Next World Series (Vol. 4): Families First [Hard Roads]

by Ewing, Lance K.

  We had the advantage of the foxholes and fireworks, and I was sure we were the only ones carrying automatic weapons, at least for this round.

  “Cease-fire,” called Lonnie over the radios as the river and valley, as far as we could see, filled with smoke.

  I kept low, not seeing any signs of people crossing the river.

  For nearly three minutes there was no shooting from either side, only screams of the wounded, hoping to go home alive tonight.

  Another five minutes went by as I crawled towards the closest wounded man on our side. It was one of Nate’s guys. He had been shot multiple times, and I was sure he couldn’t be saved. He was young, maybe eighteen or nineteen, with a wife and one-year-old twin girls. I got down low and put pressure on the chest wound that took his breath, and most of his voice, away. He wouldn’t answer my questions about where he had been hit and only wanted to speak of his family.

  “My wife and two girls,” he started, “are all I have and they mean everything to me. If I don’t make it back, I need your word that they will be taken care of and added to your group.”

  “You’re going to make it,” I told him. “But yes, we can honor your request, and they would be added to one of our groups.”

  He died in my arms, right there in a dirt hole, and I realized I didn’t even know his name. “I will find your wife and girls, and I promise we will take care of them,” I whispered in his ear as I closed his cold, open eyes.

  Lonnie made his way cautiously from one side to the other, assessing wounded and casualties on our end.

  I laid my new friend down gently in the soft dirt and met Lonnie halfway, hoping to hear he was the only casualty on our side. I told him we were one man down that I knew of.

  “We’ve got another one of Nate’s guys killed down the way,” he responded. “Mel has a graze on his ear that may need a few stitches and a second-degree burn on his right hand from one of the big fireworks. Vlad and David are fine, and we don’t know anything about Jake or Mike.”

  “As bad as that was,” I told him, “we’ve got five times that number, or more, likely headed here right now.”

  “We’ll have to stop them,” he said. “We don’t have a choice.”

  “I know,” I responded, “and we will, somehow… We will!” as I reloaded the M60.

  Lonnie’s radio chirped, and Steve was on the line, relaying a message from Jim.

  “The Colonel just called, and he’s in the air after spending some time in Fort Collins at that place we were talking about before. He’s up in the Chinook, and he says they are about 90 minutes out. That was five minutes ago, so let’s call it 85.”

  “Fine,” said Lonnie. “If you guys talk to him, let him know we’ve got at least a hundred not so friendlies likely headed our way, arriving about his same time, and any help would be greatly appreciated!”

  “I’ll relay the message, sir.”

  “Mel,” called Lonnie, “let’s get another visual now. I’m sure they are moving and I want to know which direction.”

  “I’m on it,” he replied, starting the second climb up the tree. His right hand had a crude gauze bandage Lonnie had wrapped around it quickly, making the second climb more difficult.

  Mel thought he just might see the next wave headed back towards the highway, having run into more trouble than they bargained for.

  His hopes were dashed, seeing them on the move in this direction, and several trucks coming from the Interstate, headed here as well.

  Several shots rang out as the drone neared the first group, still flying high overhead. With none hitting the flying machine, he brought it back in hopes to live long enough to fly it again someday.

  Mike crossed the river first with his precious find. The girl didn’t seem at all frightened by Mike’s head-to-toe camo dress and painted face.

  I wondered if she knew he was going to help her or if it was just not scary compared to what she had already seen with the soulless group who held her captive.

  “One more,” I said, looking up to the sky.

  Jake appeared and we all covered him as his crossed the river.

  “We did some quick recon, and most over there are dead,” said Jake, “with only a few running back towards their group.”

  “Mike and I gathered up 15 or so rifles and ammo from the downed men, and one unarmed woman, sadly,” he said, lowering his voice, so the small girl didn’t hear.

  “Everything is hidden fairly well in some brush for now.”

  My stomach ached as I thought about the likely scenario of this girl’s mother ending up a casualty of cowardly aggression, and I prayed she had not died by my bullet. I wanted to shelve the whole conversation for now, but I could not.

  “Where’s your mommy?” I asked her.

  Without answering, she pointed straight across the river. Tears rolled down her flushed red face as she spoke softly. “She’s with the bad men.”

  “And your daddy?” I asked, wanting to get the whole story out of the way.

  “He got sick by a gun a few days ago, and we just had to keep walking.”

  Now I knew exactly why she was not afraid of Mike. She had already seen pure evil, and anything else would likely be better than that.

