two and a half days to get up there took almost six to return to Aspen Hill, but considering how long his father had been gone Matt called that a good pace. Thanks to good meals and careful rest their strength also increased as they towed their weights, and before the end Sam was more easily handling her wagon when she towed it.

Matt made his fiancee blush by complimenting her toned muscles on a rare warm afternoon when she removed her coat, and she insisted he return the favor and take off his own coat to do some flexing for her. Terry ended their banter by threatening to throw a bucket of cold water over them, and although his brother-in-law was just joking and the day was mild Matt still had no desire to get wet and chilled. They kept going, mood lightened but not forgetting their urgency to get home.

On the eighth day, still several miles from home, their good luck ended and the snowstorm that had been dumping in the mountains looming to the west for the last few days finally made it down to where they were in the foothills. They kept going through the heavily flying snow for as long as they could, as wet slush caked on the tires of their wagons and forced frequent stops to knock it off. But finally near sundown they gave up on reaching the town that day, if it was even possible, and decided they’d finish the trip in the morning.

The first snow of winter had arrived, giving them a taste of what they could expect in the coming weeks. Matt was just grateful it had waited until they were almost home.

Just before noon they reached the shelter trudging through almost a foot of wet snow that clung to the wagon wheels, their feet, and the trees on the slopes behind them and the houses in the distance in front of them.

When they arrived they were pleased to discover that Matt’s dad had brought down a deer after all, not while waiting in the observation post while it wandered within range but by sighting it in the hills and going after it, a chase that lasted almost two hours. He’d had his own adventure getting the animal cleaned and quartered and the meat brought home with only a passing knowledge of how it was done.

Still, they had venison to go with other food at the celebration dinner that evening, almost as joyous as Thanksgiving had been. While it was cooking Matt had sought out the Mayor and Chauncey, who’d taken over for him while he was gone, about resuming his duties and offering whatever other aid he could. Terry came as well to do what he could for anyone who’d fallen sick or been injured in his absence. They spent the afternoon in town pitching in, coming back to the shelter for dinner chilled and with the snow still falling thickly.

The next day Matt returned to work, almost surprised at how quickly the duties that he’d held for only a week, most of it while off his feet, became routine and things got back to normal. Or at least as normal as possible after the attack. Which wasn’t to say they were good, at least not for the town.

But for Matt it meant no more journeys. No walking to Antelope Island and back for April’s family, no skulking along backroads with wagonloads of food hoping not to be attacked. Just patrols and more to look forward to in the coming days, weeks, and months, as winter gripped the town and the suffering of its people became more and more real.

The only thing he really had to look forward to was his wedding.

Chapter Eleven

Winter

The days-long snowstorm about a week and a half after Thanksgiving marked the end of any real adventuring for Trev and Lewis. At least any that didn’t involve slogging through snow that ranged from knee to hip deep, with only the faint hope that you might not sink all the way through the crust unless you could make your way through the densest clumps of trees where it was a bit better. Although even there you had to be careful not to brush a branch or you might end up buried in a mini avalanche.

Lewis had two pairs of snowshoes for when they really needed to get around, but after trying them Trev quickly learned that using them was as tiring as wading through deep sand. Something to avoid unless he was taking a long trip and really needed them. For slogging to the outhouse and back they were more effort than they were worth, especially once they’d stomped out a trail.

His cousin stopped the patrols, since at this point the winter would do a better job of hiding them if they weren’t making tracks everywhere in a half mile radius. They didn’t go up to the logging road at all, since that was the most likely place where unfriendly eyes might discover tracks. Instead they’d periodically slog down to the cliffs and from there scope out the mountainsides around them and the road below for any sign of people.

They never saw any.

Beyond that there wasn’t much they did outdoors besides visit the woodpile, the icebox, and the outhouse. On warmer days they tried their hands at snares and Trev even braved the climb down to the river for fishing now and again. The catches were few and far between, mostly not worth the effort, but during daylight hours they went out anyway, as much to escape the cramped but warm confines of their hideout as anything.

Days passed to weeks, then months, as their food supply slowly but inexorably dwindled. They started a routine inside the shelter of exercising and doing dry fire training drills with their firearms, lifting the cots off to one side to give them at least a bit of room. It got tedious beyond all belief after a while, but they stayed in good shape and as active as they could.

And nobody could say Trev wasn’t quick on the draw and good at swiftly lining up a shot on any random knothole or woodgrain, with arms that didn’t waver in the slightest. He was also more than prepared to clear any malfunction that didn’t involve his familiar Mini-14 or new Glock literally falling to pieces in his hands.

Every week on a day when the weather was decent they checked along the cliffs for interlopers, then hiked a short distance to a spot where hills surrounded them on three sides, most importantly in the direction of the road to block the sound. There they spent a few precious rounds keeping their aim solid with both pistol and rifle, repeating the familiar drills they practiced in their hideout with live ammo.

Trev finally mastered the recoil on his .45 to his satisfaction, and with extended practice with his rifle he got to the point where he could reliably hit targets far enough away that he had trouble seeing them through the scope, as well as multiple closer targets in a quick sequence of shots. He still felt like he had a lot to learn every time he watched his cousin’s practice, but time was on his side when it came to catching up.

As the winter months passed they remained in isolation, not even seeing signs of neighbors or travelers passing through, and Lewis was quick to insist that he was more than happy with that. For his part Trev wouldn’t have minded a bit of company now and again to relieve the monotony, and especially missed his college days that seemed a lifetime ago, where he’d been able to interact with people his own age.

Thousands of people his own age, often doing things he had no interest in doing. Then, that is: activities that had at the time seemed almost too boring to bother going to now filled his fondest memories, and he even missed the quiet focus and occasional laughing conversations of study groups. And dates. He really missed going on dates and other opportunities to spend time with members of the opposite sex.

He’d always enjoyed spending time with Lewis, and on those long winter nights they found plenty of topics of conversation to talk about. But with nothing new happening and no news coming in you could only say so much to the same person about the same things.

Luckily with his forward thinking Lewis had included some musical instruments with his other things, a few harmonicas and light plastic recorder, so they had something besides conversation to divert them. They spent many an hour clumsily learning to play all the songs they knew, and while at first the sound was worse than silence, or for that matter worse than cats yowling, eventually they improved enough to be enjoyable. Although after most sessions Lewis would end up grumbling about his left behind hard drives and the prospect of listening to real music.

It was his cousins’s second favorite topic, behind reminiscing about Aspen Hill and speculating on how their friends and neighbors were doing. Especially during the coldest nights of late December and January, with the wind howling outside and little light except what they could get from the stove, Trev thought he heard a bit of regret in his cousin’s voice, especially when his speculation started turning to how things would’ve been if they’d tried to stay in town for the winter, even with Ferris and everything else.

Trev had his own regrets about that, especially wondering how everyone felt about him after Mandy, but he didn’t dwell on it much aside from when Lewis brought it up. Ultimately here was where they were and where they’d be, unless they wanted to brave snowdrifts over their heads trying to get down the mountains. At least in the hideout the main thing they had to worry about defending against was snow piling up in front of their door or over the icehouse and outhouse. Considering the alternatives it was a foe he was happy to face.

Still, as January passed into February with March looming on the horizon Trev grew more and more restless, spending increasing amounts of time exercising or striking out along the snowy slopes around them even on the coldest days just to escape the dim confines of the hideout.

In spite of all the ways of producing light they’d brought they were running out, of batteries and kerosene and candles, and more and more he wished Lewis’s foresight had included a window. Or maybe a bank of south facing windows like Lewis talked about as the ideal setup for an underground house in winter, although he hadn’t had a chance to do it for the shelter or the hideout.

Either way Trev was more than ready for winter to be over. Whether they made their way back to Aspen Hill or stuck around in the mountains spring couldn’t come soon enough for his tastes.

* * *

The wedding took place one week before Christmas.

Matt’s parents and April all thought having it just three weeks after his proposal was a bit rushed, considering how before the attack weddings usually took months to plan. But it wasn’t like there was a venue to book, a cake to order, decorations to plan, coordinated tuxedos and dresses to rent, and guests on both sides of the family from all over the country to invite. No need to plan a DJ or a band, apply for a marriage license, sit through a surprise bachelor or bachelorette party, or any of the other things that went into weddings these days.

More than that, though, in their long discussions together on quiet nights Matt and Sam had both agreed that the world didn’t wait for things to be ideal anymore, and with an uncertain future it was all the more important to live the present to the fullest. Not that they considered their timing to be rushed, either: both agreed on what they wanted and couldn’t see any reason to delay.

Although even with a simpler wedding there was a lot to prepare in those two weeks after returning from their trip to get the cache. They planned the wedding to be in the town hall’s auditorium with the ceremony itself limited to family and friends, which still made for a packed room, while the reception was open to the town. That meant the auditorium had to be decorated somehow, which meant a bit of scrounging around town finding things Sam, his mom, and April found suitable. While he was doing that Matt did his best to find something more formal to wear than a white shirt, tie, and slacks.

The days of feeding all wedding guests were well behind them, unfortunately, since even with the meat they’d butchered the town’s supply of food was long gone and nobody was about to donate from whatever individual stores they might have, not even for a wedding. His mom had suggested doling out what few cans of peaches, pears, and sweet corn they had as a little treat, but after Sam had asked everyone to picture how doling out a spoonful of food to each of a roomful of guests would go over they’d agreed to take food off the menu.

At the very least Mayor Tillman offered them a container of powdered Gatorade as a present, and between that and good spring water the guests wouldn’t go thirsty.

Things weren’t going well for the town as the days got colder and food got scarcer, but in spite of that Matt was almost certain the wedding was improving people’s moods. When he was at the storehouse, the town hall, or even on the way to or from patrols people constantly came up to him offering their congratulations, and he quickly learned that he wasn’t the only one who’d formed a high opinion of Sam during her short time in town. He passed on to her a great deal of praise about her cheerfulness, kindness, and willingness to help.

The people around him all seemed to get just a little bit more cheerful when he was around, especially when Sam was with him, even when those people were obviously hungry and even sick, desperate for any pleasant distraction to latch on to. Matt and his fiancee spent most of their time around other people fielding questions about the wedding, quite honestly answering that yes, they were lucky to have found one another, yes, they were very excited about getting married, and yes, they did love each other very much.

It was almost a relief to escape the flurry of wedding planning to wade through ankle deep snow patrolling the town. Sam even started going with him, since between sleeping in the shelter and wedding plans it was one of the few chances they had to spend time alone together. Matt felt bad about forcing her to tramp through the cold, but he certainly couldn’t ask for better company.

Finally the day of the wedding arrived, with Matt nervously standing in the changing room to one side of the stage trying to piece together the tuxedo he’d borrowed from Carl Raymond. As he understood it Sam, in the other changing room across the stage, had no less than four women helping her fix her dress, hair, makeup, veil, shoes, and everything else just right. Not that he needed or wanted anyone to help him dress, of course, but it would’ve been nice if someone had thought to tell him how to put this thing on. He’d had no idea it was going to be this complicated.

Finally, though, he thought he managed to get it right and did some last minute comb work on his hair, which April had cut for him last night. He also ran a hand along his jaw, although if he’d missed a patch shaving this morning it wasn’t like he’d be able to do anything about it now. Less than a minute later there was a soft rap on the door and he was ushered up to stand at the front of the auditorium. Ben Thompson started playing the wedding march on the piano and the noise in the auditorium died down to an expectant hush, as Matt turned to look anxiously down the aisle searching for his first glimpse of his bride to be.

Although he did pause to glance at the first row in the audience and smile at his nephews, who were both standing on their chairs waving wildly and yelling helloes to him as an embarrassed Tam tried to get them to sit back down. Behind him he heard Terry making shushing noises, and on the opposite side with the maids of honor April finally broke away two steps to sit them back down and furiously whisper reprimands.

When he looked back down the aisle it was in time to see Sam step into view on his dad’s arm, starting toward him.

Matt felt his breath catch when he saw the woman he loved. His mom had lent Sam her wedding dress, which was a bit big on the petite woman even after the two of them and April did their best to make adjustments, and April had lent her a pair of her nicest shoes stuffed with a bit of cotton at the tips so they fit. Her dark hair shone from brushing, hanging loose down her back with two simple clips holding it away from her face.

He didn’t think she’d ever looked more lovely, especially when her eyes met his through the veil and her smile became radiant.

Catherine took their vows in her position as Mayor, and Matt hoped Sam could glean his sincerity among the nervous fumbling of words that didn’t seem adequate to express his true feelings. Her own words were quiet and fervent, as if for his ears only, leaving everyone on the benches leaning forward and straining to hear. Anything left unsaid was expressed in their first kiss as man and wife.

They had the reception, swamped by the congratulations of what seemed the entire town, and after hours of celebration and well-wishing changed into warmer clothes and left the auditorium, shivering in the clear cold midafternoon sunlight.

As Matt looked around his hometown, Sam’s hand holding his tight, it struck him that nothing seemed to have changed in Aspen Hill since entering the building that morning. The town was in the same bleak situation it had been before and everything looked the same, aside from one difference:

Whatever the future held, he and Sam would face it together.

* * *

Their honeymoon left something to be desired, since Matt had to continue his duties protecting the town and Sam had her own day to day work to do. There was also the fact that they had to share the underground shelter with 6 other people, which made intimacy a bit awkward even with the privacy screens. It often led to the rest of the family finding vague but important things to do outside that had the adults ushering the boys out with them to give the newlyweds some time to be alone.

In spite of the awkwardness Sam didn’t complain, insisting that she actually didn’t mind being a part of the close-knit family unit with loved ones all around. And, perhaps because they were so hard to come by, Matt treasured their opportunities to spend time alone together all the more.

Still, when he brought up building a house in the spring Sam definitely didn’t seem opposed to the idea, although she insisted that it was a secondary concern when they already had a place to live and so many more important things to worry about.

One nice thing about living with the rest of the family in the shelter, same as they had before the wedding, was that their new life together felt like it flowed seamlessly from their old life with no awkward interruptions, and their honeymoon never seemed to end as they settled into being married.

It also helped that Christmas came just over a week later. Matt’s family had never been much for celebrating holidays, and according to Sam her family’s Christmas tradition was a half hour or so of opening presents in the morning and then the rest of the day was pretty much normal.

This year, however, Matt had a bit more insight into the much anticipated and eagerly celebrated event he’d seen in old classic movies or read in stories from the Old West or Victorian Era. It made sense in a way, since without television or internet to distract them, and with so much worry and suffering around them, any holiday would be both entertainment and distraction, an excuse to forget everything and celebrate with loved ones for a while.

They brought the best young evergreen tree they could find from the foothills and spent long evening hours that week carving ornaments out of bits of wood from the woodpile, since they’d left their own ornaments at home. Matt’s mom had gone to visit Jane, much improved and who’d left the storehouse clinic and had been living with her refugee group for weeks now, and insisted the refugees have the Larson family ornaments to decorate their own tree. She wouldn’t hear of the redheaded woman’s protests, insisting that carving new ornaments gave them all something to do.

Even Aaron was given a bit of styrofoam packing that might once have been considered garbage to whittle into a snowman. Meanwhile Paul was given the important job of breaking the remaining styrofoam into snowflakes, to be pinned onto the pointy bulbs of the strings of LED lights Lewis had hung along the walls to light the shelter before Ferris took the solar panels.

Which was too bad, since they were technically Christmas lights repurposed for general lighting and would’ve perfectly fit the holiday spirit.

In an attempt to lift the town’s spirits for at least a short time Catherine organized a celebration in the town square on Christmas Eve, complete with a large decorated tree and carols. And while there was no wassail or hot chocolate she did manage to get her hands on several boxes of herbal tea, which along with dollops of precious honey made an enjoyable drink for townspeople to warm their hands around as they sang.

She further tried to raise spirits with a dance on Christmas day in the auditorium, one that Matt and Sam were only too happy to attend. Neither of them was a particularly good dancer, but then again no one around them seemed to be either and that didn’t seem to be stopping anyone.

Altogether between family and friends Matt didn’t think he’d ever celebrated a more enjoyable Christmas, not even as a kid when the magic of the holidays was so much more exciting. Even New Year’s Eve, which he’d never considered much of a holiday, was given special treatment as everyone in Aspen Hill looked forward to a year where things improved, clinging to that hope in spite of all evidence to the contrary.

Because unfortunately aside from the wedding and holidays there wasn’t much to celebrate that winter. Thanks to Trev’s generosity with his cache and Lewis’s (assumed) generosity letting them stay at the shelter and draw from his massive woodpile, Matt and his family were far better off than the rest of the town.

Which wasn’t to say things were perfect. They had to viciously ration Trev’s gift to make it stretch among 8 people through the cold months, and over time all of them grew thin and weak and listless. They got sick more frequently as well, which was a great concern in their weakened states and required larger meals to nurse them back to health.

That concern was even greater when they were all effectively sharing one room with only curtains to divide beds, since sickness tended to spread. At one point in January everyone but Sam fell sick at once for almost a week, nothing life threatening it seemed but enough to keep them all weak and feverish in bed. Matt’s new wife was driven almost to exhaustion caring for them all, and although he tried to help as much as he could he’d been hit the worst out of everyone and could barely stand.

That was probably because he was the most active out of the group, since he was often out on patrol or organizing the rosters down at town hall or responding to crises in the town. With all that he worked himself even harder than Terry, who was kept busy doing his best to care for the sick and injured as the town’s only doctor.

Their family in the shelter was better fed and kept warmer than almost everyone else, while the former intern surgeon found himself dealing with increasing number of patients among the townspeople who weren’t so fortunate. As far as they could tell they’d managed to prevent the flu down in Price from spreading to Aspen Hill, but even so people were coming to Terry in droves for other illnesses, injuries, or more direly as they approached the perilous brink of starvation.

In growing desperation Mayor Tillman had haggled to purchase any spare animals townspeople had, even horses and dogs, to butcher for meat. She couldn’t offer anything but IOUs or less valuable commodities, which was everything but food these days when everyone was starving. Precious metals, jewelry, even ammo found itself seriously devalued, but Catherine offered what she could to try to feed those on the brink of starvation.

It wasn’t nearly enough. Terry knew the numbers better than anyone since he saw many of the deaths, and Matt learned of the others from the Mayor during their weekly councils.

All in all over a third of the residents of Aspen Hill had perished by the end of February. Among the refugees it was closer to two-thirds. Many of those deaths were among the older and younger members of the population, those most vulnerable to sickness once they were weakened from hunger. Although even the healthiest members of the community weren’t always spared. Matt ended up attending funerals nearly every day, one of the few strong enough to help dig graves in the frozen soil.

It was brutal work, especially with the specter of cold and exhaustion looming over him, and with every shovelful Matt thought of Ferris with more and more bitterness.

Terrible as it was to think of, if the administrator hadn’t fed the refugees with the town’s food far more of the people of Aspen Hill would’ve survived. The grim tradeoff would’ve been that almost all the refugees would certainly have died, but heartless as it sounded Matt would’ve preferred to be burying strangers rather than friends.

Which wasn’t to say the refugees weren’t doing their part. Under Ben and Catherine’s leadership they’d integrated well into the town, and aside from a few exceptions Matt had no complaints about the new citizens helping defend their borders. In truth he had almost as much trouble from the townspeople he worked with. But any trouble he had from the people reporting to him paled in comparison to what he was forced to deal with from the rest of the townspeople.

Following the Mayor’s strict crackdown on crime after the refugees were integrated into the town thefts had dropped to almost nothing, but as the cold and starvation took its toll crime gradually started to climb again. Many, in the last extreme faced with death or theft, did what they thought they had to. And since the refugees were the worst off a disproportionate amount of that desperate violence and stealing came from them.

Matt, Catherine, and Bert Peterson were faced with many difficult and sad choices as they held strict to the Mayor’s policy of exile for theft and other crimes. It was easy to assume it was a more lenient punishment when the weather was fair, but in the depths of winter exile was practically a death sentence and they all knew it.

Tormented by her determination to keep the promises she’d made Catherine had a harder and harder time insisting that the sentencing be enforced, although she stayed firm in her resolve. As for Matt, the only reason he was able to carry the punishments out on her behalf was because he wasn’t the one making the decisions. That helped, some.

The same couldn’t be said for Bert. The elderly retired lawyer had gravely upheld his duties judging the members of Razor’s gang after they attacked the town, but it had weighed on him. He was used to a system where those condemned to death often waited a decade or more through a lengthy process of appeals and other legal proceedings. He’d gone along with the hasty sentencing and carrying out the executions because of the dire situation and the clear guilt of the condemned men, but it had taken its toll.

The later sentences he had to hand out, especially exile, nearly broke him. He even tried arranging a meeting to discuss more lenient punishments for theft, but the town wouldn’t hear of it. Everyone else was just as desperate as those who were stealing, and the threat of exile was the only thing keeping the town from collapsing into chaos.

In the end Bert had pled to be excused from his position as town judge, and no one had begrudged him the decision. In his place a tribunal consisting of six members of the community, including Ben and Chauncey, was set up to pass judgment on crimes. It was a solution almost everyone was satisfied with, and it kept the town relatively peaceful.

Not that there weren’t a few exceptions. The worst came early in March, when the shelter itself came under attack by a dozen starving people.

Chapter Twelve

Desperate Times

Matt’s legs felt dead by the time he finished his patrol shift west of town.

He’d walked it dozens of times over the winter, and it wasn’t so great a distance, but any distance stretched on into infinity when all he’d had for the last ten meals was a cake the size of his palm. They were made of boiled wheat mashed into a paste, and for the breakfast cake included Henrietta’s daily egg mixed into enough batter for eight people, then fried in olive oil and drizzled in honey. They took turns licking the remaining oil off the pan when the meal was finished, and it was almost depressing how much of a treat that had become.

From the first Matt had tried to have his people patrol in pairs for their safety, and he’d managed it for a while, but now he walked alone. He had less than a quarter of the volunteers he’d once had defending the town. Some had died, which was heartbreaking, but more had abandoned what felt to them like a worthless chore when they’d had less than a dozen incidents all winter and the only real fight any of them faced was against starvation. They argued that their time could be better spent searching for food than for enemies that weren’t coming.

Matt couldn’t fault them for the decision, but it did worry him. The radios still worked, the guns were mostly in good repair, plans for defense of the town and calling up swift response defenders at the first sign of a threat were laid out, but none of it would do any good if they didn’t have people out there to give advance warning of a possible attack.

So he kept to the routes, taking more and more shifts as less and less people showed up to do them. Those who stayed with him at the task were mostly people who’d lost someone in Razor’s attack, or younger men whose families had survived the winter better like the Watson boys. But even they showed up lest often, and seemed more halfhearted at it.

Surprisingly Jane was out there almost as much as Matt himself, although he had the feeling she wasn’t motivated by loyalty to the town. The hunting parties had to split the meat among them, and give a portion to the town in exchange for use of the guns and ammunition. Meanwhile anyone on patrol who managed to bring down game also had to give the town its portion, but the rest was theirs.

Matt had seen her ranging far out beyond the patrol route, particularly in places where the terrain might encourage game to follow predictable paths down from the mountains. And truth be told her refugee group was faring better than most of the town under her care, fed by the consistent meat she brought in. In spite of the extended ranging she carried out her duties on patrol as expected, and Matt couldn’t begrudge her for her resourcefulness: attentive eyes had an equal chance of spotting humans as game, so she wouldn’t miss any potential threats.

In truth he had to admire what she managed, caring for the group practically all by herself with whatever help Tom and Alvin Harding, neither of whom were particularly good shots, managed to provide. Matt did his best to do the same for his family, but a lot of the time he felt like he wasn’t managing as well as he could. It physically pained him to see how much weight Sam had lost over the winter: she’d always been petite, but now she felt like just a wisp in his arms. Even worse, her cheery optimism had given way to the same sort of plodding dullness he saw in too many faces these days as she mustered the energy to do only what needed to be done.

It scared him.

He knew he wasn’t much better off. He’d always been skinny, but now the face that looked back at him in the mirror when he shaved every few days was practically skeletal. He had trouble finding the strength to do more than plod along at a walk, and his arms trembled if he held his rifle up for more than a few seconds to look through the scope. He’d tried to follow Jane’s example and find his own game on patrol, but she was either luckier than him or had a better idea of where and how to look. Probably the latter. All he’d managed were a few skinny rabbits and a single doe, which he still counted a blessing.

But his shift was over now, and that meant another cake that wasn’t enough but that he desperately needed. More importantly, that meant he could collapse on his cot and rest for a few minutes with Sam in his arms, enjoying being with her for as long as he could afford to before getting back to the business of staying alive. Even a week ago the prospect of that would’ve been enough to put a spring in his step in spite of his weariness, but now it only served to keep him on his feet long enough to get home.

Smoke drifted up from beyond the shorter hill which lay between him and the shelter, since he was approaching from the west, and as he circled it and the shelter came into view he couldn’t help but be grateful for the warmth he knew would be waiting for him inside.

Before going in, though, he made his way up to the observation post to greet April, who was sprawled listlessly staring through the scope of their dad’s .30-06. Her gauntness worried him as well, especially when he saw her like this, perhaps even more so because she always made an effort to put up a cheerful and energetic front when she was around other people, hiding her suffering as best she could. Like she did now when she finally noticed him, only ten or so feet from the observation post, and scrambled to her feet to give him a wave.

“It’s been nice lately,” she said, holding her arms out as if to embrace the sun. “I know this is just the “in like a lamb” part of March, but it still feels like spring’s just around the corner.”

“I hope so,” Matt said, unable to share her mood. “Old Man Winter’s overstayed his welcome.”

April sniffed, taking in the scents of baking on the smoke that drifted their way, and Matt heard her stomach growl. “Oh, that smells good. The same thing we’ve had for the last dozen meals straight and it’s still making my mouth water.” She picked up the rifle and slung it over her shoulder. “I’m going to come in and eat with you guys.”

He hesitated, about to object, but then he thought of how close he’d come before she even noticed him. She needed a break, even from something as easy as sitting in the observation post scouting the area. And he was too tired to protest anyway, so he nodded and led the way down into the shelter.

Sam was at the stove frying the cakes, hands trembling slightly on the spatula when she flipped one. Matt came over and put his arms around her from behind, kissing the top of her head, and she gave a contented sigh and settled back against him as she kept working. The rest of the family drifted in for the meal, even Terry from the clinic, and gathered around the stove in anticipation. He heard more than one stomach growling.

Before too long the meal was ready, and they settled down on their cots in the living area with the curtains drawn back so they could all see each other, tossing the hot cakes from hand to hand.

Matt had just finished swallowing his first bite and was about to take a second when he caught movement outside on the ramp leading down to the door. At first his dull wits didn’t ring any alarm bells at that, until he remembered that his entire family was gathered around him also eating. Even then it wasn’t enough for concern, since he thought it might be someone they knew coming for a visit. That happened on occasion, so he was in no hurry as he looked up to see who it was.

Which turned out to be a gaunt, raggedly dressed man he vaguely recognized creeping for the door, pistol in one hand and eyes squinting into the relative darkness of a large underground space lit only by a single stove in back and light coming through the door. Behind him other figures crowded the ramp, clearly visible in the afternoon sun streaming in around them.

Time seemed to slow down, and the world froze as the fog around Matt’s mind vanished into mounting horror. Sam sat beside him, between him and the door. The boys were sprawled on the floor gnawing on their cakes not two feet away from Matt’s feet, directly in the gunman’s line of sight. In fact, sitting there eating their lunch with an open door and no one manning the observation post they were all in his line of sight like fish in a barrel.

Matt drew the .40 he always kept on his hip and pointed it towards the door, inches from Sam’s face. In spite of her own haze of hunger and exhaustion his wife had the presence of mind to duck back, hands darting to her ears, as he opened fire.

The shots echoed deafeningly in the enclosed metal space, and the placid sounds of eating and murmured conversation were replaced by his family’s screams.

