Careful Measurements

by Layne D. Hansen

  Patton slapped a magazine of his non-lethal ammunition and started picking off targets. Although the sun was bright, he could still easily pick out the enemies’ muzzle flashes. He targeted one man, who was trying to use the pickup truck as cover, and shot him in the shoulder. The man began screaming and writhing in pain, but he was still alive and was no longer a threat. Patton picked out another target and hit him in the ribs. He hit another, then another. Finally, once the attackers saw that their numbers were dwindling rapidly, they gather their wounded and started to retreat.

  “Cease fire!” Patton yelled. Once the search party retreated, Patton descended the hill and made his way to their forward defensive position. Patton wiped sweat from his eyes. “Good job, guys. They will probably think twice about coming after us again.”

  Patton smiled, pleased that they had held off the attack. Then he remembered the man who’d been shot. He handed his rifle to a young man and sprinted to where the man was lying. He was still alive, Patton could tell, but looked to be unconscious.

  Placing his hand on the man’s shoulder he said, “You okay?”

  The man’s only response was a groan. Patton turned him over as gently as he could manage and saw that the man was holding his side, just above his right hip. His trembling hands were covered in blood and he was moaning incoherently. A sudden surge of guilt hit Patton. It was far from the worst wound he’d ever seen, but he’d never been so directly responsible for someone getting hurt before.

  “I’m sorry,” Patton said, patting the man’s arm.

  The man tried to respond but Patton couldn’t hear what he was trying to say. Patton leaned in closer.

  “Water,” he rasped almost inaudibly.

  “Okay,” Patton replied quietly. “We need some water,” he yelled towards the rest of the group.

  A woman, went to their makeshift camp and retrieved a water jug and brought it to where Patton was tending to the wounded man. Patton talked to him to keep him calm. He found out that his name was Jerry and that he’d been a machinist from Ohio. He had a wife back in Blue Creek and had been in the prison because of a pro-Patton Larsen blog post. The realization that the man had been in prison because of him added to his deep sense of grief and guilt. He assured Jerry that he would be fine, that his wound wasn’t serious, and that he would take care of him.

  Once Jerry was stabilized, they built a makeshift field litter to carry him. Patton instructed the group to gather as many weapons and as much ammunition and food as they could find. The raiding party didn’t have much, but anything would help. Once he had everyone settled, Patton walked around the battlefield to survey the damage. There were three dead from the first claymore blast. Yet another had been shot through the head. Altogether, four of their attackers had been killed. Jerry was the only one to sustain a serious injury. A man in his group badly sprained his ankle while trying to find cover. One of the women had a cut on her head, likely from rock shrapnel from a stray bullet or one of the explosions. Other than that, they were mostly in good shape.

  Patton had no delusions that this was the last of their troubles. He was grateful they were all alive and relatively mobile. They needed to get Jerry to Portage and hopefully to a hospital, but that was still another few miles over difficult ground. It would be very slow going. At this point, though, they had no choice. Their beloved governor was going to keep coming after them until they were all back in custody or all dead.

  CHAPTER

  30

  There was no way for the government to stop the news of the ambush and the deaths caused by Patton Larsen and his band of followers, but Asher’s people did everything they could to spin the story and make Larsen the enemy. The media did their best to push the story, even touting a new reward for the rebel leader’s killing or capture. Despite this, many of the survivors had a different story to tell their friends and families.

  Many of the survivors wanted to broadcast the fact that Larsen and his “gang” used non-lethal weapons. Some of their men had been killed, yes, but it was due to bad luck. Many of the bullets extracted at the hospital were made of a composite plastic instead of lead. Also, Larsen and his people had disabled the search party’s vehicle and had merely tried to stop their attack. In the opinion of most of the survivors of the ambush, the escapees were only acting in self-defense. A series of secret arrests were made after it was discovered that the true story of the “Ambush at Bloody Canyon” had been revealed by some of the survivors.

  Things only got worse after another party was sent out and repelled. Asher was beyond enraged now. If he had access to a bomber jet, he would have sent it out to bomb every inch of the eastern hills. Luckily the Governor had no such weapons. He had to rely on poorly trained and poorly motivated underlings. There was nothing worse than sending people out on a mission who didn’t believe in the mission to start with, he realized. One night, while thinking of possible solutions, the words “I wish Anna was here” popped into his head. Guilt and regret surged through him but he fought the emotion.

  All of his carefully-laid plans were falling apart. The only thing keeping it together now was his loyal media, the naiveté of the people, and the culture of fear that he’d developed. That was not going to last. He understood that now. He had to return some stability to his town or he was going to find himself hanging from a tree. He just had to get Patton Larsen out of the picture before he could do that.

  Patton scanned the horizon from west to east with his binoculars. To his north, over four-hundred feet below where he was crouched, was the town of Portage, Utah. It wasn’t as if the town was an exciting metropolis, but the idea of civilization made Portage seem like an oasis. Despite all of their problems, Patton’s group was hanging together. They’d been attacked by Asher’s men twice, they were running out of food, but perhaps the worst thing was the turning of the weather.