  Lonnie called Chad on the radio. “Come on down here, and quick, on a four-wheeler. We’ve got a young girl that needs to get up to see Nancy right away.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Chad, without asking any questions.

  We prepared for another assault—this time bigger and meaner for sure—and we were two men down.

  Chad pulled up minutes later, eyes fixed on the dead man in the hole.

  “Chad,” I told him, shaking him just a bit.

  “Please take this little girl. What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Darly, mister, that’s my name, but my mommy calls me Darling.”

  “Okay, Darly, this is Chad,” I said, “and he’s going to take you straight up to the house where you will see a sweet lady named Nancy. She will make sure you are safe and get you something to eat.”

  “Are you hungry?” asked Chad.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

  They rode back towards the house, and I snapped back into focus.

  We retook our positions, with Mel now more valuable on fireworks duty than tree climbing.

  We all knew they were coming now. The only questions remaining were when and how many.

  The waiting is the hardest part, I sang in my head, recalling days of driving straight through from Los Angeles to Saddle Ranch for nearly 17 hours as a young man, listening to a cassette of Tom Petty’s “Full Moon Fever” over and over.

  I didn’t want to use the radio, but I wanted to be clear about the next step.

  “Lonnie,” I radioed quietly. “What do you think?”

  “They make the first move, and we give them all we’ve got.”

  “Hey, man,” said Mike, jumping into my hole from behind.

  “Crap, you scared me!” I said.

  “You should always look behind you,” he added. “What’s shakin’?” he asked casually, like we were headed out for a drink or to see the latest movie. I wondered if this was just another exciting day in the world of Mike, but didn’t ask.

  “Okay, since you’re here and arguably have the biggest cajones on our side, what do you think?”

  “It’s tough, man,” Mike replied. “We turned back the first wave of bad guys, but now we have another one that knows we have something to protect. Those men over there are scavengers, and nothing more. It’s simple math. They need supplies and more weapons, and we have shown that we have both.”

  “How did we show we have supplies?” I asked.

  “We stayed to fight, that’s how they know. I’m sure most others they come in contact with run for the hills, as your hole mate did.”

  “You saw that?”

  “Yeah, that was some funny stuff. Jake and I were both laughing. You probably told him he was going
to die, right?”

  “Well, kind of,” I replied, “but only if they crossed the river.”

  “That’s all it takes, and it’s why they now know we have something worth protecting. It’s not just the ammo and food they are after. I saw firsthand how they treated the women over there, and we have more than a few of those. Look across the river,” he said, as I saw Mel walking around in the trees.

  “What’s he doing over there?” I asked, as the answer came to me. “Dynamite, right?”

  “That’s all eight sticks.”

  “But we can’t detonate them from over here!” I said.

  “Nope, but I can. See ya later, I hope,” Mike said, crossing the river to talk with Mel.

  * * * *

  Mel came back across and was relieved to see Jake still on our side.

  Jake walked towards me, staying low and smiling.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “It’s full circle,” he replied. “It was just you, Nancy, and me at the very beginning with those thugs by the RV. The only difference now is that there are a lot more bad guys, and we have more ammo,” holding up all six hand grenades. Even if the cavalry doesn’t show, we’ve still got a chance. They are the ones who have to cross the river—not us.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “That’s it!

  “Gentlemen,” I said over the radio, “pick your shots and no 60s unless they are crossing. Stay low while they are in the trees.”

  “Single clean shots,” added Lonnie. “We’re not in a hurry here.”

  “Remember,” called David, “when air support gets here, no off-target shots.”

  “I’m ready with the last of the fireworks,” called Mel, now safely back on our side.

  Mike, already across the river, was on the radio giving a pep talk for the first time to the group.

  “We are the title champions,” he said, “and they are our opponent. We slow it down and fight our fight. Let them shoot, duck and cover. When you see the first blades of the helo, unleash hell and let them do the cleanup. And no matter what happens, no one gets across the river. See you on the other side, gentlemen.”

  “That’s your boy,” I said to Jake.

  “Well, he hasn’t tried to kill me yet!” he responded.

  “Seriously, though. We started this, all of this, back in Texas,” I told him. “This can’t be the end, halfway through our journey to freedom.”

  “It won’t be, I feel it,” said Jake. “Plus, I have a lunch date scheduled with my wife tomorrow that I can’t get out of.”

  “I get it,” I replied, thinking I should have set up the same thing with Joy. It was symbolic, at best, but effective.

  We sat in silence, canvassing the river, switching between our binoculars and rifle scopes.

  * * * *

  The trucks came first, with all of us hearing them come down the secret road to the river crossing.