The gunman fell, his pistol thumping onto the carpet inside the shelter as its owner slumped across the threshold. Another man behind the first also fell, and with the sort of agility that comes from seeing a gun being fired your way the other attackers all dove back up the ramp and out of sight.

Matt bolted for the door, kicking at the groaning gunman to get him clear so he could close it. In the painfully bright sunlight outside he saw a dozen or more men and even a few women standing or sprawled around the ramp, some with guns but most bearing machetes or wood axes or other improvised weapons. The few guns he saw lifted his way, and Matt threw his weight behind the door and slammed it shut just as the first shots rang out.

Some of those weapons had been large caliber rifles, and he could only hope that Lewis’s solid wood and sheet metal door could keep out bullets meant to bring down big game. It seemed like it could, or at least he didn’t see sunlight shining through any new holes. It probably helped that they were firing down the ramp at an angle instead of straight on, giving the bullets a better chance to ricochet rather than penetrate.

He locked the doorknob and then the two sturdy deadbolts, just in time as the entire door shuddered under the weight of multiple people slamming against it. Which didn’t worry him too much, since a door that could stop bullets would be hard to break down, and they’d have a fun time trying to chop through a quarter inch of sheet metal to get to the wood behind.

Behind him the screaming had stopped, at least among the adults. His dad hurried up, stooping to pick up the pistol the fallen man had dropped. “What in the world is going on?” he shouted.

Since Matt’s ears were ringing from the shots he’d fired he appreciated the volume, although the question itself seemed a bit unnecessary. “We’re under attack!” he shouted back. “More than a dozen people, four or five guns. I saw them sneaking in while we were eating.”

His dad scowled at the door. “Five guns? If we’d had someone in the observation post we could’ve sent them packing before they got within a hundred yards of this place.”

Matt felt a stab of anger, which wasn’t enough to overwhelm the even more powerful surge of shame he felt. He’d left their home unguarded even when he should’ve known better. “You think I don’t know that? I get it, I messed up.”

“That’s not what I meant,” his dad protested. “We’ve just gotten careless. This isn’t the first time we’ve brought everyone in to eat instead of bringing food out to whoever’s on watch, and that’s on all of us.”

That didn’t make him feel any better, since he of all people should’ve been on top of making sure someone was in the observation post at all times. But before he could respond the thumps at the door abruptly stopped and a voice cut in harshly from outside.

“Larson!” The door shuddered under a pair of blows. “We know you’ve got food in there, Larson! An entire bunker full of it. And your doctor’s probably got medicine too! Bring it all out and it’s the last you’ll see of us.”

Matt glanced back at his family. His mom had gathered up Aaron and Paul and retreated back behind the stove where they’d be safer from any stray shots. Sam had snatched up Matt’s AR-15 from where he’d set it on the bed and was staring at him with wide eyes, while Terry held the shotgun Matt had given him and April held their dad’s hunting rifle.

They were as well armed as the bandits outside, the problem was they were in here and the bandits were out there. At least this place was built like a bunker and the entrance could hold for a while. Matt pulled his radio from his belt. “Chauncey?” No response. “Mayor Tillman?”

Blast. Of course the radio wouldn’t work this far from town and inside a metal shed buried under a few feet of dirt. Which left just one option, talking. “Who’s out there?” he called through the door.

“As if we’d tell you!” came the immediate reply. The door rattled again. “Listen, Larson, we don’t have anything against you. Most of us even respect you. But we’re getting that food from you one way or another.”

Matt didn’t need them to identify themselves. He vaguely recognized the man he’d shot as one of the refugees, nobody who’d worked with Ben or helped defend the town, though. He thought he might’ve seen him go out with the hunting parties a few times. The others were probably his friends and family, willing to risk exile or even execution in the hope of food. Although they’d probably planned to leave town after this attack.

“Not through this door you’re not,” Matt answered. “And you’ve got about fifteen minutes to realize that before the help I just radioed Mayor Tillman for gets here.”

There was a doubtful pause, and he thought he heard the faintest sounds of conversation drifting through the thick door from the people outside. “No way your radio works in there!” the attackers’ spokesman finally said.

Matt laughed, although he felt more like throwing up. “Haven’t you heard anything about this place? My friend thought of everything. He’s got an antenna going out. Not only can I radio the town but I’ve got double the range I usually would.”

“I didn’t see any antenna. Besides, we’ve got a nice tall hill right here. If we see anyone coming from town we can be long gone before they get here. Assuming you aren’t lying. And if you are lying then you should probably just give up now. We don’t have to bust down this door to kill you guys, you know.”

Before Matt could respond a slightly muffled crack shivered through the door, and a hole appeared in its center at about chest height. Matt was so surprised by the sudden circle of daylight that he barely noticed the sting on his arm where the bullet had grazed him.

Instinct kicked in and he shoved his dad to one side of the door, putting his back against the wall on the other as he followed the path of the bullet towards Sam, April, and Terry, still standing farther back. He could see the whites of all their eyes. “Anyone hit?” he hissed.

“No,” came a chorus of replies.

Matt beckoned frantically to them, and after an uncomprehending moment they all rushed to the front of the shelter to crouch beside him and his dad on either side of the door. The safest places to be aside from behind the stove, which was already occupied. Matt took his dad’s hunting rifle from April, doing his best to control his breathing as anger replaced his shock and panic.

“It would be nice to call whoever just shot at me by name,” he said. “You realize that bullet flopped like a dying fish by the time it got through a door this thick?”

“That was a .308, Larson,” the spokesman replied. “I’m guessing none of you got hit, but if you did you’d definitely be fee—”

While the attacker was still talking Matt spun out partially in front of the door and leveled his dad’s gun straight out in front of him. He fired a shot at the near edge, worked the bolt as he shuffled a bit to the side and fired another shot, repeated the action and fired a third, and repeated the action again to fire a fourth and last shot at the far end of the door before flattening himself against the wall beside his dad.

Everyone else was holding their hands over their ears, and he wished he’d had ear protection as he shouted over the renewed ringing in his own. Sometime during the short space between shots he also thought he’d heard screaming, but he didn’t hear it now. He barely heard himself as he called to the attackers.

“That was a .30-06! I’m guessing someone got hit, and you’re definitely feeling it!”

The reply came in the form of a long string of cursing through the five holes now punched through their front door. It was a different voice than the one who’d spoken before. It also seemed to be coming from farther away, as if their attackers had retreated up the ramp to escape the unexpected return fire. Matt took a chance and quickly looked through the nearest hole, which only seemed large until he tried to peer through it.

He couldn’t see much, but from what he could tell of the shadows in the ramp no one was down there. He did see a bit of a foot and leg crouched up beside the ramp, and he lifted his rifle up to the very top of the door in line to try for a shot at it.

He must’ve hit, because over the renewed ringing in his ears he heard another string of cursing and shots fired wildly from the top of the ramp, none of which pierced through since they were shot at an angle.

“You’re dead, Larson! You hear!” the new spokesman screamed. “You and your whole family are dead!”

Matt peered through the new hole he’d made higher up, but nobody was in sight there. He tried the other holes as he darted across to the other side of the door to rejoin Sam and April, but he couldn’t see anyone from them either. “They’re trying something,” he muttered. He glanced up at the ceiling, which was unbroken aside from the holes for the stovepipe and the two vents, one near the front of the shelter and one at the back. “Don’t go anywhere near the vents or stovepipe holes, just in case they try to shoot down.”

His dad was breathing hard even though he hadn’t moved in several minutes. “The vents have those wind turbines on top and the stovepipe has its hat. We should be able to hear something if they try to take those off to line up a shot.”

Matt nodded but didn’t respond, since he’d just heard noises coming from the stovepipe only a few feet away and a bit farther back. Just to be safe he rushed his wife and sister to the other side of the door before following himself, and in a huddle they all waited for some sign of what the attackers had planned, ears quivering for any sounds.

No gunshots came from the stovepipe, and only that brief bit of rustling. He also heard some rustling from the vents, but no shots came from them either. After several minutes of tense silence Matt felt himself relaxing a bit.

Time was on their side. He might have lied about radioing out for help but eventually someone in town would notice that no one from the Larson clan had been around for a while. Matt might not be missed, since he didn’t always come back into town for planning and paperwork after his shift. But Terry probably would be, or if not him then Sam or April since they continued to help at the clinic and even took over his duties when he wasn’t available.

While Matt was thinking that over a sudden uneasiness settled over him: something about the room was different. He couldn’t tell what it was, but after living here for months he knew there was something wrong. Sam had been fussing with the bullet graze on his arm while they waited, but he gently pushed her fingers away and straightened, looking around.

Woodsmoke. That wasn’t all that odd since they had the stove slow burning most of the time to heat the large space, but usually most of the smoke made it out through the pipe stretched along the ceiling, heating the room before making its way outside. The only time the smoke would be this thick was if they had a large fire going in the stove or if the flue was shut.

Feeling a sudden surge of dread, almost as much as when they’d shot at him through the door, Matt leaned close to his dad. “Watch the door,” he hissed. Without waiting for a response he hurried across the room to the stove, barely sparing time for a reassuring smile for his mom and nephews huddling behind it before throwing the door in front open.

Smoke billowed out, and as he coughed against it he snatched up a nearby pail of water they used for hand washing and threw it onto the flames. With a sharp hiss the smoke was joined by steam, and Matt hurriedly shut the door again to close it off, then turned to his worried looking family. “They’ve closed off the stovepipe and vents. They’re trying to suffocate us.”

“Matt!” his dad shouted, eye pressed to a hole in the door. “They’re starting a fire!”

Matt sprinted back to the door and looked through a hole beside his dad. As he watched a flaming log flew down the ramp to thump against the door, quickly followed by another. “It’s okay, the only thing anywhere near that fire that’s flammable is the wood in the door, and it’s behind sheet metal. They’re not burning this place down.”

“But they’ve blocked all our sources of air,” April pointed out. “They don’t have to burn us out, the smoke will do the job.”

Matt should’ve considered that, even beyond the immediate danger of fire itself. The rain of flaming logs continued as they watched until it was stacked halfway up the door and smoke poured through the bullet holes in thin black fingers that didn’t seem like much until you realized how quickly it added up over time. The refugees were taking wood from the woodpile, that was obvious enough, but where were they finding a flammable liquid to douse it with?

He realized the answer about the time his dad got around to asking the question, so he spoke it out loud. “The shipping container Lewis uses as a shed. They must have cut the lock to get at the stuff inside. He had a tank with dozens of gallons of gasoline in there.”

“Gasoline?” Terry repeated incredulously. “That’s worth its weight in gold! Ferris just left it behind?”

“It’s old,” Matt said. “It won’t run in vehicles, but it definitely still burns.”

Sam caught his arm. “What if they pour it down the vents?” she asked worriedly. “Or into the stovepipe? They could set everything in here on fire!”

Matt finally got his senses about him and began ripping up his undershirt to stuff into the bullet holes. That might not help much since the cloth would probably start on fire, but it would have to do until he could think of something better. “Even if it doesn’t work for cars gasoline would still be valuable. They might be trying to save it since the fire should be enough to do the job.”

She punched his arm, which wasn’t like her. “Thanks for the reassurance. I think it’s about time we used that secret escape tunnel, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Matt felt his face flush. “I, um, forgot about that in the heat of the moment.” Which was stupid. If he’d thought of it earlier he could’ve used it to get out and try a sneak attack on the people attacking them. Maybe his resolution to keep it a secret for Lewis had been a bit too strong.

He quickly led the way to the bathroom, where he pried up the base of the shower to reveal sturdy wooden supports covering a drop of about four feet to dry ground below. He pulled the supports out as well and motioned, and starting with his dad and Terry so they could secure the exit his family began dropping down into the hole and inching along it.

Matt handed down Aaron and Paul to his mom, then ushered April into the hole after them, holding Henrietta’s wire cage with a very ruffled chicken inside. Last of all he kissed Sam and held her tight for a moment, then watched her drop down and begin crawling away.

Before following he took a last look around the shelter. If the door held and flames didn’t spread inside then the worst they’d have to deal with when they returned was smoke damage and airing the place out, assuming they managed to get away safely. And even if the thieves got in and stole everything of value at least his family still had their lives.

It was hard to be objective about that when they were starving, though: once he was sure everyone was safely away he was going to come back and see if he couldn’t make these people regret attacking his home, or if nothing else at least delay them long enough for the others to bring help.

He dropped into the hole, noting the plumbing pipes that ran along it a short ways to the septic system before the tunnel continued on to whatever exit Lewis had rigged up. In all his time wandering around the place Matt had seen no sign of any exit, but he was sure his friend had found a way to conceal it and still have it be easy to get out of.

He pulled the supports back into place, then ducked down and pulled the shower base into position over his head.

Just before finishing the task he paused, though, as he heard a hiss coming from the door. It was getting louder and louder as he listened, and he also heard shouts. Urgent shouts, but not angry or violent. Matt paused, then pushed the shower base back off the hole and climbed out, exiting the bathroom to look at the door.

The bits of cloth he’d stuffed into the hole had burned away, but instead of black smoke white steam was pouring through. He also saw a few drips of water trickling inside from the crack at the bottom of the door. Hurrying over, he squinted through the highest bullet hole and saw shovelfuls of snow being flung down the ramp onto the smoldering logs in front of the door.

Matt rushed back to the secret tunnel and poked his head down. “Are you guys still there?” he hissed in a low voice. No answer. He tried yelling louder. Eventually Sam crawled into view, dark hair sprinkled with dirt and a smudge on her nose. In spite of the situation Matt couldn’t help but feel a sudden surge of affection, joining with his growing relief to make him laugh.

Her eyes narrowed, and the look she gave him wasn’t exactly affectionate. “What?”

“If they haven’t uncovered the exit yet stop them,” Matt said. “Someone’s putting out the fire and it would be good to keep that hidden.”

* * *

A few minutes later the Larson family was gathered in the bathroom, ready to bolt through the tunnel again if necessary, while Matt stood in front of the door peering out a bullet hole. Even the steam had stopped pouring through the holes, and he didn’t have to wait long before several people appeared picking their way over the smoldering logs. Someone began pounding on the metal outside with what sounded like the handle of a shovel. “Matt?” came a familiar voice muffled through the door. “Is everyone all right?”

Grinning in relief and motioning his family to cover up the secret exit and come out, Matt hurried to the door and threw back the bolts, then unlocked the doorknob and pulled it open. Crammed onto the ramp behind the pile of smoldering logs the Mayor, Chauncey, Ben, and Tam all stood with worried expressions on their faces. “We’re all fine,” he assured them.

Catherine vaulted the extinguished fire and pulled him into a hug. “Oh thank God. When Jane on patrol saw the smoke coming from your shelter we feared the worst. We came as fast as we could, but we were afraid we hadn’t put out the fire in time.” She pushed past him to hug his mom and dad, then the rest of the family.

Matt looked up the ramp to the cleared space between the two hills the shelter occupied. A dozen or so men and women knelt on the ground there surrounded by familiar faces from the town’s defenders holding a mixture of rifles and shotguns, warily watching their every move. Off to one side three bodies were stretched out while beside them two injured men complained loudly and were ignored by everyone except Jane, but only because she was guarding them.

He glanced at Tam, who had a rifle slung over her shoulder and a pistol at her hip. “What happened?” he asked.

She shrugged. “We surrounded them while they were focused on the door and they almost immediately gave up. Only five of them had guns. As for why they attacked you in the first place, I was hoping you could tell us.”

“They wanted food,” Matt said. “They seemed to think the entire shelter was stuffed full of provisions.”

The auburn-haired tomboy gave him an uncomfortable look. “Oh.”

“What do you mean, “Oh?” Matt demanded.

Chauncey answered. “None of us have repeated it, of course, but there’s been a rumor going around about your shelter. People heard how much stuff Ferris found in there when he cleaned the place out, and a lot of people are speculating that your family moved in there because you’d found more.”

Well that wasn’t exactly untrue. “If we did have any it’s almost all gone now,” Matt said. “And we’ve been stretching it tight to make it last. You can see for yourselves right now if you want.”

Tam held up her hands. “Hey, we haven’t been spreading that rumor!”

Matt calmed down a bit. “Sorry. I’m still pretty shaken up by the attack. Although it would be nice to know why nobody told me a rumor like that had been going around. If someone had we might’ve been more prepared for people to attack us.”

“It’s just one of those things that’s been going around for months,” Chauncey answered. “Personally I thought nobody would be stupid enough to try to steal from you since you’ve got that solid door that you keep locked every night. Not to mention you lead the town’s defenses and you’ve got your reputation so you’d be the last one any sane person would want to cross.” He gestured over his shoulder at the subdued attackers. “I never expected anything like this!” Tam and the others within earshot hurriedly agreed, looking a bit shamefaced.

Matt sighed. He could think of plenty of reasons why nobody would tell him the rumor was going around, but he didn’t want to ascribe those sorts of motivations to his friends. More likely they were just afraid the rumors were true and if they mentioned them he’d confirm it. It would be hard not to resent him at that point.

Either way he couldn’t see any benefit from pursuing the matter. Especially not when they’d risked their lives to come help him. “Should we go question the attackers?” he asked.

He jumped slightly when Catherine came up alongside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Well it’s the biggest crime since Razor’s attack. I for one would like to know more about what happened.”

“I need a doctor!” one of the wounded men shouted as they came up the ramp. He was clutching his side, lips drawn back in a snarl of pain. Beside him the other wounded man had torn off the sleeve of his shirt to bind his calf, with blood already soaking through the thin cloth.

Tam gave them a look of disgust. “You guys know exactly whose house you were attacking. You seriously think the doctor’s going to help you after you tried to suffocate his family?”

Terry made his way up the ramp, rolling up his sleeves. “I couldn’t call myself a doctor if I decided to pick and choose the patients I treat. Besides, I suppose if nothing else I should make sure they live to see justice.”

Matt turned to the man he’d shot through the calf. He’d also been one of those who’d gone with hunting parties. Without much luck it seemed. “You were speaking for your group. You want to tell me why you attacked us?”

The man gave him a look seething with hatred. “No mystery there. You had food, we were starving. So kill me for trying to feed my wife, and while you’re at it you’ll probably kill her for coming along with us because we knew we’d have to leave afterwards. She’s never hurt a soul.”

Matt glanced at the handful of women among the attackers, who were all glaring at him resentfully, but directed his question at the spokesman. “Any accomplices?”

“Aside from the ones you gunned down?” The man glanced at his dead friends, then spat in Matt’s direction. “None of this would’ve happened if you’d just shared what you had.”

“That’s what Ferris claimed, but you’ll notice not many people around here seem to agree with that line of thinking after the winter we’ve just had.”

Catherine caught his arm and pulled him aside, over near the shipping container shed where they could speak privately. “You’re not looking so good, Matt.”

Matt absently rubbed at the graze on his arm. “Yeah well I just got shot at, smoked out, and I’ve got to deal with the fact that my family almost died because I let down my guard.”

“I don’t mean that.” She took his forearm, not having to squeeze hard to press against bone. “We thought you were doing the best out of anyone in town but you’re skin and bone. I could pick Sam up and tuck her under one arm, the poor dear. And Paul should be a pudgy little scamp.”

He did his best to control his temper. He was tired, hungry, and still practically shaking from the adrenaline of the attack. “What are you getting at, Madam Mayor?”

Catherine gave a soft, tired laugh. “Do I look any better? Does Tam? Ben? Even the Watsons with their goats are looking like they’ve been skipping meals. We’ve lost 531 people this winter out of a population of 1,282, and we’re not even to spring planting yet, let alone harvesting any crops. 9 out of 10 animals in town have been butchered for meat, even pets, and you’ve heard the same whispers I have about some of the most desperate among the townspeople resorting to something far, far more terrible than eating pets. Things are going to get worse before they get better.”

Instead of asking her what she was getting at for a second time Matt simply waited. He didn’t wait long before Catherine finally got to the point. “I want you to find Trev and Lewis and get any food they have.”

Matt wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but not that. “You want me to do what?”

The Mayor gave him an impatient look. “Come on, Matt, I’m sure you’ve worked this out. Trev and Lewis lost their shelter and everything in it when Ferris confiscated the structure. And then before he left your friend gifted you with hundreds of pounds of food. If the cousins had nothing and were desperate to survive the winter they would’ve gone after that cache themselves. Since they tossed it away without a second thought that means they have more. Probably lots more.”

“Which they’ll have taken with them to eat over the winter.”

“Two men, hiking up into the mountains? They couldn’t have carried all they had.”

He wasn’t so sure of that. “Even so, you want me to hike up there to find them and ask? Assuming they’re even still alive.”

She looked into his eyes calmly. “I’m sure you don’t think those two are dead.”

Matt hesitated. “Well no, I think if anyone could survive up there they could.” He rallied. “But they trusted me to keep their location secret, along with everything else about them. Besides, I thought you said Aspen Hill was done with confiscating food!”

The Mayor’s expression hardened. “Do you honestly think that’s what I intend to do?” she said, sounding almost hurt. “I’m sending you up there to buy the food, Matt! However you can manage it.”

“But what could we possibly offer them that’s more valuable than the food itself these days? You’ve run into this problem with every single negotiation for livestock you’ve done on behalf of the town.”

Catherine threw up her hands in exasperation. “And I’ve always managed to make the purchase! These are your friends, I trust you can talk them around. Offer them whatever they’re willing to accept. We’ve got ammo, which they’ll probably want. Or we can look at it like a loan and offer them future payments of food or other necessities.” She stepped forward and caught his arm. “But we need those supplies, Matt. Whatever they have. We’ve run out of canaries in the coal mine if even your family is starting to go hungry when you had Trev’s cache. Think of Sam.”

Matt did think of Sam, and constantly worried about taking care of her. But he didn’t appreciate the Mayor using that as a point of debate. Sure the plight of the town was some justification, but it still rankled. He sighed. “They’ve got no reason to love the town. I’m pretty sure they were up in the hills somewhere watching as Anderson directed the group that looted their shelter, and they definitely had to notice how everyone was celebrating their misfortune.”

“Well we’ll just have to make it up to them.” The hand on his arm tightened. “Can you convince them?”

“To give up all the rest of the food they desperately need for stuff they can do without, or at best a tentative IOU?” Matt shook his head. “I can try. I suppose we don’t have many other options.”

Chapter Thirteen

Reunion

In a way it was a relief for Matt to head back into the shelter and leave taking care of the attackers to Catherine while he packed up for his trip. If he was gone he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever punishment was decided for them.

The thought may have been a bit selfish, but at the same time they’d attacked his family and Matt felt too close to the issue to be fair and unbiased. Even though he’d taken part in the executions of Razor’s captured gang members their crimes had been something that affected the entire town, and in that situation finding unbiased hands to carry out justice would’ve been impossible so he’d done what was needed.

Sam wrapped her arms around him when he came back inside, burying her face in his chest in relief now that it was all over, and Matt took a moment to clutch her tight as his own relief swept over him. Arguably the situation had never gotten out of hand as long as they had the escape tunnel, but things could go wrong in any violent situation and he could’ve ended up losing what was most dear to him.

Looking down at her eyes, liquid pools of brown in the dim light in the shelter, he felt bad that he had to tell her he needed to leave, and even worse that this time he wasn’t about to let her come along. Spring may have been trying to claw its way through winter down here, but up where he was going this sort of weather was still months away. In her condition Sam didn’t have the strength to make that trip.

To be honest he wasn’t sure he did either.

She accepted the news stoically and offered to help him pack, although when he tried to cheer her up by mentioning that the town would be providing provisions for his trip so the family would be able to split his usual share among themselves that didn’t seem to help. But if it provided no comfort for her, the thought that she might be getting even a mouthful more each meal of food she desperately needed was a comfort to Matt. He hoped the warm weather came soon so they could start planting.

They’d nearly finished packing his cold weather gear, weapons and ammo, a hatchet and firestarting gear, and other necessities into a backpack he’d borrowed from the storehouse months ago for patrols when there was a light rap on the open door and Jane and Tom ducked into the shelter.

Matt left the packing behind and went over to shake their hands. “Thanks for seeing we needed help and calling in the cavalry,” he told the redheaded woman, who simply nodded. He turned to her companion. “How are you, Tom?”

“Starving,” the older man said with a shrug. “Otherwise can’t complain.”

A somewhat uncomfortable silence fell as everyone waited for the other to say something. Finally Matt glanced back at his backpack. “So, uh, did you need something? I was about to go on a trip for the town.”

Jane jerked her head at Tom. “That’s why we’re here. Mayor Tillman wanted someone to go with you and we volunteered.”

Matt frowned slightly. He’d come to respect Jane’s ability and thoroughness out on patrol, and the women was polite enough when he talked to her, but she’d kept herself aloof from the town and even those who went on patrol with her. Especially the refugees. Matt didn’t know if she’d always been standoffish or it was thanks to whatever she’d suffered before coming to Aspen Hill, but Jane Mathers wasn’t around to make friends. “You volunteered? Why?”

The redheaded woman shrugged. “The extra payment of food made it a tempting offer, and we were through that area more recently than anyone else so we can be useful.” She shrugged again. “Besides, if the guys you’re going after are the same ones who saved us from those bandits I’d like to meet them. Get their autograph, express my undying gratitude, you know.”

Matt turned to look at Tom, who sighed. “It’s not my idea of a fun way to spend however many days it takes to get there and back, but my family needs the food. Besides, I feel like I owe it to Jane, and to Mitch, to look after her. We wouldn’t be here without their leadership and protection.”

If anything Jane looked almost annoyed by the high praise as she waved at Matt’s pack. “Got everything you need? It’s going to be cold up in the mountains.”

“Yeah, I’m set.” Matt went over and started to pick up his pack. “Let’s go talk to the Mayor about food for the trip.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Sam asked, turning him around and standing on tiptoes to kiss him with surprising fierceness. He got the hint when she didn’t show any signs of breaking it off, holding him tight in a way that suggested she wasn’t letting go anytime soon. After a few seconds he got over his surprise and let the backpack drop out of his hand so he could wrap his arms around his wife. Neither of them had had the energy for this sort of thing for what felt like forever, and he wasn’t about to complain.

An impatient cough from Jane brought him back to the present. He pulled back to see her and Tom still waiting by the door, the older man grinning at them. Meanwhile, familiar with the necessities of living in cramped quarters with multiple couples, including newlyweds, April was already shooing the boys out the door while Terry and their parents followed close behind.

Matt felt his face redden, and he gave his traveling companions a sheepish look. “I, um, need to say goodbye. Can I meet you at the storehouse a bit later?”

* * *

Even as important as this task was, out of necessity Catherine’s generosity could only extend so far. She allotted them enough food for four days, the bare minimum needed to get to the cousins’ hideout near Candland Mountain in snowy conditions from where they were, then back again. Matt had taken the backroads up to there riding in the Halssons’ SUV and knew the way, which was good since Jane and her group had gotten lost and taken an incredibly circuitous route to get to Aspen Hill.

He was willing to allow that it was possible to make the distance there and back in that time on foot, but he had no idea how the terrain combined with deep snow would complicate things, especially since they were all weakened by hunger. It almost annoyed him that Catherine’s solution to that was that they’d certainly reach the hideout in four days, and if worse came to worst they could always take whatever provisions they needed for the trip back out of the food the town was purchasing from the cousins.

The Mayor was a sensible woman, not one for making assumptions, but he supposed in desperate times they had to take a leap of faith.

He kept a steady pace after they set out, slowing down rather than stopping whenever any of them looked winded, and having them eat their meals of crudely dried meat as they walked. They all carried the water bottles they were currently drinking from in their coats to keep them from freezing, which Matt insisted on since eating snow would only chill them and sap strength they needed for walking. He planned to light a fire when they stopped for the night, not only for warmth but so that they could melt more water to fill their bottles and get a good long drink, then hopefully keep whatever they melted unfrozen for the next day’s hike.

