Next World Series | Vol. 5 | Families First [Homecoming]

by Ewing, Lance K.

  “You all ride with him,” Mike told us. “Just in case I want to be the only one in this man’s truck.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “I don’t mind.”

  “I do,” he replied flatly.

  “Okay,” continued Carl. “Follow us. It will be bumpy, but we have to go a ways around the barricade. Leave his pistol in the truck, too, just like it is now. His daddy never could get him to carry it. Also, don’t adjust the seat, mirrors, or anything else.”

  * * * *

  Joy was told only that we would be back soon. She didn’t know any more than that and thankfully didn’t ask.

  The time was nearly 10 p.m. and we didn’t run into anyone on the back road up.

  “By the way, Lance. Looks like your dog is going to be okay.”

  “Thank you, Doc,” I said, hearing it for the second time but feeling just as relieved.

  “We get attached to them, for sure,” added Carl. “Our Maggie passed on peacefully just a few weeks back at the ripe old age of 15. I haven’t had the heart to get another, but nowadays it pays dividends to have a good canine at your side.”

  “That it does,” added Jake.

  “There’s a small turnoff and a short trail down to the river,” said Carl. “We’ll have to stage it just a little but don’t want to overdo it. I want to be in and out in ten minutes, guys, so everyone gets a small job.”

  * * * *

  We parked in the empty turnoff, with Jake’s friend pointing precisely where Mike should park the truck.

  “Lance, take this pole,” said Carl, grabbing it out of the deceased’s truck bed with gloves. “Use a flashlight if you need to. Cast across the river and get the lure stuck. I mean stuck good. Then dunk the pole in the water and set it on the bank. Once I’m out, lock the reel, set the drag high and toss the pole in the river’s middle. He always fished with too heavy line. Everyone knows, so it should hold the pole in the water until tomorrow, at least.

  “Mike, I need the keys in the glove box and the parking brake on. Leave the doors unlocked. Don’t ask me why. Then help us get this man down to the water but carried not dragged. We lay him face down in the water, and I’ll get him out to the middle. Nobody else gets wet.”

  With the man floating, the Doc dragged him by the collar as far out as he could risk before giving him one final shove towards the middle.

  “Guys, I need you to carry me back up to the truck. I don’t want any muddy tracks up the embankment.

  “Am I missing anything?” Carl asked, as they all piled back into his truck.

  “No,” each man said.

  “I know one thing,” I said, both nervous and looking behind us.

  “What’s that?” asked Carl.

  The lights were coming up behind us.

  “Oh no, that’s not good,” Jake’s friend said, as the lights turned on—red after blue, red after blue. “It’s Gus.”

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “State trooper—the ruler of this land up here now, and that guy’s father. Let me do all the talking,” he said, nervously rolling down his window.

  The state trooper recognized the doctor’s personalized plates, reading PETVET3. He approached slowly on the driver’s side, tapping his flashlight on the truck’s top cab.

  “Window’s open,” said Carl.

  “I know,” replied Gus, shining his light through the cab of the truck. “You boys out for a Sunday drive,” he said as a statement.

  “No, sir. It’s Saturday, and I was just showing my friends around town.”

  “You seen my boy?” he asked, looking at his truck. “He didn’t make it home for dinner.”

  “No, sir. Just saw his truck parked here and thought it was kind of late for fishing, so I thought I’d check in on him.”

  “Have you?”

  “No, sir. Not yet.”

  “Just been driving around, the five of you, huh?”

  “That’s right, sir. Just some friends up from Pueblo for the weekend.”

  “You’re wet,” he said, shining the flashlight at each of us. “It’s only you, looks like. Stay here until I get back,” he instructed, heading to his son’s truck and quickly rifling through it. “Don’t move,” he called back, heading down the embankment.

  “Oh no,” Carl said, panicked. “Jake, what do I do?”

  “Punch it,” he replied, followed by tires kicking up dirt and rocks, finally catching traction on the pavement.

