Families First: A Post Apocalyptic Next-World Series Volume 4 Hard Roads

by Lance K Ewing

  At exactly 9:07 a.m., we left Raton Pass, New Mexico—once again headed for the unknown.

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  North of Raton Pass, New Mexico

  Lonnie again took the lead with his truck and trailer, and Mike brought up the rear.

  It was a good formation that got us here, and adding one truck and trailer to the middle of the caravan didn’t change much.

  The dirt road back to the Interstate was quite different from when we had come through the first time.

  I had heard from Adan about their drive in, including the fact that the guards we encountered blocking the entrance of Raton Pass were no longer there.

  “I’m sure the Baker group just plowed through them without any negotiation,” I told him.

  This road we were on now was open, with many of the trees and bushes scorched by the recent fire.

  The short afternoon rains, typical of this area in the spring and summer, put out the last remaining embers.

  We stopped briefly ten miles up, at the I-25 junction, to discuss the barricade we had already paid for passage through but many of us thought would not still be there.

  “Okay, everyone,” said Lonnie. “We’re headed north, and if we’re lucky our ‘rabbits,’ as Lance calls them, are racing ahead and drawing out the problems.”

  “I think this is more like the ‘running of the bulls,’” I said, referring to the yearly event in Pamplona, Spain, where usually six bulls run through crowded streets, with spectators testing their bravery and running alongside. In the end, anyone in their way would be injured or trampled without a second thought.

  * * * *

  With that, we headed slowly down the backside of Raton Pass.

  I was up on the trailer with Jake and Vlad and realized I had missed the cross-country travel.

  The scenery couldn’t be beat, and I was reasonably sure I would not be through here again.

  Lonnie, in the lead truck, was cautious not to go too fast. The Baker group had a few days on us and Ronna’s more than one day, but they would only be traveling as fast as the slowest walker.

  This part of the Interstate was clear of vehicles, but every few hundred yards there was a body on the road.

  “We’re going to have to weave a little here and there,” Lonnie called out on the radio. “Keep the formation slow and tight. The first town up ahead is Trinidad.”

  I wondered to which group the bodies belonged and realized it was probably both. Fall out of line and you’re done, I thought.

  Six miles later, at a steady 10 miles per hour, we hit the bottom of Raton Pass, with the only thing visible being the “Welcome to Colorful Colorado” road sign.

  “Trinidad—15 miles” read the next sign.

  “This going right up the Interstate makes me nervous,” said Jake.

  “I get it,” I responded. “We’re open and vulnerable. I’m hoping we can just squeeze through the opening before the window closes, like in those sci-fi movies where they slide under the electric door moments before it closes.”

  “Yeah, I remember those,” said Jake. “They always seem to make it at the very last second.”

  “That’s what makes it good; nobody wants to see someone only make it halfway through, unless maybe it’s a horror flick,” I responded.

  “You know, we could write our own movie script after this trip!” he added.

  “Eyes open!” called Lonnie on the radio. “Something’s different,” he announced without elaborating.

  I stood on my good leg, looking around the lead truck, expecting to see something big up ahead. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about until I saw the first one.

  “What do you see?” asked Vlad.

  “I see someone walking.”

  “So, we saw that before, just the same,” Vlad replied.

  “No. It’s different. There’s another one,” I pointed out, “and another.”

  I raised my binoculars to scan the horizon and saw a dozen more people walking, others sitting on the ground, and some lying on the side of the road.

  The only thing I didn’t see any more of was bodies every few hundred yards, like before.

  I took a deep breath and sighed as the reality of what was ahead sank in.

  “What is it?” asked Jake and Lonnie.

  I held up the radio and called to Lonnie to stop for a quick meeting.

  We gathered some of the adults. Mike came up, but left Jim on the back trailer as a guard.

  “Okay, everyone. I need all able adults over here,” called Lonnie, “and all children inside the vehicles. If you are with children, please turn off your radios.”

  “A few miles back, we were dodging bodies every few hundred yards,” Lonnie started. “Likely those who could not keep up with their captors and were shot. I don’t see any of those up the road, at least as far as I can see from here, but they are replaced with others alive and left behind. The captors are either saving bullets, or there is something else going on.”

  I was nodding affirmatively, waiting nervously for him to deliver the boom.

  “Do you want to take it from here, Lance?” he asked in a statement tone.

  I didn’t really want to, but it had to be addressed now and couldn’t wait.

