The commotion started in the middle tent, as someone was probably trying to come out to relieve themselves. It started quietly as a confused and possibly intoxicated man trying to undo the zippers, and ended up stirring the entire camp.
Yelling and swearing ensued, as all three tents now shook with attempts to break out.
Mike observed from a distance until the first one was cut open with a large knife from the inside.
More yelling ensued, as Mike walked slowly away towards the bridge.
Two shots pierced the night, with more yelling. Mike returned to base with the sly grin of a teenager egging a house for the first time.
He used his time heading back to observe David’s side of the bridge, should they decide to take it down. It wouldn’t much matter for his group, since they had trailers too heavy to cross now; but for David and his group, it was something that couldn’t be undone.
Mike didn’t much care either way, as he was always up for a fight, but he would help David out if he could.
The quick shots woke up David and half the camp, with Mike and Tom not relating any news.
* * * *
Sunrise was incredible, as always, on top of the mountain pass.
“I’ll never get tired of this,” a groggy Mel told David before breakfast.
Having been up most of the night, Mel had made a couple of pots of coffee and brought them to the main camp in thermoses.
This morning the camp was bustling with the shots from yesterday and the secretly spread news of the bridge.
David was asked by several members what would happen, and his response was always the same. “We should all pray on it and make the final decision today. The good Lord will guide our hands and tell us what should be done.”
“Will He really talk to us?” asked Tammy. “God, I mean? I’ve never heard Him before.”
“I think He steers clear of coffee shops and trendy restaurants,” quipped Mel. “Seriously, though,” he added, “I watched my house burn to the ground and knew He was sitting right next to me, ready to point me in the direction of something much better,” grasping her hand lightly in his.
“I think I get it,” she responded. “We need to trust and not worry about understanding everything as it happens.”
“Exactly,” replied David. “The answers are there; it’s just hard to see them right away sometimes.”
“OK,” said Mel to David and the rest of the future demo group. “We have two choices that I can see.
“Number one, we cut the remaining five wires and hope nobody gets hit as they snap.
“Number two, we dynamite our side of the bridge. Yes, I have tools for both scenarios, before anyone asks.
“Either plan, if successful, will drop our end into the river and cut off bridge access for the foreseeable future. We can still get in and out now, even with the trailers, but so can anyone else if they really want to.”
“How exactly do you have dynamite, and where is it?” asked David, sounding concerned.
“When you demo land for twenty years, using dynamite on hand for the projects, it makes a man think about it when he decides to have an end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it house built in the woods.
“That’s how I have it, and it was at my house until the fire. Now it’s in an underground capsule of sorts a hundred yards out from our camp’s northern border. It’s probably the second choice, at best.
“My first choice is my portable bandsaw, starting from the outside cable on each side and working our way towards the center.
“Either way will be loud and draw unwanted attention, but both will likely get the job done.”
David called a group meeting early that afternoon and decided on a vote.
“Hands up for disabling the bridge?” he asked, with most raised.
“Hands up for keeping the bridge?” he asked, with only a few raised.
“All right, Mel. When do we do it?” asked David.
“Tonight,” he replied, “when everyone on the other side is asleep. We need all the surprise we can get.”
Mike and Lonnie were back watching the bridge after Mike got a nearly six-hour nap.
“There’s a man at the end of the bridge, waving a white flag,” Lonnie told Mike. “It looks like he wants to talk.”
Lonnie radioed David, and we all provided cover on our end for the soon-to-be meeting between the stranger and Mike, mid-bridge.
Lonnie was prepping a disinterested Mike about asking all the right questions.
Mike met the soldier halfway across the bridge, both unarmed, with rifles on both ends of the bridge.
“I’m Mike,” he began, without a handshake.
“I’m Soldier Number 459, and we need to take inventory of your property.”
“Inventory for what purpose?” asked a confident Mike.
“We’re a growing group, as I’m sure you have heard. We will add you to our group of loyal followers, and your provisions will belong to our leader to distribute as he pleases.”
“Why would we agree to that?” asked Mike, feeling anxious for some action.
“Everyone does, once they make the wise decision to join. Others don’t fare so well.”
“Is that so?” asked Mike, now clearly annoyed. “I heard a couple of shots last night over your way,” he added. “What was that about? Maybe some pranksters infiltrating your kindergarten security? They didn’t mess with your tents, did they?”
The soldier was fuming, as his face turned red. He looked over his shoulder, back towards his men.
“You need their help?” asked Mike. “Maybe you’re man enough to settle this right here. The first one over the bridge is the loser. What do you say, Soldier Number 45?”