Compared to the hikes he’d done last fall their pace was fairly slow and he’d never felt so exhausted, thanks in part to hunger and in part to a mostly uphill climb. That first day they made enough distance to get up beyond where the snow piled around their ankles to where it piled to their knees or even their hips in some places.

With their packs they couldn’t hope to walk on the crust without sinking, some places a few inches and some places a few feet, wading through powder and barking their shins on the icy crust with each step. Matt regretted not thinking to bring snowshoes, but as long as they picked their path carefully they should be fine. At the very least there’d been no sign of any storms when they set out, and the weather continued to remain clear, if colder up at these elevations.

They’d made about half the distance in half a day, but unfortunately it was the easiest distance. Now they had deep snow and steeper inclines to contend with, which would make it a question of how long it would take to cover the rest of the distance the next day, if they even could. Matt was optimistic as he helped set up camp, though, estimating that with an early start they’d reach Highway 31 sometime in the afternoon. From there it wouldn’t be long to the hideout.

The morning dawned clear and cold, and Matt was pleased to discover that the-relatively-warmer temperatures yesterday that had softened the snow and made it such a chore to trudge through had resulted in a solid frozen crust that held their weight even in their packs as long as they stepped carefully. He had them quickly break camp and continue on, eating breakfast as they went. The snow crust carried them for a few hours, but it wasn’t the heat of the rising sun that made it disappear.

They’d come high enough that even during the day it wasn’t warm enough to melt much of a crust to freeze on the snow. From here on out they’d be wading through powder the rest of the way, a tradeoff of lighter snow that was easier to kick through, but up to their hips or higher so every step was a chore. Their speed cut down dramatically, and Matt was sure he wasn’t the only one whose muscles began to burn so fiercely he was forced to rest no matter how slow they’d been going. Tom especially was red-faced and huffing, the strain in his expression giving the lie to his insistence that he was ready to move on at the end of each rest.

But finally they reached the highway, a bit later than Matt had estimated but not too far off course. The road itself wasn’t much better than anywhere else with snow piled high along it, but at least the railings to either side had gathered snowdrifts from the prevailing winds and left the powder not quite as deep on the far side.

Grinning with relief, Matt crossed to the lee side of the railing and led his companions north for the final short leg of their trip.

* * *

Lewis was busy seasoning the wheat he’d just boiled, with strips of rabbit cooking on the stovetop nearby, when Trev burst into the hideout.

“You’ve got to see this!” he said, doing his best not to shout.

His cousin immediately drew his 1911, holding it ready to quickly raise and aim. “Intruders?”

Trev couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “Kind of. You’ll have to wait and see. Come on.” He turned and started back down the gentle slope toward the cliffs overlooking the road.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lewis demanded, standing at the threshold so he wouldn’t get snow on his socks and shivering at the icy blasts of wind swirling into the lean-to around him. “I’ve got food cooking!”

“Take it off the stove. Believe me, it’ll be worth it.”

Trev kept on going, and about a minute later his cousin trotted down the path they’d trampled through the deep snow to catch up to him. His boots were untied and he was still pulling on his heavy coat, and his irritation looked like it was about to boil over into actual anger. “Seriously, man, “Wait and see” is not the right response to a potentially dangerous situation.”

Trev grinned and took the last few steps to the edge of the cliff, motioning towards the road south of them. “So why don’t you show me what the proper response is.”

Grumbling to himself, Lewis accepted the binoculars Trev offered him and followed his pointing finger. He spent a few tense moments adjusting the range and getting a good look at the three approaching people, then slowly lowered the binoculars again to let them hang from the strap around his neck as he continued to gape southward. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”

Grin widening, Trev stepped up beside his cousin. “That’s what I thought. Should we go welcome our guests?”

His cousin thoughtfully reached up and tugged at his full beard. They’d made it a point to bathe regularly and do the necessary trimming and grooming, but as the days got colder and colder they’d both taken to letting their hair grow out to provide that added bit of warmth. Trev couldn’t grow a very good beard, mostly on his jaw and neck, but it still warmed his face.

He got the hint. “I suppose if they’re still an hour or so away we could take some time to make ourselves presentable.”

* * *

Matt left Tom and Jane behind at the road with his backpack while he crossed the river on the familiar rocks and started up the slope towards his friends’ hideout.

He wasn’t about to give out Trev and Lewis’s secrets to anyone, even if he trusted the two new residents of Aspen Hill well enough. They’d certainly pointed out where he’d expected to find the “Spirits of Huntington River” who’d saved them from bandits last Halloween. It had been a few miles to the south of here, but it strongly supported his suspicions about Trev and Lewis being the ones who’d helped the refugees.

On the way across the river he nearly slipped on the icy rocks, barely catching himself before tumbling into the partially frozen-over water, and he muttered in annoyance under his breath. He’d known it was going to still be winter up in the mountains, probably for another few months yet, and had prepared accordingly. But at the same time it was a bit of a pain to leave during the first relatively mild days of spring down in the valley and come up here to trudge through several feet of snow in temperatures well below freezing to search for his friends.

Trev and Lewis may have had a good reason doing it, but he still thought they were crazy to come live up here where snow stuck around for 9 months of the year. Assuming they were still alive at all. Matt shook aside that grim thought and started up the slope, finding it even more slippery and treacherous than he remembered with all the snow around.

They were alive. If an idiot like him had managed to muddle through the winter with his family those two would be just fine. They had to be.

He was perfectly certain of that, but it didn’t stop him from picking up the pace.

A recent snowfall had been hard enough to drift a layer of snow under the dense trees growing up the steep slope, covering the treacherous deadfall underfoot, and although he didn’t see any sign of a trail Matt thought the snow was a bit deeper to either side of the route he’d taken. The familiar one he’d hiked up with his friends a few times on fishing trips when they were much younger.

Was it possible there was a trail buried under this snow, that his friends had used to get down to the river for fishing or to draw water? If so they hadn’t used it recently.

It took longer than he’d expected to reach the bottom of the cliffs and the treacherous gap that would allow him to climb up to the landing above with a bit of work. On the broken rocks there he finally saw what he’d been hoping for, the scuff of a boot print in the dirt that had gathered in one of the cracks. It was concealed from wind and snow by a slight overhang, but even so it couldn’t have been there for more than a few weeks.

Grinning in relief, he pulled himself the rest of the way up to the top of the cliffs, pausing for a moment to peer down at the road below, where Jane and Tom still waited. The trees down below partially obscured his view of them, and considering that he waved and they didn’t wave back it must have obscured their view of him as well.

“State your business.”

Matt was so surprised he almost fell off the cliff as he whirled and fumbled at the .40 on his belt. Then he recognized the voice and relaxed. “Seriously, guys? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Trev popped up from behind a snowbank to his left, grinning like an idiot, while off to the right Lewis stepped from behind a bush. The older cousin started forward calmly to meet him, while Trev bounded through the snow to pull him into a crushing hug.

Matt was surprised at how healthy the two looked. Their faces were leaner than he remembered, sure, but not in a way that suggested hunger. And while Trev’s winter clothes made guessing his weight impossible Matt could tell by the strength of his arms that he had muscle under there. They were both clean-shaven, Lewis with a few small nicks on his cheeks, and their hair had been carefully trimmed and combed. And speaking as someone who’d lived with seven other people in close quarters Matt also had to admit they didn’t smell that bad either, all things considered.

What did you know, living up in the mountains in the dead of winter and the two were doing just fine.

He had a feeling his grin was probably as goofy as his friend’s as he stepped away from Trev to grip Lewis’s offered hand. That grip was also nearly crushing, suggesting strength hidden beneath those bulky clothes. “The Spirits of Huntington River,” he said, looking between the two.

Trev frowned. “What?”

Matt motioned down at his traveling companions below. “We had a group of refugees come in around Thanksgiving, and the two people with me are actually part of that group. One of the reasons they came along is because they wanted to thank you. They told us they’d been saved from bandits in this area by some mysterious figure, and since it happened on Halloween that’s what they started calling him.” Matt paused. “Or in this case them. That was you, right?”

Lewis snorted, glancing over at Trev. “So we’re dead and haunting this place, eh? Guess the townspeople prefer it that way.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Matt said, feeling a bit guilty even though he hadn’t helped Anderson’s group empty out the shelter. “Listen, Ferris and his FETF goons ditched us a week or so before Thanksgiving, during the Indian summer before cold really set in. They packed up the rest of the town’s food supplies in bicycle trailers and pedaled off for good, leaving us to manage things on our own again. And good riddance.”

“I’ll agree to that,” Lewis said. “Hopefully the town learned its lesson there.”

“Definitely.” Matt brightened, eager to change the subject, and even more eager about what he was changing it to. “And something big happened personally for me this winter.” He held up his hand to show the wedding band on his ring finger, one of his dad’s old ones given as a wedding present.

The two men stared at it in shock. “No way,” Trev said, finally finding his voice at the same time he found his grin. “Sam?” Matt nodded, grinning back, and his friend pulled him into another crushing hug. “Congratulations!”

“Congratulations!” Lewis echoed, slapping him on the back almost hard enough to knock Matt and Trev over.

Trev backed away so he could also clap Matt on the back. “Tell us about it.”

Matt was only too happy to, describing his proposal and the wedding. The entire time Trev kept grinning like an idiot, and even Lewis was smiling broadly. Once he finished Trev shook his head.

“I’ll have to think of a wedding present for you.”

“Are you kidding? Your cache was the present of a lifetime.” Matt hastily turned to Lewis. “And the shelter! We’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

The mention of those things seemed to remind the cousins about the events last fall, and some of their good humor faded. “What about Mandy?” Trev asked quietly.

In spite of the happy reunion Matt scowled at the memory of the poisonous woman. “We caught her trying to steal food from my parents’ pantry the night Ferris left, after Razor attacked the town. Caught her red-handed, but she—”

“Whoa whoa, wait,” Lewis interrupted. “Razor attacked the town?”

Matt nodded and quickly went over the events of that day last fall, months in the past now but still vividly etched in his memory. He finished off by finally getting around to answering Trev’s question about Mandy. “So anyway when we caught her she tried to lie to us, not that any of us believed her. She was one of the first criminals Catherine exiled, and once she was gone it was a lot easier to stamp down the false claims she’d made about you. People figured that if she’d lie and steal she wasn’t too trustworthy about other things either.”

Trev smiled, but Matt thought he still looked a touch bitter. “That’s great. All it took to trust the person who grew up next door over a complete stranger was finding out that stranger was a liar.”

A somewhat uncomfortable silence fell. “Catherine was on your side the whole time, and so were a lot of other people. And I’m sure those that weren’t feel bad about it now.” Matt squared his shoulders. “Anyway conditions in the town were much better with Ferris and Razor both gone. I forgot to mention that Catherine also invited the refugees to come live in the town that day. Since we had no food there wasn’t any reason to keep them out anymore, and anyway the Mayor figured if she made the refugees citizens of Aspen Hill that would stop the growing hatred between them and us “townies”. And it did, for the most part. We put aside our differences and turned our focus to surviving the winter.”

“How bad was it?” Lewis asked. From his tone he wasn’t expecting good news.

Matt shook his head grimly. “Bad. With Ferris confiscating and “redistributing” what little food we had among the refugees, no one had enough. Our estimate is that over a third, closer to half, of Aspen Hill’s population, refugees included, died during the winter. Of starvation, cold, or illness. And to survive even as well as we did we had to slaughter almost all our livestock, including horses, as well as most of the pets.”

Lewis sucked in a breath. “That’s a lot of vital future usefulness wasted. Historically one of the most common signs of prosperity was the size of a community’s herd.”

Matt nodded. “The horses are the real tragedy. Not just because they’re majestic, faithful, hardworking creatures but because now in a world without fuel we’re back to horsepower, and we had to eat ours just to live. But either way we’re limping along, barely surviving, and we need all the help we can get.”

The cousins exchanged a look and Trev cleared his throat. “So we see. No offense, Matt, but you look like you’re almost too weak to stand. We’ve got some boiled wheat and strips of rabbit for you and your friends down below.”

“They didn’t come all this way for a meal,” Lewis stated, looking a bit annoyed. “What help did you think we could give, Matt?”

Matt sighed. He’d sort of been hoping to stretch the reunion out a bit longer. “Well it’s like this. I know you, Lewis, and you’ve got caches on top of caches on top of caches. You had a lot of food in your underground shelter in Aspen Hill, and when you found out about FETF you dragged some of it away to put in a new hiding place so it wouldn’t all be stolen.”

Lewis stiffened and turned to glare at Trev. “You told him?”

“I swear I didn’t!” Trev replied, waving his hands frantically.

“He didn’t,” Matt hurriedly cut in before Lewis could really start to rage. “I just saw Trev looking all dirty and sweaty and even more exhausted than when I’d left him, earlier that day when we got back from our trip to get April’s family. And then even though you guys had just lost everything he gave my family all the food from the cache up by his car. I figured you guys had started caching stuff the moment you heard about FETF and managed to squirrel a lot of your supplies away before Ferris got to you.”

“Good to know our friends are thinking that much about our private business,” Lewis grumbled.

Matt did his best to squash his annoyance, as well as the guilt that came along with it. “We spent this winter starving… food was the number one thing on our minds.” He waved at their waistlines, even though they were all bundled up. “On the other hand you seem to have weathered the winter well by the looks of it, meaning you managed to haul some supplies up here. But we were sort of wondering if you didn’t manage to cache more food than you two could carry up into the mountains, so maybe there’s a stash still down there that could save lives.”

“We could be planning to go down and get it ourselves,” Lewis said flatly. “Our food. Our lives.” He paused. “Assuming we had any extra.”

“You do though, right?” Matt demanded. “We’ve got children down there, women, men who can’t lift a shovel to plant a field or a gun to defend the town. Whatever you have could mean the difference between life and death for dozens, maybe hundreds of people.”

Lewis waved at the mountains around them. “See where we are? It’s a bit hard to be sympathetic when almost everything we owned was stolen from us, to the point where we decided we’d rather spend the winter freezing in ten foot drifts than stay in Aspen Hill.”

Matt sighed. He hadn’t expected this to be easy, and he’d had a feeling the cousins would feel this way. “We know you guys got the short end of the stick, but you can’t really blame the town for that. Ferris is the one who took all your stuff.”

“You went along with it,” Lewis shot back.

Matt took personal offense to that, until he realized his friend meant the town in general. Still… “He took our weapons!”

“You went along with that, too. Actually most of you willingly gave them up for some food and the threat of being put on a naughty boy list. Besides, Ferris didn’t loot our shelter all by himself.

“Nobody in my family helped with that,” Matt protested, although it irked him that he was being put on trial. He supposed he should’ve expected it while representing the town. “Plenty of other families didn’t help either, like the Watsons and Tillmans and a dozen others I could name. Besides, Anderson’s the one who organized that and he’s not in charge anymore.”

Trev shook his head, looking more tired than anything. “We were watching the people with Anderson empty the place out, you know. They weren’t really too quiet about celebrating as they robbed their neighbors blind.”

Matt fidgeted helplessly. “Come on, that’s not quite fair. Nobody felt good about what happened to you. But at the same time it was a lot of food, and if Ferris was confiscating it anyway that meant the town was in that much better a position to survive the winter. You can’t really blame them for being happy about that.”

“Why not?” Lewis demanded. “They got enough to feed the town and all the refugees for what, a single day? And how many of those people ended up dying anyway? I had enough in there to survive for about 4 years, and Trev had about a third of that of his own! Let’s say we go back down there and give you what we cached because you said “pretty please”. If we work ourselves half to death and manage to scrape together more food storage will you come running to rob us blind the moment things look bad for the town again?”

He was doing this all wrong. Matt rubbed at his eyebrows. “Look, I told you Catherine’s in charge. She’s got one major rule the town lives by now: a person’s property is their own. No one, not even the government, has the right to take anything from anyone. We’ve exiled people, sent them out into the cold in the heart of winter, for theft.

“As for saying “pretty please” or expecting you to just give away anything you have, you should know me and Catherine better than that. I’m here to buy the food on behalf of the town. I probably should’ve mentioned that in the first place.”

Trev gave him a doubtful look. “Buy with what? Nothing’s more valuable than food these days.”

Matt waved at them again. “You look like you guys can feed yourselves if need be. There’s other things you can’t get for yourselves that the town can offer you. Ammunition for one.”

Lewis’s patience had been thin enough as it was, but at this it seemed to snap. “Does everyone in town think we’re an endless wellspring of food? As soon as there’s any trouble it’s off to Halsson and Smith for help, and we always get the short end of the stick. Do you realize how cheap wheat was, even after the Middle East Crisis? You could’ve each spent a couple hundred bucks and everyone in town would still be alive and still with a bit to spare. But no, you always look to us to bail y—”

Trev cut in. “Look, this arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere. You’ve made your request, Matt, and we’ve shared our objections. Why don’t you head inside and get some food. We’ll take some more food down to your friends and show them a good camping spot, and that’ll give us a chance to talk it over.”

Matt wanted to press the issue, but he knew his friend was right. He hadn’t done the best job representing the town’s interests or arguing their case, but for now better to let them think things through. They were both decent people, and if they thought they could manage without the food he had a feeling they’d sell it.

So he allowed himself to be led up to their hideout, which looked much different from when he’d last seen it. Although it was still tiny and didn’t seem adequate for two people cooped up there month after month. He’d thought the shelter felt crowded! It smelled a bit rank inside which was no surprise, but was surprisingly clean and, more importantly, blessedly warm.

Matt settled down in a chair with a grateful groan as Lewis dished him up a plate of food. When Trev had mentioned boiled wheat he hadn’t expected much, but from the smell of it that boiling had included a nice blend of savory spices, and the rabbit strips were tender and juicy. He wolfed it down as Lewis gathered up the rest to take down to Jane and Tom, while Trev disappeared for a while and came back with some sort of stick frame loaded with firewood strapped to his back.

He was nearly finished by the time his friends were ready to head down, but they insisted he stay there and rest while they went. Remembering that half their reason for going was so they could talk things over, Matt nodded and gave them his companions’ names along with brief descriptions. Then he settled back in his chair and put his hands over the fire as the door shut behind him, leaving him with just the dim light of the stove. It wasn’t so bad, though.

What would it be like to live here with Sam, hunting and trapping food and not having to worry about patrols or helping an endless stream of sick people or anything else? Aside from the smell he was surprisingly tempted by the idea.

* * *

“Were you really surprised?” Trev asked as he followed his cousin towards the cliffs.

Lewis glared back at him for a second before returning his eyes to the trail. “Of course not, but that doesn’t mean I’m not ticked. We were planning on going back to Aspen Hill once things warmed up a little!”

“We still can.”

“Think, Trev! Now that they’ve come sniffing after our food we’ve got the choice of saying yes and being the town heroes as we return to starve with them, or saying no and receiving a frosty welcome even though we haven’t done anything wrong.”

Trev frowned. “I wouldn’t exactly put it like that. They’re starving down there. I mean you saw how ragged Matt looked, and he had my cache to see him through the winter. Even if the townspeople know it’s not exactly fair you can’t blame people for resenting us a little when they had to watch loved ones starve to death and barely avoided that fate themselves, while come spring we head back into town all hale and hearty.”

“Why can’t I blame them? Unfair seems to be all we see when we deal with people these days. We give and give and give and they take and take and take and somehow we’re always the bad guys! And Matt! I guess he got the old saying “a friend in need is a friend indeed” completely backwards.” Lewis scooped up a handful of snow and flung it at a nearby tree, which probably didn’t provide much of an outlet for his anger since the powder immediately broke up into a cloud that only went a few feet.

“So we tell him no?” Trev asked. He understood his cousin’s feelings, and he certainly felt them, but his own desire to refuse was more about pragmatism than anger.

“No, we tell him yes.”

Trev blinked. “Run that by me again.”

“I forgot to ask Matt about our shelter, but it’s safe to assume people are living there. And if they’re living there they’re definitely using our woodpile. That ups the chances of them finding the cache underneath. Not to mention if everyone assumes we have more food they’re probably poking around the shelter looking for it, and beneath the woodpile isn’t that great a hiding place. For all we know it might already be gone, and Matt’s here asking permission rather than forgiveness.”

“Matt’s not a liar,” Trev argued.

“I know, but he might bend the truth on behalf of the town if things are really that desperate.” Lewis shrugged. “Besides, even if the cache is still there that just gets us back around to being the bad guys if we keep our own food for ourselves. Matt had a point that we can probably fend for ourselves if we really need to, and it would be nice to have the town grateful to us and owing us for the food they purchased. Besides, it’s almost planting season.”

Trev supposed his cousin had a point, but although he wasn’t as angry as Lewis he also didn’t feel as willing to roll over. “It’s still tempting to tell them to push off.”

“Short term, maybe.” Lewis shook his head. “One of our first talks when you made it down here from Utah Valley was about helping the community survive and thrive, not just to help ourselves but so that there’d be something worth surviving for. I still feel that way.” He smiled a bit ruefully. “I may have needed to vent some steam but that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to come around.”

In spite of the reasonable words Trev kept an obstinate silence going for almost a minute. “Yeah, me too,” he finally admitted with a sigh. “And I do like our neighbors down there. They don’t have to be such jerks about everything, though.”

His cousin chuckled. “They’re fighting tooth and nail to survive. They’ll be just as big jerks as they need to be.” He clapped Trev on the shoulder. “Relax, I’m exaggerating the situation a bit. They might be resentful because we started out better off than them, but once we’re all ground into the dirt and depending on each other to survive they’ll come around. Even in these desperate circumstances they are still capable of gratitude.”

I hope so, Trev thought as he followed his cousin down the gap, but he’d been enough of a downer for the day. “It’s good to see Matt though, isn’t it?”

“Even if he came like a beggar,” Lewis grumbled. Maybe he wasn’t quite done venting yet.

They reached the river and crossed it cautiously over the familiar but always treacherous stones, waving to the two people waiting for them on the other side. Trev thought he recognized Tom as one of the refugees who’d been heading up to inspect the gunshots last fall, but he definitely recognized Jane. If her copper-bright hair hadn’t been enough there was the confident way she stood with her hand on her pistol, same as when she’d prepared to draw it when she’d seen him gathering up the bandits’ guns last Halloween.

She was also cute. He hadn’t really seen her close enough last time to catch that detail. And she was tall, probably only a few inches shorter than him. And while she was skinny she didn’t look quite as starved as Tom, or as Matt had for that matter.

She was also looking at them suspiciously. “Where’s Matt?” she demanded.

Lewis answered calmly as he hopped the last few stones. “Up at our place eating a meal,” he lifted the pot he held. “I brought your share down for you. You don’t mind camping in a cave, right? We’ve got a good secluded overhang beneath the cliffs on the other side of the river that should shelter you from the cold and weather at least a bit, and we’ve got firewood.”

Jane shrugged and took her hand away from her pistol. “That’s fine. Matt told us you were paranoid.”

Trev hopped onto the far shore in time to see his cousin smile slightly. “Who isn’t these days?” He held out his hand. “I’m Lewis. This is my cousin Trevor.”

“Trev,” Trev corrected, holding out his hand to shake after his cousin. She had a firm grip, but she seemed in a hurry to let go of both their hands.

Tom stepped forward to introduce himself and shake hands as well, after which Jane gave a quick glance at each of their faces and hesitantly spoke up. “On behalf of my group I wanted to thank you for saving us last winter.” She sounded a bit stiff and awkward, but then again how exactly do you casually thank a complete stranger for something like that?

Trev glanced over at Lewis, wondering if his cousin was going to deny their involvement in the matter out of caution. But Lewis just nodded slightly. “You’re welcome.”

For some reason the reply seemed to irk the redheaded woman, and she scowled slightly. “Well don’t look too proud of yourselves, it was only our lives!” she snapped.

She was chastising them about a poor response? Trev felt himself starting to get annoyed as well, and he certainly felt like he had more justification. “Not just yours. You know my cousin got shot in the leg trying to help you? I had to drag him back to our hideout and remove the buckshot myself. You said “thanks” but you don’t sound very grateful.”

Jane flushed until her face nearly matched her hair, looking too abashed to respond. Instead it was Tom who replied. “It meant more to her than you realize. Her dad was killed by those bandits a few days before you ran into them. You not only protected us but also avenged his death.”

Trev was going to argue that she still didn’t sound very grateful, but Lewis calmly cut him off. “We didn’t do it for gratitude, although we’re happy to know you made it out of the mountains safely.” He addressed the words to both of them but his eyes were on Jane. “Did your dad have a gun?”

She stiffened, starting to look a bit outraged. “A .30-30 with a scope.”

“The bandits had it. We’ll make sure it gets back to you.” His cousin looked at her expression and sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but you’re grateful and we were happy to help. Let’s keep this friendly, okay?”

“It is friendly,” she insisted, sounding frustrated. “I just… I’m not good at this sort of thing.”

“Fair enough.” Lewis hefted the pot again. “Probably too late to eat this warm, but you’ll probably want to get to it before it freezes. Should we go get you set up in your camp?”

A half hour later they left the two with their tents set up and a small fire crackling at the mouth of the long, deep overhang beneath the cliffs. Dense trees and underbrush covered the opening just beyond the fire, which would keep out most of the wind. Matt’s companions had elected to heat the food over the small blaze, probably a wise choice, so they left them with the pot as they picked their way through the dense undergrowth along the cliffs to the gap.

“Should we cover our tracks?” Trev asked, looking over his shoulder at their deep prints in the snow.

Lewis shrugged. “We’re not going to be here tomorrow, and those two don’t seem like the sort to share secrets. Anyway if we do decide to head back up here at a later date and the location of our hideout gets out, I hope anyone who comes for it is ready to brave a long trip through an extreme environment and two armed men just to get at whatever we might have in our little shoebox home.”

“I suppose.” Trev climbed the gap after his cousin and followed him up the gentle slope.

When they entered their hideout they found Matt sprawled on Trev’s cot sleeping, but he jolted awake as soon as he heard the door opening and sat up. “Well?” he asked as Trev and Lewis sank into the chairs facing him.

“We’ll sell the food and accept IOUs for it,” Lewis said. “But when we collect on the IOUs we get to decide whether to value the food at what it’s worth now or what it’s worth when we call in our debt.”

Their friend grinned. “That’s fair enough.”

Lewis held up a stern finger to silence him. “The town will also, to the best of their ability, return all non-consumables Ferris stole from us. I’ll draw up a list. And we’ll be moving back into our shelter with the assurance that it’ll be protected the same as the rest of the town. Finally, we trust you and Mayor Tillman, but it would still be nice to hear some assurances directly from her that none of our stuff is going to be “confiscated” in the future and that we won’t be kicked out of our home again.”

Matt shifted uncomfortably. “Um, about that…”

Trev frowned. “You don’t think the town will go for our terms? They seem pretty reasonable.”

“Oh no, they will!” his friend hastily assured them. “At least I’m pretty sure they will. I just, uh, need to tell you something about your shelter.”

Lewis’s eyes narrowed alarmingly. “You better not be about to tell me the town housed refugees in our shelter over the winter.”

“They didn’t, I swear!” Matt said, waving his hands. Then he shifted uncomfortably again. “Actually the town put refugees in our house, Jane’s group to be exact. Because, um, my family moved into your shelter.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, then Lewis nodded. “Okay.”

Both Trev and their friend stared. “What?” Trev asked.

Lewis’s lips quirked upward in a wry smile. “You think I’d have a problem with our friends staying in the best possible shelter? We built that place to be comfortable through the winter but we weren’t there to use it ourselves. I’m actually happy you guys moved in instead of someone else because I can trust you took better care of it.”

“We did,” Matt promised. “But now that you guys are coming back to Aspen Hill do you want us to move out?”

“And go where?” his cousin asked wryly. “You said refugees are living in your house now.” He shrugged. “Anyway there’s enough room in there for 10 people, and more people means it’ll be easier to protect.”