  “What have I done?!” he yelled.

  “What’s the fastest way back?” I asked.

  “What have I done?!” he asked again.

  “What’s the fastest way back?!” I said again, raising my voice.

  “What…fast way back to my home?”

  He hit the brakes hard and banked to the left, throwing all of us without seatbelts into dashes and doors. I felt a lump rising on my head’s right side, where I hit the back-door window. He took the side dirt road at 52 miles per hour, according to the speedometer I could see with blurred vision.

  “What’s the plan, Carl?” asked Jake.

  “I don’t know, but we can’t stay. She and I need to leave town. By morning he will come by with his men, and when they find his son dead I’ll be locked up, or worse. You should head out, too, if you don’t want trouble.”

  “Where will you go?” asked Jake.

  “I don’t know. Maybe east to Pueblo, but he’ll find us there for sure, so I don’t know. My wife…she’s going to be devastated.”

  “Carl,” Mike spoke up. “I’m sorry about this mess.”

  We all looked at him, surprised at the first time any of us heard him apologize for anything.

  “Put it on me. I’ll confess and take the punishment,” Mike said.

  “No. You protected a woman from a sick man. He tried that with my wife a few years back when I was at work, and I didn’t have the guts to make him pay for it. Now he has, and I’m not throwing you under the bus for that piece of crap. That’s why I pushed him into the river. I wanted to be the last one to touch him before he went straight to hell.”

  “You’ll come with us,” said Lonnie. “You, your wife and little girl will be a part of our group—an equal part.”

  “All agreed?” he asked, confident none of us would object.

  “Agreed!” we all replied.

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cañon City, Colorado

  Pulling into his driveway, most of our group was there. Lonnie gathered everyone, asking for a quick pack-up to leave out in an hour, while Carl spoke to his wife. Thirty minutes later, Carl announced he could add his truck and small utility trailer to the group. He pulled up with it partially packed, asking for help with food, firearms and his veterinary supplies.

  We all pitched in, adding Ringo and Mini back on our vehicle, where I could keep a good eye on them. Carl asked Jake to take a quick walk with him before heading out. They walked around the main house and down by the river, flashlights lighting the way.

  “We’ve built a life here,” began Carl. “This community is what we know, and Izabella doesn’t have many friends, but she has us. My dad lies in the town cemetery and our dog in the yard. I hadn’t fished the creek on our property once since it happened, so I could harvest the fish when things got really bad. We’re leaving everything we have built.”

  “I know,” replied Jake. “Lance and Tina—it’s a long story—but they both helped me, Nancy and Danny pack up the very first day and leave our home with only what we could carry in backpacks and wheel barrels. We have been refugees ever since. But we’re headed for something. Something better, I hope, but not without sacrifice.”

  “It’s 1:15 a.m., and we had better make it up to Breckenridge before dawn because things between here and there won’t be too friendly by morning. Give me ten minutes and we’ll be ready,” Carl added, slipping away from the truck carrying his wife and daughter.

  “Do you need any help?” asked Jake.

 
“No, buddy. This I have to do alone.”

  * * * *

  He disappeared towards the barn, waving his flashlight both inside and out, and the same for the house. It wasn’t even five minutes before Jake saw the first flames rise up from the barn…and only minutes later from the main house.

  “What are you doing?” asked Jake when Carl returned.

  “Unless you’re going to kill everyone in town who’s afraid of Gus, this has to be done. It’s a distraction and will be put out in a matter of hours, mark my words. I won’t have that SOB’s father moving from his tear-down house into mine. I’ll lead us up to the barricade, and we’ll figure out the rest from there.”

  Carl led the group up the winding road, with Mike following on the Indian.

  Lonnie got Carl hooked up with a radio, and he called out the possible scenarios.

  “The guys in the barricade will be two or three, at the most. They are likely sleeping off a hangover. We need to bust through the barricade or surprise and overpower them. Mike, you’re going the other way so you can just keep riding.”