“It’s Soldier 459!” he spat back.
Mike was anxious, being cooped up for a few days. A good fight might just settle him down, or maybe even a swim in the cool river below, although he doubted that scenario.
“My job is to purify the wicked,” said the soldier. “Would that be you, Mike?” he asked.
“I’m pretty sure that’s both of us,” Mike replied, shoving Soldier 459 to gauge a response.
The man swung wildly towards Mike, getting a grin out of him. Mike landed a well-placed jab on the soldier’s chin, knocking him back.
“Have you ever been to Brooklyn?” asked Mike, as he landed a punch to the gut, buckling him over.
“There is a lean and mean fighter who goes by the name The Great Bambino,” Mike continued. “He taught me to fight, and do you know why?”
Dodging multiple punches, Mike occasionally let one land, just to feel something…anything.
“I learned to fight so I could protect women and children, like we have over in our group,” he continued, picking his shots. Mike was careful not to knock the pseudo soldier out but wanted a slow beat-down in front of his men.
“I feel like my job, my only job, is to look out for them all,” Mike added. “Your job, I assume, is to gather people and supplies for your boss, so you have a chance to make employee of the month. Is that about right?”
“We all share the same vision,” the soldier replied, now spitting out blood onto the bridge floor, trying to take Mike in a double-leg takedown. Mike instinctively reacted with a sprawl and cross-face maneuver he had learned at the boxer’s gym, although it was a classic young wrestler’s move.
“Bullshit,” said Mike abruptly. “I heard your leader on the radio, and he’s a complete nut job. I met another guy like him a while back, named Ronna, and he was exactly the same.”
“How do you know Ronna?” asked the soldier, now trying to pick his shots carefully.
“Ha! Now that’s funny,” replied Mike. “Now it makes more sense; I’m guessing he is your boss too?”
“Only recently, and I think we’re done here,” the soldier replied, lunging towards Mike’s legs without a sprawl from an always-ready Mike.
The soldier lifted his opponent onto the side rail. Mike could have ended it with one
well-placed punch to the chin but chose the other path.
“Let’s make this interesting,” said Mike putting his arms under the soldier’s and locking his hands behind his back.
Leaning back, Mike took them both backwards over the bridge, falling the nearly 30 feet into the rushing river. Men on both sides of the river thought Mike was crazy for the stunt.
As they fell, Mike let go of the man, wanting to fend only for himself. Mike could swim and had paid for lessons for him and his twin brother, Arthur, when they were teenagers. The soldier, apparently, could not. He went under immediately after impact and never resurfaced.
Mike climbed the steep terrain back up to his side without a word.
“What was all that about?” asked Lonnie, as he reached out his hand and helped Mike up the last few feet of the dirt embankment.
“The good news is that I learned to swim when I was young,” replied Mike, “and the bad news is we need to blow the bridge as soon as possible.”
David, standing near as witness, agreed.
“Mel, let’s get this bridge down. There’s no point in waiting for the cover of darkness anymore.”
“Let’s give the bandsaw a try,” said Mel, heading back towards his house.
Loading the saw onto a small trailer pulled by a four-wheeler, he made it back to the bridge site in 30 minutes.
“We will cut outside cables first,” announced Mel. “And please, everyone steer clear. If you are hit by one of these cables as they snap, you are likely headed up to the Pearly Gates before the rest of us,” he called out.
“If that doesn’t drop it, then we dynamite the rest.”
Mel went to work on the bridge, with Mike, Lonnie and Steve on guard.
Walking with my old friend David, we discussed the future of our groups.
His concern for the marching locusts from Topeka dominated the conversation, as it would likely affect us both.
“I’m guessing the group is large and adding members by the dozens every day,” I said. “The good news is that they will most likely take the path of least resistance, following major highways and not veering too far off in any direction.
“That being said, they also have to feed everyone, and that takes adding any provisions they can get along the journey. My hope is that they will stop at the bridge, assuming we can get it down on our side.
“Should they make it over Raton Pass as a group, they will plow a hole through the center of Trinidad, Pueblo, and maybe even Colorado Springs and Denver. They could essentially be the rabbit for our group.”
“What do you mean by rabbit?” asked David.
“Well, my father used to tell me on long drives in open country to find a ‘rabbit,’ or another motorist, going faster than the speed limit. Let them get ahead about a hundred yards, and they will typically draw the ticket, giving you ample time to slow down.
“They will essentially be our rabbits, clearing a path straight through any barricades or obstacles that would otherwise take us zigzagging around each city and town on backroads.”