“Right. Only with me and Sam married over the winter that means three couples in there. And kids. I hope that won’t be too much of a bother for you…” Matt trailed off sheepishly.

Lewis dropped his face into his hands with an annoyed sound. “You know, Matt, a good friendship is built on giving as well as receiving.”

“Oh I know. Believe me, you guys are first on my list of people I’d donate a kidney to.” Their friend shifted uncomfortably. “Look, Mayor Tillman was talking about construction projects once it looks like we’ve got a long streak of good weather ahead of us. We’ll build ourselves some houses and get out of your hair.”

His cousin slowly raised his head to reveal a relaxed smile. “I’m just giving you a hard time. Why do you think the shelter has so many cots in it?”

Matt gave him a relieved look. “So getting back to the subject of food for sale, how much do you guys have?”

“We left about a year’s worth in the cache.”

Their friend’s smile slipped as he did the math. “For two people?”

“For one person.” Lewis shook his head. “Believe me, I wish it was more too.”

“Well we knew however much it was, it wouldn’t be enough,” Matt said heavily. “It’ll still help. My family’s got some seeds to plant once it warms up, including heirlooms from my mom’s garden, and others in the town are also waiting to plant. This might help us survive long enough to get to our first harvest.”

A somewhat heavy silence fell as they all contemplated insufficient food and starving people. Trev shook the grim thoughts aside. “You’re welcome to sleep in here. It’d give us a chance to swap tales: you can tell us about what’s been going on down in town and what you’ve heard of the outside world, and go on and on about the the bliss of marriage like I’m sure you’re eager to do, and we can tell you about trees and snow and the occasional rabbit and deer. Play your cards right and we might even bust out our recorder and harmonica and play you a duet.”

Matt snorted. “Does this place have room for three people?”

“Sure, we can push the chairs over by the door and tip the table on end and fold the legs. No cot, unfortunately, but we’ve got good sleeping pads and you’ll have the best spot in front of the stove.”

Their friend reluctantly shook his head and stood. “Thanks, but I already feel bad about ditching Jane and Tom to come talk to you. I should probably go camp down with them. You’re welcome to sit with us around the fire until it’s time to turn in, though.”

Trev shared a look with his cousin. “Well, I was just planning on hanging out here bored out of my skull like I’ve done every night for the last few months, but if you insist I suppose I can come hang out for a while.”

Lewis snorted. “For news of the outside world I’d sit in a stand of dead thistle.”

They banked the stove and closed and locked the hideout, then Lewis led the way back down towards the overhang. As they went Trev fell into step beside his friend. “So what’s the story with Jane?” he asked, trying to act casual but probably not doing a good job.

Matt grinned. “Sounds like she made an impression right off the bat.” Trev shrugged. “Well I think Chauncey said it best. Plenty of people have an engaging personality, but according to him Jane has a disengaging personality.”

That made Trev laugh in spite of himself. “Hey, he said that exact same thing about Lewis when we took his class!”

His friend smiled slightly, then got serious again. “I suppose you’ve got some similar personality traits, Lewis. But from what I’ve seen even though you’ve got no problems being alone you also don’t have too many problems being around other people.”

He waved towards the overhang. “On the other hand Jane is polite, professional, and definitely competent, but it’s obvious when she’s around other people that the only thing she really wants out of a social interaction is for it to end. She’ll answer any question or comment you might have, in as few words as possible, but she literally offers nothing to the conversation, and doesn’t seem to notice or care if the silence gets awkward. And the moment she can get away with it it’s back to solitude. Disengaging.”

“Okay,” Trev said. “Only she wasn’t very polite with us.”

“Really? That’s unusual.” Matt grinned at him. “Maybe it’s her way of saying she likes you.”

Trev tried to laugh that off, but even though he knew it was a joke he was still secretly pleased at the thought. Maybe it was the winter of forced isolation with only his cousin for company talking, but even if Jane had been a bit, um, curt with them earlier he was willing to entertain a glimmer of hope.

She was cute.

Chapter Fourteen

Homecoming

The evening around the campfire didn’t turn out to be quite the wellspring of news about the outside world that Lewis had hoped for. Matt mainly wanted to talk about Sam and the wedding, while Tom was mostly interested in talking about the hardships the town had gone through.

It was from the older man that they learned about the attack on the shelter just before Catherine had sent Matt looking for them. Lewis wasn’t pleased about that at all, and after that mostly grumbled about the damage to his door and whether the wind turbines on the vents and the hat on the stovepipe could be cleared to working condition again, if they hadn’t been already.

His cousin was also more than a little irked that the attackers had used some of his gasoline, and was less than pleased when Matt couldn’t tell him that the shed had been locked tight once again. Even Matt’s assurances that the family was guarding the shelter and nobody would mess with the stuff in the shipping container didn’t completely mollify him.

For Trev’s part he tried a couple times to strike up a conversation with Jane, only to have Matt’s assessment of her confirmed by her terse answers as she stared into the flames. He didn’t think she said more than half a dozen words the entire time, and on his third attempt to tease some sort of discussion out of her the redheaded woman abruptly stood and walked to her tent, disappearing inside without a word. Trev worried that he’d said the wrong thing until Tom assured him that it wasn’t unusual for her to just leave without excusing herself.

A bit later Tom also called it a night, looking more than ready to sleep. That left the three of them sitting quietly around the fire, playing chicken on which of them would be the first to break up the party. Trev was almost surprised when Lewis spoke up.

“I’m glad you managed to make things work with the refugees, but should you be letting them guard the town?”

Matt shot him an annoyed look. “There’s no “them” anymore,” he corrected sharply. “It’s all “us”, residents of Aspen Hill. We buried the hatchet last fall and pulled together to survive the winter. I’d especially avoid calling Jane or anyone from her group a refugee. She doesn’t see herself as one.”

“I suppose you’re right. As long as the town survives everyone who lives there has a home.” Lewis abruptly stood. “Speaking of which we should probably get an early start tomorrow.” They said their goodnights and Trev and Lewis made their way back to the hideout. They’d have to be up even earlier than the others to pack up everything they planned to take with them.

Trev must’ve been more excited about his return to civilization than he’d thought, because it took him longer than usual to get to sleep. And in spite of his weariness he was up and out of bed the moment his cousin showed signs of stirring.

They planned to leave behind everything that had already been there when they arrived, since it was all stuff they already had down in the shelter, which meant they’d only be taking what they’d brought or found since. In fact, the wagons wouldn’t be quite as weighted down for this trip since they’d eaten through a bit of their food.

They still had enough to last them both for nearly four months, which Trev felt fairly proud about: through hunting, fishing, and foraging they’d managed to gather over half the food they’d eaten during the time they’d spent up here, only needing to dip into the food storage for two months’ worth. Or at least the equivalent, since while packing up they’d emptied the icehouse of the roughly 70lbs of meat they still had in there to take with them, to replace what they’d eaten from their stores.

They hadn’t quite reached self-sufficiency, yet, but then again they’d eaten well all winter without having to go below optimal caloric intake.

Lewis also loaded the deer and rabbit skins he’d laboriously cured over the winter, and then they piled their camping gear and other equipment on and stacked the weapons they’d taken from the bandits along with their own weapons and ammo up top, wrapped in their sleeping bags to protect against any accidental banging.

His cousin had been about to load Jane’s .30-30 with the other weapons, but before he could Trev intervened. “I’ll take it,” he said, casually picking up the rifle and slinging it over his shoulder.

His eagerness earned him a knowing look. “Don’t mind lugging the extra weight down if it means you get to be the one handing it to the cute redhead?” Lewis asked. Trev felt his face flush and his cousin grinned. “I thought you didn’t like her.”

“I’ve been snowed in on a mountain for four and a half months with just you for company. I’m willing to give her a chance.”

“You think she’ll give you a chance? She didn’t seem to like you either. Besides, you heard what Matt said about her disengaging personality.”

Trev shrugged. “I get along with you, don’t I?”

Lewis held up his hands. “Hey, if you want to give it a shot go for it. I just figured after Mandy it would be once bitten twice shy.”

He could’ve done without the reminder. “Do you honestly think Jane’s anything like her?”

His cousin paused in rearranging the large but fairly light tarp-wrapped bundle of solar panels and batteries he’d scavenged over the winter atop the stuff on his sled, frowning thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it, from what I’ve seen she’s pretty close to the exact opposite.”

“I can’t think of any higher praise.” Trev stooped down and grabbed lengths of cord to tie down the stuff on his wagon, and once that was finished covered it all with a tarp and tied that down as well. By the time he finished Lewis had already tarped and tied down his own wagon, so Trev picked up the towing rope. “Ready?”

Lewis nodded and went over to secure their lock on the hideout’s door. There was no need to lock up the empty icehouse, and if anyone had the desire to steal something from the outhouse they were more than welcome to it. Just like that they’d done as much as they could to secure this place in their absence, against intruders and elements both. With a last look around his cousin picked up the rope to his wagon and motioned for Trev to lead the way.

Always planning ahead, Lewis had suggested that they carve runners to tie to the wagons’ wheels to turn them into sleds, in case they needed to get their stuff out fast while the snows were still piled high. Trev had been happy to take on the project, as much because he thought his shoddily built moving dolly wagon with its small multidirectional wheels would be easier to handle as a sled as because he agreed that it was a good precaution. It was also something to do on long winter nights.

Now he was glad they had, since it meant they were ready to go with no need for major preparations.

Instead of taking the wagon sleds up to the logging road and following it all the way around the way they’d brought them in last fall, which would’ve been a pain and taken forever, instead they pulled them down the slight slope to the cliffs and found a sturdy tree. Lewis got out the pulley and hooked it to the trunk, and together they lowered the wagons one by one to the slope below, where Matt was waiting to catch and untie them. It went off without any disasters, and in around fifteen minutes they’d retrieved the pulley and were heading down the gap.

The snow made getting the sleds down the hill a bit more doable, but they still had to contend with deadfall and densely packed evergreens. Matt, helping Lewis with his wagon since it was still the slightly more weighted down one, joked that they should just let them go and pick them up down at the river, which neither Trev nor Lewis found amusing. Anyway they probably wouldn’t go more than five feet before getting caught on something, since that was about how often they had to manhandle the things around branches or logs poking up or around tree trunks.

They were all relieved when they reached the bottom of the slope with no mishaps.

The river was another major hurdle they had to deal with. For it they untied the tarps and wrapped them around the wagons as well as their contents, making a neat little bundle with the edges bunched up and tied at the top to be as waterproof as possible. Then they threw the pulley rope across the river and had Jane, Tom, and Trev half drag, half float the wagon across to the other side while Matt and Lewis got the other one ready.

Lewis’s tipped over, unfortunately, but with some care they managed to get it across the river without banging the precious solar panels, and when they opened up the tarp they were relieved to see that aside from a little patch of dampness on the tarp around the panels no water seemed to have made its way in. They hurriedly tied the tarps around the cargo again and made final preparations to set out.

As they worked Tom ambled over. “That’s a lot of food,” he observed idly. “You must have brought a ton up.”

Trev did his best not to feel suspicious of the small talk. “A bit more than this. We were able to live off the land pretty well, believe it or not.”

“Oh, I believe it.” The older man pointed at Jane. “Eight people survived the winter off the meat she brought in, with only a bit of help from me and my boy.” His expression suddenly grew sad. “Was fourteen to start out with, and eleven when we got to your town. Which isn’t any criticism of her, mind you: she worked miracles with what she had. But it was a hard winter for all of us.”

It was hard to think of a response to that, so Trev rested a hand on the older man’s shoulder, then made his way over to where Jane stood inspecting the road south with Lewis’s binoculars. Speaking of hunting… “Here,” he said, unslinging her father’s rifle and offering it to her as she let the field glasses drop on their string.

If he was hoping to improve her mood by returning the .30-30 he could keep hoping. Jane gave the weapon an impassive once-over before looking up at him with narrowed blue eyes. “Just the rifle?”

Trev wasn’t sure what she meant. “I also wanted to apologize for how I acted yesterday.” She gave him an impatient look as if that wasn’t what she’d meant, and he turned his attention back to the gun in her hands. “We left it with all the rounds we found with it. We do our practicing with our own weapons that we have more ammo for, since if we did end up needing an extra rifle we wanted as many bullets as possible for it.”

She continued to look at him and he tried to think of what else she wanted from him. “We haven’t touched it aside from inspecting and cleaning it every month or so, along with a few minor repairs Lewis did like tightening the stock so it doesn’t wobble and smoothing the bolt mechanism. It’s in better condition than when we found it.”

Jane checked the safety and drew the bolt, checking the chamber and the in-built magazine below the bolt assembly that held 7 rounds counting one in the chamber, even going so far as to empty the magazine and inspect the bullets. There had been 5 in there when they got it, all of which seemed to pass her inspection since she quickly loaded them once more and slammed the bolt home, chambering a shell before reengaging the safety.

She seemed familiar with the weapon, which supported her claim that it had been her father’s. Not that he’d doubted her. “It actually looks pretty good,” she said, looking up and meeting his eyes. Trev couldn’t help but notice that they were much more enjoyable to look into when they weren’t narrowed his way. “Thanks.”

“We take care of our equipment,” Trev said, doing his best to make his shrug look nonchalant. “If you want we can carry it in one of the wagons on the trip down.”

In answer she slung it across her back on top of the scoped G3 variant she’d brought with her, borrowed from the town’s storehouse. It was a nicer rifle than her father’s and should’ve been on top for easy access, but Trev supposed familiarity and sentimental value could trump more practical considerations. Or maybe she just hadn’t thought that far ahead.

That seemed to settle the issue for her, because she turned her attention to the aforementioned wagons and raised an eyebrow. She didn’t ask any questions, but Trev felt like he had to explain. “We carved and polished runners to attach to the wagon’s wheels, just in case we had to make a getaway with all our stuff. We can take them off pretty easily once we reach spots with no snow.”

Jane made no comment, and didn’t even excuse herself as she walked over to Matt to ask if they were ready to go. Trev considered trailing along to try to keep the conversation going, but if his friend was right about her social preferences he’d probably just annoy her. That just meant he’d have to take his opportunities to talk to her as they came, without trying to force the issue too much.

In a way the trip down was much easier than the trip up last fall, in spite of the snow. They had more people to help with the wagons on rough stretches, and pulling sleds across snow was a lot smoother than jouncing the wheels over rocks in the road, at least where the powder wasn’t so soft they sunk right in and had to be laboriously dug out or a path tromped down for them. Wherever there was a crust, though, and especially since most of their path was downhill, the sleds were more eager to get where they were going than the people pulling them. The challenge there was keeping them under control.

In any case for the most part they managed a much better pace than they had last fall, possibly even twice as fast, following Matt, Tom, and Jane’s footprints in the snow. Taking turns with the sleds they managed to keep up the pace with fewer rests, going slower than Matt’s group had managed but not markedly so.

That night they cooked up some of the meat from the icehouse on skewers over the fire, tearing into it with great enjoyment as the cold winds blasted around them through the branches of the small copse of evergreens they’d found for their campsite. From the sounds of it venison wasn’t anything unusual for Jane and Tom, but as Matt ate his fill he looked as if he’d died and gone to heaven.

The next morning Trev grumbled loudly as he shivered his way into his winter clothes and ducked out of his tent into the clear, cold predawn glow. Back in the hideout the banked stove didn’t give too much warmth by morning, but at least the reasonably well insulated space always stayed well above freezing, and he only had to suffer the cold for a few minutes as he rekindled the fire and waited for it to heat the small room up.

The others complained too, Lewis for the same reasons he was. Matt’s situation was similar since before this trip he’d also been able to enjoy relatively comfortable mornings, and even Tom and Jane in the Larsons’ house didn’t have to worry about a plunge into the heart of winter the moment they got out of their sleeping bags.

It was a fairly miserable group until they got the fire going again and cooked a bit more of the meat for breakfast. Matt assured them that things would warm up before too long on today’s hike, although the snow would remain all the way to the shelter so they’d have a path for the sleds. With the thought of warmer weather to spur them on they started out and made good time.

Later that afternoon they reached the bottom of Aspen Hill Canyon, making the trip that had taken them a bit over five days in a little under two. Trev supposed the difference lay in having extra people to share the load, as well as carrying a couple hundred less pounds of food and less ammo, some of which they’d used during their live fire practicing. The downhill trek and the sleds definitely did their part too. He might even have been willing to credit some of it to some of the muscle he and Lewis had built in the fall sticking around thanks to consistent exercise.

Before they’d gone too much longer they were greeted by Pete Childress on patrol. The young man excitedly shook hands all around, then radioed in about their arrival and handed the radio over to Matt so he could talk to the Mayor. After a bit of discussion they agreed to meet at the shelter to talk, and they left Pete behind to walk his route as they continued on.

Trev was surprised at how excited he was to be back, and over every hill they dragged the wagons around he craned his neck for his first view of the shelter. He caught sight of the smoke from it first, drifting lazily over the shorter of the two hills that bracketed it. They followed the dirt road around the hill, the same one they’d taken when they left, and there it was.

He paused and turned to grin at his cousin, who grinned back. They were home.

* * *

It didn’t feel 100% like home as they approached, mostly because the area in front of the shelter was full of the Larson clan busy at work doing laundry and other cleaning, including the partition curtains and the cots themselves. It was a good guess that when they knew the shelter’s owners were on their way back they decided to do some spring cleaning and try to have the place as nice as when they moved in.

Everyone paused to wave as they arrived, but Sam did more. The dark-haired woman had been up to her elbows in soapsuds, but as soon as she caught sight of her husband she broke away with a happy shout and bolted over to him, throwing her arms around his neck nearly hard enough to knock him off his feet. For his part Matt didn’t seem to mind the suds as he hugged his wife close.

Trev and Lewis had both already been introduced to Sam last fall, but even so Matt introduced her again. She seemed slightly reticent around them, at least until they offered her their heartfelt congratulations on the marriage and subjected Matt to a bit of lighthearted ribbing. After that she seemed to relax, and soon after the rest of Matt’s family arrived to welcome them back.

That welcome included fervent thanks for the use of their shelter and for the cache that had kept them alive that winter, as well as a few uncomfortable apologies about moving into the place without asking. Lewis was quick to give them the same assurances he’d given Matt, although he looked as uncomfortable with the overwhelming show of gratitude as Trev felt.

During the reunion Jane and Tom held back by the wagons, waiting for the Mayor to arrive. They stayed there as Trev and Lewis were pulled into the shelter so they could inspect it and rest assured that it was just like they’d left it. Actually Trev thought it might’ve been a bit cleaner and better organized now: Lewis was tidy enough, but he rarely subjected the shelter to any kind of deep cleaning. It looked as if they’d swept and even scrubbed the carpets. And the walls and ceiling! Even the stove looked as if it had been scoured.

In a way he almost felt bad, looking at the malnourished, sickly family who barely had energy for surviving. They’d worked hard to make up for their use of the shelter, and it had probably cost them strength they couldn’t afford to spare. The grand tour of the place took them past what little remained from his cache, probably not enough to last them another week even at the severely reduced rations they were keeping to.

Matt had also been looking at the food, and his friend actually had tears in his eyes as Trev met his gaze. Trev felt his own eyes stinging as he thought of what his friends might have suffered without that gift. What they had even with it. Matt seemed to be working himself to offer some thanks, but his eyes had already said everything that needed saying, and words couldn’t add anything.

Trev wanted to let his friend know that he never had to thank him for that gift, that it wasn’t a debt he’d ever need to repay. That the sight of all the Larsons alive when so many had died was all the reward Trev had ever wanted. But words were as useless for him as for his friend, so he simply gripped Matt’s shoulder firmly.

At that Matt turned away, wiping at his eyes, and Sam came over to hug him. When she looked at Trev her eyes expressed the same gratitude before she buried her face in her husband’s chest. Trev looked away to find all the Larsons, even the boys, looking at him and Lewis the same way, and he suddenly felt very awkward.

Luckily a rap on the door’s sheet metal exterior broke the mood, and they turned to find the Tillmans, the Watsons, and a few others grouped outside the door. Trev made his way over with Lewis and Matt, the others coming behind, and endured yet another round of hugs and handshakes before the Mayor got down to business.

Everyone was glad to have them back, but they were also very, very hungry.

Lewis led the way to the woodpile, much reduced after being used by the Larsons over the winter although not as much as it could’ve been, and got everyone’s help in shifting it to the side so they could get at what was beneath. When his cousin drew away the covering tarp to reveal the thirteen 50lb buckets remaining in the cache, along with Lewis’s .22 rifle, his shotgun, and the extra ammo they’d left behind along with a few other possessions too heavy or bulky to bring along, Trev saw disappointment flash across quite a few faces in the crowd, including Catherine’s.

Thirteen buckets was quite a bit for one or two people, but for an entire town it seemed a lot less. They’d been hoping for more.

Catherine was the first to find her voice. “You have food in your wag—”

“No,” Lewis said, politely but firmly. “Just this.”

Much as it pained him, Trev had to agree. They had about two-thirds this much food in the wagons, but it wouldn’t help the town much compared to the fact that it felt like the bare minimum of what he and his cousin needed.

The Mayor sighed. “It’s something at least.” She rested a hand on Lewis’s elbow. “Come on then, let’s talk business.” She led him and Matt off to the side for a quiet discussion.

While they were gone Trev hopped down to begin handing buckets up, putting aside his and his cousin’s other stuff to be brought back into the shelter. Some of his and Lewis’s ammo was compatible with the weapons Matt’s family was using, like Terry’s shotgun and Matt’s AR-15, and they could trade for ammo for the weapons they’d got from the bandits. Between all of it they were pretty well armed.

As he worked Tam Raymond leaned down to put a hand on his shoulder. “I bet you wish there was more here too,” she said quietly, by way of apology for the lack of enthusiasm. “But one or one hundred, we’re grateful.”

Trev did his best to smile up at her. “Let’s hope for good hunting and a good harvest.”

The Mayor shook Lewis’s hand, then hurried over and whispered in Chauncey’s ear. The retired teacher’s shoulders sagged. “You want your solar panels back,” he said to Lewis.

Rather than answering his cousin held up a hand and hurried around the hill, coming back a short while later with the bulky tarp-wrapped bundle from his wagon. He opened it up to pull out a panel from a road sign, revealing a dozen more inside and the hint of batteries at the bottom. “I’ve been busy during whatever warm days winter gave us,” he said with a smile.

“I’ll say,” Chauncey replied, smiling back. “Road signs. I didn’t even think of that.”

Lewis nodded. “I think between these and the ones Ferris took from me we can rig something up so I can power the shelter without needing to gut your base of operations. And if you guys haven’t tossed all the TVs, monitors, and projectors into the garbage, along with any portable hard drives, maybe you can think about other ways to use that power. I’ve got terabytes worth of books, music, TV shows, and movies on portable drives in the shelter that I’d be happy to copy over to anyone who’s got working technology. Assuming the data hasn’t been corrupted.”

Trev was surprised when that news drew a heartfelt cheer from several people in the group, including Tam, who practically jumped up and down. He supposed that the winter hadn’t been all that entertaining for people in Aspen Hill, either.

For her part Catherine smiled warmly. “I think a movie night would lift the town’s spirits. The town hall has a few projectors we used for meetings and presentations. Chauncey, why don’t you take the cousins into town to sort out their solar panels, and while you’re at it you can see about converting the clinic into a theater until we can work out a better solution.”

That drew another cheer.

* * *

Trev and his cousin hurriedly stowed the stuff from their wagons inside the trunks at the feet of the cots they were offered, aside from the meat which they packed in snow in a tarp until they could figure out what to do with it.

Then Lewis packed up his hard drives and a laptop and carried them outside to where Chauncey waited, while Trev carried the bundle of scavenged solar panels and batteries. Even though they’d been useless up in the mountains and would probably have ended up as junk before too long, he still felt better about the fact that the town would be benefitting from them rather than just him and his cousin.

The rest of the delegation from the town had already left hauling the buckets, but they’d probably catch up before too long with their lighter load. Either way Trev was actually more than happy to be walking with Chauncey, since the man was one of those in Aspen Hill he’d most looked forward to getting back in touch with.

After all, the retired teacher had manned the town’s radio all through the winter, and after being incommunicado up in the mountains for months Trev was eager to pump the older man for information. Lewis seemed to have the same idea, and while Chauncey did look amused at their eager questions he was more than happy to fill them in.

Most of the news was bad, which was hardly a surprise. Among other things, Chauncey told him that the main event that had people talking over the last few weeks was that the Gold Bloc had sent troops into Canada, Russia from the east and China from the west. There were rumors they’d done so at the invitation of the Canadian government, and the US’s neighbor to the north certainly wasn’t resisting the invasion.

Invitation or no, one of the first places the Gold Bloc took over was Alaska, taking control of oil production there. That certainly constituted an invasion and a threat to US national security no matter what agreements Canada had made. Reports on what had happened to Alaskan citizens were conflicting, anything from going about their lives in troop occupied cities, to welcoming the foreign presence with open arms thanks to being provided aid they desperately needed, to being herded into refugee or forced labor camps, to being expelled from the state entirely.

Whatever their fate, in response to the event the remnants of the US government, mostly military bases, had announced to the world their findings that Russia was responsible for the Gulf refineries attack. There was some doubt about the authenticity of the claim, but the US had used it as a pretext to declare war on the Gold Bloc nations and warned that if foreign troops didn’t leave Canadian soil within the next month they would utilize their nuclear arsenal.

Chauncey’s personal opinion was that this was just saber rattling, considering the government remnants had also promised to start launching nukes if Canada was invaded in the first place and they hadn’t done that. Either way Trev found it hard to believe that after a winter where tens or even hundreds of millions of American citizens had died there were people out there willing to commit the nation to war against the world’s new superpower.

Then again the US troops stationed up there to protect, or perhaps more accurately secure, Canada’s supply of crude oil couldn’t be ignored. With their critically low reserve of fuel the nation couldn’t afford to bring those troops home, and possibly didn’t intend to either way. Likely one of the first things the Gold Bloc soldiers did on Canadian soil would be to attack those troops and secure the crude oil for themselves, at which point thousands or even tens of thousands of US soldiers would die. The government had to do something to prevent that, and this was the only card they had.

Unfortunately the rest of the world, particularly the Gold Bloc, expected the US to fold. Especially since Russia was offering fuel to help those troops get home to their families, as well as limited aid to the country in its current crisis. Nobody expected the government to pass up that kind of deal.

Trev certainly hoped they wouldn’t. There’d been enough chaos and death without adding war on top of it, and for the US holding Canada’s oil in a death grip when there was no hope of the country returning to sustainability in the near future, and perhaps not for decades, was foolish if not suicidal.

Lewis had another perspective, if not a pleasant one. “I have my doubts about whether anything the US does will ultimately change things,” he said grimly. “We’re struggling just to survive, with rebuilding a long way away and any sort of coordinated military presence even more distant. The Gold Bloc could’ve made deals for Canadian oil without invading Canada at all, which means if they were invited in then those troops aren’t meant to stay on Canadian soil.”

A trickle of ice spread down Trev’s spine. “You think they’re planning to invade the US once Canada’s secured?”

“They might not even wait that long.” Lewis shook his head. “Think about it. Most occupations are difficult because even after you’ve dealt with the occupied country’s military you still have to deal with resistance among the civilian population and the effort and expense of moving troops and keeping them supplied.”

“Well I’d say our military is very nearly dealt with,” Chauncey said grimly.

“Which gets us to occupation. The US’s greatest defense has always been that trying to occupy any of our territory would be a logistical nightmare for anyone on another continent, because taking supply lines across either the Atlantic or the Pacific would increase the time, expense, and difficulty to coordinate by orders of magnitude. And then once they got on US soil they’d be facing a population of hundreds of millions of people with a reputation as being one of the most well armed populaces in the world.

