Feral Nation Series Box Set 2 [Books 4-6]

by Williams, Scott B.

  But Shauna wouldn’t wait there indefinitely unless the snowfall was so heavy it was impossible to leave. Eric had to move fast to find out if Megan and Aaron had made it to that reservation, because if they hadn’t, then his search was going to take him into even greater danger and into places he could never bring three civilians with all that was going on. He calculated he could reach the northern boundary of the Jicarilla reservation in 10 days or so from the site of the massacre, but he also knew from looking at the map that the reservation encompassed a vast area of land, much of it as empty-looking as the national forests he was now traversing. He had no idea on which part of it Aaron’s relatives lived, but he knew the boy’s last name was Santos, and he hoped that would be a start. He would have to make contact with someone there when he arrived, but he didn’t expect he would be met with a warm welcome as an outsider seeking to enter tribal lands. If someone in authority there was willing to hear him out, it was more likely they’d listen if he weren’t accompanied by what appeared to be an entire family of white folks seeking asylum on Apache lands. And the other advantage of going alone was that he could infiltrate by whatever means necessary if that seemed more prudent when he got there than asking permission.

  Along the way, of course, Eric had to cross multiple highways and paved county roads, each of them a danger point that he had to scope out carefully before picking the most direct route across that would minimize his exposure. Most of these he crossed in the darkness. No one was traveling those roads at night, but he did have to make a wide detour around a stopped convoy he encountered in a stretch of high desert just north of the state line. The divide trail ran south from the San Juan National Forest in Colorado to Carson National Forest in northern New Mexico, but the reservation lands lay to the west of those public lands, and to get there, Eric had to pick a route that was part cross-country and partly on backroads. Water for himself and for the horses became one of his biggest concerns, and Eric located it by watching for the surviving cattle he found on the ranch land he passed through, taking care to use only the stock tanks he found well clear of any houses that may or may not still be inhabited.

  From the direction he was traveling, the transition from the surrounding public lands to Jicarilla Apache lands was imperceptible. Eric was able to estimate his position by dead-reckoning using a peak that was visible to the east and also appeared on the best map he had of the area, but on this side of the reservation, there were no main roads or checkpoints. He crossed what he thought was the boundary through a barbed wire fence that stretched to the horizon in both directions, but Eric saw neither Apaches nor anyone else in all that emptiness. While one option would have been to circle around the reservation boundary until he came to a road where he might find an actual checkpoint, Eric decided instead to take his chances with seeking out the inhabitants within, in hopes of finding someone who knew Aaron Santos and his relatives who lived there.

  He felt better about his chances of covering ground undetected when the desert plain transitioned to juniper and pinion covered hills. Eric found a live spring in the bottom of what he first thought was a dry gulch, and feeling that he was well-hidden there, decided to give the horses a chance to graze and rest. Looking over the area carefully, he saw no footprints or other signs of human activity and assumed it was because he was still a long way from the inhabited parts of the reservation. As he sat there watching the horses, Eric debated about whether he should leave them there where they had access to water and go on alone on foot to lessen the chances of being seen. The last thing he wanted to do, however, was to come across as an enemy, sneaking onto Apache lands with a weapon in hand. Thinking about how that might end up, Eric decided that in the morning he would ride on in the daylight, and when he was confronted, as he inevitably would be, he could claim ignorance, saying he hadn’t seen any signs and didn’t know that he was in a restricted area. That strategy would at least buy him time to talk, and he hoped that when he began name dropping, they would be ready to listen.

