Chain Breakers (Nuclear Winter Book 3)

by Nathan Jones

  Trev had to admit that cut boards and pressed wood would be a huge quality of life improvement if Robert could get a sawmill off the ground, but it seemed like something far in the future. Especially when facing the prospect of building an entire town from scratch.

  Matt's thoughts seemed to be going in a similar direction: after a while his friend asked whether Robert had thought of contingencies for problems the new town couldn't handle, with new Aspen Hill too far away to send help.

  The carpenter gave the Mayor a crooked grin at the question. “We're not exactly moving across the country. We're within a day's walk easy, and once Canada starts sending us that fuel and we get a few more cars going that'll drop to a half hour or less. I expect there'll be lots of visiting and commerce between our two locations. Strong ties. Like it should be.”

  “Absolutely,” Matt agreed. “But don't discount a day's walk, or how quickly you'll consume fuel even on short drives. It's nice to receive help when you need it, but you should be ready to fend for yourselves in emergencies.”

  “We will be,” the carpenter assured him. “And if all else fails we can contact the military.” He took a hand from the wheel to scratch the back of his head. “Or I guess the new government in a few weeks, if the elections go well and our new elected officials get things up and running quickly.”

  Trev nodded along with the others. The elections were scheduled to take place on June 1st, less than half a month away, and they were the big topic on everyone's mind. Especially the Presidential election, with the race between retired General Ian Lassiter and, as many people joked, a bunch of other candidates whose names they couldn't remember.

  The race certainly seemed to be one-sided at the moment, although Trev was doing his best to learn about all the available options before he threw in his vote. Deb was leaning towards Lassiter for the man's unsurprisingly strong stance on defending against slaver raids and taking the fight to the CCZ, as well as his proposed aid and compensation to the veterans of the conflict.

  Trev certainly supported those positions, but he thought the retired General's plans for rebuilding the country and getting refugees resettled from the camps and into their own communities so they could begin living their lives were a bit vague and unsatisfactory.

  On that subject . . . they'd entered the canyon and were approaching the cliff they'd demolished to take out the road during the blockhead invasion. It had been impassible ever since, but was now once again open for vehicles thanks to the town's efforts.

  Staying committed to his policy of giving employment rather than charity, with the town's new store of food Matt had put hungry townspeople to work clearing and repairing the road enough for vehicles to pass. Among other more important tasks, of course.

  Food and effort-wise it had been a costly endeavor, but in the long run it would be worthwhile. Not only for the obvious reason, since it meant Robert and his people would have an easier time staying connected to new Aspen Hill, but because it could become a trade route that would bring business to the town.

  A big step up from the town being near the end of a dead end road, on the far side of the only place in the area people were interested in visiting, the refugee camp. Matt had expressed his confidence that the investment would pay off, and Trev had to agree. Either way, for the short term it meant that some of the townspeople who needed help most had jobs and were eating.

  Unfortunately the largesse couldn't last, and Aspen Hill desperately needed the next trading convoy heading down to Mexico to have their truck along with it. And that wasn't even counting the town's outstanding debts, which were the main topic of discussion in most of the meetings between town leaders that Trev was obligated to attend.

  Those debts included back pay to defenders (which Trev definitely supported), doctors, and other professionals, and repaying loans from people who'd provided desperately needed supplies or labor at an opportune time, trusting that eventually they'd be reimbursed (which Trev also definitely supported).

  Within another ten minutes of driving Robert had them out of the canyon, to the valley beyond that actually looked like spring had found its way there, with only rare scattered patches of snow. Robert took the paved road that followed along the canyon stream, skirting the ruins of the old town, to the spot south of it where he'd planned his new town.

  The location was near where most of the townspeople had planted their gardens, which was easily recognizable as a blackened expanse; when the invading Gold Bloc had moved in to occupy the town the fleeing townspeople had stripped the gardens of anything edible, then Lewis and the defenders had burned what remained to make sure the blockhead soldiers didn't get any use out of them.

  The sight of the charred ground with only a few patches of green pushing up in its midst saddened Trev a bit. He and Lewis had planted their own garden, with heirloom seeds his cousin had purchased long before the Gulf burned and carefully stored away. It should've been the start to prosperity for their family, the start to stabilizing after everything that had happened and beginning their new lives.

  Instead they'd been forced to leave it all behind to be destroyed. The garden, the buried shelter he'd helped his cousin build that had been a comfortable home for the shelter group, and ultimately the entire town.

  They'd worked so hard to build new Aspen Hill, but hadn't even got back to where they'd been before the blockheads drove them out of their old town. And now Robert and his people wanted to make yet another start.

  Trev hoped it worked out well for them, but just the thought of the toil involved made him tired.

  The men who'd gone ahead yesterday were waiting for them, already with a cleared spot to unload the truck and the beginnings of a camp, including a latrine ditch dug far away from the stream with a couple outhouse tents set up across it.

  Trev and his friends gratefully piled out of the truck, and the group got to work unloading it. That didn't take long at all, since as Trev had noticed on multiple occasions unloading always went faster than loading. They finished in less than a half hour, and Robert stayed behind to direct the work while Lewis, Trev, and Matt drove back to town for the next load.