The only way they could hope to manage it is with the cooperation of either Canada or Mexico to use as a point to launch the invasion. Up until now the US would’ve immediately intervened if enemy troops had tried something like that, and we’d have shorter supply lines to our neighbors than an enemy preparing an invasion from their soil. It would be easier for us to defend than for them to attack.”

Trev nodded slowly, feeling sick. “So now that our military is out of the picture and hundreds of millions of US citizens have died, and the rest are stranded wherever they are with no fuel to mount any sort of resistance, an enemy could just drive right in and take our nation piece by piece.”

“We’d be an ideal target, too,” Chauncey muttered. “We were knocked out without needing to use nukes, disease, EMP, or even good old fashioned bombing. Our people are dead but all the infrastructure, commodities besides food, and wealth remains. They could even move settlers in to live in fully functional communities without too much trouble. Probably a tempting prospect for China with their large population.”

This wasn’t exactly the most heartening conversation. Trev knew it was probably something they’d have to prepare to deal with, assuming that was even possible, but for now the twitching between his shoulder blades was encouraging him to change the subject. Although there was one important thing he had to mention. “How far have you been able to go with your radio contacts?” he asked Chauncey.

The older man gave him an odd look. “Mostly local people. News gets passed on to them from people even farther away, kind of like dominos.”

Lewis guessed where his thoughts had taken him. “Uncle George probably knows all this already. I’m sure he’s ready to get your family to safety if it looks like the US is going to be invaded. For all we know they could already be on their way here.”

Chauncey glanced at him, eyes widening. “That’s right. Your family moved to Michigan, didn’t they? There’s a chance they’ll be right in the path of any invasion from Canada.”

That was in fact the unpleasant realization Trev’s thoughts had been dancing around. He could’ve done without his fears being spoken and made real. “Once you get your radio running do you think you can try to contact them?” he asked Lewis.

His cousin nodded. “I’ll try. HAM operators are a pretty cooperative bunch, I’ve found. I’m sure I can get some help relaying a message to Greenbush. Until then how about a change of subject? It’d be nice to know how the other towns in the area are doing.”

Chauncey grimaced. “Yeah, I suppose you’ll want to hear about Price.”

Trev frowned. “Is it good news?”

“I’ll give you one guess and a hint: the answer’s not “yes.” The retired teacher shook his head. “If you hadn’t heard, Price got hit by a disease late last fall. Some sort of flu in the refugee camp there that spread quickly, thanks to refugees thinking it was worse than it was and fleeing in a panic. High transference, low mortality. Might’ve even been a more common strain.”

“I’m guessing it was worse than you’re making it sound,” Lewis said. “Did it hit Aspen Hill?”

“No, Matt did a good job of keeping out anyone who might’ve carried it. But the problem is that even if it had a low mortality rate on its own, the refugees were all weakened by hunger and cold, and the people of Price and Carbonville it spread to weren’t much better off. It seemed to be just enough to push most of the infected over the edge, and by the time it played itself out tens of thousands of people ended up dead. Including a lot of people who survived it only to get hit by winter and find themselves too weak to respond.”

They shared a moment of grim silence for the fallen, then Trev cleared his throat. “Is Price still around?”

“Barely. The refugees ate up most of the food they had, including the stuff brought by the FETF convoy, before the flu struck. After that it was the same story of people doing what they could to survive. From what I hear there’s maybe five thousand people left, with more dying every day.”

The news made Trev feel tired and sick. Price’s population had been more than half again that before the Gulf refineries attack. Assuming the tens of thousands of refugees who’d come there had all died and those that remained were only original residents of Price, which was unlikely, it meant almost 3,500 of them had died. A poor reward for the generosity of accepting every hungry mouth that came to their city.

Of course Aspen Hill hadn’t fared much better, thanks to Ferris.

As if sensing they’d heard enough bad news, Chauncey changed the topic to the solar panel and battery setup. Trev wasn’t too familiar with electronics, so he left the other two to talk while he stewed in his thoughts. Mostly worry about his family. He was relieved when they reached the town and he was distracted by the chance to see how it had changed over the winter.

It hadn’t, but then again it had. The buildings seemed dirtier, less well maintained, the streets either snowed over or paths crudely shoveled through the little snow that still remained after the warmth of the last week.

The people seemed dirtier too, even though the spring provided plenty of clean water, as if they couldn’t be bothered to wash, and far too many looked skeletal, limping along on unsteady feet. Heads turned to look at them as they passed, taking in their relative health and cleanliness, and Trev thought he saw resentment and even darker emotions on some of those hopeless faces.

As if that wasn’t enough to show him what the town had gone through they passed a small park near the town’s center with a single swing set where Trev remembered playing as a child. Only now the snowy ground was humped with row after row of graves filling the space, most marked with no more than a crude wooden cross thrust into the ground with the deceased’s name carved on it. Chauncey’s eyes grew sad as they passed the new graveyard, and he quieted and slowed down as if in reverence until they were passed.

Trev was almost frightened to ask if the older man’s family were all okay, and he felt a surge of relief when he was assured that the retired teacher’s wife and sons were still healthy, all things considered.

“We had our goats and their milk, along with a bit of a garden and some fruit trees,” he said quietly. “None of what we had was the sort of thing FETF was interested in taking. The goats would’ve been work for them, and the fruit and vegetables we ate as they ripened. They picked a bit of it in passing, but just for a snack after one of their inspections. Thanks to that we fared better than just about anyone.”

Thinking back on the winter they’d spent up in the mountains, Trev realized that as hard as it had seemed they’d really had it good after all. Even the boredom seemed a petty thing to complain about.

Soon after that they reached Tillman’s, which apparently served as Terry’s clinic as well as the storehouse now. Once inside Lewis plugged in the laptop and pushed the power button, and they all held their breath as they waited for it to boot up.

It did, without a hitch. “Now for the real test,” Lewis said as he set the portable hard drives on the counter beside the computer.

Trev anxiously watched while his cousin worked. The working laptop was a good sign, but it wouldn’t mean much if the terabytes of data on the portable hard drives had been corrupted. When Lewis plugged in a drive and the drive icon showed up on the screen his cousin leaned back, tension easing from his shoulders that Trev hadn’t even noticed until it was gone. “It works.” He clicked a few times. “It’s all here.”

Then in an uncharacteristic display of emotion Lewis gave Trev a high five. And after months of days and nights full of repetitive conversations and learning to play half remembered songs on cheap instruments Trev was just as enthusiastic returning the gesture. “Looks like the movie night is on.”

Standing behind them Chauncey clapped his hands. “I’ll go grab the projector from town hall.”

Chapter Fifteen

A Glimmer of Hope

As they were setting up for the movie the Larson family arrived, having left the shelter locked from the outside, and Matt and Sam came over to chat as they worked out the kinks in the thrown together projection and sound systems they’d put up around the clinic.

According to their friend the Mayor organized these kinds of town get-togethers often, searching for anything that didn’t take too much needless effort from the townspeople or resources from the town to lift spirits however she could. Since movies only took solar power and the radios and lights for the storehouse and town hall didn’t take quite as much as was produced, there was nothing preventing them from making use of Lewis’s massive collection of entertainment.

In fact, Catherine had suggested this become a tradition every evening after sundown, since means of producing light were difficult for the people of Aspen Hill to come by and it was a rare person who could sleep through all the dark hours of night. This would give them something to do before bedtime.

It was small surprise that the storehouse was packed that night, people crowding the floor on blankets in front and on chairs brought from the auditorium in back. And although the room had a heater it wasn’t needed, and in fact halfway through the movie the doors at the front of the store, the back of the impromptu theater, were thrown open to let in some fresh air.

Trev and Lewis sat with the Larsons, awkwardly reveling in their hero status as the bringer of movies both before the movie began and after it ended. “They probably could’ve done this without us,” Lewis whispered after another family from the town came by to welcome them back during the end credits. “The library has plenty of old movies and TV shows to lend.”

“Maybe they didn’t think of it until you suggested it as an option,” Trev whispered back. “People struggling to survive aren’t going to be wondering about the possibility of seeing a movie, especially when they don’t personally have the resources or knowhow to pull it off.”

There was a bit of socializing in the storehouse after the movie ended, as Chauncey turned on the lights and shut off the projector. After being alone aside from the company of his cousin Trev felt a bit overwhelmed at being the center of attention, and he knew Lewis had to be feeling it even worse. Luckily the Larsons rescued them from the crowd by suggesting they had a long walk back to the shelter and the boys were already asleep.

On the way up the street towards home Matt, carrying Aaron in his arms, sped up to catch up to Trev and Lewis walking at the front of the group. “So,” he whispered, mindful of his sleeping nephew, “you guys ready to get back to work?”

Trev gave his friend a confused look, while Lewis sighed. “You’re speaking as the leader of the town’s defenses, right?”

Matt shrugged a bit sheepishly with his free shoulder. “I’ve got to be honest, we’re short on manpower. Most people are too busy trying to stay alive to worry about external threats. And to be fair, since Razor’s attack we’ve only had a few incidents that really required the use of force. I wouldn’t say people have gotten complacent, but patrolling the town has definitely dropped pretty low on the list of priorities.”

“With the weather warming up everyone should start worrying about it more,” Lewis said. “People will be on the move again, searching for someplace where they won’t starve to death. Or at least searching for people who have enough for them to steal to survive another day. And any groups of marauders who holed up for the winter will be out and about now.”

“That’s a yes, then?” their friend asked. Trev nodded along with Lewis. “Good. Lewis, I’d like you to start on patrols again. We were patrolling in pairs for a while but unfortunately we don’t have enough people to do that anymore. Although while you’re learning the new routes Jane’s agreed to patrol with you.” He grinned. “Just be ready to take detours to hunt game. She likes to have a meal to bring home by the end of her shift.”

“I’m just fine taking patrols with Jane too,” Trev said quickly, slightly irked that Matt had paired her with Lewis. His cousin shot him an amused look.

Matt shook his head. “If you don’t mind I’d like you to rotate through the three roadblocks for a while.”

Trev slowed down. “You’re kidding. Even if you’re short-manned on patrols you’ve got to have people willing to sit behind some cars across the road for a few hours.”

His friend snorted. “I do. That’s the whole problem.” They both looked at him, and he made an annoyed sound. “What’s the most likely route people are going to take into town? And if enemies with vehicles did attack us, where would they be coming from? The roads. You obviously think the roadblocks are a vacation and that’s the problem… so does everyone else. The shifts there always have plenty of volunteers, the problem is people are treating it like a gossip circle. They just sit around chitchatting the entire time and barely even look past the roadblock.”

“So why me? I’d rather be patrolling with J—” Trev cut off, feeling his face flush, “with just my two feet and a lot of open ground to cover.”

Matt smirked at him. “You don’t have to dodge around it, I know you’ve got the hots for Jane.” Trev opened his mouth to protest and his friend kept going. “And I’d love to pair you two together, but I won’t for two reasons: one, I need someone serious at the roadblocks to try to get everyone back doing their jobs. No matter what I say they mostly ignore me and keep gossiping. You’re more easygoing than Lewis so you’d get along better, but you’d also take it seriously and have a better chance of convincing them to take it seriously too.”

His friend fell silent. “What’s the second reason?” Trev asked.

“Jane prefers to patrol alone.”

That didn’t make any sense. “You just said she’s going to show Lewis the routes.”

Matt coughed carefully. “That’s because Lewis didn’t spend the entire trip down the mountain following her around trying to talk to her.”

Trev gaped. “I barely talked to her a dozen times, and I always made sure I had a good reason!”

“Her words, not mine.”

It took a few seconds for him to pick up the pieces of his dashed hopes. “I guess that means she doesn’t like me,” he said ruefully.

His friend clapped him on the shoulder. “No, she just doesn’t want to talk to you. Don’t take it personally, she doesn’t want to talk to anyone, including me. She and Lewis will probably spend the entire time not saying a single word and both will be happy as clams.”

“You know I’m right here, right?” Lewis asked.

Trev sighed. “I’ll try to get the roadblocks in order. You’ll probably want me to start soon, right?”

“First thing tomorrow morning at Roadblock 3.” Matt clapped him on the shoulder. “Look on the bright side, at least you won’t have to walk around.”

“I like walking,” he grumbled, but he wasn’t really complaining.

* * *

The next morning Matt and Lewis left the shelter early, his friend to get things back in order as he resumed responsibility for the town’s defenses, and his cousin to find Jane and learn the new patrol routes.

Trev didn’t need to be at the roadblocks for another few hours, so after sleeping in as long as possible he got up and helped Sam, April, and Mrs. Larson cook breakfast. He did his best to hide the fact that he brought more food to the stove than he needed for himself, and mixed it in with what they were cooking so they’d have more than the palm-sized cakes they were getting by on. He wasn’t a very good actor, but luckily they didn’t bring it up.

After breakfast he did a tour around the shelter, checking the shipping container shed and its contents. Lewis had replaced the destroyed lock on the door with one of the set he’d also used to lock the hideout, the icehouse, and in case everyone was away from the shelter the front door as well, like they had last night. Although they didn’t plan to leave the shelter unattended that often: even last night Matt’s dad had insisted he wasn’t in the mood for movies halfway through and had returned to bundle up in the observation post keeping watch.

When the sun was halfway up the horizon Trev made his way into town to start his shift at Roadblock 3, passing Roadblock 1 as he went. In spite of his comment about a few cars pulled across the road the roadblocks were actually much sturdier than the ones Turner had supervised building last fall. The cars across the road remained a feature, of course, but behind the wheels cinderblocks were stacked generously to hold the cars in place in case someone tried to ram their way through.

The furniture to either side was also stacked much higher and sturdily nailed into place, complete with a platform behind the wall of furniture that defenders could stand on to shoot at anyone attacking from down the road, protected by bits of metal and sturdy sandbags that hopefully would protect them from return fire.

It meant it might take longer to clear the way if a vehicle needed to get through, but since Aspen Hill had no vehicles that wasn’t a problem for them.

Trev made his way to the south end of town and waved as he approached the small group at Roadblock 3. He got a few waves in return, from the two men on duty and one or two of the several women ranging in age from early teens to some who seemed far too old and frail for the duty.

They seemed only too happy to welcome him and immediately pump him for information about a surprising number of topics. Within the space of five minutes he found himself bombarded with questions about Matt, the food the Mayor had brought, the variety of entertainment Lewis had on his hard drives, Ferris’s confiscation of the shelter and everything in it the previous fall, and conditions in the mountains during winter.

It looked like Matt was right about the gossip circle nature of the roadblock sentries. Trev did his best to shift the conversation to any activity on the road outside the roadblock. That mostly earned him amusement, since few people had approached the town during the cold months from any direction. The amusement didn’t last long when he started asking about early warning measures, which Matt had set up but weren’t being carried out.

The general consensus was that if he was so interested in making sure that stuff happened then maybe he should do it. The only person who didn’t seem to think that was Hans Miller, a man in his 30s with a wife and children who’d remained at the periphery of the group, looking sad and withdrawn. The other man at the roadblock, Rob Jonas, was older and didn’t seem interested in the roadblock or the gossip. Trev thought he might’ve just been there for the comfortable chair.

Since any further discussion seemed like a waste of time Trev excused himself and climbed over the cars to walk down the road a ways, checking the area with eyes accustomed to seeing every detail up on mountainsides blanketed with trees. He even pulled out his binoculars for a more thorough check.

When he returned he nodded politely at the others, still gathered around on reasonably comfortable seats chatting idly and most not even in a position to see past the roadblock. Then he pointedly hopped up onto the roof of the lefthand car and settled down in a crouch to watch the road.

After a few minutes Hans, as if embarrassed about being shown up, joined him on the car and sat with his legs dangling off the roof. Trev was actually a bit relieved, and more than happy to strike up a conversation with the man as they kept watch, if a grim one as Hans shared his grief.

The Miller family hadn’t fared well that winter. Their infant son had died of sickness in January, and their young daughter Eve had developed a wracking cough that plagued her even after almost a month. Hans’s wife did her best to keep the house warm and clean and tend their daughter during the cold months as Hans did his best to help the town in spite of his troubles, as well as going out with the hunting parties more than just about anyone.

He was determined to keep his family fed, although he grew more and more despairing as his daughter’s condition continued to worsen and his wife’s spirits seemed to sink a bit lower with each passing day. She’d never quite gotten over losing their son, and no hopeful words would reach her.

Trev had nothing but sympathy for the grieving father, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Hans’s presence at the roadblock when he wasn’t out hunting wasn’t his own way of fleeing from his grief. If so it wasn’t his place to say, and he appreciated that he wasn’t the only person there taking the duty seriously.

Halfway through the shift the gossip circle broke up and most of the women simply walked away, leaving the roadblock to those who remained. Trev gave Hans a questioning look but the man simply shook his head grimly: this was a common occurrence. Rob stayed, still sitting on his chair, along with an older woman named Betty Thornton and her daughter Alice.

Trev remembered Alice as plump but pretty, always trailing after the older kids hoping to be included. Now she looked as if there wasn’t an ounce of fat or muscle on her body to fill the space between skin and bone, and she trembled slightly with every motion. Her mother seemed in about the same shape.

He didn’t ask, but perhaps Hans was used to being around all the gossip because he answered anyway. Mr. Thornton had died in Razor’s attack last fall, leaving the two women to fend for themselves. Neither of them had any skill at hunting and the winter had ended any chances of finding edible plants, so their options were limited.

Apparently the Mayor gave everyone who did a full shift at the roadblock or on patrol a bowl of soup. For those on patrol the meager portion wasn’t enough to make up the energy of walking the route, which explained why Matt was having trouble finding people to volunteer, but for sitting behind a roadblock in the cold it was, barely, a net gain.

So Matt hadn’t been entirely accurate. The roadblocks weren’t a gossip circle, they were a soup kitchen line. Those who’d already left to collect their bowl of soup hadn’t sat all the way through a shift, but Catherine fed them anyway, probably since in the colder months sitting out in the cold starving would’ve just created more sick people. Trev could only assume the Thorntons were too proud to end their shift early, at least now that the weather was warming up. According to Hans they took a shift at least once a day, sometimes twice.

Trev felt a bit guilty about his initial bitterness about selling the rest of their cache to the town, knowing that this was one of the things it went towards. It also made him feel better about their decision to sell in the end.

He went out to check the road and surrounding area again, and by the time he got back the shift was over and Hal and the Thorntons had gone, a new group of women and a few men filling up the chairs and starting their own gossip. Trev nodded at the group as he passed by, making his way back to the shelter. He wasn’t about to take a bowl of soup when people were starving, and he had a feeling that in spite of his weak and emaciated condition Matt hadn’t been either.

With any luck his friend would be around when he got back, since Trev needed to have a conversation with him about the roadblocks. He had no problem with the charity aspect of things, but asking a bunch of starving people to do a vital task and then practically encouraging them to leave halfway through wasn’t making the town any more secure. Most of the women he’d seen there hadn’t even been armed, and the radio set in a box in one of the firing niches behind the furniture looked as if it hadn’t been used in a while.

When he got back he found his cousin outside on the taller hill overlooking the shelter, shovel in hand and digging in what looked like a random spot while Aaron and Paul watched curiously. Aaron kept on asking if he could help dig, but Lewis just shook his head each time as he kept going.

Trev had a feeling he knew what his cousin was up to. “You’ve got to be kidding me, another cache?” he asked as he came within earshot. He shook his head incredulously. “Although it is you, so why am I surprised?”

Lewis smiled tightly. “Not exactly a cache. More like a last ditch hiding place for all my most important valuables in case I lose literally everything else.” He used his shovel to thump an object in the hole, which made a dull plasticky thud. As Trev got closer he saw Lewis had dug down to some sort of large pipe, nearly a foot in diameter.

Lewis gave it another thump as he continued. “It’s all in vacuum sealed bags in there, then the pipe itself is airtight and I used plumber’s tape to water seal the end caps then taped around the seams with duct tape just to be safe. In our dry climate and with how I positioned the cache I doubt water was a problem. Here, want to take a turn? It’s about four feet long, so it should almost be uncovered enough that we can lever it up.” He turned to Aaron with a smile. “Then you can fill in the hole if you want.

Trev accepted the shovel and got to work. “So what’s in there?”

“Some savings in gold and silver, a small but high quality HAM radio just in case EMP knocked out my bigger one, an SP101 and some ammo in case I lost all my other firearms, an emergency pack with medical supplies, a water purifier, firestarting equipment, and a few rations, and hundreds of packets of heirloom seeds.”

“Seeds!” Trev said excitedly. “So that’s why you’re digging it up now. They’ll be worth their weight in gold!”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m selling them,” Lewis protested, looming protectively over the pipe and almost getting whacked by the shovel as Trev continued working. “You and me are going into gardening. I’ve already talked to the Mayor about a perfect plot along the Aspen Hill Canyon stream south of town. We’ll be right next to the plot Matt’s family is using for their own garden, and Catherine is letting us use what little lawn and gardening equipment they had in their store. I figured we could use our wagons to haul some manure from the pens where the livestock were held.”

Trev found the other end cap his cousin hadn’t already reached and dug around it until he could get the shovel under the edge. With a bit of pushing on the shovel handle the entire pipe popped partway out of the hole, and Lewis grabbed it and manhandled it the rest of the way. He handed the shovel to Aaron, who happily got to work trying to wield the bulky tool and awkwardly push dirt back into the hole, while he and Lewis carried the pipe down to the shelter with Paul toddling along behind.

“Why the south end of town?” he asked once they’d gotten it to the ramp, where they set it down and his cousin got to work opening it up. “Someone could steal the food we grow, or destroy the crop for some messed up reason.”

“The ground’s better there, and us and the Larsons aren’t going to be the only people growing crops along the river. The Watsons, the Tillmans, the Childresses, and a dozen other families will also be there with us. We can help each other, but more importantly we can organize a full time watch to make sure nobody tampers with the crops or tries to steal them.”

It took a while, but they managed to get one of the end caps unscrewed. Lewis spread out a clean tarp and they carefully poured the contents onto it. Aaron and Paul were interested in the precious metals and the small but powerful revolver, but Trev’s eyes were all on the seeds. “Will they still be good?”

“They should be.” Lewis picked up one of the sealed bags and looked at the stack of packets inside. “They’re only a few years old and the water shouldn’t have got to them.”

Trev picked up another bag. Tomatoes, carrots, various squashes, radishes, and beets. His stomach rumbled just thinking of them. “How long until we can plant?”

His cousin lost a bit of his good cheer. “That’s the question, isn’t it? The cold seems later in coming during the fall these last few years, but it also means it lasts later after winter, too, sometimes into May or even June. We have a situation where if we plant too early the crops can die, but if we plant too late the people relying on those crops will. I know a lot of people in town are going to try to plant early and pray for a good outcome, but even at the earliest it’ll be weeks until we can plant, maybe as much as a month.”

“Until then we can prepare the plot and focus on other things,” Trev said.

“Exactly.” Lewis set the bag he held back on the pile. “I talked to Jane, and she’s agreed to show me where she’s been having the best luck finding game. Now that things are warming up animals are going to be heading back up into the mountains, so with any luck the foothills will be teeming with deer.”

Trev did his best not to feel jealous. He supposed now that Jane had shut him down he should be cheering his cousin on. Besides, although Lewis had joined him on a few double dates and wasn’t exactly a loner, his cousin had never really sought out a relationship. Trev had a hard time seeing sparks flying between the two.

“That’s pretty generous of her,” he said, trying to keep a neutral tone.

Lewis shrugged. “I wouldn’t exactly say that. She partly wanted to pay us back for the food we gave her and Tom on the way down. Also she’s expecting ten percent of any kill I make in a location she recommended.”

“What if she just recommended every single canyon and stream in the area?” Trev asked, frowning.

His cousin grinned at him. “Believe me, she didn’t. I’m more than happy to pay a finder’s fee for her advice.” He leaned down and scooped up an armful of stuff from the cache, and Trev hurried to grab his own armful and followed him inside.

* * *

The next day Trev got back from an uneventful shift at the roadblock to find Lewis off on patrol and the Larson family mostly gone, scattered around the town doing various tasks. Sam and Mrs. Larson, or he supposed they were both Mrs. Larson now but it was hard to get used to the idea, were up in the observation post sharing the watch and taking care of the boys.

Trev wasn’t sure how he felt about that distraction while doing something that important, but then again boredom could create its own distractions and two pairs of eyes were better than one. Or three, since it looked as if Aaron had been deputized as lookout and was solemn and serious in his duties. The newly-turned six year old even challenged Trev as he approached and demanded he identify himself. Trev endured the interrogation good-naturedly as he waved to the two women, continuing on into the house to get some food before setting back out to make himself useful.

It turned out he didn’t need to look for ways to do that, because halfway through the meal Matt came into the shelter with his nephews swarming around his legs and Sam holding his hand. His friend shooed the boys off into his wife’s care while he made his way over to Trev’s cot.

“I need your help digging,” he said, and his expression and tone of voice said it all.

Trev nodded and stood. “Who?”

“Betty Thornton.”

The news hit Trev hard. He hadn’t seen the older woman or her daughter at the roadblock that morning, but he’d just assumed they were on another shift. Maybe the gossip circle had talked about it but he hadn’t been listening. “I just saw her yesterday,” he said. “I won’t say she looked healthy but I wasn’t expecting this.”

“It can come pretty suddenly when people are weakened with hunger. Especially if they’re getting on in years.” Matt shook his head grimly. “I’d hoped the funerals wouldn’t be coming so often with the weather warming up, as if spring would magically solve all the other problems plaguing the town.”

A heavy silence fell. “What about Alice?” Trev asked. “Her parents are both gone now, right?”

For some reason his friend’s face twisted, almost in guilt. “The Watsons agreed to take her in. I’m not sure they can spare the resources but they’ll do their best.” He clapped Trev on the shoulder. “Come on, if you’re ready.”

“Just a few more bites,” Trev replied, hurriedly shoving food into his mouth. As he finished up Matt went over to kiss Sam goodbye and tussle with his nephews for a minute. From the sounds of it she was suggesting that once one of the others came home to watch over the shelter she’d walk into town to keep him company, and maybe even bring the boys along to give them something to do besides be bored at home.

Before joining his friend Trev filled a sack with wheat, five pounds or so, to give to Alice anonymously via the Watsons. He couldn’t help everyone in town, much as he’d like to, but if he could spare aid for strangers up in the mountains he couldn’t do any less for a neighbor in need. He felt bad he hadn’t thought to give this food yesterday, when it could’ve helped Betty as well. Was it just the way of the world to not know someone needed help, or to have some idea of it but not think to help them, until it was too late?

Easier to blame circumstance than himself, maybe. But again, he couldn’t help everyone. Too little too late was at least better than nothing.

As he was heading out of the shelter Sam intercepted him, Matt and the boys already outside. She looked worried. “I’m worried about Matt,” she said without preamble.

Trev blinked. “Is he sick?”

She shook her head, dark hair flying. “He feels responsible for the town, more than he should. It’s like he’s wearing a lead vest and it’s been getting heavier every day, for months now. I thought going to get you would help, and it has a bit, but when there wasn’t as much food as he’d hoped it all seemed to come back.”

The petite woman swallowed, eyes suddenly swimming with tears. “I don’t know what happened, maybe Betty Thornton’s death, but he’s even worse today. I’ve never seen him like this, even after Razor attacked.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Trev promised. Then he paused, looking closer at Sam’s pale face. “What about you, are you okay?”

She gave a start of surprise and looked almost panicked. “I, um, no, yeah. Just tired.” Without waiting for a response she hurried out to say her goodbyes to her husband.

Trev might’ve expected that sort of response from Jane, at least the leaving without a word part, but it seemed uncharacteristic for Matt’s wife. Maybe while he was talking to Matt about what was weighing him down he’d also talk to his friend about having Sam visit Terry to make sure she wasn’t getting sick.

