“In appreciation of all that you do for us and the kids,” I announced, “we offer you all an afternoon of leisure. I’m guessing, but certainly not suggesting, most of you would be interested in bathing first? We will be serving mimosas in about an hour, thanks to Mel’s donation— chilled, of course—paired with Tang. It’s not quite old school, I know, but it’s close. There will be a wine bar set up on the trailer over there, with various whites and reds available from Mel and Tammy’s private collection. Vlad has offered to tend bar—no tips necessary but a good joke is appreciated, if you have one.”
“Woo hoo!” was the general response, with a few women whispering amongst themselves, giving Kat’s sister Anna a tease.
“We have the kiddos and a very special dinner, compliments of Carl’s friend, the Mayor,” I continued. “And before anyone asks, it’s not fish—maybe for breakfast, though, if we catch some. So, please enjoy your afternoon and let us know if you need anything.”
* * * *
We put the fishing lines out half-heartedly, as our freezers were full, and we had promised something else for dinner.
“We’ll set up a smoker,” said Steve and Jim, “for the fish, if we catch any. Never hurts to have some jerky on the road.”
“I’ll coordinate the fishing for the kiddos,” said Carl, with Jake offering to help.
Lonnie sat up on the trailer for the two-hour security shift we would all pitch in on. The women finished bathing, with only a few casual looks from other campers, before being scolded by their wives. I helped serve the mimosas, glancing over at Lonnie, who was talking to a man and a child.
“All good?” I called out.
“Yep, no worries,” Lonnie called back.
* * * *
The first round of the fizzy Tang went straightaway, and Vlad was quickly taking wine orders, like a real bartender.
“You’ve got fast hands,” said Kate’s sister, Anna, joking.
“You didn’t think I only knew about guns, did you?” he fired back.
“No, I guess not,” she replied, asking for a glass of Chardonnay.
“You should have seen me tend bar with two legs!” Vlad added, getting a smile but no words from Anna.
“Hey, Lance,” called out Lonnie. “Bring Hudson up here when you get a chance.”
I found him fishing and nearly had to drag him away from his pole. The fish were biting, and the kids were enjoying the casual afternoon.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Lonnie. I heard you asked for me,” said Hudson.
“Yes, I did,” he replied. “Hold on a second.”
Lonnie whispered his intentions to me, asking if I minded my son getting a gift of sorts.
“Sure,” I said aloud. “He would love it!”
“Hudson,” started Lonnie. “Do you remember what I told you I would keep an eye out for?”
“A red motorcycle?”
“You sure have a good memory. You see that man walking away over there?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Hudson.
“He and I just made a deal. How about you get down and look under the tarp over there.” Lonnie pointed under the trailer. “It’s not red, but it’s the real deal,” he whispered to me.
Hudson carefully pulled the tarp back.
“It’s okay, son,” I told him. “It’s not a puppy. You can pull hard.”
Hudson’s face lit up, eyeing the blue Yamaha PW-50 that he had a picture of on his wall since he was two.
“What did this run you?” I asked Lonnie.
“My watch.”
“It didn’t even run,” I said.
“I know. The guy swore he could fix it when the power came back on.”
“That could be a while,” I replied.
“That’s what I told him, but he swore he was getting the better end of the deal.”
“Okay then. What do you say, Hudson?”
“Thank you, Mr. Lonnie!”
“It runs too. The man started it right up and it comes with a kid’s helmet—not sure of the size, though.”
“What do you think, Hud?” I asked him. “Should we let all the kids use it?”
I knew the answer before asking the question. No kid I had ever met shared their toys more than him.
“Sure, Daddy-o! I love to share.”
The children all gathered around for basic instructions. As many would argue, the beginner bike was the best and easy to operate, once they had their balance. There is no gear shifter or clutch—just the throttle, front and back brakes, and a kickstart facing backward that an adult, and most kids over age seven, could kick. A few low-speed crashes later, they were all racing around inside the circle.