  They passed Robert's group of settlers coming on foot on the way back, who hadn't seemed to have got far in the hour and a half they'd been walking. Not compared to the speed of the truck that is, even on these poor mountain roads. Trev waved to Deb as they drove by, and his wife wobbled alarmingly on her bike as she waved back.

  In about ten minutes they were back in new Aspen Hill, where willing townspeople helped them fill the truck for the next trip. They spent the next few hours driving back and forth, loading and unloading. Then once they'd unloaded the last of the new town's materials they stuck around for another few hours to help with digging and hauling logs until the footsore settlers arrived.

  Finally the small herd of animals for the new town came pouring out of the mouth of the canyon, hurried along by Hailey, Deb, and Jim. The rest of the group on foot wasn't far behind.

  For the next hour as the settlers walked the final two or so miles, Trev and the others got busy finishing up the temporary camp so Robert's people would have a place to sleep. They also built a hasty pen for the livestock that arrived ahead of the group.

  Once everyone had made and started settling in Matt shared out more of the town's food so everyone could have an early dinner, then the new Aspen Hill townspeople who'd made the trek with the settlers to help out all piled into the truck to drive home.

  Trev took a moment to say goodbye to Robert and Hailey before joining them. “You guys will be missed,” he said, shaking their hands.

  Hailey smiled wryly. “Us, or the town's only cheesemaker and carpenter?”

  “Well there is that,” Trev agreed. “Although you'll be missed more as friends.”

  Robert nodded solemnly. “Give Jim a few years and you might not have to look far for a replacement carpenter . . . he's got plenty of talent. And if he needs a mentor he knows where to find me.”
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  “I wouldn't be surprised if he did come around looking for an apprenticeship,” Trev said. Especially if it keeps him away from Linda. He looked around at the people settling into their (hopefully) temporary camp, the canyon stream already getting use for washing and drawing water. “Don't be a stranger. You're always welcome in Aspen Hill.”

  “Same.” Robert's grin widened as he gestured at his people and their new home. “You're always welcome in Aspen Hill.”

  Right. Trev had his doubts about whether the two groups could stay one town, given the distance, even if Robert's people were insisting on keeping Matt as their Mayor. At least with vehicles that distance would be easier to travel, which was a good thing since Matt wanted Trev to oversee setting up defenses for the fledgling town.

  Speaking of which, he should probably get going on that within the next few days, as well as organizing the handful of defenders who'd come with Robert into their own force. “Let's get to work making it a thing, then,” he said, clapping the carpenter on the shoulder.

  “Yep.” Robert's smile slipped slightly. “I've got a lot of houses to build.”

  Hailey took her husband's hand. “But we've got lots of practice, and some ideas on how to do things better this time.”

  Trev gave the couple a final wave as they headed into their camp, then jumped up into the back of the truck with Deb and Jim, their bikes taking up their foot space. Even though there was strictly speaking enough space for everyone on the benches, his wife still somehow wound up on his lap.

  “Hi,” he said, kissing her softly as she settled back against him. “How you feeling?”

  “Tired,” she admitted. “But it was nice to get a bit of light exercise. The ride was mostly downhill so I spent a lot of the time braking to stay with the group.” She made a face. “I'm glad we have a vehicle for the return trip, though.”

  “You've got that right,” Jim agreed.

  “I'm glad we've got comfortable homes and beds waiting for us when we get there,” Trev said, resting his chin on Deb's shoulder. “I don't envy those people the task of building another new town from scratch.”

  His wife nodded emphatically. “Me either. There's always room for improvement, but for the moment our little room is great.”

  Jim looked thoughtful. “I dunno. Robert seemed excited at the idea of jumping into it, and there were plenty of others in the group looking forward to the task ahead. I guess there are some people who just like the idea of carving out a new home, one better than what they left behind.”

  “Maybe.” Trev nuzzled Deb's windblown brown hair and held her a bit closer. “I'd prefer to better the place I've got so I don't need to leave it.” His wife gave a contented sigh in agreement.

  The truck's engine rumbled to life, and with a lurch they started on their way home.

  Chapter One

  Lost Home

  It was pathetically easy to slip across the CCZ border.

  PFC Pete Childress supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. Once the combined US and Canadian forces had driven the blockheads out of the eastern States and across the Mississippi, the higher ups had seemed content to focus on holding that border and repelling the slaver raids the enemy kept sending into Canada.

  There'd been barely a handful of real battles along that major river, and no attempts to cross it in force, so of course the CCZ got lazy and stopped worrying about being attacked, let alone raided. Aside from token forces at all the remaining intact bridges across the Mississippi the blockheads sat back and laughed at Canada and the US, sending their squads of slavers across the border to loot, murder, and rape their way through defenseless towns at their leisure, bringing young and healthy prisoners back as slaves awaiting a miserable life in captivity.

  So when the combined force, comprising of the US Army 103rd Company and the Canadian Army 51st Company, brought five ferries down to the Mississippi, out in the middle of nowhere in southern Illinois, there wasn't a sign of any enemy presence to be seen for miles.