They brought only one shovel when they set out, since a grave wasn’t big enough for two people to work on at once, and in any case they’d want to take turns to save their strength. The walk into town was a grim and quiet one, Matt not seeming to want to talk and Trev trying to figure out how to ask uncomfortable questions. They passed the park that served as the new graveyard, which was already full, and continued on to the Thorntons’ place less than a block from Matt’s house.

They found it eerily deserted, everyone over at the Watsons’ paying their respects to Alice. Matt led the way to the back corner of the small lot, where someone had marked a square, and as Trev stood to the side his friend began to dig.

It was a long, slow process. The ground tended to be rocky so close to the mountains, and even if the it was laboriously cleared for a lawn the rocks underneath tended to be left there, sporadically making their way to the surface. Trev wouldn’t say it was anywhere near as bad as the digging he’d had to do for the outhouse up at their hideout, where every shovel strike bounced off a stone ranging in size from the length of his finger to bigger than his head and each had to be laboriously dug around, but it was still exhausting work that left Matt making annoyed sounds every minute or so.

Finally his friend planted the shovel into the ground, glaring slightly as it bounced off a rock and he had to catch it. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

“My turn then.” Trev reached for the shovel.

“I didn’t mean the digging. But that too.” His friend gave him a bitter smile and handed it over, stepping away so Trev could get to work. Trev waited patiently for him to continue, wondering if his friend was going open up without him needing to say anything.

It turns out he was. “We’re still weeks away from planting, and weeks away from harvest after that. We were banking on whatever food you and Lewis could sell us to see us to harvest. Without it we need a miracle or we’ll keep on losing people, just like Price and Carbonville and Helper and everywhere else seems to be.”

Trev wasn’t sure what to say to that. He’d only been in town a few days and he was already feeling the despair sinking in. For Matt, who was in charge of defending the town, losing people had to be crushing his soul even if none of those deaths came from attacks. Sam had good reason to be concerned.

Matt kept going, almost as if talking to himself. “You know Alice begged me to help her dad? During Razor’s attack. I was too desperate to get to Sam, and even then I didn’t make it in time to prevent her and Mom from being hurt. Terry tells me Mr. Thornton’s, John’s, wounds were too severe, and even if I’d helped he probably still would’ve died. But there’s a world of regret in that “probably.”

Trev paused to look up and found his friend staring miserably at the grave as he continued. “I left John to his fate and went for my own family, and because of it his wife and daughter were left alone to fend for themselves over the winter.”

Was that what had hit his friend so hard today that Sam noticed it? “Don’t let it eat at you,” Trev said quietly as he got back to digging. “We do what we can for others, but family comes first. If the situations had been reversed would you have blamed John for going after Betty and Alice, especially when you knew you were probably going to die anyway?” He caught Matt shaking his head sharply out of the corner of his eye, but his friend didn’t reply. “Whatever happened is in the past. You can’t let it stop you from moving forward.”

Matt sighed. “I sometimes envy you the winter you spent up in the mountains. Ten foot snowdrifts and bitter cold seem like a fair trade to avoid having to watch suffering you can’t do anything to prevent.” He abruptly stepped forward, reaching for the shovel. “Here, I’d rather work myself to exhaustion than stand around thinking like this.”

Trev let his friend take over and stood back, watching the hole grow as the minutes ticked by in silence. He wanted to offer to take over before his friend pushed himself too hard, but if he were in Matt’s shoes he’d probably want to keep digging for a bit longer too.

An hour later the grave was halfway dug. Trev had finally taken over for Matt, more out of necessity than anything, and his friend had slumped exhausted on the snowy lawn as Trev resigned himself to doing most of the digging. Hunger hadn’t been kind to his friend and he’d lost a lot of his strength, which worried Trev more than he’d care to admit.

About that time Sam appeared, alone, to take Matt quietly to one side. Trev didn’t know what the petite, dark-haired woman said, but it seemed to be just what his friend needed to hear. He watched from inside the hole as Matt gently picked Sam up and spun her around, then leaned down and kissed her before holding her close.

And yet Trev was even more confused when, a few minutes later, Sam left walking in the direction of the Watsons’ and Matt came back to the grave, looking even more miserable than before. “What’s going on?” he asked.

His friend looked a bit lost. “Sam’s pregnant.”

That explained why she’d looked pale earlier. No wonder his friend looked like he’d just been punched in the gut. Trev grinned. “Congratulations!”

Matt smiled, half exultant, half despairing, although when he spoke it was as if he hadn’t even heard. “She wasn’t sure whether or not to tell me, because she wasn’t sure herself. Missing a monthly cycle or two could be blamed on malnutrition and she didn’t want to get my hopes up. Or for that matter make me worry even more. She also couldn’t exactly go to a doctor, and she couldn’t find a home test to take either. But the nausea she’s been feeling for the last few days on top of all the other signs seem pretty conclusive.”

Trev scrambled out of the hole to clap his friend on the shoulder. “You’ll be a great dad.”

“Will I, though?” Matt asked, his bleak mood making a comeback. “I can’t feed my family. I’m spending all my time helping the town while the people I love go hungry. What kind of husband and father does that?” He looked almost sick. “What if I can’t even feed Sam and something goes wrong? Or what if it’s already too late after going hungry for so long and she doesn’t have the strength to carry a baby to term? She’s so tiny.”

Even though his friend looked torn apart by worry, and certainly seemed to be tearing himself apart by all the grim possibilities, Trev couldn’t help but notice that a smile kept fighting to lift the corners of his mouth, and his eyes had a new life in them. He had to wonder if Sam had broken the news now to lift his spirits.

As Matt’s friend it was his job to do what he could for that too. “Sam’s stronger than she looks,” he said, clapping his friend on the shoulder again. “And things aren’t all on your shoulders. Do what you need to for your family and the town will sort itself out. And you’re not alone, either. I’ll talk to Lewis about taking you hunting with him at the spots Jane showed him. And we’ll all be working on our crops together. Things will work out, and I’m not just saying that.”

“Yeah.” His friend finally let a smile break through. “Yeah. I’m going to be a father.”

Trev slapped him on the back. “I’ve got this. Go be with Sam.” He took out the bag of wheat he’d poured earlier. “And while you’re at the Watsons, could you give this to Chauncey for Alice without letting him know who it’s from?”

Chapter Sixteen

Tidings

The weeks passed quickly once Trev got settled in at the shelter with his cousin and the Larsons, who quickly came to feel like family. And day after day he fell into a routine that was in many ways much more rigorous than the life they’d had at the hideout, but also more satisfying. It felt like they were living rather than just staying alive.

At first he’d been afraid that Mandy’s false accusations from the previous fall would still hang over him like a specter, and he did hear a few unpleasant snatches from the gossip circles and got some odd looks as he passed people. But either Mandy had ruined her own credibility or Trev’s service to the town spoke to his character, because no one ever challenged him on it and people treated him politely, and even with a good deal of respect.

Over time he managed to get the roadblocks into a bit more order, more through example than through leadership. It helped that he talked to Catherine about the charity and got the gossip circles doing something more useful than sitting around in the chill. There were always things to be done, clothes to be washed and mended among other chores, and if they took more energy the Mayor also had a bit more food to give out.

Those who remained at the roadblocks learned to pass their time staring out at the road, and Trev convinced them to implement brief breaks to stretch their legs that also happened to take them out beyond the roadblocks to spots where they could see a good distance and keep an eye on any approaching intruders.

There began to be more and more of those as the weather grew warmer and the refugees once again took to the road searching for a safe haven that wasn’t to be found. The Mayor held firm to her resolution to accept any newcomers into Aspen Hill, settling them in the houses of those who had died over the winter, so long as they knew that they could expect no handouts and had to be content with the opportunity to forage or hunt their own food.

Many took the deal anyway, since it was better than the violence of encountering roving bandits or being turned away with harsh words or worse at other towns they approached. It appeared that Price and Carbonville’s loudly proclaimed intention to take in all refugees and find a way to help them had devolved into turning away all comers and fiercely protecting their borders.

When he wasn’t at the roadblocks Trev was out hunting with Lewis and Matt, and sometimes Jane and Tom and his son Alvin. Trev had expected that they’d bring down any deer or maybe rabbits that they saw, but Matt and Jane’s group were all quick to target anything that moved and had meat on its bones, from the occasional squirrels to potguts to roving slat-ribbed wild dogs, of which they encountered a few. Lewis even made it a point to bring his .22 rifle to shoot the varmints, and Tom had his .22 as well when he was with them.

The deer they did manage to bring down were always cause for celebration, but it was mostly smaller game that filled the pot and kept everyone in the shelter fed. That and the emerging green plants foraged by anyone who came across anything edible, no matter how unpalatable the taste.

Their meals were taken with particular care given to Sam, who received a bit extra at everyone’s insistence in spite of her halfhearted protests. And the expecting mother valiantly fought her morning sickness to hold down valuable food they couldn’t afford to waste. It seemed to be working, too, since to everyone’s relief she looked healthier and stronger by the day.

There was one good thing that happened a couple weeks after he and his cousin returned to town, that did more to alleviate the town’s worry for long-term sources of food than the remnants of their cache had. The patrol along Aspen Hill Canyon called in to report a flock of sheep coming down from the mountains, herded by a modest sized family called the Normans that a few people in town were vaguely acquainted with. The shepherds were there asking after a chunk of their flock that had disappeared last fall, showing signs of being driven towards Aspen Hill.

Catherine personally greeted the family and admitted that the town had found the animals unattended and brought them back for food. The shepherds were only slightly mollified by promises of payment, which would be a bit difficult since the family didn’t seem too interested in precious metals.

They were, however, interested in arming themselves with proper weapons for self defense, and even more interested in the fact that Aspen Hill remained a fairly orderly and peaceful place in spite of all the chaos that winter. They’d had a few run ins with less peaceful, orderly people and were looking for a friendly town to trade with and live in part of the year when they weren’t grazing their flock.

The Norman family was eagerly accepted into the town and offered the nicest available house, and had soon settled in. They were fiercely protective of their flock against the hungry eyes of desperate townspeople, but with some haggling the Mayor was able to convince them to sell some of their older rams and ewes for meat, as well as a few that had been injured over the winter. The important thing was that they were self-sufficient and part of the community, which meant by extension that the town had at least some livestock to offer future security.

Lewis talked about purchasing a few lambs if the Normans were willing to sell, but that was something they’d have to wait for since none had been born yet this spring. Having a flock of their own was something to look forward to, along with trying to trap a few rabbits alive to start their own hutch.

In the meantime, between hunting and their duties protecting the town Trev and his cousin also took time to carefully prepare their plot along the canyon stream as they anxiously watched the skies for the spring planting. The temperature improved day by day, and two weeks after Trev and Lewis got home many of their neighbors decided to plant, including the Larsons and Watsons. Ever the careful one, Lewis insisted they wait another week just to be safe.

Thankfully no frost arrived to threaten the tiny shoots emerging in many of the plots, but Trev didn’t begrudge his cousin’s caution as they got to work planting their own plot, one of the largest with only the Aspen Hill general plot covering more area. They opened each packet of seeds with care, careful not to waste even one of them if they could help it. Trev was slightly alarmed at how many packets were required to plant the entire plot, but Lewis assured him that the seeds were all heirloom and when the plants they produced went to seed they’d gather and preserve those for the next year’s crop.

At least that was the plan. His cousin had read up on preserving seeds and even watched a few videos, and so far his studied knowledge had translated decently into practical applications. Lewis’s dream was to move beyond the need for long term food storage to where they could provide for themselves reliably day to day with their own two hands.

“Preparedness is better than being unprepared, but it’s much, much better to be self-sufficient,” he said more than once. And considering that they were nearly out of the food they’d prepared Trev was more than ready to move into self-sufficiency. The alternative wasn’t attractive.

He did allow himself a little hope for the harvest, though, and even joked to others that with any luck soon they’d be learning how to preserve whatever grew for the winter. Canning and drying were mostly lost skills, although some in the town, mostly older residents, still had experience with them. In preparation for what all hoped to be a bountiful harvest each and every house, abandoned field, and garbage pit was rummaged through for old glass or plastic jars and bottles.

Canning jars with pressure sealed lids became a prized commodity, and unsurprisingly Lewis had several boxes of a dozen, all tightly sealed with plastic to keep them clean and protect them from breaking. Even better, while cleaning out the shelter Ferris had ignored them as useless.

Needless to say, once the plot was planted they guarded it nearly as fiercely as they did the shelter, working with their other neighbors growing crops alongside them. No one wanted to see these crops harmed or stolen, and the only place in town more secure was the storehouse itself.

It was just after Lewis and Trev finished planting three weeks after their arrival that the routine was finally broken, in perhaps the worst way possible. At least for Trev.

* * *

He’d just finished scouting past the roadblock, spying nothing but a group of townspeople combing over the landscape looking for any edible greens, and had come back to resume his position on the cars when he saw Chauncey waiting there.

Waving, he hopped one of the cars to join the older man. “What brings you to Roadblock 2?” he asked. “Something happening? I didn’t hear anything over the radio.”

The retired teacher shook his head. “No. Well yes, but it doesn’t really concern the town. Or I guess it does, but…” He trailed off with an uncomfortable shrug. “I thought you should hear it since it might affect your family.”

“Lewis?” Trev asked. “Or is our shelter in the path of some danger coming from the north?”

“No no, nothing like that.” Chauncey sighed. “You know the US had threatened to launch nukes if the Gold Bloc didn’t get their troops out of Canada within a month’s time, right?”

Trev nodded. “Saber rattling, you called it.”

“Yeah, well apparently I’m not the only one to think so. Word on the grapevine is that Russian troops are mobilizing along the border, near Toronto and Sault Ste. Marie. Alaska’s long since gone silent, you know, but word is that broadcasts out of the Yukon and British Columbia territories are being squelched as well. It could indicate a large movement of Chinese troops towards the US border, and ships have been sighted along the coast of California and New England. It’s all pointing to an invasion in the works.”

Realization dawned. “You mean my family in Michigan.” Trev tried to remember his geography. Sault Ste. Marie was along the Canadian border just north of Michigan, and Toronto was northeast of Detroit with a fairly major highway leading there. An invasion from either of those locations would almost certainly bring enemy troops close to his family’s house in Greenbush.

The older man nodded grimly. “The Gold Bloc seems to have called our bluff. They’re going to invade, probably within the next few weeks. I think they might even be planning to invade before the deadline for when they were supposed to withdraw from Canada in less than a week, just to further tweak our noses.”

Trev did his best to hide his alarm. “Have you been able to contact anyone in Greenbush?” Lewis hadn’t had any luck, but Chauncey had been on the radios longer and might have made contacts his cousin hadn’t.

“Sorry,” Chauncey said, shaking his head grimly. “There’s plenty of chatter from up there considering the imminent threat, but nobody’s heard anything specific about a Smith family living along the shore of Lake Huron. And all things considered no one’s got the time or patience to go and personally check it out just to do a favor for someone halfway across the country.”

In answer Trev pulled the radio from his belt. “Speaking of favors, could you take the rest of my shift?”

The retired teacher accepted the radio, although he gave Trev a stern look. “Don’t do anything rash, son.”

Trev thought of Betty Thornton. “I’m not going to wait until it’s too late to help them. I’ve felt more and more like I needed to find them with every passing month since the Gulf refineries attack.”

Chauncey sighed and held out his hand. “You know better than anyone why it’s a bad idea, but family is family. Travel safely.”

Nodding, he shook the man’s hand firmly in thanks and broke into a trot towards the shelter, trying not to let his rising worry turn to panic. He was only half successful and his trot became a sprint, which he was able to maintain for the few minutes it took him to reach home.

When he got there, staggering and panting like a bellows, he found Matt and Lewis manhandling the 50 gallon tank of gasoline out of the shed. “The guys who attacked this place used up less than I was afraid of,” his cousin was saying as he approached. “We’ve probably still got 25 gallons in there.”

“What’s going on?” Trev demanded. But in spite of his own agitation he couldn’t leave them to that kind of heavy lifting. So even though he was seriously winded and on the verge of collapse he came over and grabbed a corner, letting Matt gratefully shift to the other corner on his side so they could split the weight.

His friend was eating better and had gotten back a bit of his strength in the last few weeks, but that tank had to weigh a couple hundred pounds: on the other side Lewis was straining to hold up half the weight as they shuffled it over to where the back of the shipping container met up with the hill. There was no answer to his question until they’d finished lugging it and started to cover it with a tarp, partly to protect it from the elements but mostly to hide the container’s precious contents.

It was Matt who replied, looking a bit sheepish. “We’re going to move the stuff in the shed into the shelter and convert it into a living space. Once the gas fumes clear out, that is.”

“Oh, right.” They’d been talking about doing that. Frankly Trev was surprised they hadn’t already, although he supposed the lack of heating and the shipping container being less defensible were considerations. “Terry and April and the boys were going to move into it, right? Although you also mentioned having me and Lewis move so we could have our own space.”

His friend shifted awkwardly. “Actually everyone agreed me and Sam should have it.” At Trev’s confused look his face reddened a bit. “She’s been feeling a lot more energetic lately, and for that matter I have too. Between that and the good news with the baby it’s been almost like a second honeymoon. And you know we’ve been living in the shelter with the rest of the family ever since the wedding, and now that you guys are here…”

Ah. “Say no more. The newlyweds deserve to have a bit of privacy.”

Lewis nodded. “I figured you wouldn’t mind giving the shed to them. You didn’t seem to care about having the space when us moving out here was brought up.”

“No, it’s fine. Although I don’t really have a vote since I’m going to be leaving.”

His friend and cousin shared a concerned look. “Moving out?” Matt asked, frowning. “You never said anything.”

“I wouldn’t have, I just found out.” At their further confusion Trev took a deep breath, unable to keep his worry from showing. “I just finished talking with Chauncey and learned that the Gold Bloc is setting up to invade us from Canada. I’m going for my family.”

* * *

“Trev, this is crazy,” Lewis said, stepping in front of him as he walked to his terrible moving dolly wagon with another armful of his stuff. “The trip is suicide. Your family wouldn’t want that.”

“They might not want it, but they might need it,” Trev said firmly, stepping around his cousin to dump everything into the wagon. He knew from experience how unreliable it was on any sort of poor road, but it was what he had. “I listened when Dad told me to stay put last fall, and I trusted that they would be okay, but that didn’t stop me from worrying. Well now they’re in real danger, and whether they’re on the road or still at home under threat of attack they’re going to need my help.”

Lewis caught his arm as he went for another load. “You might not even find them there! They could be long gone, halfway here by now, and you’ll just be heading into danger yourself looking for them.”

“We had that same worry with April’s family.” Trev quirked his lips in a wan smile. “Actually we even had this same conversation, more or less. And the argument for going is the same then and now.”

“It’s not the same at all! You went a hundred and thirty or so miles and back to get them, this is almost ten times that distance. And through some of the worst locations in the country. Do you have any idea what kind of mess the area around Chicago’s going to be in after the winter we’ve had? Or Detroit? And will you follow the Interstate past other large cities along the way?” His cousin’s grip on his arm tightened. “Ten times the distance, Trev. And ten times more certainty with what I said when you went for Matt’s family. This is a bad idea, and if you leave you probably won’t make it back.”

Trev shook his arm free. “Why do you argue when you know I’m going to go anyways?”

“Good point.” Lewis sighed and disappeared through the curtain into his own partitioned room. “I guess I’ll have to come with you.”

In spite of the situation Trev couldn’t help but smile again. “We’ve had this conversation, too.”

“And just like the other one this time things are completely different.” His cousin poked his head back into view. “They’re my family too, and this time we have someone to watch the shelter for us while we’re gone.”

“What about our garden?” Trev protested.

Matt poked his head into the room too, making things look a bit absurd. “We can take care of that. It’s the least we can do after everything you and Lewis have done for us.” He gave Trev a guilty look. “I feel like I should go with you after you went with me last time, but I can’t leave Sam.”

“No. Like Lewis said, this is different. I’ll be fine.”

“You mean we’ll be fine,” Lewis countered. “Admit it, you know that with the two of us together things have a much better chance of turning out okay.”

Trev could admit it. He’d been more than uncertain at the thought of trying to cross a huge chunk of the continent to reach his family, with no idea what route to take or what places would be dangerous to pass through. Having his cousin along made the trip seem a lot less daunting.

“Okay then,” he grinned at his cousin. “I’ll wait for you to pack.”

Lewis intercepted him at his wagon with another armful of stuff. “Come on, at least don’t be an idiot about this.”

For a moment Trev was confused. Was his cousin changing his mind? “Look, I said I’m going to go and I mea—”

“Not that,” Lewis interrupted impatiently. “That.” He pointed at Trev’s cart. “That thing was a pain work with and you know it. If we had to we could make do with just my wagon but I think we can do better.”

“Better?” Trev asked dubiously.

“Look, we’ll want to go fast so we don’t have to bring too much food. A wagon will let us carry more but it’ll also slow us down. What we need is bicycles with bike trailers. We’ll be able to travel faster than we can walk or even run a lot of the time, and we’ll be able to haul enough supplies to get us there and back with enough for your family.”

Trev was amazed he hadn’t thought of that. Lewis was right, that would solve a ton of their problems. “Any idea where we can find those?” He glanced around the shelter. “Let me guess, you’ve got a pair of top of the line bikes and trailers stowed away around here somewhere.”

His cousin smiled ruefully. “Not this time, unfortunately. But I know where we should be able to find what we need. I got the idea from hearing about how Ferris left, and he got his supplies from the town storehouse.”

That seemed like a good option. Trev nodded slowly as he glanced at his wagon… he really hated the thing. “Okay, let’s go.”

They set off for town together, leaving Matt to clean out the shipping container on his own. Most of the stuff was light enough for one person to carry, and their friend had no complaints with being saddled with the task, since it was for his own benefit.

In a way it felt almost odd to be walking through town with the intention of leaving. Trev knew there was a lot that needed to be done to get Aspen Hill back on its feet, and ideally he wanted the place still there when he got back with his family. He knew that Matt, Chauncey, Mayor Tillman, and others had been depending on him and his cousin to help with that, and he felt a bit bad about leaving it behind.

But he would.

By the time they got back into town it was past the time when Trev’s shift at the roadblocks would have ended, and they found Chauncey back in his usual place at the storehouse, guarding it with a few other men from the town. One of them was Ben, the refugee leader, who Trev had come to respect and even like over the last few weeks. Then again, he tended to like anyone who was willing to give any extra time to help the town, and Ben was certainly good about that.

Chauncey listened to their explanation, shaking his head slightly. “We could probably help you with bikes, although not good ones, but trailers are another issue entirely. Ferris took every single one to be found in the town, most brand new and still in the box out of Tillman’s Sporting Goods. I suppose I could ask around, or maybe we could contact one of the nearby towns and see if one is available for barter.”

Trev glanced at his cousin. “What would biking while wearing backpacks look like?”

“Ugly for balance, and we wouldn’t be able to carry nearly as much.” Lewis sighed and turned to Chauncey. “Can we take a look at the bikes?”

The older man nodded and motioned them towards the back room. “I’ll get on the radio and see if anyone’s got a trailer.”

They left him to it and headed into the backroom, checking over the selection of bikes. It was a bit pitiful, just as he’d warned, with only a few cheaper 10-speeds to go along with children’s bikes. Lewis suggested asking around town for anyone holding onto a better bike, but Trev didn’t have the patience for that with a possible deadline for the Gold Bloc invasion a week away. “We can make these work,” he insisted, motioning towards the two best bikes they’d found. “We’ll just bring what we need to repair them if there’s a problem.”

“If there’s a problem we can’t fix we’re down to one and a half bikes and we’re back to walking speed,” his cousin replied. “That’s why you go with quality equipment.”

In the end they agreed to take the bikes out to the shelter and pack up what they’d need. In the meantime there was a chance Chauncey would find something over the radio, and if worse came to worst they could always stop in Helper or Price, depending on the route they took, and look for something better there using some of Lewis’s coins to barter with.

On the plus side the trip back to the shelter was much faster. “Why haven’t we been using these all along?” Trev called as they zoomed up the dirt path towards the two hills.

“Lack of imagination?” his cousin called back. “No bikes in the days of the Wild West, and we got caught thinking we were living back then.”

“Well Matt at least should start using one. Think about how much time he’d save on walking that he could be using for better purposes.”

Back at the shelter the Larsons had gathered to give them a good sendoff, with hugs and well-wishing all around. While Trev stayed with the group to discuss matters with the garden and shelter while they were gone, Lewis disappeared to his nook where most of the stuff in the shelter that Ferris hadn’t taken had been piled while he was gone. He emerged with maps, including larger more detailed ones of each state, and began marking a couple suitable routes that would keep them off large roads and away from population centers.

Trev couldn’t help but notice that his cousin frequently referenced a logbook he’d made of all the news of the outside world he’d gotten from Chauncey or incoming refugees or heard over his radio. That more up-to-date info might mean the difference between life and death, and he once again found himself praising Lewis’s meticulous nature.

They had almost finished packing and Trev and Matt were looking at the bikes to see if they could figure out a way to rig the short rack over the back wheels to hold more luggage when his friend got a call on his radio and excused himself.

He came back less than a minute later and motioned for Trev to follow. “We’ve got a problem,” he said grimly, leading the way into the shelter and calling for everyone to come out and bring their weapons.

Trev followed, fighting down his alarm at his friend’s grim expression. “What is it?”

Matt was slow to answer, getting everyone out of the underground structure and locking it from the outside with the thick steel bar across the door and jamb. To keep anyone from locking them inside the structure while the door was shut they usually kept the padlock closed in the hasp so it couldn’t be used against them, but now he made sure it was securely on.

Then he turned to look at them solemnly. “We need to get into town as fast as possible. Chauncey heard some news while looking for bike trailers for you guys, and it’s a good thing he did… with our town’s current defenses we wouldn’t have had warning before it was too late. It still might be.”

“For what?” Mr. Larson demanded. “What’s going on, Son?”

Matt took a deep breath, gripping his AR-15 over his shoulder as if to remind himself it was there. “Helper just got attacked, and by the sounds of it they’re headed our way next.”

Chapter Seventeen

Highway Robbery

Chauncey had more information for them by the time they reached town hall, where dozens of men and women had already gathered, most of them armed. He was talking it over with the Mayor, Ben, and a few others when they arrived, and the group looked almost relieved when Matt joined them, inviting Trev and Lewis to come with him.

“I’ve been talking to Donald up in Helper all winter,” the retired teacher finished saying to Tam as they approached. “If he says the entire town just got raided by 50 or so well armed men I’m inclined to believe him.”

“Maybe you should tell the newcomers what’s going on,” Catherine prompted.

Matt nodded, glancing at his friends. “If you would. I told them what you told me over the radio, but that’s all we know.”

“Then you know most of it,” Chauncey said, reaching back as if to reassure himself that his shotgun was still hanging from his shoulder. “A half a dozen trucks rolled into Helper looking like a FETF relief convoy. Only when the town welcomed them with open arms and let them drive right into the center of the place over 50 men poured out the backs. The townspeople were caught with their pants down and most of the people who could’ve defended against the attack were disarmed at gunpoint. After that the group of bandits stripped Helper of anything valuable, although thankfully they just kept their villainy to theft.”

Something in Chauncey’s expression hinted at more, something personal, and Matt felt a sinking in his gut. “I’ve got the feeling you’re going to tell me we know the person leading this group.”

“You’d be right.” Chauncey glared north towards the nearby town. “It was Ferris, and Turner’s with him. Looks like they’re not on the side of justice and order anymore.”

Even though he wasn’t exactly surprised the news still hit Matt like a punch in the gut. He had as much reason as anyone to hate the administrator who’d stripped Aspen Hill bare and then left them to rot, but he still wasn’t quite sure a man could take such a drastic turn over the course of a few months. Even through a winter like the one they’d just had.