  “Do you all remember when we started this journey? With the exception of our new travelers, of course. We spoke of doing the right thing whenever we could. We talked about fair trade and not taking advantage of others, even though we could. Do you all remember that?”

  “Yes,” came the nods and affirmations.

  I looked to Joy for encouragement for what I was about to say next.

  “As those from the very start know, our motto is what?”

  “Families First,” came back the reply in a quiet monotone.

  “No. No! That won’t do!” I said louder.

  “Now, one more time, what is our motto?”

  “Families First!” everyone yelled out together.

  I smiled at that, knowing our motto had kept us moving halfway across the country, still alive.

  I took a breath, and my tone was sober once again.

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty

  North of Raton Pass, New Mexico

  “These people we are passing on the road need help. Not just one or a few of them, but every single one that we pass on our way north desperately needs help,” I said to the group.

  “We, all of us here, have a mission and a goal for our families. Our quest is to get to Saddle Ranch together and as quickly as possible. We have enough supplies to do it, but not so much as to call ourselves humanitarians. Sure, we could help a few people, maybe even a dozen or more, before we would need to be concerned about our own well-being. But what about the rest? What about all the others who need help too? Where do we draw the line?”

  I was waiting for an answer but none came.

  I continued: “I propose we pick one person, and in exchange for information, we offer them enough food and water to last a few days. How does that sound, everyone?”

  I was getting nods from Lonnie, Jake and Vlad. I couldn’t read Mike and hoped he didn’t have plans to end their suffering animal-style.

  “Why can’t we help everybody we see just a little bit?” asked Lonnie’s wife.

  “Because a little bit doesn’t do it,” replied Nancy. “A little bit spread out over a lot of people does next to nothing to help them, but it depletes our supplies so greatly as to risk our own survival.”

  “I have an idea,” called out my young son Hudson, climbing up on the trailer.

  “You’re supposed to be in the car,” I told him.

  “Sorry, Daddy.”

  “How much did you hear?”

  “Everything, I guess, but I have a good idea to help the people,” Hudson said.

  “Let’s hear it,” called out a few of the adults.

  He started, but was drowned out by more children piling onto the trailer from bot
h sides.

  “Okay, Hudson, you’ve got an audience now,” I called out. Truthfully, I was happy for the break in the tension.

  “Remember Daddy, when you and Uncle Mike went to that FAMA Camp place to get Vlad?”

  “The FEMA Camp. Yes, son, I remember.”

  “Well, there’s food there, and water probably. Do you remember how to get there?” he asked me.

  “Yes, but we’re not headed there.”

  “I know, Daddy, but I want you to draw me a map,” he continued, holding out a piece of paper and a crayon.

  “I want a map to there from right here,” he said, pointing to the ground. I smiled as I saw where he was headed with this.

  I did as he asked and drew a basic map in about 30 seconds.

  “Everybody who’s lost will get a map to that FA…FE…how do you say it, Daddy?”

  “FEMA, and that is the best idea I’ve heard in a long time.”

  He smiled big. “It was Danny’s actually,” he said, putting his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “But he was too shy to tell you.”

  “You thought of this?” Jake asked his son.

  “Yes, Daddy. It just seemed like a good plan to help.”

  I was happy Hudson stepped up and knew that if it wasn’t for the burns on his face, Danny would have likely presented his idea himself.

  “Okay,” said Lonnie. “We’re not in a big hurry here to catch up to anybody.”

  “Kids, all of you copy this map,” said Joy, tearing paper into quarter sheets.

  “Let’s stop for about 30 minutes,” said Lonnie, “and get an early lunch. We can set a small amount of food and water aside and try to get someone to tell us what’s happening.”

  * * * *

  We headed back out. The kids had made 32 FEMA fliers.

  “Listen, everyone. We can’t stop, but we will drop those fliers off of the back trailer every mile or so if we see somebody,” said Joy.

  Jim was in charge of dropping them out of the end trailer. The kids were sad they couldn’t do it.

  Lonnie kept an eye out for the right person to talk with. He avoided walkers with more than one person, and he noticed they were starting to form small groups of two to five people.

  “That’s good,” he said to his wife, who was sitting in the cab next to him. “They have a much better chance out there by grouping up. I need to find a loner, though, who will talk to us.”

  Five minutes later, he spotted his guy. On the side of the highway was an older gentleman, maybe 75, walking slowly with a cane.

  Lonnie pulled us all over and called on me to talk with him.

  He was no more than 20 yards ahead of us as I called out to him. He did not respond and kept going.