  Patton calculated a timeline of recent events. Jennifer disappeared on Friday afternoon. He and Frank laid low Saturday and he broke into City Hall early Sunday morning. Patton interrogated Brian White Sunday evening and escaped into the mountains that night. He took out the first search party on Monday night and rescued these people the next night. The first attack came on Wednesday or Thursday—nearly a week since his wife was kidnapped. The thought of Jennifer brought a surge of anguish and he had to fight to push the emotions away.

  After the first attack, there was a full night, a day, and another night before the second attack—one that was designed to be more of a sneak attack than an all out assault. The group sent by Asher must have been worse trained than the first because their attempt at an assault failed miserably. Patton heard the vehicles well before the attackers could spring their trap. He’d found a good position, on a hill above Asher’s men, and hit two of the men with non-lethal bullets. He sprayed one of the trucks with regular ammunition for good measure. The enemy combatants quickly retreated upon receiving fire.

  The second attack happened two days before. The best he could figure, it was almost ten days since Jennifer went missing. The flood of anger and sadness tried to return, but he was now focused on the task at hand. He had to get these people to safety. The biggest obstacle was moving the sick and wounded over the difficult terrain. Jerry, the man wounded during the first battle had developed severe bronchitis or possibly pneumonia. Most of the company had twisted ankles, or twisted knees, or both.

  They made decent time after the second time, mostly because they were convinced that David Asher was playing for keeps. The instinct for survival began to overcome the hunger, thirst, and fatigue. With their new pace, Patton figured they would reach Portage the next day.

  Patton’s prediction was almost right. The party made its way through the last canyon after sunset the following day. The few lights of Portage were visible below them and to the north. Patton’s ultimate goal was to continue south towards the larger town of Tremonton, but they needed to get Jerry to Portage
as soon as possible so that he could be transported to a hospital. They made camp that night in a small grove of trees. Patton set a watch, which included himself on the first two-hour shift.

  The day had been unseasonably warm and dry, but once the sun set behind the mountains, the temperature dropped drastically. Patton worried about an oncoming storm when the wind picked up just before dusk. His concerns were justified when a mild downpour started just before midnight. The rain didn’t last long but it was enough to further chill the group. Many were sick, almost to the point that Patton wanted to leave everyone behind and go for help. His suggestion to do so was met with a chorus of complaints. These people were now reliant upon Patton for their survival.

  At dusk, Patton sent a three-person scouting party down to Portage. Two were tasked with carrying Jerry on his litter. Patton was convinced that he had pneumonia. Another night in the elements would probably kill him. But they wouldn’t be alone—Patton would provide overwatch and protect the four on their way to and from town. Not surprising, there was little activity down below. Patton scoped a few vehicles leaving town, no doubt people going to work somewhere, or farmers headed to their fields. There were no signs of Asher’s security forces—at least not yet. Patton watched the party of four trudge down the hill and make their way across a large pasture.

  They approached a house with its lights shining through the dull morning glow. One from the party, a woman, knocked on the door and spoke animatedly with the person who answered. Patton let out a sigh of relief after a minute or so when the person stepped aside and the two carrying the litter moved Jerry into the house. They all entered and the door closed behind them so Patton could no longer tell what was going on inside.

  The scouting party was inside the house for less than five minutes when two black Chevy Suburbans skidded to a stop in front of the house. Patton shouldered his rifle and looked through the scope for targets. Four heavily-armed security agents exited each vehicle. Patton considered firing on them but realized it would do no good. Furthermore, it would draw their attention to him and possibly to the rest of the group. Patton swore under his breath, set down his rifle, and lifted his binoculars to his face. The security agents broke into the house and removed all four of Patton’s people, including Jerry, who they made walk to the second vehicle. Patton swore again and got to his feet. He had to get to the camp. They were going to be attacked again.

  Jennifer had no sense of the time of day or the day of the week. The last reference of time she had was being beaten by two female guards. It happened in a room that actually had windows. Before being knocked unconscious, she saw that the sun was shining through the windows. What day was it? She had no idea. Her husband had supposedly broken a group of prisoners out of the prison in an attempt to rescue her and Governor Asher was obviously not very happy about it.

  Her conditions had slowly worsened since the beating. She was currently in a shed with no heat or insulation. She had only her thin pair of coveralls and a scratchy Army blanket to keep her warm. The roof leaked and the walls let in the cold. She was always cold, always hungry, and always miserable. She wouldn’t give her tormentors the satisfaction of seeing her break, though. She knew she was being used as bait to draw her husband back into town to be captured or killed. She also knew that Patton was smart enough not to fall for it.

  Would he come for her? It seemed like such a no brainer, but she loved him so much she dreaded the idea of him being captured, or worse, killed. During her weaker moments, though, she dreamt of him finding her and taking her home to sit on their porch and watch the birds over the lake or their dogs playing in their yard. It was those types of thoughts that kept her going day to day. It was during one of these moments that she heard the door being unlocked. It usually meant that it was mealtime – one of two that she received per day – or she was being taken into the main building to be “interrogated.”