  Eric crawled into his sleeping bag, stretched onto a patch of sand between several big rocks, on the rim of the shallow gulch, leaving the horses hobbled some 50 feet below, where they were concealed by the cottonwoods that grew near the spring. Before turning in to catch up on all his lost sleep, Eric had climbed up to the top of a nearby rock that afforded him an unobstructed view of the surrounding hills, and he felt confident that he was indeed alone there. The horses seemed content and at peace as well, and Eric fell asleep feeling good about his prospects for tomorrow. It wasn’t the warm rays of the morning sun that woke him, however. When Eric opened his eyes, the brilliance of the Milky Way galaxy stretching across the desert sky was the first thing he saw, although it wasn’t starlight that intruded on his sleep either. Eric woke because some sixth sense told him something was wrong, and the instant he turned his eyes to the chunk of wood beside him, upon which he propped his M4 before zipping up his bag, Eric knew it wasn’t his imagination. The rifle was gone! He reached for the Glock that was still inside the sleeping bag with him and was out of the bag and crouching beside one of the big rocks in an instant. A quick scan around him confirmed that all his other gear was gone as well… his saddle, saddlebags, the other rifles, food, water, maps… all of it! Eric remained frozen in place, listening for anything that might give away the unseen thief that had taken his gear, but the desert was silent. He listened for sounds from the horses down below but heard nothing. After several more minutes of waiting, Eric decided that if whoever did this wanted him dead, they could have easily killed him while he slept if they were good enough to get that close and get away with his stuff undetected. He crawled closer to the rim of the gulch and looked down into the shadows of the trees for any sign of the horses, but they were gone too! Dammit!

  Eric knew what it was like to sneak into an enemy camp at night, but the times he’d done it usually resulted in taking out or capturing the targets. It took even more nerve to pull off something like this without firing a shot or using a blade. What really puzzled Eric was how they knew he was there, and he began to wonder now how long he’d been observed the previous day. The landscape he’d ridden through had appeared uninhabited, but someone was clearly out there, and now they had most of his stuff and were apparently long gone. He knew better than to assume an attack wasn’t yet to come, but as he remained low there among the rocks listening and waiting, he began to wonder whether it was simply his gear and his horses that the nighttime intruders wanted. Eric had no doubt they were native to the reservation though, and he figured there must be a dwelling somewhere nearby in the brush-covered hills that he hadn’t noticed.

  He knew someone out there in the dark might have him in their rifle sights at that very moment, but it was a chance he was willing to take. He stuffed his sleeping bag back into its sack and with that in one hand and the Glock in the other, made his way down to the bottom of the gulch to be sure the horses were truly gone. After a bit of searching, he found evidence in an area of sand illuminated enough by starlight to make out hoof prints. They led away from the gulch directly opposite from where he’d been sleeping, heading south in the direction he planned to go anyway. Since Eric had little other option but to keep going, that’s what he did. He didn’t know if he’d ever see his horses or his other things again, but he was still hopeful he could find someone on the reservation that would hear him out.

  He covered several more miles uneventfully, winding his way south through the hills and then along another dry drainage until dawn broke, and the weird, laughing-like yip of a coyote nearby in the brush ahead caught his attention. Eric thought little of it until he heard another one echo practically the same call from behind him, in the direction opposite. It raised his suspicions a little, but when he didn’t hear again, he dismissed it and moved on. But he’d only walked another half mile or so when he heard more coyote sounds from up ahead, answered again by the others that were apparently following him. Eric spun around, looking for the best esc
ape route but stopped when he saw three figures emerge from the scrub. All were pointing rifles at him and a glance over his shoulder confirmed that he was surrounded, as four more of the two-legged ‘coyotes’ now materialized from that direction, those pointing rifles as well. Eric kept the Glock lowered at his side as the seven men closed in on him. They were wearing desert tan camo, and most were carrying AKs, although he recognized his own M4 in the hands of one of them. That they were Apache security forces or militia of some kind was without question, even before the first one spoke. All of these men were dark-skinned and black-haired, and all but one of them wore their hair long, in the traditional manner. Two of the long-haired ones even had a band of what appeared to be white war paint running horizontally across their faces, just below the eyes. It was one of those that spoke first:

  “Drop your weapon and step away from it, white man! You are trespassing on Jicarilla lands!”

  “I understand,” Eric said, letting the pistol fall from his hands.

  “STEP BACK! DO IT NOW!”