Trev shook his head. “I suppose we should’ve seen those two headed down a dark road after what they did in Aspen Hill. From what I hear, not to mention my own personal experience, Ferris’s management was only a step above highway robbery at the best of times. And Turner went along with everything he did just about right from the start.”

Chauncey shrugged, patting his shotgun again. “Well however they ended up criminals that’s where they are, and soon they’ll be bringing what they’ve become back to our town. Donald said the convoy’s getting ready to roll out, and since they came from the north that means they’re heading our way. But at the very least Ferris won’t know about the radio so he’ll probably try the same trick of pretending to be a relief convoy to get past our defenses. That might give us a chance to catch him by surprise instead.”

“What about Carbonville and Price?” Lewis asked. “Have they been warned in case Ferris decides we don’t have anything to steal and just passes us by?”

The retired teacher nodded. “Price and Helper were talking when I butted into the conversation. They’re going to send warning up to Carbonville, along with whatever help they can spare.”

“But no help for us,” Catherine said with a sigh. “We outnumber Ferris’s men, but can we fight them off?”

Chauncey hesitated, then shook his head. “I honestly don’t know. According to my friend they’ve got real military vehicles and equipment, including a nasty looking .50 cal mounted on one of the trucks. Ferris and his men were already well armed with military issue weapons and crowd control measures last fall, and who knows what they’ve picked up since then. They’ve probably got grenades, and maybe even missile launchers or rocket-propelled grenades of some sort.”

Matt felt a sinking in his gut. This was Razor and his men all over again, but even worse. Razor had caught them by surprise, but he’d been poorly equipped and most of the weapons had been in the storehouse when the people of Aspen Hill reclaimed it. Now the shoe would be on the other foot, and they might be lucky to get the same kind of ratio when it came to deaths that Razor’s people had suffered.

“We might not be able to win,” he said, “but the more important question is, do we try?”

Uncomfortable looks were exchanged around the group. “Let’s meet him at Roadblock 1,” Catherine finally suggested. “Maybe we can scare him away with a show of force. I’ll gather up as many people as possible while you prepare our defenses.”

Matt nodded as the Mayor hurried off with her husband. “Chauncey, organize men with radios to set up observation posts way out along the roads leading to Roadblocks 2 and 3, just in case Ferris doesn’t take the direct route.” The older man nodded and hurried off, gathering a few men. Matt turned to the others. “I want everyone from our hunting parties and the patrols organized. The Mayor will get her show of force at the roadblock, but I also want snipers at every single concealed position within 100 yards.”

“I like the sound of that,” Tam said, her husband nodding his agreement as well. “But what if Ferris punches right through the roadblock? That would leave most of our best people scattered and struggling to catch up while he tears through town blowing holes in things. It would be Razor and the storehouse all over again.”

Matt grit his teeth. “We need to make sure any townspeople not involved in the fighting have been taken to a safe location and are well guarded. Tam, Carl, Ben, can you take care of that?”

The three exchanged looks. “Easier said than done,” Ben finally replied. “Where did you have in mind?”

That was a good question. Matt hadn’t really considered what to do if they needed to evacuate the town. “Keep a radio and be ready to take them up Aspen Hill Canyon if things start looking bad,” he finally said. “See if you can find a way to block the road to keep any vehicles from following. And take some people with you who are good shots.”

As the three set off to undertake the daunting task of securing Aspen Hill block by block to make sure each house had been evacuated, Matt turned to look at everyone who remained. “Lewis, can you take care of positioning the snipers? And Jane’s still out on patrol, right?” Lewis nodded. “Good, have her and anyone still out there with her find good vantage points to watch the back roads into town. We need early warning of any sneak attack.”

With Lewis’s help Matt quickly assigned him most of the people in the crowd, then motioned for those who remained to come with him to Roadblock 1. As he hurried up the street Trev fell into step beside him. “Guess I’m on roadblock duty again,” he said wryly.

The situation was too tense for Matt to appreciate the attempt at humor. “Yeah, I need your strong back. Ready to do some heavy lifting?”

* * *

Over the next half hour more and more people trickled to the roadblock, sent there by Catherine as promised. She must’ve emptied the storehouse of weapons because just about everyone there was armed.

As soon as people came Matt put them to work alongside those already busy shoving mass behind the cars positioned across the streets. The cinderblocks were something, but Matt could imagine one of those big FETF trucks putting their bumpers right to the other side of the roadblock and then shoving it all aside. He had people filling sacks with sand, piling rocks, gathering any heavy bits of junk close at hand, and even pushing more cars down the road on flat tires to push against the back of the pile of furniture along the sides of the road in case Ferris tried to break through there.

Matt helped where he could, but mostly he trusted Trev to coordinate the effort while he stayed busy on the radio, getting progress reports from everyone he’d sent out.

Given a week or even a day to prepare they probably could’ve thrown up barricades on all the side streets and back roads and organized better ambush spots. As it was Chauncey’s dire warning of Ferris’s convoy of raiders moving out of Helper had him expecting to hear engines roaring down the road towards them at any moment.

The roadblock was looking much more solid when the Mayor arrived with half a dozen people, lugging wagons full of extra magazines and ammunition to hand out. “The storehouse is empty,” she said grimly. “Chauncey’s been warning me for weeks that our supply of ammo isn’t limitless, but it always seemed like there was still plenty. Let’s hope this doesn’t become an extended firefight.”

Matt nodded. “We’ll make sure everyone makes their shots count. If it comes to that.” She responded with a grimace as she handed him an extra magazine each for his AR-15 and Glock and a 50 round box each of .223 and .40. Matt backed away so the others could also get ammo.

Trev looked a bit disappointed there wasn’t another magazine for his .45, also a Glock. He’d accepted 3 from the storehouse as part of his payment for the cache, and that was apparently all that had been available. As for his Mini-14, he didn’t need any extra magazines since he already had plenty, and ammo for both his guns.

Within ten minutes they had everyone at the roadblock as ready as possible, and Catherine had sent runners with extra ammo for the snipers Lewis had set up. Matt radioed Chauncey at the storehouse to see if he had any more news of Ferris’s whereabouts.

Unfortunately it was the same news. “Nothing since my friend up in Helper watched them roll out a while ago. They could be hear any minute, or they could be crashing through Carbonville.” The retired teacher made an annoyed sound. “I’ll let you know the moment I hear anything.”

The bustle of activity around the roadblock slowed as all the most urgent tasks got completed. Matt felt the tension building as the minutes ticked by with nothing to do but wait, and he knew everyone else felt the same. Catherine began outlining a plan for the people behind the roadblock to scatter into the nearby yards and side streets in case Ferris tore through the solid barricade they’d made, but Matt had a feeling it was mostly to keep people’s minds occupied.

If over 50 men with automatic weapons and heavy vehicles managed to break through the barricade, the people here might not even have time to run.

It was a relief to know Lewis and his snipers were in the buildings nearest the roadblock, as well as behind fences and trees and lying prone on any high spot of ground nearby. Lewis himself was up on a rooftop that could conveniently be reached by a tree in a backyard, using his binoculars to keep a close eye on the road.

But it was Tom Harding, out in one of the farthest sniper positions in a barn loft a 100 yards down the road and 50 or so feet back from it, that gave the news they’d all been dreading for nearly an hour.

“Vehicles coming down the road towards us,” he said, excited voice nearly lost in a burst of feedback. “Six of them. It’s Ferris!”

“Roger. I’ll update Helper and Price on the convoy’s movements and then I’m on my way,” Chauncey said, and Matt didn’t object: If Ferris was here then there was no reason to listen on the radio for news of him, and they could use everyone they could find to defend the roadblock.

Within less than a minute they heard the rumble of engines approaching, and then vehicles came into view driving at a reasonable speed. They were flying little American flags from posts near their windshields, like you saw in parades, and FETF was prominently stenciled on every surface. No soldiers were in sight aside from those driving the vehicles and their passengers, and no indication that the trucks covered in olive green tarp were hiding dozens of armed bandits.

“Looks like he’s trying the same trick he tried in Helper,” Catherine said, climbing up onto the righthand car to stand beside Matt. “Fool us once, shame on you.”

Matt turned to look at her, radio ready at his mouth. “Do we hide and let him get close, then open fire, or do we give him your show of force and try to turn him back?”

The older woman frowned deeply. “Whatever he is, whatever he’s done, I can’t feel good about shooting first. There might still be a way to avoid violence here.”

“I hope so.” Matt gave the front vehicle an uneasy look. The .50 cal Chauncey had mentioned was bolted atop it with a gunner standing behind ready to open fire. That weapon alone could take down a small army in the right circumstances. He turned to warn the people behind the roadblock to stay visible, but be ready to get out of sight quick if that weapon started shooting.

And that .50 cal was just what he could see. What if they had TOW missiles or RPGs to blow the roadblock to smithereens?

Whatever Ferris and the others might have been hoping, once they saw the solid roadblock and the dozens of people lined up behind it they must’ve thought better of trying to bluff their way in as FETF. The vehicles stopped a hundred yards away while the lead vehicle edged to within shouting range. A short man opened the passenger side door and stood behind it on the tall truck’s step up, megaphone in hand. It was definitely Ferris, recognizable even at that range, and although he wore a flak jacket and protective headgear now he was still dressed in the same impractical suit he’d worn last fall.

“Councilwoman Tillman,” the administrator said coldly, voice booming through the megaphone.

“Mayor Tillman, now,” Catherine replied in a shout.

Ferris snorted, the sound creating a burst of feedback. “Anderson finally buckle under the pressure? It was only a matter of time.”

“Mayor Anderson was murdered in cold blood,” the new Mayor shot back. “On the day you left, in fact.”

Even at this distance it was obvious the former FETF administrator couldn’t have cared less if he’d tried. “In any case I notice the refugee camp is abandoned. Did you finally drive those poor people away?”

Catherine shook her head. “Just the opposite. We took them into the town and offered them what shelter we could over the winter. We didn’t have food to give thanks to the state you left us in, but at least fewer refugees froze.”

Ferris looked over the crowd of hostile faces behind the roadblock. “It seems something happened after I left that you’re blaming me for. Not that it matters. Bring down this roadblock, we’re coming in.”

Even though he knew better, for just the briefest moment Matt was afraid the mayor would agree, still letting Ferris cling to his tatters of FETF authority even after everything that had happened that winter and what they’d heard from Helper.

But Catherine made no move to give the order. “The town has agreed that we no longer need FETF assistance.” She managed to shout that without sounding sarcastic, which was pretty impressive. “You’re welcome to find somewhere else that needs your help.”

“That’s not a decision you get to make!” Ferris snapped. “We represent the provisional government up in Utah Valley and we’ve come to collect taxes.”

Catherine started to reply and her voice cracked slightly. She coughed. “All this shouting is a bit hard on the vocal cords. I don’t have a megaphone like you. Could you come a bit closer?”

Matt stiffened. Was that a hint she wanted to try an ambush, or a sincere request? Either way he casually reached down to the radio at his waist and pushed the talk button, then tapped the mic twice with his fingernail. They hadn’t arranged any preset signals, but hopefully that would at least alert everyone to be ready.

To his surprise Ferris motioned the lead vehicle to come even closer, to within forty feet. The gunner behind the .50 cal looked nervously at all the weapons in the crowd, ducking slightly behind the front and side armor plates attached to the gun emplacement. Matt almost didn’t know the thin, clean-shaven face at first, until the truck got a bit closer. Then he was able to recognize a hungrier, crueler looking Randall Turner looking back at him from behind sunglasses. From the sharp intake of breath from beside him Catherine must have recognized the man as well.

“Better?” Ferris boomed, his megaphone still at the same volume but closer now.

“Better,” Catherine called at a more reasonable volume. “But let’s keep this short. We don’t recognize whatever provisional government you claim to serve and we want you to leave. We’re prepared to defend ourselves if we have to.”

The small man sneered at the crowd behind the roadblock. “With what? Hunting rifles and pistols? I have more firepower on this truck than your entire town combined. Lucky for you I have no desire to hurt you. I’m a Federal agent, sworn to help the people. I’ll do that, same as I always have.”

“You seriously want to keep pretending, Ferris?” Matt called. He waved behind him. “Look at us! You think we all gather at the roadblock in an armed crowd all day every day just in case? We knew you were coming, and we know who you are and what you’ve done. You’re not representatives of any government, you’re common thieves.”

“Thieves?” Ferris snarled, face twisted in rage behind the megaphone. “Thieves? I spent the entire winter trying to keep stupid yokels like you alive! I watched a lot of people die this winter, enough to make the entire population of your podunk town look like a joke. I tried to save all of them and failed. Then I tried to save some and found that to be impossible as well. I realized that all I could do was save myself and my men. Us, by any means necessary, must be alive to impose order during these times so that at least some remnant of our once great nation survives in this area.”

Matt had to fight his own rage. “Over five hundred of our people died this winter. I dug a lot of the graves myself. I don’t call that a joke, and neither do the people behind me. We remember who took the food from our mouths and then left once it ran out. It won’t happen again.”

In answer the bureaucrat-turned-bandit pounded his fist against the side of the truck near his head. “We’re going to take half of what you have, and I call that generous!” he boomed through the megaphone. “If you try to stop me I’ll do what I have to. This is to make sure you have a taste of what you can expect if you resist. Fire!”

Immediately Turner hauled the massive gun he stood behind down to point towards the roadblock.

Behind Matt his friends and neighbors screamed and scattered, or simply dropped to the road right where they were. Matt desperately caught the Mayor around the shoulders and lowered her behind the car, which probably wouldn’t do much to shield her from .50 caliber bullets but was better than nothing. By the time he managed that it was too late to save himself, so he he stayed where he was as the muzzle of the big gun turned to point straight at him.

If he was going to die at least he’d do it staring Ferris right in the eye, to give lie to the man’s claims about not wanting to hurt anyone.

At the last moment Turner heaved down on the back of the gun, sending the muzzle up into the sky as a deafening staccato roar rang out for several seconds. Matt watched fire pour from the gun around a line of bullets closely spaced enough that in spite of their speed he could see them trace off into the distance over the town. Amid that burst of gunfire he heard his friends and neighbors screaming in terror and the expectation of pain.

Then the gunfire stopped and the screaming slowly died as everyone realized they were unharmed. Heads started poking up above the roadblock as Ferris gave them a smug look. “Six hours to give us what we want,” he boomed. “When your time’s up we smash right through that pathetic roadblock and gun down everyone where they stand. I think you’ll make the right choice.”

He ducked back into the truck, slamming the door behind him, and the vehicle began to back away down the road.

The radio at Matt’s belt squawked. “Lucky Turner didn’t try aiming at any of you,” Lewis said. “The moment he did he would’ve got a bullet through the side of the head.”

Matt suddenly realized he was shaking so hard he could barely stand, and he disguised it by dropping down to the road to see if Catherine was all right. She seemed to be, as did everyone else. “Do we attack him?” he whispered to the Mayor. “Now’s the chance.”

She shook her head. “The other trucks are too far away. Besides, he might still change his mind between now and his deadline, and even if he doesn’t it’ll give us more chance to get prepared.”

Matt looked up at the sun. “It’ll be close to sundown by then. What if they have night vision gear? If we attack now—”

Catherine straightened and gave him a firm look. “No. Not yet.”

With a sigh he lifted the radio to his mouth and told everyone to stand down. Then he told everyone he’d put in charge of things to organize the people with them to keep doing what they’d been doing and come meet him and the Mayor at the roadblock. “We’ve got some planning to do.”

* * *

“Ferris can pretend he’s not a bad guy all he wants,” Chauncey said bitterly. “All his claims about not hurting people as long as they do what he says? Complete BS. He hurts everyone he comes across. Every time he steals from others he guarantees some, maybe all, of those he robs are going to be dead from starvation in a few weeks. And that’s a horrible way to die. We survived this winter, we all know just how horrible it is. So if you ask me I say no, we don’t do what he says and trust he’ll be merciful. The only thing Ferris and his raiders deserve from us is a well placed bullet.”

There was a strong surge of approval from the group, and from the crowd around them listening in, and Matt nodded. “I agree. Last fall Ferris made a bad situation worse and hundreds of our people died because of it. Besides, his claims of not hurting anyone will go right out the window the first time someone doesn’t do what he says. If they haven’t already, which wouldn’t surprise me. I say stealing from us once was too many times, and if he wants to do it again he’d better be ready to die trying.”

This got even stronger approval.

Catherine raised her hands for quiet. “So we agree that we’re not giving him half our things?” The crowd made their response clear. “And we’re willing to fight to defend ourselves, whatever Ferris and his men might do?” This got a less defiant roar of approval, but everyone still seemed to be in agreement. “Very well.”

She turned to Matt and lowered her voice. “What are we going to do?”

Matt wasn’t reassured by the fact that the normally in charge Mayor was looking to him for suggestions, even though this was his job. And to be honest he had his own doubts. There might be hundreds of people in town willing to fight, and enough guns to equip many of them, but Ferris had real soldiers armed with real weapons.

The advantage disappeared fairly quickly with that sort of mismatched training and weaponry, especially since Ferris could attack the town from any direction or even multiple directions. Not even hundreds of men would be enough to properly defend the borders if that happened.

“We don’t know how well supplied Ferris is,” Matt said quietly. “If he’s got more food than us he could go in for an extended siege, try to wear us down and pick us off until he can roll over us. But he doesn’t want that.”

“What do you mean?” Catherine asked.

“It’s possible he might have some personal grudge against the town, but this attack isn’t personal,” Matt clarified. “He’s a raider. He’s not here to take over the town again or even destroy it, he just wants our stuff. A siege would use up his supplies as much as ours, and the longer he holds off on a committed attack the less attractive the town is as we use up everything he’s here to steal while defending against him. Not to mention we might hit back as hard as he hits us. That’s why he tricked his way into Helper, snatched their supplies, and left. That’s why he tried to do the same here, and might’ve succeeded if we didn’t have advance warning.”

The Mayor nodded slowly. “So you’re saying if he does attack he won’t waste any time doing it?”

“Probably in the next few days,” Matt confirmed. “Or even immediately. He didn’t catch us by surprise with his arrival, but he might still try for a shock and awe attack before we can properly organize our defenses.”

“You’re sounding like a soldier,” Catherine said with a smile.

Matt couldn’t smile back. “I wish. A trained soldier would know what to do in this situation. You know things have to be pretty bad if even I can guess at how much trouble we’re in.”

“We can’t defend the town.”

Every eye turned to Lewis, many looking angry. “Are you saying we should give up?” Chauncey demanded.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Lewis replied calmly. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t fight, I’m saying the town is too big to defend. With his vehicles he could attack us from any side faster than we can respond, and you know what happens once he’s among the houses. We have to focus on defending a smaller area, maybe Main Street itself, and accept the rest as lost.”

“He’s got machine guns and grenades!” Matt protested. “If we pack into a smaller area he’ll be able to butcher us even easier.”

Lewis nodded grimly. “You’re right, but I didn’t say pack in. We have to treat this like urban combat. Any military knows how difficult it is rolling into a hostile town. Well we have to be that hostile town. We need to use our knowledge of Aspen Hill to our advantage, be able to attack from all sides, have escape routes planned, and give him no targets he can strike at to weaken us, such as the storehouse or any place where civilians are kept.”

“So we should evacuate the civilians to Aspen Hill Canyon and turn this town into a maze of sniper’s nests and ambushes?” Trev asked.

“Hold on a moment,” Catherine interrupted. “The point is to defend the town, not kill Ferris’s men. These are our homes, all our possessions. We have our gardens here. Every house he destroys hurts us, and if he burns the entire place down it doesn’t matter if we win.”

“We have to accept some losses, and houses can be rebuilt,” Lewis replied. “Ferris is a threat to the town and it doesn’t look like he plans to leave. So ultimately the goal is to kill him and anyone else who threatens us.”

“Can we get back to the subject of why his deadline is at sundown?” Chauncey asked. “If he’s got night vision then defending the town’s going to be a whole lot harder. We’ve got a few flashlights, but not nearly enough.”

“I think I can help us there,” Lewis said with a smile. “And give us a bit of firepower too.”

Matt couldn’t help but smile back. “What, something else you’ve got prepared?”

“You could say that. And you know exactly what it is since you helped me move it just a few hours ago.” Lewis turned to the rest of the group. “I’ve got 25 gallons of gasoline.” He ignored the shouts of surprise at that. “It won’t run vehicles but it should be great for molotov cocktails.”

The Mayor smiled. “You really are a lifesaver, Lewis.” She straightened and raised her voice. “All right then. We evacuate the civilians to Aspen Hill Canyon and turn Main Street into a shooting gallery. As for the rest of the town, just in case they try a side street or backroad instead of going through the roadblocks we’ll prepare ambush positions to keep them too busy to do much damage to our houses, and when we fall back it’ll be towards Main Street. Hopefully we can lure them in that direction to where we can really hit at them.”

Matt nodded. “Ferris knows the storehouse is where we keep everything, so that’ll probably be his target. We can finish emptying it out and set up a nasty surprise for him there.” He turned to the cousins. “Can you get started on those molotov cocktails?”

Trev started to nod, but Lewis spoke up quickly. “I’d like to do some recon on wherever Ferris has his convoy parked, see where they’ve set up and maybe try to figure out what they’re planning from their behavior.”

“Good idea. Trev?”

“Got it.” Trev said. “Maybe I can borrow some of the people who were going to be heading up the canyon? Also we’re going to need those canning jars everyone’s been gathering.” There were some protests at that and he nodded. “I know we need them for harvest, but we need them for this more.”

A sudden thought occurred to Matt, and he took his friend aside a short ways. “You were about to leave.”

Trev looked at him like he was crazy. “I’m not leaving while the town’s under attack! I have as much to defend here as anyone.” His friend clapped him on the shoulder and started past him. “I’ll go get started on the cocktails.”

Matt nodded, turning to everyone. “All right then. Let’s get ready to defend our home.”

Chapter Eighteen

Rash Action

They could probably have mounted the gasoline tank on a wagon and pulled it into town to make the cocktails, but since they already had the bottles and wagons they needed there was no reason not to do it at the shelter, with a radio handy to warn of any approaching danger.

Trev had April, in the process of packing up her family and as many belongings as they could manage in their wagon, pause for a moment to run in and grab one of the sheets. In the meantime he got to work pouring gasoline into one jar after another from the nozzle at the base of the tank, which was stood up about two feet off the ground on four sturdy interconnected legs for just that purpose. They were using pickle, peanut butter, and other assorted lower quality jars in lieu of the precious canning jars, although it had been difficult to find as many as they needed.

As he worked he passed the jars to the few volunteers who’d come with him, mostly the more halfhearted people who’d manned the roadblocks. The people who considered themselves defenders of the town and wanted to help out, but weren’t very good with weapons or eager to join the fighting. Alice was with them, looking sad and subdued but much healthier than she had when he first saw her weeks ago.

He wasn’t sure exactly how to make a molotov, but he figured cutting a hole in the lid of each jar and stuffing a cut off strip of cloth from the sheet down into it would do the job. It wasn’t exactly rocket science.

It took them a bit of time to get over a hundred of the firebombs made with the gas they had, and longer still to get them loaded into the wagons safely wrapped in cloth cut from more sheets out of the shelter. Trev hoped there’d be replacements or Lewis and the Larson clan were going to be pretty irritated at him. Between all that, how long it took them to get everything organized and get out to the shelter in the first place, and the even longer time to cart the cocktails back to town moving slowly to avoid even the chance of breaking the jars, he figured they’d been gone about four hours.

The sun was sinking low over the horizon by the time he and the others reached Main Street with their wagons full of molotov cocktails, reeking slightly from the gasoline they’d handled. When they did they found the town a much changed place.

All the useless cars that had become almost fixtures, parked along the sides of roads or in driveways for months, were now pulled strategically across certain streets to block access. Tack strips made of nails and screws punched through lengths of rope had been tied tightly between street lamps along Main, and in the windows of almost every building he saw familiar faces holding rifles, many with scopes, ready to fire down on any attacker.

He found Matt in front of Tillman’s, organizing his main ambush there, and learned from his friend that every single person in each building had been instructed to find two escape routes taking them out on different sides that they could use if the soldiers they were firing at decided to storm their building after them.

“Want me to find a window, too?” he asked as Matt began handing out molotov cocktails and lighters to the young men of the town. Their job was to wait on the top stories or even the roofs of buildings until the firefight started, then lob the firebombs at Ferris’s vehicles. That would hopefully be a safer task than being part of the firefight itself, since the soldiers would be distracted by incoming fire. Matt had carefully instructed them about staying out of sight and only lighting the rags on their cocktails at the last second so the light wouldn’t draw attention to them until it was too late. After that their only other job was to flee to safety along their own established escape routes.

Matt shook his head. “I want you with me at Roadblock 1 in case Ferris tries anything right then and there. We’ll take some molotov cocktails to distribute to the positions up there.”

Trev waited as his friend finished organizing the few groups remaining outside the former storehouse, then followed him up the street pulling his wagon with the last of the cocktails. “Any word from Lewis?”

“Regularly,” his friend said. “Ferris’s convoy is parked about a mile up the road. All vehicles and raiders are accounted for, assuming a few didn’t sneak away before your cousin got in position, and they haven’t moved this entire time. They’re waiting for the deadline.”

“I guess we are too, with most of the preparations complete,” Trev said, looking around. “All the noncombatants safe in the canyon?”

Matt nodded, the frown he’d worn since Trev first saw him deepening slightly. His friend’s mom, wife, sister, and nephews were there, which was reason enough to worry. “The Mayor’s there keeping everyone organized, as well as for her own safety. We’ve got a dozen men watching the mouth, and I sent a few molotovs up there just in case. They’ve got tack strips they can drag across the road between trees if they see anyone coming, and Jane’s there with our only .50 cal rifle ready to try to shoot the engine block of any vehicle that approaches. It’ll have to be enough, but for now we hope their focus is on the town.”

“And our crops?” Trev asked.

His friend’s frown deepened again. “A half dozen snipers in spots nearby, where they can guard the south border of town and the gardens both. I’ve ordered everyone to stay clear of the area, and the snipers have orders to shoot anyone who comes within 50 feet of the gardens. I’ve also got a man farther out to give advance warning.”

Trev nodded and fell silent, the only sound the creak of the wagon behind him and the soft clink of bottles knocking together through their cloth wrappings. He glanced at the small group of people following close behind, armed and grim faced, ready to defend their homes and their lives. “Do you think we can win?”

Matt snorted. “Not a fan of that question. You know what we’re up against. We’ve planned a good defense but things can always go wrong, especially against a well equipped enemy that knows what they’re doing. We’ll just have to hope our people shoot good and the enemy isn’t ready for us.”

“At least we’ve got numbers and the ground advantage,” Trev said. But he had to fight down the nagging worry that they might lose a whole lot of friends tonight.

They reached the roadblock and Matt made a few last minute preparations organizing the defenses there. While he was doing that Trev hopped up onto the roof of a car and looked down the road, hoping for a glimpse of Ferris’s convoy even though he knew he wouldn’t get one. There was a fairly tall hill between the roadblock and where Lewis had said the trucks were parked.

He hoped his cousin was okay.

Then, aside from quiet voices on their turned down radios as people checked in, they waited in silence as the sun sank towards the horizon.

* * *

As the top of its fiery rim dropped below the mountains to the west Matt’s radio crackled and Catherine Tillman spoke. “That’s six hours, near enough. He was probably measuring it by sundown too. I wish I could be with you there, but little as I like it the arguments for me staying to organize the noncombatants were persuasive. I leave the town’s defense in your care, and pray everyone will be ready for—”

Her impromptu speech was abruptly interrupted by a trilling call from another radio. “There’s movement here,” Lewis whispered as the Mayor fell quiet. “Ferris has gotten into the lead truck with Turner on the .50 cal and they’re headed your way.”

Matt lifted his radio to respond.“The whole convoy?”