  The latter hadn’t happened for a while, although she wasn’t sure how long. It was probably three days, maybe four. They asked her stupid questions like “Has your husband contacted you?” and she would throw up her hands and ask them how that was possible. She finally realized that it was all a game to try to break her spirit and for no other reason. There was nothing she could possibly give them that would lead to her husband’s capture.

  The most frightening thing to her, though, was that she was beginning to forget things. Not just important things about herself, but simple things like what Patton looked like, what she did before coming to Blue Creek, and her parents. Again, sometimes she was strong and other times she was weak. Right now she was feeling weak. A rustling at the door brought her out of her thoughts. She heard harsh voices and then a grunt. The door then slammed loudly and was relocked. It took a few moments for Jennifer to regain her sight, but when she did, she saw that it was a woman, about her age or maybe a little younger.

  The woman looked dazed and had terribly dirty and greasy hair. Her face was streaked with dirt and sweat – or tears, she thought – and she was quietly sobbing. Not knowing what to do, Jennifer allowed the young woman a few minutes to compose herself. After what seemed a lifetime, the young woman swallowed back some tears and was the one to break the silence.

  “How long have you been in here?” she asked timidly, shaking visibly.

  Gazing at the wall, Jennifer said, “I don’t know. I lost track of time. Do you know what day it is?”

  The young woman shook her head morosely and stared down at her dirty fingernails. A new silence came upon them and lasted for a while, but Jennifer wanted to get her talking. She needed to find out what was going on outside. Jennifer walked over to her new roommate and sat.

  “What’s your name?” Jennifer asked her, patting her on the thigh. She could feel the woman’s thigh muscle convulsing under her thin prison uniform.

  “Theresa,” she replied simply.

  “What are you doing here? I mean … why were you arrested?”

  Theresa looked at Jennifer then at the wall. A solitary light bulb lit their cold and dusty room. The plywood floor was rotting where it had gotten wet.

  “My husband … he was part of this scouting party out looking for a fugitive and he got ambushed.”

  Jennifer’s face must have registered shock because Theresa was quick to reassure her. “He’s fine. No one was killed but he got cut up pretty good. Anyway, I told my friend what happened and the true story got out. Whoever ambushed them also gave everyone first aid and helped them get back into town.”

  Something dawned on Jennifer.

  “Who were they going after?” she asked, trying to not get her hopes too high.

  “The guy who ran against Asher last time. Patton Larsen.”

  Jennifer’s face went white with shock.

  “Did they catch him?” she asked, dreading to hear the answer. It seemed strange to Jennifer, but a wide smile came over the younger woman’s face.

  “What?” Jennifer asked, her voice a mixture of happiness and dread.

  “No, they didn’t get him. In fact, he broke me and a bunch of other people out and tried to get us to Portage, over the hills.”

  Jennifer nodded. She and Patton had been to Portage many times, mostly for business. Theresa told her about how they had traveled through the mountains, had gotten ambushed, and had almost made it to Portage. She told her about how she had been part of a scouting party that had gotten arrested and how she had been brought back to the prison and beaten by guards.

  “Where are they now?” Jennifer asked.

  Theresa shrugged her shoulders and said, “I don’t know. I got caught, remember? They’re probably still in camp up above Portage right now.”

  Although she was close in her guess, by the time she uttered those words to Jennifer, Patton and his followers had already moved on.

  It had been another miserable and cold night on the move. Their camp outside of Portage w
as their longest respite since Patton rescued them from prison. Now, they were trying to tough out a long, cold and rainy night in a hastily-built camp four miles south of the tiny town. While sitting on the rough ground, warming himself by the fire, Patton’s thoughts turned to his wife. He thought of Jerry limping towards the SUV at gunpoint, and the others he’d sent, possibly to their deaths. A plan was developing, but he was going to need safe harbor to make it all happen. He needed good shelter and food for these people. Then, and only then, could he put his plan into motion.

  Patton straightened his legs and massaged his lower back. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself the luxury of rest, but when he did so, he took full advantage. He was beginning to wear down physically, mentally, and emotionally and he knew that if he were to break, the rest of these people had no chance. He was the source of their hope. Patton took a mental inventory of what they had to their advantage and vice versa. The list was very heavily-weighted to the latter. The best thing was they hadn’t been attacked by Asher’s people since the second attempt. Patton knew that wasn’t going to last forever, but they were going to be out in the open now. This would make it easier for Asher’s people to find them.

  Patton woke to a warm, dry, sunny morning. The sounds of happy people and the wonderful smells of cooking meat greeted and cheered him. He emerged from his sleeping place to find his group huddled around a large fire with huge hunks of beef cooking on a makeshift spit. His stomach groaned as he smelled the delicious meat. He suddenly wished that he had some eggs to go with his steak.

  “What’s this?” he asked the obvious ringleaders, who were turning the meat over the flames with a long stick.