by Nathan Jones
The crowd immediately dispersed, and without even bothering to find out what had happened the soldiers split the group to keep the people involved in the argument apart and sent them to walk on different sides of the median. They then followed along between the two groups for a ways to make sure they stayed separated.
Far from being resentful of this show of force everyone on the highway, even those who'd had weapons pointed at them, looked grateful at the imposition of order. Matt couldn't help but wonder if the highway was actually the safest place in Utah Valley in spite of the endless throng of refugees. He doubted either FETF or law enforcement were keeping anything near this sort of presence in the cities themselves. They realistically couldn't, not with all the rioting and with fires burning unchecked.
At least he assumed there were fires. The horizon ahead was so hazy that Matt would've thought they were clouds if the sky wasn't perfectly clear, but he knew that wasn't it. The haze had to be from smoke, and it was coming from the direction of the sister cities of Provo and Orem. There was a lot of it, too.
The presence of raging fires in the cities didn't surprise him at all, considering what he'd seen before leaving a week ago. It might've been tempting to believe everything was still calm while they'd been hiking through the houses of Spanish Fork before hitting the roadblock, where there hadn't been much sign of the violence and chaos that raged in more populated areas farther north.
But even there Matt had still noticed a few smashed windows and doors gaping open as if the houses had been swiftly abandoned or looters had broken in and left them like that. He'd even seen a few front lawns with possessions smashed and scattered across the grass, like they'd been tossed outside through doors and windows for the sheer joy of it.
His guess that he was looking at smoke from numerous fires was confirmed a few hours later as the sun went down, when he saw the haze ahead start to glow from beneath. Around that time they reached a point where I-15 passed right next to Utah Lake, and Trev guided them off the highway to refill their water bottles using his fancy purifier. He also made sure they both drank to bursting before continuing on.
The lake water looked nasty and Matt had strong doubts about it, but Trev's purifier was a quality one and seemed to do the job. By the time the water had been run through it seemed okay, aside from a stronger than usual mineral taste. Still, Matt let his friend drink first since it had been his bright idea.
Although the purifier worked pretty fast it still consumed a lot of time filling so many containers, and while he waited Matt watched the glow beneath the clouds hanging over the valley ahead go from a slight orange to a dark, livid red. It looked as if entire cities were burning, the glow spreading everywhere.
Trev finished filling the bottles and they continued on, doing their best to ignore the first pangs of hunger. While they walked the Interstate in the deepening twilight Matt noticed that all the buildings in sight hadn't been as fortunate as the ones down in Spanish Fork. Every window he saw was smashed, every door destroyed or removed and the doorways gaping open. Walls had been graffitied with obscenities, some directed at just about every demographic that could possibly be blamed for the Gulf refineries attack but the overwhelming majority at the government itself for dropping the ball. FETF especially seemed to have drawn the brunt of the tag artists' fury, in spite of the fact that they were here imposing order and giving aid.
And those were the better off buildings. Some were no more than burned shells, and the farther north they went the more fire damage they saw. Until finally they passed a residential area that had completely gone up in the flames, even the lawns turned to ash and playgrounds reduced to twisted and melted wrecks.
It wasn't much longer before full dark made further travel too difficult to continue, much to Matt's relief. They were both exhausted, in spirit as well as in body. And yet in spite of the difficulty the flow of refugees flooding the road still continued south, their steps lit by the livid red glow of fires on the horizon. Neither Matt nor his friend had said a word in hours, not since commenting on the devastation when they first began seeing signs of it, and at some point they both decided to stop at once.
Still without a word being said Trev led the way to the right side of I-15 and across the strip of barren land to the fence running alongside it. Even after tossing their packs over to lighten themselves both had trouble climbing the fence, and Matt didn't drop down on the other side so much as roll over the top and fall, barely managing to keep from injuring himself as he landed. Trev dropped down beside him with a loud grunt, and together they picked up their packs and made their way to the dense thicket of scrub oak that had drawn Trev here.
With a bit of poking Matt found a space inside the thicket big enough for them to lie down in, and they crawled their way inside and pulled out their sleeping bags, not even bothering with their tents. Together they lay side by side, staring at the dull red glow filtering through the branches above and around them.
“Wake me up if this place catches fire,” Matt said as his eyelids drooped shut. His friend snorted, either in amusement or irritation, and not too long after that he fell asleep.
Chapter Twelve
Urban War Zone
The tap water the Larsons had managed to store after the power went out had long since been used up, which meant a trip to the town spring was necessary at least once a day.
Sam always volunteered since it took two people to carry enough water and Matt's parents were so busy it was hard for them to find time to both get away. She did her best to stay busy throughout the day, too, although hard as she tried she never quite felt like she was doing enough to make up for the incredible kindness the family had shown her.
This time she was going with Matt's mom while his dad Ed worked a morning shift at Roadblock 3, the one leading southeast before connecting with 6 and therefore the least likely to see the approach of refugees. Although some still came regularly enough that the roadblock had to stay manned. Ed had felt like he needed to take over for his son at the roadblocks while Matt went after April's family, so that's where he spent at least one shift a day.