  Rounding the last corner fast, the lead truck skidded to a stop before plunging into the waist-deep river.

  The second truck was traveling even faster and barely slowed before smashing into the back of the first.

  Smoke poured out of its damaged radiator, and several men in the back were thrown violently over both trucks and into the river. A couple of men collided in the air, with arms and legs flailing in all directions.

  Two men were able to stand in the river, with a third landing face down, slowly being taken downstream by the current. There was no attempt on their side to help him, and seconds later he was out of sight.

  The last truck cautiously rounded the corner, hearing the commotion no doubt, as injured men poured out of the cabs of both vehicles in front of it.

  The drivers of each vehicle were out now and yelling at each other. Both men appeared drunk, but I thought they were both probably disoriented from the wreck. I had treated a lot of car accident patients over the years as a Chiropractor, and nearly every patient cited feeling disoriented immediately after impact.

  Thirty more seconds of yelling turned into a fistfight, with each man swinging wildly and appearing off balance. The other passengers of both vehicles were egging their drivers on and calling out good shots.

  They don’t even know we’re here, I thought, and I had a split-second urge to take them all out with the 60 in one fell swoop. That urge passed quickly as the first of the foot pseudo soldiers emerged from the trees.

  “It’s Go Time,” whispered Jake.

  “Yes, I guess so,” I replied.

  I was hoping they would waste more time fighting amongst themselves, adding minutes on to the war clock and giving the Colonel enough time to arrive.

  The foot soldiers were pointing across the river at us, now waving their arms back and forth.

  “If they didn’t know where we were before, they do now,” sighed Jake.

  Leaving the trucks, the men all headed just inside the tree line, presumably awaiting further instructions.

  “You hear that?” I asked Jake. “The birds are going nuts right now. Should we stand and clap?”

  “Normally, a car crash would be anything but funny,” I whispered, “but seeing ruthless killers act like bumbling idiots would certainly deserve a clap.”

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  Raton Pass, New Mexico

  “Okay, guys,” called Lonnie over the radio. “Don’t make a move before they do. Every minute they wait to attack gives us an advantage with air support.”

  “Raton Pass Militia” came the loud call over the megaphone, but this time from the trees.

  “You renegades have killed some of our men, and even the innocent mother of the girl you took hostage.”

  There was a pause, and I shook my head at Jake, whispering, “That’s a bunch of crap,” but I was happy little Darly didn’t hear that.

  “We want her back and our men you already have, held against their will. You have exactly fifteen minutes to produce them, and we will then discuss your peaceful surrender.”

  “Well, that seals it, just in case it wasn’t already crystal clear we would have to fight again,” I whispered to Jake.

  “Yeah, man. No such luck, it looks like.”

  “Hold your positions, everyone,” called Lonnie. “Especially you, Mike,” he added, as we all knew he was somewhere across the river with the dynamite.

  The minutes dragged on as we heard more vehicles arriving on the other side.

  “We’re almost out of time, and the Colonel is at least 20 minutes out,” said Jake.

  “We’re not going down like this,” I told him.

  “Lonnie, let’s try to stall on the timeline,” I called over the radio.

  “That’s good, Lance. I’ll wait until the last minute, and then ask for more time.”

  “Two minutes” came the call from the megaphone. The megaphone was one item I wished we had, but even Mel hadn’t thought to keep one on hand.

  Lonnie called out loudly without standing and risking a bullet to the head. “We need more time,” he yelled. “We need 15 more minutes to get your people down here.”

  There was a pause as the seconds ticked by, and looking at my watch I realized we were down to 47 seconds left.

  “Come on, come on,” I whispered, hoping they would answer before Mike blew something up.

  “Thirty-eight seconds,” I called out, feeling a knot in my stomach. “Twenty-seven,” as I counted down by fives, “22, 17, 12 seconds. Get ready!” I said over the radio.

  “You have ten more minutes,” came the call from the megaphone, getting a deep sigh from Jake and me. “There will be no more extensions beyond that.”

  Everything was silent, but the birds I had blocked out. It was a beautiful day, not too hot and not at all cold. A light wind blew through the trees, and I wondered if this would be my last day. My nerves were getting to me, and I shuffled in the hole. Jake put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Okay now, Buddy,” was all he said.

  “Lord, this is it,
” I prayed softly. “I know you won’t let evil overtake us on this day. Please protect our families, and if there is a sacrifice to be made, let it not be our women and children.”

  “Four minutes left,” whispered Jake.

  I strained my ears to hear the sounds of a helicopter but could not.

  There were three minutes left when the call came through.