  I ran up to him, slowing as I neared him, not wanting to startle him. “Sir, can I speak to you for a minute? Excuse me…sir?” I called louder.

  I was right upon him when I tapped him on the shoulder.

  He turned, instinctively swinging his cane and catching me in the left shoulder with a thud. “Hey,” I said, rubbing my shoulder as he raised his arm back for another swing.

  “Don’t touch me!” he yelled.

  “Okay, okay,” I said, putting my hands up. “I just want to talk to you.”

  “Bet you didn’t see that coming!” Hendrix yelled from the Bronco. Everyone was laughing.

  “Ha ha,” I called back. “That hurt, though.”

  “You what?” the man asked, cupping his right hand to his ear.

  “I said I just want to talk to you!” I yelled.

  “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” he responded.

  I noticed the deep cut above his left eye, with blood smeared across his face and the back of his hand.

  I called for Jake to send Nancy with her medical kit. “I’ve got a lady who can take a look at that cut,” I told him.

  “I ain’t got nothin’ to trade,” he said, and turned to walk away.

  “No, no, it’s free. Please, just wait a minute,” I told him.

  “Well, all right, I guess.”

  I made small talk as we waited for Nancy.

  “How did you end up all the way out here?” I asked.

  “Didn’t have no choice. Them fellas with their guns took over my farm on the other side of Raton back there. Said me and the misses have to walk, or they’ll shoot us.”

  “Sir,” I asked, “where’s your wife?”

  “She’s a waitin’ for me.”

  “Waiting where, sir?”

  “Not here, not on this earth.”

  “Are you going to go back…I mean, to the farm?”

  “Nope, they done burned down the main house and barn. I’m too damn old to start over now.”

  “So, where are you headed?” I asked.

  “I don’t rightly know. I’m just walking like the rest of them.”

  “Why didn’t the second group pick you up?” I pressed.

  “The one that come by a day after?”

  “Yes, that one.”

  “Well, they just went on by without a word. Only about a couple hundred of them, though,” the man replied.

  “Would you mind telling me about your journey over the past few days?” I asked, feeling like we were getting somewhere with our conversation now.

  “I reckon I could do that. Can you spare some water?”

  We got him some water, and more to take, as well as food.

  Nancy cleaned and glued his wound. “This should hold for now,” she told him.

  “Thank you for your generosity,” he said. “Now, what would you like to know?”

  I fired off odd questions without feeling intrusive. I loved helping people, and it’s why I became a Chiropractor in the last world. But plain and simple, this was a business transaction, just like any ethical one before the day.

  “The head guy was some kind of Colonel, I heard. Can’t remember the name, though.”

  “Was it Baker?” I asked.

  “That’s it! How did you know?”

  “I’ve just heard it is all. Okay, so why are you walking here? I’m surprised they didn’t shoot you.”

  “I don’t rightly know,” the man replied. “Up until yesterday, or maybe the day before that, they would just shoot anyone who couldn’t keep up. Then they just told us to catch up later and left us behind, with no food or water.”

  “How many of you? How many do you think are just wandering around like you?” I asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Probably more now, since they stopped shooting folks.”

  “What can you tell me about the Baker guy?” I asked.

  “Well, let me see. I only spent a few days with the outfit altogether, but from what I saw he stays pretty well protected—got about 15, maybe 20, men around him all the time with guns. He’s got some kind of harem, with all these women he keeps for himself… Must be at least ten of those.”

  “Have you heard anything about one of them having a son she lost?” I asked.

  “Well, I reckon,” he said, rubbing his chin. “There is one Spanish gal said her son was back up on the Pass, and she wanted him back.”

  “On Raton Pass?” I asked.

  “Yes, that’s the one we just came over, son. Poor lady cries out for him day and night.”

  “What’s his name?” I asked.

  “I don’t recall. Some Mexican name…maybe Pablo, Julio, Juan.”

  “Javi…I mean Javier. Is that it?”

  “That’s the one! I knew it started with a J,” he responded.

  I made a note not to bring that up to Mike, as I didn’t need any more trouble with these guys.

  “Anyway,” the man continued, “the main guy gives two speeches a day. One in the morning and one at night and makes us pledge loyalty to him, like he’s some kind of god.”

  “How many people are there altogether?”

  “Hundreds, maybe a thousand or more. For every one that falls behind, the scouts add five more new ones.”

  “How are they
feeding them all?” I continued, already having a good idea.