Turner had put a lot more people on duty protecting the town since the refugees first arrived, to the point where there were no longer enough volunteers for all the different patrols and to man the roadblocks. He'd even finally allowed Sam to begin taking shifts, armed with a can of bear spray Matt had given her before he left. Her first one was tomorrow morning, and in spite of Ed's grumbling about the job, and Matt's similar complaints before he'd left, she was actually looking forward to it. A lot more than she was to waiting for her turn to draw water, that was for sure.
The town spring, a rarity in any town let alone one so close to the desert wastelands a hundred miles or less in any direction to the east, west, or south, was situated at the north end of town a stone's throw from Roadblock 1. That was ideal for everyone involved since it allowed the refugees to come and get water where Officer Turner could keep an eye on them, without them needing to enter the town far enough that they might potentially cause problems. From what Sam had seen the spring flowed constantly with a gush about twice as strong as a garden hose, beginning a tiny stream that made its way join the stream flowing down from Aspen Hill Canyon at the southeastern edge of town. Both formed a a small pond there where animals could be watered and irrigation water drawn before continuing on southwards.
At the moment a group of ten or so refugee women escorted by a couple wary, angry looking men were at the spring filling everything from small plastic water bottles to buckets from the pure, cool water which had been captured from its flow directly from the ground and diverted into a pipe sticking out of a concrete block at about waist height. There were also four 5-gallon jugs the men had already filled and were ready to tote back to their camp. Sam joined Mrs. Larson in waiting a cautious distance away from the group for their turn to fill their own empty 5-gallon jugs.
Or she supposed she should start thinking of Matt's mom as M
ona, since the kindly older woman kept insisting. Just as she'd insisted on warmly welcoming Sam, a complete stranger, into her home and making sure she was comfortable. Sam knew generosity from the poor neighborhood where she'd grown up in New York City, but there it had always been a sort of squinty, suspicious generosity that suggested wary eyes to go with open hands.
Mona had offered something different, an open heart, and with all the chaos in the world Sam wasn't quite sure how she could adequately show her gratitude for such kindness. Aside from offering to help out however she could and working at it as hard as she had the energy for. And carrying two 40lb jugs with the help of an improvised strap around her shoulders definitely counted as hard work.
That train of thought reminded Sam of the other guest in the Larson household, probably still asleep at this time of day or at least pretending to be to avoid work, and she felt her good mood sour. Watching the refugees collect their water while thinking of the Larson's guest who'd recently been one of them made her see their work in a less pleasant light.
Officer Turner was keeping tabs on the refugee camp, and from what she'd heard from Ed things weren't so good there. Even though refugees kept coming and going the camp grew larger and larger, some staying in the hopes that they'd eventually be let in, others too tired to keep on southwards in the slim chance that they'd find a town to take them in. The camp had now grown to over three hundred refugees even though only half of the original group was still around, and from the sounds of it the best people among that group had moved on. Including Kendall and his family and people like them, which left behind the more lazy and contentious refugees.
If what Ed said was true then Mandy fit right in with the people out in the camp. Sam tried to be generous, she really did, but it was getting harder and harder.
“Poor dears,” Mona said, eyes also on the refugees. It was obvious her thoughts hadn't taken the ungenerous turn Sam's had. “It really is awful, isn't it? There aren't many roads around here that don't lead to waterless wastelands. They just don't have anywhere to go from here unless they want to make a brutal hike south to I-70, but what does that get them aside from running into the refugees that are sure to be coming from Denver?”
The older woman shook her head. “Unless they want to head south from Price on Highway 10 to Huntington, then follow 31 west into the Manti-La Sal National Forest. But they don't want to be up in the mountains at this time of year, and beyond that in Sanpete county they'll probably find the same problems as here in Carbon. Their best bet would be to head back north the way they came and keep going past the cities and on into Idaho, maybe turn east or west up there where there's more water. But with the riots that's not really a solution either, is it?”
It sounded like Mona was seriously trying to think of some solution for the refugees, but Sam had no answer to give. She didn't really know the area around here that well, and at the moment she could only be grateful that thanks to Matt she wasn't in the same situation those weary, desolate women were.
No response seemed needed since Mona had plenty to say. “Ed calls them the Golden Horde, a term he got from those survivalist cousins. He's convinced there's going to be more than these few hundred before winter comes, lots more.” The older woman squinted north as if she could see the desperate chaos of the cities to the north. “I think he's probably right for once.”
“They'll have to see there's nothing for them here and move on,” Sam offered. “We'll have a hard enough time supporting ourselves so we'll have nothing to give them, and once Officer Turner turns them back they'll be on their way again.”
“I suppose,” Mona said doubtfully. “And facing the same problem of where to go that they had in the first place.”