Lonnie insisted on grilling tonight. It would have to be propane, not as classic as charcoal or a wood smoker, but it was still a formidable fine dining machine in the right hands.
“We have steak on the menu—the very best fillets!” he announced to everyone.
“Is that deer meat?” asked one of the kids.
“No. It’s all cow, and the best-tasting part of it. We’re also grilling vegetables and have a fresh killer salad, so there should be something for everyone’s taste,” he added.
I took my guard shift, watching the lake party from atop Bert. Jax sat with me, just for some Dad time, I guess, or maybe it was just cool for a young boy to sit on top of a tank. Either way, it was moments like this I would always cherish. He wanted to ask Lonnie a question but was too embarrassed.
“Hey, Lonnie,” I called out, not giving him a chance to back out. “Jax here has a question for you.”
“Sure, little man. I’ll be over in a few minutes. I don’t want to overcook these fine steaks.”
Minutes later, he had them pulled off the grill.
“I’ve got to rest these cuts,” he said. “How do you like your steak, Jax?”
“Medium-rare, with a shake of salt and nothing else,” he called back.
“Really? Is he joking?” Lonnie asked me.
“Nope, that’s how he likes it, and it’s his favorite thing to eat,” I replied.
“It’s my favorite supper ever!” Jax added, barely containing his excitement.
“That boy knows his meat,” he said, walking over.
“Uh, Mr. Lonnie…I was just…if we had any extras could we maybe give a little to those people over there?” he said, pointing across the shoreline to the group of maybe twenty we saw coming in.
“Maybe,” he replied. “We do have extra, I know. But I’m not sure how much.”
“I understand, but I would like to give them mine at least, if it’s okay. It’s not much, but it might help a little bit.”
I put my hand on Jax’s shoulder. “You’re a generous boy. I’ll give up mine too,” I called out to Lonnie. Besides, I swallowed a big June bug when we were driving—I’m not really hungry,” I joked. “But seriously, me too.”
“All right. All right. Don’t go getting crazy on me,” replied Lonnie. “There’s enough to feed them also, I suppose—just don’t ask me for steak and eggs for breakfast.”
“I won’t,” I told him, laughing.
“Can I go tell them, Daddy?” asked Jax.
“I think I should be the one. My shift is over in fifteen minutes, and then I will go.”
“Please, Daddy. Can I be the one to go?”
“They seem harmless,” said Jake, walking up. “I’ll tag along if you’re okay with it, Lance.”
“Yeah, okay. Let’s go at shift change. You’ll do the talking,” I told Jax.
“Yes, sir. I’ll try,” he replied.
* * * *
Shane took over on shift, and Jake and I walked over with Jax to the campers.
“Do you have to bring your rifle, Daddy?”
“Yes, son, I do…always now. Right, Jake?”
“That’s how it works, Jax,” he replied. “We hope everyone is good, but if they are bad we’re going to be okay. Look at Shane up on the tank,” he added. A hardly visible Shane could be seen coveri
ng us, watching every move through his scope.
“Hello,” I said as disarmingly as I could to the group huddled around a fire, with no food to be seen. “This is Jax, and he has a question for you all. Okay?”
“Yes, okay. Sure,” several replied.
He started: “Mr. Lonnie is cooking some meat steaks, and I wondered if you would like some?”
“It does smell awful good. If it’s not too much trouble,” said one man with blonde hair and a three-week beard. “We haven’t eaten much lately.”
“Are you fishing?” I asked. “This lake should be full of them.”
“No,” responded a woman, who I assumed was his wife. “We came up from Pueblo but didn’t think to bring any fishing tackle…or whatever you call it.”
“So, what do you eat?” I asked. “Surely, there is some game around here to shoot.”
“We gave up our guns down at the lake. Or one gun, I should say. But once we saw what was happening there, we just took off up here. We couldn’t go back to the city, so I guess we’re stuck,” she added.
“How did you get through the barricades?” asked Jake.
“It’s not so hard,” said the man, “when we don’t have trailers like you. We just go around them at night and get back on the road. We didn’t think it through is all.”