  “Surprise is my middle name,” Mike called over his radio. “Let me pull ahead when we’re a quarter-mile out, and on my signal, everyone goes through.”

  “We can help with this, Mike,” I called.

  “I know, but I need to do this.”

  Mike passed us, the Indian with a full tank and 150 miles to his destination, with almost 100 fuel miles to spare over that. I’m not sure how he did it, and we would discuss it later amongst us, but twenty minutes later Mike called on the radio for us to come through. He talked to Sheila and Javi for a few minutes, and lastly Lonnie through his open window. I hopped on the truck bed to join in.

  “Did you kill them, Mike?” asked Lonnie.

  Not this time, boss. They just got tied up a bit is all. I even let them keep their rifles,” he added, handing Lonnie two handfuls of bullets.

  “Be careful, old friend,” said Lonnie.

  Mike handed Lonnie his radio, badge and pistol.

  “Whatever happens, don’t lose this,” he said, handing me a thin wallet from his front pocket. “Open it,” he told me, and I did, expecting it to look like mine with old credit and debit cards, a half-punched card from a smoothie place, and receipts from God knows where. I found one driver’s license and three pictures—one of his mother, brother and sister.

  “This is the most valuable possession I own,” he said, looking straight into my eyes.

  “I will guard it with my life,” I told him.

  “We got sidetracked with Lucy,” he continued, “so I don’t have an exact date but I remember the last full moon being about two weeks ago. So, in another couple of weeks, when the moon is full, I’ll meet you guys at midnight on the Valley’s northern border for an update. After that, I’ll either stay or return to them and fight from the inside.”

  “You don’t want your gun?” asked Lonnie.

  “No, they will just take it from me anyway. Show this all the way up to Breckenridge,” he added, handing Lonnie a blue ticket with the words “Paid x6” on it.

  “Will do, friend, and be careful.”

  * * * *

  With that, Mike rode east, not looking back. We headed unobstructed through the open barricade, winding up past the Gorge. I hoped we wouldn’t pass a police presence on the fisherman’s turnoff and relaxed just a bit as Carl called out “on your left” over the radio, without explanation. Only the four of us would ever know, and the turnoff was empty—even the truck was gone. The roads were clear, with vehicles pushed off to the sides, probably weeks ago now.

  I had forgotten how peaceful it felt traveling at night. As a young man, I would go home once a year in the summer, driving from Southern California to Saddle Ranch. I would leave at four in the afternoon and always started my trip with Tom Petty’s “Full Moon Fever” cassette. Yes, it was that long ago—not eight-track long, but long enough. Coffee was my constant companion, driving through the Colorado mountains in the middle of the night with windows down.

  * * * *

  We traveled the 74 miles to Fairplay in just over four hours, including a quick bathroom break and not seeing anyone on or off the road. As advertised, our little blue ticket got us through with only a few questions of how many vehicles, occupants, and if we were only passing through. The next leg was easy, heading north on SH-9, the 22 miles to Breckenridge passing quickly through the towns of Alma and Blue River.

  “Break time,” Lonnie called, two miles out of town. He gathered a few of us, including Carl and Jake, for a pow-wow.

  “Carl, I’m guessing you have been through here before.”

  “Yep, we ski up here every winter and almost bought a place last year.”

  “I’ve been through here a bunch of times,” said Jake, with me saying the same.

  “It’s a straight shot through town, up to Interstate 70. We can detour around if we have to, but not far off the main highway, not with the trailers at least,” said Carl. “I know the Mayor; he used to fish with my dad nearly every-other weekend in the summer. Still, it won’t guarantee us free passage, but it might help. Can I lead on this one?” he asked Lonnie.

  “Sure, I’ll be second in line behind you.” Steve took over Mike’s driving responsibilities in the rear vehicle.

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  Breckenridge, Colorado

  “Jake and Lance, come on up,” called Carl when we hit the barricade.