Sam shook her head, still with no answer. “I just hope they don't turn violent like they are up north. We'd have trouble defending ourselves from just these few hundred refugees, and if they're joined by thousands more they might-”
She cut off as Mona made an alarmed noise and bustled towards the refugee women, dropping her jugs where she'd been standing. Somewhat hesitant, Sam dropped her own jugs and trailed a few steps behind the older woman.
The ten women had finished getting water and were starting back towards camp, but one of them had fallen behind a bit. She was younger, probably close to Sam's age, and limping. But what Mona must have noticed was that her face was deeply bruised.
“Oh you poor dear!” the older woman said, intercepting the girl and clucking at her face in sympathy. “What happened to you? Who did this?”
The other refugees all stopped at the intrusion, which obviously wasn't welcome: the two men set down their jugs and started forward. “Never mind her,” the older man snapped. “It's none of your business.”
Mona faced down the two men with admirable fearlessness, although Sam couldn't help but notice that she did glance over at the roadblock where Officer Turner and a few other armed men waited. “You think it's not my business when I see signs of a woman being beaten?” she demanded. “Was it you?”
The man's face reddened dangerously, but before he could responded the bruised girl herself spoke up, voice soft but fierce. “What do you care, anyway?”
Taken aback, Mona turned away from the two men to look at her. “What do you mean? I can't sit by and watch you get treated like this.” She took the girl's arm gently but firmly. “Come on, Officer Turner is just over there. You can tell him what happened and-”
“And what, get sent back to the camp as a snitch and see how Razor thanks me for it?” the girl demanded, snatching her arm back and glaring under her bruises. “You townies turn us away and give us nothing besides water we have to carry ourselves, but suddenly you start caring enough to stick your nose into our business when one of us gets smacked around? How about my dad who got clobbered in the head when he tried to protect us from burglars before we came south? Have you ever sat helplessly beside a loved one, knowing there's nothing you could do as you watch him die?”
Mona turned a helpless look to Sam, as if for some support, but Sam didn't know what she could say. “We do what we can,” she suggested feebly.
The girl spat on Mona's shirt. “That's what you do,” she shot back. “I'm better off trusting to my arrangement than hoping for whatever generosity you've got to give.” She juggled her bottles into a more comfortable grip in her arms and stalked away, still limping painfully but seeming too angry to acknowledge it. Behind her the other refugees quickly followed, most turning dark looks back at them as they went.
Sam wasn't sure what sort of arrangement the girl had found, but just thinking about it was enough to make her feel sick.
She jumped slightly when Mona turned and rested a hand on her arm. “We knew it was going to be hard to turn them away and they'd probably hate us for it,” she said sorrowfully. The older woman's eyes reflected tears in the morning sunlight. “I just wish there was something we could do.”
Instinctively, Sam pulled Mona into a comforting hug. “We didn't make the problems in the world,” she answered fiercely, “we've just got to deal with them the best we can. There's no guilt in what we can't do.”
Mona hugged her back tightly. “I suppose you're right,” she whispered, half a sob in her voice. “But I'm afraid I'll be seeing that poor girl's face whenever I think of the people in that camp.” She abruptly straightened and pulled away, turning to retrieve the water jugs she'd dropped to chase after the refugee. As she started for the spring she spoke over her shoulder. “If nothing else it puts a face to them, and that pity might inspire us to ways we can help them we might not otherwise have thought of.”
Sam hurried to bring her own jugs over to be filled, but she felt a bit doubtful in spite of how much this awful scene had shaken her. Pity was all well and good, but after what Mandy had confided to her about Trev last night before bedtime, combined with the roundabout admission from the bruised girl, she had to wonder if they might have to worry about more than just violence from the refugees
.
There were other things starving, desperate women turned to besides theft. She supposed whatever private mutual agreements people made were none of her business, but the thought still left an unsettled feeling in her gut.
She wished the refugees would just leave. All of them, including Mandy. Sam had done her best to be kind to the Larsons' newest guest and get along, but the woman was lazy and whiny and had a real nasty streak she hid from everyone else. For now at least.
Mandy had as much as told Sam that she wasn't happy about how Trev had made her all sorts of promises and then dumped her off to be a burden on complete strangers while he ran off to save someone else. She claimed she was sick of being treated like an outsider, and if Trev didn't come home soon to take care of her she was going to spread around the deal she'd made with him that she'd already filled her end of. And she'd make sure everyone knew who the bad guy was in the story.
If the blond woman's claims were true Sam almost didn't pity the man the imminent destruction of his good name, Matt's friend or not. Maybe he could leave along with Mandy and the refugees, and good riddance.
As long as he brought Matt home first.
Once they'd filled their water jugs they left them waiting at the spring so Matt's mom could make her way over to the roadblock to talk to Officer Turner. Sam came along too in case she needed to add any details or confirm the story.
After the older woman had told the policeman what she'd seen and what she feared was happening to the bruised woman Turner nodded grimly. “I can't say I'm surprised. We've had refugees coming by to report crimes of theft and assault in the camp, even hints of racketeering. It's not the first time I've heard about this Razor she mentioned. But we can't do much about the situation but advise them to leave the camp and try to find a safer place.”