“That makes sense,” said David, “as long as they don’t spot you, but they are also walking and probably not too fast.”
“Yes, that’s true,” I replied. “It’s tricky for sure.”
Jim and Mark motioned for us to come over.
“Sorry, buddy,” Jim told me. “They’re headed to Fort Collins. The camp is going to be headquartered at a place called Horsetooth Lake. Have you heard of it?”
“Yes, I know the area well,” I told him, with a sigh. “It happens to be only about 12 miles from Saddle Ranch.”
“I also have good news on that account,” interjected Jim.
“We did get hold of Saddle Ranch, and someone is getting word to your parents, Lance. They should be on the line in the next hour.”
“That’s great news!” I told him. “Good job, guys.”
Continuing to walk with David, we soberly discussed likely scenarios for both groups.
“Do you think either of our groups will ever be at peace?” asked David.
“I do,” I responded, “but never like before. We all had it good in the old-world. Our biggest decision of the day was deciding where to eat out for lunch.
“The violence and uncertainty we see around us now were across the globe, in someone else’s neighborhood. To them, it was normal and just something to deal with as a part of existing on this planet.
“Now we are in the same boat, and our normal will always be different than it was before. We are miles ahead of most other people in our great country, and we can make a good life for our families and all in our groups.”
“That makes sense,” replied David. “If I’m honest, besides losing my dad, of course, I have a better life now than I did before the lights went out.”
“So do I, my friend. So do I,” I responded.
“I know we are on different paths right now, but if we had teamed up, it would have been fun,” added David.
“Let’s check on the bridge progress,” I said, heading back that way.
* * * *
“It’s slow work,” said Lonnie, “but Mel has two cables cut, and there’s no sign of trouble on the other side that we can see.”
“Snap!” came the sound from our left.
“Make that three cables cut,” added Lonnie, as the bridge leaned further down, creaking under the remaining strained wires.
“Two more to go,” announced Lonnie, hearing the first shot.
“Crack!” followed by two more came from just the other side of the bridge, with the first bullet ricocheting off a large Douglas fir tree just above Mel’s head.
“Get low,” called Lonnie, “and hold fire.” We waited for more shots, but after five minutes none came.
“OK. Back up on the cables, Mel,” called out Lonnie, half-joking.
“Oh, hell no,” replied Mel, shaking his head. “I’m not getting shot today. We need a new plan.”
David and I cautiously made our way to Lonnie and the guys, crawling on our hands and knees.
“What do we have?” David asked a shaking Mel.
“We…have…Plan B,” is all he could get out.
We all backed away from the bridge, with Lonnie, Steve and Mike keeping an eye out from their vantage point in the trees.
“It’s down enough so no vehicles can cross,” I said to David.
“Yeah, but it’s the foot traffic I’m worried about,” he replied.
“You have to let me blow it, David,” said Mel. “There’s no other choice now.”
“Can you do it without getting any of us killed?”
“I think so,” replied a relieved and excited Mel. “You guys provide the cover, and I’ll get it rigged. If it goes bad on our end, I’ll be the first to know.”
Twenty minutes later, Mel returned with a small metal box, asking for everyone to stay clear.
A distraught Tammy begged David to stop Mel from setting the charge.
“He’s the best one to pull it off,” David said, trying to calm her. “We can’t have a hundred of the crazy Topeka guy’s soldiers coming across our bridge. We just have too much to lose,” he added, waving his arm towards both groups of men, women and children behind them.
Joy, Nancy, Tina and Lucy had everyone inside Beatrice’s house, and even Sheila made a now-rare appearance, playing Legos with Hudson and Jax.
“I’ve got a steel plate half an inch thick that should shield you, Mel, as you set the explosives,” said David.
“You’re just now telling me about this?” asked Mel, sounding annoyed.
“It wouldn’t have helped much with you cutting the bridge cables, and it’s heavy as hell, but we can rig it up to a furniture dolly, and it might just work. It’s about three foot by three foot, so maybe 185 pounds. I’m pretty sure it will stop any caliber of bullet and…”
“Just pretty sure, huh?” joked Mel.
“I think you should be more worried about the dynamite than anything else,”
added David.
“How old is that stuff, anyway?” I called to Mel, keeping a distance, as David was.
“Only a couple years,” he yelled back, “so I think we’re good.”
Rigging the steel plate to the dolly turned horizontal, Mel was able to move it slowly towards the bridge, staying right behind it.
Next World Series (Vol. 3): Families First [Second Wind] Page 5