  “I see what you mean,” I said, looking at the most impressive blockade we had seen so far, including two old WWII tanks.

  “Are those T-34s?” asked Jake. “The old Russian ones?”

  “Yeah,” replied Carl. “Why a tourist ski town needs two tanks beats me, but they belong to the Mayor. He bought them at auction ten or so years ago, and he and my dad would race them outside of town.”

  “Do they still run?” I asked.

  “Far as I know. They did a few years back, for sure,” he replied.

  “Name’s Carl,” he said to the guards as we walked up.

  “So?”

  “I need to talk to the Mayor.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” one of the guards said. “Now turn around, the lot of you, and head back down the mountain.”

  “I’m Doc Mason’s son, and I need to speak with the Mayor.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s...”

  “Hold on a minute,” said another man from inside, clearly his superior.

  “Did you say you’re Carl Mason?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You folks hold on for a few, and I’ll get hold of the Mayor. Where you headed, by the way?”

  “Down the other side—Fort Collins area,” I interjected.

  “Huh… Going the long way, aren’t you?”

  “Trying to stay off I-25 is all,” I replied.

  “Yeah, can’t say as I blame you for that. All right. Hold tight.”

  The other guard returned. “The Mayor won’t be up for a couple more hours, but I’m sure he’ll want to talk with you.”

  We waited without a word for more than two and a half hours, and I eventually took a seat on the hood of Lonnie’s trunk, taking pressure off my leg.

  * * * *

  “Carl Mason, how the hell are you?” came the voice of a short boisterous man of maybe three hundred pounds and round as a beach ball.

  “Good morning, Mr. Mayor,” Carl replied, shaking his hand.

  “What brings you up my way? You headed out of town?”

  “Just looking for some new opportunities is all.”

  “And them?” he asked, pointing over Jake and me to the caravan.

  “Yes, sir. We’re all a group of sorts.”

  “Hmm. I hear you’re headed over the pass, down to Fort Collins.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Do you think these trailers are going to make it down the backside of Trail Ridge Road without eating up your trannys or brakes?”
/>
  “That’s the plan. We will see, I guess,” replied Carl.

  “I told your pops I would keep an eye out for you, and I’ve done a piss-poor job, son. I’m sorry about that.”

  “No worries, sir. I’m a grown man.”

  “Now, that lawman down in your little town, I hear he’s looking for you. I heard there was a fire a few hours back at your place, and his son has gone missing. Do you know anything about that? On second thought, don’t answer that. I never liked that poor excuse for law enforcement, and his son was no better. The boy got cross with me more than once over one of our girls in town. They didn’t want to press charges, but I made it clear that he and his daddy were not welcome here once everything changed. He won’t know you came through here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Thanks, Mayor. Those tanks—I remember you racing those with my dad out in the woods.”

  “Russian T-34s. Yep, they still run like they’re only twenty years old…or maybe thirty!” he said, laughing. “Kind of makes a statement to anyone coming into town, don’t you think?”

  “I do,” said Carl. “I know they run, but do they shoot? I mean, can they fire?”

  “Well, now,” the Mayor said, lowering his voice. “They run when you buy them, but they only fire aftermarket, if you follow me.”

  “What’s the weight?” I blurted out, before even introducing myself.

  “Thirty-two tons and they still do close to 40 miles per hour, Mr...?”

  “Lance, sir. Good to meet you.”

  I gave Jake a look, and he returned a raised eyebrow.

  “Have you ever thought of selling one?” I asked, getting looks from everyone around me.

  “Never would have considered it before. But I’ve gained a few pounds since the lights went out,” he said, patting his stomach, “and it’s not easy getting inside one of those things anymore.”

  “What would you ask for something like that?” I said, not entirely sure where I was headed with the question.

  “That’s a good question—at least a hundred grand before the day. Now I wouldn’t take five million cash for one.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I guess I get it.”

  It was a long shot, I thought, but had to try.