  They crossed into southern Missouri with zero difficulty, taking five vehicles at a time across the water with what felt like agonizing slowness to Pete, all holding their breath against the unspoken fear of discovery as their advance units spread out on the other side of the river to scout the area and give warning of the approach of any enemies, and intercept and eliminate them if possible.

  Which turned out to be unnecessary. Both companies crossed without issue, leaving a squad each to guard the ferries on the eastern bank. In the event the ferries were discovered by a blockhead patrol they'd simply be loaded up and moved to a fallback location, where the returning companies could safely regroup at the river and cross back into the newly claimed Canadian territory without the risk of discovery. Much easier and simpler than trying to hold a beachhead with only a raiding force, and anyway a pitched battle wasn't their mission.

  Soon the convoy was on its way, taking small, unused roads under the guidance of their advance scouts, towards what was their mission. Specifically, to locate and attack the Lost Home slave camp.

  Pete wasn't sure whether the Chinese in charge of running that camp had a twisted sense of humor, or if the name was a reminder of the nuked and irradiated wasteland China had become. A way to erase whatever guilt they might feel about taking innocent people as slaves and condemning them to a life of hard labor and worse.

  Lost Home wasn't a secret by any stretch of the imagination. In fact many escaped slaves who'd made it back to Canada had spoken of the place and its lax security, most of which was intended to prevent slaves from escaping and not to ward off attack.

  Just like with the CCZ's borders, the blockheads weren't expecting turnabout to be fair play and had yet to seal up the many and varied vulnerabilities their defenses presented to raiding parties. The commanders of the US and Canadian Armed Forces meant to take advantage of that lapse while they could, hitting as hard and as fast with as many raids as possible to free all the slaves they could in these first few days, while surprise was on their side.

  They all knew that future raids would be more difficult and dangerous, and they wanted to make these ones count.

  Lost Home was a farming operation. It covered a sprawling stretch of fields that went on for miles in every direction, using slave labor to take over for the tasks that had previously been done by expensive farming equipment owned and managed by large companies. It was also where the blockhead border guards stationed in the area could come for rest and “recreation”, indulging in some of their vilest urges with defenseless slaves.

  At Command's best estimate the camp held 500 slaves and no more than 50 guards, who were regularly rotated out into slaver squads or border patrols. The goal of this mission was to hit it hard, free the slaves, execute any slavers who survived the fighting, take anything of value, and burn the crops to ash.

  This raid would strike a heavy blow against the CCZ, and combined with the dozens of other raids the coalition of US and Canadian forces had planned for the next few days should send a serious message to the blockheads.

  Personally Pete wished they'd started making attacks like this a long time ago. From the very beginning, preferably. He supposed if it took the CCZ attacking those convoys sent down to the trade summit in Mexico to stir the anthill, finally forcing the people in charge to actually do something about all the misery and suffering the blockheads were causing . . .

  Well, he intended to do everything he could to make the slaver scum regret that mistake. And keep regretting it until there weren't any more around to feel anything, if he had his way.

  At his side PFC Saunders abruptly broke the silence, either out of boredom or nervousness. “You hear about our boys in the Navy and Coast Guard back in the United States?”

  Pete gave him a blank look. “No, what about them?”

  His squad mate grinned. “They've made their way out to the Pacific in Washington and Oregon, found boats, and are planning to raid the CCZ along the coast of western Canada, maybe
even all the way up to Alaska.”

  Pete whistled. “Do they even know of any targets to hit up there?”

  “Doubt it. My guess is they're flying by the seat of their pants, relying on the fact that the blockheads won't be expecting an attack by sea. Long term they might even have a lot of success, assuming they don't get hit by a random storm and lose whatever fleet they've managed to scrape together.”

  “Yeah, if I were the enemy I wouldn't be expecting an attack from the ocean, either. Do our guys even have enough fuel to run whatever boat or boats they're taking up there?”

  Saunders leaned back casually, seeming a bit less tense while focusing on something besides the upcoming raid. “Nah, the US has got to still be dry, barely enough to send convoys down to Mexico. From the sounds of it they'll be using sailboats, maybe even rowing.”

  “On the ocean?” Pete asked in disbelief. “Even if they stay close to the coast that's insane!”

  Maybe it wasn't insane for the sailors who were on those boats, assuming they even knew how to handle sails, but to Pete it sure was. He didn't know much about sailing, but from the books and videos he'd seen, at least the ones that hadn't been going out of their way to romanticize the life, it sounded completely miserable: seasickness, scurvy, living packed close together with dozens of other people, storms, relentless sun and blinding glare, constant backbreaking, dangerous work to keep finicky sails catching wind, and probably a thousand other miseries he didn't even know enough about life at sea to guess at.

  The only reason he could think of for relying on that method of transportation back in the day was because there was literally no other way of getting around aside from much slower, even more arduous routes by land. Where that was even an option. If you wanted to travel the world, or work for someone who did, you either dreamed about it or sailed.

  Pete wasn't sure if he would've been up for being a sailor if he'd been born in those times, but right here and now there was no way he'd ever be crazy enough to get on a boat he barely knew how to operate and strike out into open waters.