“Can I borrow two of your guys?” I asked the woman. “Only for maybe 30 minutes.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s hard to know who to trust nowadays.”
“I understand that,” I replied. “If I told you those in our group liberated the lake camp and took out the three brothers who ran it, giving it back to the people, would that help?”
“You did that? I mean, they were selling the women and making the men fight!”
“Not anymore,” I answered. “They are all free to come and go as they please—no more pit fights or auctions.”
“My sister, she has blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. Did you see her?”
“I’m sorry. The man in our group who would have maybe done so is no longer with us.”
“I can tell you the ones who were there only a few days ago have been set free.”
“Thank you,” she replied, with tears in her eyes.
* * * *
“Shhh,” said Jake, pointing up to the tree line at 100 yards out.
“Can anyone here skin a buck?” he whispered, sighting his rifle in.
“I can,” said one man, holding his hand up.
“Cover your ears, kids,” said Jake just before squeezing the trigger.
“Ah,” he said after the shot. “He is hit but he’s running.”
A few of the men jumped up, looking to run down the animal.
“No, let him go,” said Jake. “He’s gut-shot and won’t go far if we let him be. We’ll pick him up when we get back, and he won’t be far if we’re lucky. While we’re gone, get some good coals going in this fire. You will need to smoke the meat to preserve it, and you’ll need a new pit over here,” he said, pointing a few feet away from their small fire. “Make it long—about five feet and three feet wide. Dig a foot down and fill it with coals. At least a few of you will be up all night slow-smoking the meat, but it should feed you all for a while. You and you,” he pointed to a man and woman, “gather fifteen sticks. Make sure they are green or still alive and bring them back here. I’ll bring some rope back, and we can make a smoking rack. Any questions?”
One man raised his hand.
“You,” he said, pointing to him.
“Some here in our group don’t like deer meat.”
“That’s First-World thinking,” I said. “We are Third-World, or maybe Fourth-World now. I’m guessing a lot of folks in this country are now eating things much farther down the food chain than venison. It’s what’s for dinner and lunch right now. We have some powdered milk to add in that will take the gamey taste out for now. We’re all having fish for breakfast, so we have to make due,” I added. “Any other questions?”
None held their hand up or responded.
“Thank you, Jax, and you men!” they all replied. Their smiles reflected their gratefulness.
* * * *
We returned a half-hour later with the two volunteers, who surprisingly never asked if they all could join our group. I guess a caravan traveling with weapons and a tank is not all that appealing to folks looking to lay low and stay out of a fight. We found the buck—a six-pointer—75 yards from where he was shot. He bled out, and we dragged him with one of the four-wheelers back to their camp.
Jake and I gave a how-to short class on smoking meat while they nearly devoured the steaks and sides Lonnie fixed up. We made sure the fire pit was ready and tied the green sticks with rope for the racks as three men skinned and processed the venison.
Lucy, feeling about back to normal, if that was even possible, volunteered to show them how to cook the meat. We tried to convince her to return with us for the night, but she refused. She would stay, according to the deal, and help them process the meat that would nourish the group for weeks to come.
“We will be back to get you tomorrow,” I said. “And I’m counting on all you ladies to watch out for her until morning,” I added.
* * * *
Dinner was nothing short of spectacular. The kind of meal one might expect after a two-week jaunt in the woods camping. I remembered going on such a trip, hiking the Collegiate Peaks in Colorado as a teenager with a group of 15. We hiked the two or more days to get to the base of the peaks, needing to be up and down by noon to avoid dangerous weather.
Not even a week in, we would all talk about our first meals back, like McDonald’s or Arby’s, Wendy’s and Burger King. Nobody was eager to get back to a garden salad or anything resembling healthier food.
* * * *
Lonnie wasn’t joking. We had fish for breakfast with some kind of rice. Jake and I went back to check the progress of the group and fetch Lucy.
“We’ve smoked most of the meat already,” said Lucy, sitting close—too close—to a man about her age, not getting up to leave with us.