  Eric took a couple of steps back and then three of the men rushed in, one grabbing the pistol and the other two shoving their rifle barrels into his body, pushing him back further.

  “I know I’m trespassing,” Eric said, “but I am looking for someone who lives here.”

  Eric felt the sharp jab of one of the rifles thrust into his ribs and then the other one slammed the wooden butt of his AK into his upper thigh. Before he could react, two more men were upon him from behind, sweeping him off of his feet and slamming him hard onto the dusty ground. Guns were at his head as he was rolled over, his hands pulled behind his back. Eric felt steel handcuffs tighten around his wrists before he was roughly rolled back the other way.

  “You came onto our lands yesterday with rifles, that pistol, and even a grenade launcher and grenades! Who are you with, white man? Are you a member of one of those militias that want to take away even the little land we have left? Or are you a soldier, sent here to gather information to help the government do the same thing?”

  “I’m neither one!” Eric said. “I’m alone and I work for no one! I’m looking for my daughter and her friend, and this reservation is the last place they were headed.”

  “Well, the only place you’re headed is to jail. But only long enough to be interrogated. When we find out who you really are and who sent you, you’ll pay the price for violating the laws of the sovereign Jicarilla Apache Nation!”

  Eric knew the window to escape or fight was closed. He’d screwed up royally and now he was at the mercy of these men. He could tell by the way several of his captors handled their weapons and operated that they’d gotten their training in combat, probably in Special Ops like himself. Those that had firsthand experience with war overseas had likely served as trainers here at home. Like so many other groups, the Jicarilla were mobilizing to protect and defend their own against the insanity raging around the country. These men were proud to carry on the warrior tradition of their ancestors, and judging from what he’d seen of them, they were doing a damned fine job of it.

  He saw his horses again when one of the men went to get their own mounts, Eric was helped into the saddle and then the little band set out for their tribal militia headquarters, in a small community 10 miles to the south. Eric was locked in a jail cell without further questioning that first day and given no food, only a small jug of water. As far as he could tell, he was the only one in lockup there, which didn’t necessarily bode well. Like tribal councils he’d encountered in Afghanistan and several countries in Africa, Eric imagined these guys administered judgement and carried out sentences swiftly and efficiently. Death was the expected outcome for falling into the hands of men such as these in times of war. Eric knew that all too well.

  When the time came to talk the following day, his interrogator asked the same questions over and over, striking him with heavy blows each time Eric didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. He was being charged with trespassing, espionage and terrorism, all as he expected, and they wanted to know the details of his mission and who had sent him. And Eric kept saying over and over that the only reason he was here was because he believed his daughter was coming here with her Apache friend. All Eric knew about the boy was his name, and that he’d been a student at the university Megan attended in Boulder. Eric had nothing else to tell them, and no other way to prove he was who he said he was, even when he said that yes, he had been in the military years prior, but no, he was no longer in the service. Eric knew the possession of two select-fire M4s and a grenade launcher didn’t help his story, but on the other hand, reasonable men did not go about unarmed in the present environment. He apologized for entering Jicarilla land without first finding a checkpoint and asking permission. The stone-cold, expressionless face of his interrogator made him doubt any of that would make the slightest difference in determining his fate.

  Eric was taken back to his cell, but he didn’t expect to be held long, one way or the other. He’d made a major operational mistake by underestimating the security forces here, and this time there was no team or anyone else coming to break him out. No one even knew he was here, other than the three people he’d left behind in that cabin in Colorado, and if they had done what he asked, they were waiting there still. That’s why it came as a surprise when the guard came to his cell the next day to tell him he had visitors. When the door was unlocked with only one guard present and no handcuffs on his wrists, Eric knew this might be his last chance to fight for his freedom or even his life. He could take the guard easily, but the man seemed unconcerned with him, as if he were no longer considered a threat. Eric decided to wait at least long enough to see what this was about and learn who it was that wished to see him here, of all places.