“No. Sorry, that was a bit vague. Just that one truck. Looks like Ferris is going to see the town’s response before doing anything else.” There was a brief pause. “I’m going to stick around here so I can give warning if the rest of the convoy unexpectedly moves.”

“I authorize you to speak on behalf of the town, Matt,” Catherine said once she was sure Lewis was done talking. “Aspen Hill’s defense is in your care.”

Matt nodded and pushed the talk button again. “Okay everyone, this is it. Do your jobs and be careful.”

Over the chorus of affirmatives he heard the deep rumble of the approaching truck. It sped into view not long afterwards, but braked suddenly with a squeal of tires far enough away to make even a shouted conversation impossible.

Ferris once again popped out behind the passenger side door with the megaphone. “I don’t see any goodies piled up outside the roadblock,” he said, and at that distance his words were hard to make out even with the electronic aid. “If you’re late to comply you’ve got ten seconds to let me know. Then we do this the hard way.”

There was no way Matt could shout a response from so far away, and anyway they had nothing to say that the bureaucrat-turned-raider wanted to hear. So while Ferris casually began counting down Matt lifted his rifle and sighted in on the truck.

He doubted he’d be able to get a good shot off on Ferris, hidden behind the door of a military vehicle, and anyway he didn’t really want to shoot the man during what could technically be considered a truce. Instead he moved his crosshairs to the center of the truck’s windshield, held his breath, and squeezed the trigger.

His shot ricocheted off the reinforced glass more or less where he’d aimed it, leaving a small spiderweb of cracks. Ferris abruptly stopped counting, turning to look at Matt’s reply. Then the megaphone boomed his voice once more. “So that’s your answer? I’m disappointed, Larson. You’ve made the wrong choice. The deaths of hundreds of people will be on your head.”

The raider leader ducked back into his truck and slammed the door, and almost immediately the heavy vehicle peeled out as it flipped an awkward U-turn off the shoulder of the road.

Matt was so busy watching the truck that he almost didn’t notice Turner up behind the .50 cal manhandling the big gun to point towards the roadblock. When he finally saw it he barely had time to scream a warning for everyone to get behind cover, even as he leapt off the roadblock and flattened himself on the road behind the piled up debris.

For the second time that day he heard the roar of the mounted gun, but this time it wasn’t a demonstration. Over the distant noise of the shots he heard a swift succession of pings like the loudest hailstorm in the world, along with quieter thuds. He raised his head to see sparks flying from the furniture, the cars, and the buildings to either side as the spray of bullets panned over them.

He also heard lots of screaming, and although most of it was terror he had the sick feeling that at least a few voices among the chorus were shouting in pain.

After what seemed like an eternity but couldn’t have been longer than ten seconds the spray of gunfire ceased, probably because the truck had gone out of range or the .50 cal couldn’t turn enough to point straight backwards.

The radio was going crazy with voices asking what had happened, what was going on. Lewis’s was among them. Matt stumbled to his feet and peered cautiously over the roadblock in time to see the taillights of the truck disappear.

He was shaking, and in his shocked state he wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline or rage. Turner had shot at them. Shot at them with a big gun intended to inflict as much damage as possible.

“Anyone hurt?” he shouted. There was more than one “yes” answer to that, and he grit his teeth and lifted his radio. “Quiet!” he screamed over the babble on the airwaves. Most of the voices he heard kept talking until he identified himself and yelled for quiet again. “What’s happening is that Ferris made it clear he’s going to kill us all if he can, and before leaving to get his men he had Turner shoot up Roadblock 1 with his .50 cal to make his point. Terry, I need you here as fast as you can.”

His brother-in-law hastily replied he was on his way, but Matt barely heard it as he spoke again. “Lewis, what’s going on?”

His friend was quick to respond. “Ferris is back and from the looks of it the whole convoy is gearing up for an attack. They’ve—” He cut off, then continued in a different tone. “Matt, we were right to worry about the weaponry they brought with them. With what I see down there they could blast right through the roadblock and blow up any building we tried to snipe at them from. Whatever Ferris’s plan is, it’s going to be bad for us.”

Matt felt his face pale, and when he replied he did his best to keep his voice from shaking. “Roger that, we’ll clear the roadblock.”

There was a long pause before Lewis continued quietly. “Turner fired at you. The gloves are off, right?”

Gritting his teeth, Matt looked towards a clear patch of ground where the town’s defenders were gently carrying the wounded. Three people, none fatal but all serious. Getting hit by a bullet that big moving that fast usually was. And if Lewis was right they’d only be the first of many casualties tonight. “Yeah, the gloves are off. Why?”

“I’m going to do what I can to stop the attack, or at least slow it down.”

Matt sucked in a breath. Trev had a lot of faith in his cousin’s ability to find answers, and Matt had to admit that some of that faith had rubbed off on him. “Sounds good. What did you have in mind?”

There was no response, but Matt wasn’t too bothered by that as he turned his efforts towards seeing the wounded cared for until Terry could arrive, as well as preparing for whatever explosives the raiders had brought with them. Hopefully the silence meant Lewis was concentrating on finding a way to save the town.

In spite of his urgency Matt froze along with everyone else as the distant crack of a gunshot sounded. He whipped his head around to look past the roadblock, and most of the people around him followed his gaze. They waited in tense silence for a moment, their radios buzzing with questions. He was reaching for his radio to tell everyone to calm down when he was interrupted by another sharp crack, then with less of a delay this time a third.

Matt finished reaching for his radio. “Lewis? What’s going on?”

There was a long, tense pause before Lewis answered, voice strained and juddering as if he was being jolted around. Or running. “Can’t really talk right now. My position has been compromised. I’m heading back to town.”

“What happened?” Matt demanded. “Did you manage to delay them?”

There was an even longer pause, but in spite of the tense situation nobody else spoke on the radio. Finally Lewis responded, voice even more strained from exertion. “If losing their leader and one of his lieutenants and possibly one of the men handling a missile launcher is enough to delay them then yes, I think I did.”

Trev snatched the radio out of Matt’s hands, in the heat of the moment apparently forgetting his own was hanging from his belt. “What?”

There was a shorter pause before Lewis responded between pants. “You heard me. Ferris and Turner are dead.”

* * *

Trev stood stunned at the news, along with everyone else in the crowd. Matt was the first one to respond, snatching back his radio. Trev barely noticed as his friend spoke into it.

“Good shooting, Lewis. I hope to see you safely back here soon.”

The words broke the shocked silence, and Trev felt a palpable shift in the air around him, as if everyone had let out a silent breath of relief. Trev certainly felt his own sense of relief at the knowledge that two major threats to the town were gone.

A few of the younger defenders even gave subdued cheers, and the radio was swamped by dozens of voices asking for details or about what they should do now, making a distorted jumble between bursts of static and feedback.

Matt interrupted the hubbub on the airwaves in a firm voice. “All right, everyone, quiet down. If two of the raiders’ leaders are dead they should be in disarray right now. There’s a chance they might decide to run and leave Aspen Hill alone, but there’s also a chance they’ll decide to attack us. And as Lewis said they’ve got explosives. Stay sharp and be ready.”

That did a good job of dampening the mood again, at least enough to get everyone back doing what they needed to do. For Trev that was returning to his place on the roadblock and watching the road through the scope on his Mini-14.

Lewis had done it. His cousin was one of the most competent people he knew, one reason being that he spent so much time learning how to do things properly and making sure they were done in the best possible way. Trev could’ve trusted he’d figure out the best way to defend the town.

Matt was right that they should probably stay on their guard, but deep down Trev knew there wouldn’t be any attack tonight.

Everyone at the roadblock waited in tense silence aside from a few rustles and coughs. In fact Trev was so on edge that he jumped slightly when the quiet was broken by Tom Harding speaking over the radio. “I’ve got movement on the road. One person, coming our way from the direction of the convoy.”

Trev brought his scope up to his eye. He didn’t see anyone yet. Beside him Matt lifted his radio. “Is it Lewis?”

“Not unless Halsson turned into a Hispanic dressed in combat fatigues and body armor and carrying an M16 on his back.” Tom paused for a second. “He’s not carrying a white flag or anything, but he’s just jogging towards the roadblock and he doesn’t look like much of a threat.”

“I see him,” Trev said, peering through his scope. “I don’t recognize him but he’s probably one of Ferris’s people.”

“All right,” Matt said into the radio. “Stand down but be ready to shoot if he reaches for his rifle. Let’s see what he wants.”

As the raider approached Lewis finally appeared from around the side of the building to the right of the roadblock, panting like a bellows. His arrival precipitated a sudden hush from the roadblock’s defenders, and as he stumbled over to join Trev and their friend several people murmured appreciative words or even stepped forward to shake his hand.

Lewis reached them in time to endure Trev’s crushing hug and Matt gripping him around the shoulders. “Are you all right?” their friend asked.

“They were too surprised to even shoot back at me before I was gone,” Lewis said between panting breaths. Then his cousin abruptly continued, tone businesslike. “Has the guy coming up the road reached us yet?”

That turned everyone’s attention back to the approaching raider, who was now almost within shouting distance of the roadblock. Matt clambered onto the lefthand car and yelled for the soldier to stop where he was. The man immediately complied, lifting his head from an intense inspection of the road so his helmet no longer hid his face.

Trev didn’t recognize him, but from the way Matt stiffened his friend obviously did. “Private Gutierrez?” he called, surprised.

The man flinched slightly. “Please don’t use my rank,” he called back. “I don’t consider myself worthy to be addressed as a member of the US Army. Just call me Raul.”

Trev did his best to keep his expression neutral. He could certainly agree with that. “Why are you here?” he yelled, climbing up beside his friend. Lewis, more pragmatic, had joined other defenders in lining up a shot with their rifles in case Gutierrez tried anything.

The man looked away for a moment then met their eyes, one after another. “I’m done with Ferris’s group. I’ve come to join your side, if you’ll let me.”

“I’ve got some questions first,” Matt said cautiously. “Kick away your rifle and get to your knees, hands on your head.” The former soldier complied, although rather than mishandling a weapon he obviously had great respect for he set it down carefully and moved away a safe distance. Matt had Trev run forward to pat him down and bind his hands behind his back with zip ties, then retrieve his rifle and lead him to the roadblock.

“What do you mean, you want to join us?” Matt asked as he helped the restrained man over the car.

“Just what I said,” Gutierrez replied, still having trouble meeting his eyes. Trev watched him suspiciously from behind and to the side. Guilt, or deception? “Being part of Ferris’s group isn’t who I am. Who I want to be.”

“That’s who you were, though,” Lewis argued, finally slinging his G3 on his back. “Who you’ve been all this time. Why the sudden change?”

Matt gave him an annoyed look. “Let me handle this.”

“It’s okay, he’s right,” the former soldier said. “I won’t pretend I was just an observer to things when I was with Ferris, or try to excuse my actions. I’ve done stuff I’m not proud of, obeyed orders I knew were wrong, and kept doing so long after I knew it was my duty to refuse those orders. I watched innocent people get hurt and did nothing to stop it.”

“So why come to us?” Trev demanded, trying to sound stern rather than harsh.

“Because I can only lie to myself so much. Ferris took a lot of things from a lot of people, but most of the time he didn’t have to do more than push around a few upstarts who balked. He kept insisting he was doing his best not to hurt anyone, and I was able to fool myself into thinking that he meant it. But I always knew it was a lie when I watched him order Turner to execute any prisoners we’d captured, those who tried to defend themselves after he’d given them his ultimatum about surrendering. Sometimes he’d even execute them himself.”

Gutierrez shuddered. “I never hurt anyone, I just helped take their stuff. I tried to tell myself if I wasn’t hurting them I wasn’t hurting them, you know? But deep down I knew what it meant to leave them in the cold with nothing. It’s eaten at me all winter, especially as Ferris got more and more brutal with anyone who resisted, but I was afraid that if I left the group I’d be in the same situation as everyone else and I’d end up starving to death too.”

The would-be defector raised his eyes from Matt’s chin to meet his gaze. “What your town just did woke me up. Everyone else in the convoy is pissed off and ready to rip this place apart, but I was actually cheering you guys on for being the first group that not only had the courage to resist but also the ability to maybe fight us off. Before I left to join you guys I tried to argue with the others that maybe we should just leave your town alone, but nobody would listen to me. They’re out for your blood.”

He shuddered. “I never thought I was with good people, but I at least thought they had some morals. Now I know better. You don’t want to know the things they were talking about doing to you after your sniper killed Ferris and Turner.”

There were murmurs from the other defenders, and Matt shared a grim look with the cousins. “Is the convoy going to attack?”

“I don’t know,” Gutierrez admitted, sounding eager to answer and a bit crestfallen that he couldn’t. “I’m guessing that with Ferris and his second in command gone leadership will probably fall to a guy named Joaquin, leader of a small group of raiders Ferris took in rather than fighting them. Him or maybe Berthold.”

Matt nodded. “Berthold commanded the FETF detachment under Ferris last fall, right?”

The soldier nodded. “Although he hasn’t had nearly as much influence since Turner knocked him down a peg and sort of took control of the, uh, former US soldiers working for Ferris. Berthold’s not quite as brutal as Turner or Ferris were, and with them gone he might take over. If so that’s good for you because there might not be a fight at all.”

“How many people are in the convoy and what weapons do you have?” Lewis asked.

Gutierrez was eager to answer, and thorough in his descriptions. It turned out that there were 46 people left in the convoy now that Ferris and Turner were dead, possibly soon to be 45 if the missile launcher handler Lewis had shot in the shoulder didn’t make it.

They were fairly well equipped, too, because the FETF camp at Antelope Island that had been taken over by refugees had been well supplied with weapons as well as food. It had resulted in a lot of bloodshed in the next few weeks, but also an opportunity for Ferris to make a big score.

After leading his group north the former administrator was able to take control of a weapons cache from the gang that held it, getting enough fuel to begin raiding nearby areas as well as capturing the trucks the convoy was using at the moment. He also got his hands on military grade weaponry like dozens of M1As, three missile launchers and nearly a hundred missiles, crates and crates of grenades of all varieties, and two .50 caliber heavy machine guns, one already attached to a vehicle and the other on a sturdy tripod so it could be quickly moved and mounted. There were also plenty of gas masks, hazmat suits, and riot gear and body armor.

Once he described the convoy’s equipment Gutierrez went on to cover their brutal history raiding through the winter, including all the towns and populated areas of the bigger cities they’d hit. He even offered to testify to the crimes he’d seen his fellow raiders commit, assuming they could be captured and a formal court convened.

The raider defector talked for a long time, almost a half hour, with no news of any activity from the convoy. Trev was just thinking they should probably send people back out to see what was going on when Gutierrez finally seemed to wind down.

“I can’t really think of anything else right now, but I’d be happy to tell you anything else you want to know about what our group was up to before we came here,” Gutierrez assured them. He hesitated. “Although I did have one question. Is, um, Mandy…”

Trev felt his expression sour at the mention of the blond woman. He’d heard a bit about her hooking up with a FETF soldier from the gossip circles, but he hadn’t connected the dots between that and Gutierrez. Maybe it was petty of him, but it was another reason not to like the man.

Beside him Matt shook his head. “She was exiled for trying to steal food not long after you left.”

“Not too surprising.” The former soldier sighed. “Probably a good thing. Definitely a good thing. Nothing good came from being with her. A lot of bad, actually.”

… Or maybe it was a reason to like the man.

After looking at him thoughtfully for a minute or so Matt motioned to a couple of people manning the roadblock. “Get him to Chauncey and have him learn what he can about Ferris’s group, then make sure he’s comfortable and well guarded in a secure place.”

As Gutierrez was led away, hands still bound behind his back, Matt caught his shoulder and looked into his eyes. “I owe you for saving me and Sam from Razor last fall,” he said quietly. “And from what I remember you seemed like a good guy back then. But a lot has changed over the winter.”

Gutierrez nodded. “I get it.”

Once the man was gone Trev sidled up to his friend. “I didn’t know he saved you and Sam. Actually I didn’t know much about him at all until just now.”

Lewis gave him an impatient look. “Now’s not the time to get on Matt’s case for failing to fill us in properly.” He turned to their friend. “I take it you trust him, at least a little?”

“Yeah. A very little.” Matt lifted his radio. “Tom, how do you feel about abandoning your sniper’s post to try to get an eye on the convoy?”

There was a reluctant pause before the older man answered. “Like I’d really rather not.”

“Will you anyway?” Trev gave a start as his friend turned to him and his cousin, still pressing the radio’s transmit button so Tom could hear. “Trev, Lewis, will you go with him?”

Trev glanced at his cousin, who sighed. “I should’ve just changed positions and kept observing them,” he muttered. “Maybe I panicked.”

Matt shook his head. “I don’t think you did. They’ll be more careful about securing their perimeter from now on. Stay far back, far enough that you can barely see the vehicles and they can’t see you, and just let us know if they move and in which direction.”

Lewis nodded thoughtfully. “Fine with me.” With that his cousin turned and started for the lefthand building, pulling out his night vision goggles to hang around his neck until it got dark enough to use them.

Trev hurried to follow as they made their way around the roadblock and started circling towards where the convoy was parked.

* * *

Terry had got the wounded stabilized and found volunteers to help carry them on stretchers back to the clinic before Tom and the cousins reported in that the convoy had pulled their trucks into a tight defensive formation and now appeared to be arguing.

About a half hour later Trev radioed in that the raiders were driving away, back towards Highway 6. At that news the people behind the roadblock cheered, and more cheers came through the radio.

Matt wasn’t about to start celebrating, though. “Can you guys follow them and make sure they’re gone?” he asked over the hubbub.

“Sure, although we might just find empty road when we get there,” Trev answered.

The mood around Matt was much lighter with the wounded gone to receive whatever help Terry could give and the news that the raiders were gone. Matt had a bad feeling that things were too easy, even with Lewis’s skill at sniping.

He almost wasn’t surprised when Trev and Lewis reported back after a half hour or so to say that three of the six trucks had taken a defensible position across the highway at the turnoff and were settling in, while the cousins running ahead of Tom to reach the highway had arrived just in time to see the taillights of the other three trucks heading south.

The mood at the roadblock immediately sank into gloom again, although a few optimists pointed out that at least the trucks were farther from town now.

Not long after that even the optimists shut up when Pete Childress and Rick Watson, two of the snipers watching the garden plots and the south border of town, reported sighting trucks driving without headlights following the small roads outside of town, never getting too close. Only minutes later Jane reported a truck passing by the mouth of Aspen Hill Canyon headed north, scouting the area.

With each new enemy sighting Matt felt his nerves fraying, even though nobody reported any confrontations and he’d ordered his people to only attack if fired on. The hours passed like days and he wished he dared risk a light, just so he could see something. But with the enemy out there, almost definitely with night vision considering the trucks without headlights, they couldn’t take any risk.

Finally Matt called the cousins back to town while Tom kept an eye on the convoy, although he didn’t give the order because he needed their help. An hour later when they finally approached the roadblock in the dark, radioing ahead so they wouldn’t get shot at, he pulled them aside from everyone to talk.

“You should probably put the defenders on shifts so they can start getting rest,” Lewis advised, his own yawn nearly interrupting the suggestion. “This looks like it might drag out and we want as many sharp eyes and minds as possible.”

Matt nodded. “That’s probably a good idea.” He changed the subject, coming right out with it. “You should go.”

“Okay,” Trev said, also yawning. “We’ll be able to take over the morning shift that way.”

“No, I don’t mean to bed,” Matt corrected, a bit impatiently. “If these raiders decide on a siege they’ll surround the town and you’ll be trapped in here. You guys need to get to Trev’s family before the Gold Bloc invades, right?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I can still hardly believe that. We’re looking at a foreign invasion and Ferris is going around attacking Americans.”

“Was,” Trev corrected. He looked a bit insulted. “You think I’m leaving the town right now the way things are going? We already had this discussion.”

“I have to agree,” Lewis said reluctantly. “I didn’t think going was a good idea in the first place, and anyway I feel like I need to stay here. I’m the one who took out the raiders’ leaders, and whether the consequences for that are good or bad I need to see it through.”

Trev shook his head. “Well I hope we’re still going once we get things sorted out here, even if we’re delayed a bit.”

Matt sighed. He was glad the cousins would be staying to help the town, but at the same time he felt a built guilty about the clear worry on Trev’s face. And after his friend had helped Matt get April’s family he felt like he owed him something, some help, even if he couldn’t go with him.

But if their minds were made up the town needed everyone they could get. “All right, then. Go get some rest you two. I’ll want you fresh in the morning.”

Before too long the cousins had disappeared in the direction of the shelter, and Matt settled in at the roadblock and began calling for reports on the radio to make sure nobody in vital positions was falling asleep. He wouldn’t have minded falling asleep himself, but he forced himself to stay active. He also began organizing shifts and relieving most of the people who weren’t out watching the approaches to the town to get some sleep.

It was going to be a long night.

Epilogue

Calm Before the Storm

Three days passed, and although raider trucks were frequently sighted in spots all around the town they never tried to attack.

Trev almost wished they would. This delay suggested a plan, and he didn’t like plans where dozens of heavily armed and likely well trained soldiers were concerned. But more importantly each day that passed brought him closer to the deadline and the Gold Bloc invading from the north. He felt the pressure to go after his family almost like a weight in his chest, threatening panic whenever he thought of what might be happening to them.

George and Clair Smith were sensible people, far more sensible than their son, and Trev trusted that if they were in danger they’d figure out the right thing to do. If there was a right thing. That was the problem, when this chaotic world following the Gulf refineries attack often didn’t have a good solution and no amount of planning or preparation was enough.

His parents might not be able to handle whatever was coming, and Trev couldn’t bear the thought of them being hurt. Of his siblings being hurt. His sister Linda, only a year younger than Alice and, like Alice, always trying to act older than she was. But still a kid at heart when it came to tickle fights with her brothers. And Jim, who always acted exactly his age of twelve, wanting to be included in activities for younger kids as well as for adults, and always disappointed when told he was too young or too old to do anything.

They needed their big brother. His parents needed their son. And he needed to find them. But he couldn’t, not while Aspen Hill was threatened.

At the moment he and Lewis were patrolling southeast of town, trying to get beyond where the trucks usually drove past so they could see if raiders were being dropped off and digging in at strategic positions, or even worse trying to sneak their way closer to town to pick off defenders.

They’d gone silently, doing their best to stay out of sight, but at the moment they’d determined that there were no enemies nearby and had paused inside a small copse of trees to rest and eat a bit.

As he gnawed on some tough venison jerky, which Lewis and Jane had made to preserve the meat they’d brought in as the days grew warmer, Trev glanced uncomfortably at his cousin. He’d danced around asking the pressing question for days now, which was made easier since Lewis had kept to himself most of the time.

“Are you okay?”

His cousin glanced over at him. “Sure. Why?”

Trev looked away. “I’m just wondering how you feel after taking out Ferris and Turner. I remember how I felt after we stopped those bandits from attacking Jane’s group last fall, and this is sort of the same thing.”

Lewis went back to staring ahead as he swallowed his own mouthful of jerky. “It felt like I was waiting in a concealed position at the top of a tall hill about 250 yards from the convoy when I heard that Turner had shot up the roadblock. Then when I saw that the raiders had serious explosives they were planning to use on the town I felt like I needed to make sure I was in a comfortable position to target the convoy with my .308, single Ferris and Turner out from the others, and shoot them both through the ocular cavity.”

“Oh.” Trev tried to sound casual as he took another bite. His cousin sounded calm enough, but Trev could tell from his voice that he was still a bit hung up about it.

Sure enough, after what had to have been at least five minutes Lewis spoke up quietly. “That’s why I pulled the trigger, because they’d already attacked the roadblock and were ready to do worse. But before then I spent hours lining up those shots, arguing myself back and forth about whether or not to take them. It’s only human, right? Ferris took away our lives, everything we’d worked for. Over three hundred of our neighbors in town starved this winter thanks to him.”

Trev nodded. “Believe me, I get it. If you doubt you took those shots for the right reasons or think they were unjustified I think you’re wrong on both counts. It was the right move.”

His cousin let out his breath slowly, although he seemed less troubled. They were both silent for about a minute before Trev finally stirred. “They were good shots, and I’m glad you were in a state of mind to make them.”

“Thanks.” Lewis turned to look east, towards the highway. “You need to go.”

“What?” Trev asked, blinking.

“Our family up in Michigan needs you as much as the town does, and they’re family. You need to go help them.”

Trev sighed. “This again?” Matt had been on his case going too, feeling guilty about keeping him there when his family needed him.

“I mean it. I think we both agree that one of us needs to stay here to help defend the town, and that’s probably me since I’m already involved in the fight and need to finish what I started. But if you’re going you need to go now. Matt’s right that with every day these raiders will close the net tighter and tighter around the town, making it harder to leave. You really should’ve left already.” His cousin caught his eye. “You still plan to go, right?”

Trev nodded without hesitation. “I have to. But it’s going to be harder without you.”

“Do you want me to go, then?” Lewis asked, sounding reluctant. “I did promise I would.”

“No, you’ve got the right reasons to stay, and I’d feel terrible if both of us ditched the town.” He sighed. “So I guess I’m going. What now?”

“Go get the better bike and your pack,” his cousin said. “I’ll keep this route clear for you until you get back.”

Nodding, Trev pulled Lewis into a fierce hug then melted out of the copse, moving quickly but carefully back towards town. An hour later he was bouncing awkwardly over bumpy ground on his bike while wearing his backpack and hauling a bit of cargo on the small rack above the back wheel.

In spite of the awkward balance he rode hard towards where Lewis had left him. The path they’d taken between hills was fairly well concealed, but visible as he was with the bike he had to favor speed over concealment. Still, he couldn’t help but feel an itch between his shoulder blades as if a bullet was about to embed itself there.

He didn’t see his cousin when he reached the copse, but he saw an arrow made of rocks pointing behind a nearby hill. Trev followed it, feeling a bit safer with the thought that Lewis was out there somewhere covering him with his G3. Behind the hill he saw another arrow pointing him due east towards the highway, and he followed that one as well.

A bit over ten minutes later he reached it, and after checking along it carefully for any sign of raider trucks he turned south towards Carbonville. The few conversations he and his cousin had had over the last few days had mostly focused on his route, and he’d agreed that his best bet was to take I-70 east almost to Grand Junction, then take smaller roads northeast across the Great Plains to Michigan. Luckily Lewis had been there to chart him a route that would keep him within arm’s reach of water and avoid population centers.

Biking took different leg muscles from walking or running, and Trev’s body started to complain after only a short while. But it was something he’d get used to along the trip. Just like he’d gotten used to everything else he’d had to do.

The important thing was he was going for his family, and it was his fervent hope that they’d be there when he arrived, safe and sound and ready to make the perilous, difficult journey back to Aspen Hill.

Which he hoped with equal fervency would still be there when he got back.

End of Book Two

The story continues in Invasion, Book Three of the Best Laid Plans series.

Copyright

Copyright © 2015 Nathan Jones

All rights reserved.

The events depicted in this novel are fictional. The characters in this story are also fictional, and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is entirely unintentional. While most locations are real some creative license has been taken in describing them, and a few locations are entirely fictional.

Content

Nathan Jones
SHORTAGE

Prologue Prisoners

Chapter One Climbing into Winter

Chapter Two Civility

Chapter Three Spirits of Huntington River

Chapter Four Trick or Treat

Chapter Five Storm

Chapter Six Moving On

Chapter Seven Assault

Chapter Eight Aftermath

Chapter Nine New Arrivals

Chapter Ten Thanksgiving

Chapter Eleven Winter

Chapter Twelve Desperate Times

Chapter Thirteen Reunion

Chapter Fourteen Homecoming

Chapter Fifteen A Glimmer of Hope

Chapter Sixteen Tidings

Chapter Seventeen Highway Robbery

Chapter Eighteen Rash Action

Epilogue Calm Before the Storm

Copyright