I gave Jake a look but didn’t speak about it yet.
“Does anyone here have a rifle?” I asked, already knowing the answer straightaway.
Nobody raised their hand.
“Okay. Who can shoot?”
A few raised their hands, both men and women. I handed the rifle to the man sitting closer to Lucy than I had ever seen someone do.
“It’s a 30.06 with 100 rounds of ammo,” I said, holding the box out as well. “Shoot straight and no targets; you will have a steady supply of meat for quite a while.”
Jake handed them two fishing poles and some light tackle. “Take care of these, and you will feed a lot of people from this lake,” he said. Everyone in the group expressed their thanks for this provision that could in fact save their lives.
“We’re packing up, Lucy,” I told her.
“I’ll miss you all,” she replied, looking to the man next to her.
“Are you sure?” I asked, pulling her aside for confirmation.
“I am,” she replied. “I belong here; I feel like it’s been my home forever. I do want to say goodbye, though.”
* * * *
I didn’t want her to leave, and I was still reeling from her past trauma, but she was an adult and single, so I guess I got it. Joy was none too happy about it, giving her own speech to get Lucy to stay.
“We are so close to a life of safety in a protected Valley,” Joy offered. “We have come so far, and spilled blood to get here. Why would you want to leave now?”
“I appreciate everything you have done for me; we were neighbors for many years back in McKinney. But I’m a loner with no family—just a tagalong in the caravan across the country. You are close to the Valley you call the final destination, but it’s not safety. It’s going to be a battleground and everyone knows it. There is a man here in this other group that all of the women swear is gentle and God-fearing. He thinks I’m pretty a
nd says nice things to me. That’s enough for now. Here, I’m somebody who knows things and can help the group. This is my bird-in-the-hand moment and I want to take it.”
Joy nearly commanded me to give them a year’s supply of alfalfa sprout seeds with four precious mason jars and planting seeds.
“We’ll miss you,” we all told Lucy.
“If you ever change your mind, you know where to find us,” added Joy.
* * * *
Our caravan packed up quickly and headed around the lake to new adventures, only dreamed about by most.
“That was a good thing we did back there, everyone. It surely was,” called out Lonnie over the radio. “And it was all thanks to Jax!”
* * * * * * *
Chapter Seventeen
Mike ~ Heading East, Colorado
Mike left the group, the only true friends he had known outside of his family and former girlfriend, Kelly. He rode unafraid towards the man he knew would take away his new family and friends that he trusted without a second thought.
“I’m coming for you, Baker!” he yelled aloud.
He had forgotten the freedom of the road. Just a man and a bike, cruising winding roads with a bandana-wrapped head and sunglasses. Mike missed the open road, remembering the smell of the earth and the wind in his face when he rode the back roads of upstate New York, and sometimes as far as Maine, cutting through the center of Connecticut before hugging the coastline just north of Boston and straight up.
Before entering the police academy, he flew to Miami. He purchased a used 2001 Harley Davidson Heritage, “a truly classic machine,” he would tell his girlfriend, for the 2,369-mile solo trip to Fort Kent, Maine, at the Canadian border on U.S. Highway 1. The route was the longest north-south highway in the United States, he remembered, when mapping it out.
The girlfriend of the month, like they all were before Kelly, had asked to go but he wouldn’t invite her. If he were pressed, he would have told her he needed to clear his head after his brother’s and sister’s deaths.
The trip could have been complete in a week, but Mike took five weeks—grieving, sightseeing, and looking for ways to calm his vengeful mind. More than a few men fit the bill…from seedy bars to dirty motels, and even a few at a random gas station or rest stop that would disappear, only to be found later once Mike was far up the road. The connections to him would never be made by law enforcement, as the route touched fifteen states from bottom to top. Sure, there were rumors and rumblings, especially after the news of the church janitor killed by Mike and his partner, and the nickname “Cereal Mike” was floated around Brooklyn and New York City. Mike wondered what the record was for justified extermination—not that he was trying to break one, but was only curious.
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