  Sixteeen

  AFTER MEGAN’S CONVERSATION WITH the sergeant at the highway checkpoint, she was taken to a small office in the portable building and told she would have to wait there until he cleared his request with his superiors. She was still in disbelief at his offer to try and secure her transportation, as she came here worried that she would be sent away to one of the refugee centers or worse if she couldn’t convince them her story was true. It was the little details she sprinkled here and there that did the trick though, especially some of the operational lingo she’d learned from her dad. And the sergeant knew she wasn’t lying about being the daughter of a Navy SEAL when she told him a few stories she knew of Eric Branson’s exploits during the years he was fighting in Afghanistan.

  After that, she had been moved by truck to a larger post about an hour to the east, and there she waited for several days while the arrangements were being made. No one could tell her whether or not any actions were going to be taken in regard to the information she’d given them about the militia camp. It was a helpless feeling, knowing she couldn’t do anything else for Aaron, other than wait and see, but at least his family was going to know what had happened in the meantime. The choice to go there to the reservation rather than ask for help reaching Florida was an easy one for Megan. She still wanted to go home, of course, and she was determined to do so when she could. But Aaron had risked his life to help her reach that goal, and the least she could do was make the effort to tell his uncle and aunt what happened and wait long enough to see if he might be rescued.

  The trip to the reservation was the end of her contact with the soldiers, and there had been no promise that she could change her mind later and go back to ask for help again. She waited in the truck while the officer in charge of her escort talked with the tribal police manning the gate, and the only thing that got her in was the good fortune that one of the Apache officers knew Aaron’s uncle personally. Megan told him her story in detail once she was inside, and then she had another day and a half wait until someone could drive her out to Ethan Santos’ remote homestead. The aunt and uncle turned out to be as kind and generous as Aaron had said they were though. They welcomed her into their home and thanked her profusely for coming all that way to bring
them the news of what had happened to Aaron. But Megan felt bad that she was the one that escaped rather than their beloved nephew.

  “You did the right thing,” Ethan said. “You were smart to stay out of sight of those men, and brave to follow them so that you would know where they took Aaron. No one would ever know what happened if you had been taken too.”

  “I know, but I just feel terrible that I couldn’t do something. I hated to leave him there, but I had no choice.”

  “You found the soldiers and told them. That was something. I don’t think they would care about a few hostages, but you said that sergeant was already interested in that militia group?”

  “Yes, he seemed really interested. That’s why he was so nice to me and arranged for me to come here. I think they will do something. He seemed like a good man.”

  “Maybe, but if they do something, it will not be because of my nephew. My people have a long history of mistrust for government soldiers, and even though that is in the past, I still doubt the Army will bother with anything that isn’t a high-value target for them, and it may take them a long time to decide to act. I will talk to some of the other men in my family. If we don’t hear anything soon, then we will go there to this place you described and get Aaron ourselves.”

  For the first time since leaving Vicky’s grandparents’ ranch, Megan felt she was truly safe. In fact, she felt much safer here than at the ranch because she didn’t have to deal with Gareth. The longer she was around that guy, the scarier he seemed, and she simply could no longer trust him. It bothered her that she had fallen for him in the first place, but he was such a smooth talker that he had really taken her in before she knew what was happening. She really hoped he had moved on with his friends and not stayed there to give Vicky and her sweet grandparents any grief. Megan felt bad about leaving Vicky with Gareth still there, but there was little else she could do at the time. Now she was safe because of Aaron but feeling really guilty too, because she was the one here with his aunt and uncle instead of him. It seemed that everything she did caused someone else to suffer or be put in danger. Megan was glad she came here though, because she really believed that Ethan and any other men he could recruit from the reservation would go and try to find Aaron. He was one of their own after all, and Ethan assured her that the Jicarilla were sticking together now like they hadn’t in more than a hundred years. Ethan and Ava told Megan that she was welcome to stay there at their house for as long as she wanted. Even if he left to go look for Aaron, she could stay, but he understood if she wanted to try and make it home to Florida.