Shortage (Best Laid Plans Book 2)

by Nathan Jones

  Trev nodded and led the way back to the hideout, where they quickly got to work. When he'd been carrying firewood during the lull between the two storms he'd debated building a sled, but since the snow was still shallow enough that he could still trudge through it he'd elected to construct a carrying frame instead.

  He'd used the simple, effective design people had used for hundreds or even thousands of years, with long sturdy sticks bound together with twine in parallel L-shapes that he could pile firewood high on, then use more twine to tie everything in place and keep it from falling loose. More rope with padding made straps so he could wear it like a backpack, which allowed him to carry about five times as much as he could holding a load in his arms and only took a bit longer to load and unload.

  While Lewis loaded up a backpack of food and a few other necessities they could spare, along with the coats and axe, Trev filled the frame with as much firewood as he thought he could carry while going down the steep path and trying to cross the rocks. When he was ready to set out he noticed his cousin rolling up the deerskin they'd gotten from his buck to also give the refugees.

  Lewis had spent the last couple weeks cleaning and curing the hide as best he knew how and had seemed fairly satisfied with the end product, even talking about making moccasins and belts and other things from it. Looking at it now Trev hoped it would help keep the refugees warm.

  Satisfied they had as much as they could manage, Trev led the way back through the gap and down the mountainside to the river, then opted to be the first to cross over the rocks. It was more than a little tricky picking his way over the slick surfaces while dealing with the slightly unbalanced load of firewood, but somehow he managed it. Lewis came next, even more uncertain on his wounded leg, and there was a frightening moment halfway across when he started to slip and had to take a quick step to the next rock to catch himself. If he'd slipped again he would've been in the river, but luckily his footing stayed firm.

  “Do we announce our presence?” Trev asked as they followed his set of tracks towards the tent.

  His cousin hesitated. “I'd say let's just leave the stuff and go, but they could follow our tracks if they were really curious. Let's have a little conversation and make sure they know their best bet is to get out of the mountains before winter traps them in.”

  The camp remained eerily still as they approached, but now Trev could hear conversations in all the tents, and even a bit of talking back and forth between tents. When Lewis called a greeting the talking died down at once, and a moment later a shivering man wrapped in a blanket stumbled out of a tent, holding a walking stick defensively.

  Lewis helped Trev shrug out of the frame and drop the firewood to the ground. “We're going to light a fire and get some venison cooking, okay?”

  The man opened his mouth as if fumbling for a response. “What?”

  “We've got canned food that you'll have an easier time preparing, but better to save that for the road.” His cousin began kicking a space clear of snow while Trev got the smallest sticks and bits of bark he could find out for kindling.

  It was starting to dawn on the man, and he looked at the backpack and firewood with desperate hope. “Those are for us?”

  A few other men were ducking out of tents, with women and a few children crowding the doors staring out with wide eyes. Most had light jackets, sweaters, or blankets, with only a few real winter coats to be seen. Trev thought Lewis looked slightly uncomfortable at suddenly finding themselves outnumbered, but none of the men seemed unfriendly. Actually they all looked cold and weak, and the most common expressions on those unshaven faces was shock.

  “As much as we could spare,” Lewis confirmed. “It should help get you to Fairview, if you hurry before another storm hits.”

  As his cousin continued working on the fire Trev unloaded the backpack, handing out the food, coats, deerskin, fire starters, and axe. It felt a bit strange to be giving a potential weapon to a perfect stranger, and as if realizing it the man quickly set it down beside a tent.

  Within ten minutes they had a good fire going and venison steaks skewered on sticks cooking over the flames. As they worked the refugees explained their situation, which was nothing surprising to Trev. They'd come down from American Fork, sent to Huntington by FETF. But when they arrived they were dismayed to find that along with the few hundred people the Task Force had sent there were already over a thousand other refugees there, and the town didn't have much to spare. After a bit of discussion they'd decided to try their luck going over the mountains into Sanpete, which was reputedly greener and had more available food.

  The residents of Huntington had warned the sixteen people that they'd have to hurry to get over the Manti-La Sal range before getting snowed in, and there'd been refugees coming along Highway 31 from Sanpete that refuted the rumors of bounties to the west of the mountains, but with no other available options they'd decided to go and hope they'd find a solution.

  It was a miracle none of them had died when the storms hit, forcing them to huddle together for warmth in the inadequate tents and hope for some relief. As the refugees were quick to express, with fervent gratitude, that relief had come in the form of Trev and Lewis and their offerings.

  Once the venison was cooking Trev and Lewis bid the group farewell and left them gathered around the fire warming themselves by the flames and salivating over the roasting meat. Together they trudged back the way they'd come with just the empty backpack, since Trev had left the simple carrying frame behind for the refugees to use.

  “It feels good to give them some hope,” Trev said. “Even if it's just a few people, to do something for them besides having to sit and watch. It feels good.”

  His cousin grunted in reply. He didn't seem to feel the warm glow of charity Trev had felt, maybe contemplating the grim winter the group had ahead of them. The help they'd given might be enough to get them out of the mountains, with any luck, but what then?

  “I hope these are the last refugees we see this winter,” Lewis finally said. “The next group might not be alive by the time we get to them.”

  And Matt accused Trev of being a downer. Still, in spite of his cousin's grumbling Lewis had given them his deerskin. That was a personal touch that spoke volumes about his true feelings, and hinted that in spite of his cousin's fatalistic words he was genuinely concerned about the welfare of those refugees.

  “Maybe the little nudge we gave them today is enough to get them on the road to survival,” Trev suggested. “Maybe we saved some lives today.”

  “I hope so. But I hope even more that if they do get to Fairview they don't tell anyone about us.” Lewis started across the stones. “Still, as the voice of pragmatism I say we do our best to cover our tracks back to the hideout, and watch from the cliffs until they're out of sight. We should also start patrolling again. Once the snows get higher they'll be a better defense, but we should never let down our guard.”

  Trev couldn't help but think it would be pretty despicable to try to rob someone who'd just helped you, but personal experience had shown there were despicable people out there so he didn't argue. Once they were across the river they did their best to hide the trail leading up to the gap in the cliffs, and above the gap they settled down to watch the camp down below, where people were passing around cooked venison as they huddled by the fire.

  * * * * *

  His dad had been gone for 5 days, now.

  Rationally Matt knew it was too soon to start really worrying, that if it had taken Trev a week to make the same trip the first time it might take his dad nearly as long, and he had to go there and back pulling first an empty and then a loaded wagon on unfamiliar back roads. For all he knew he shouldn't expect to see him back for at least two weeks, and there was no reason to start worrying until then.

  Really worrying, that is; only seeing his dad coming back safe and sound would calm the constant tension in his gut.

  He didn't have much time to dwell on that, though, since most of those
days had been spent searching for food, from morning until evening. Ferris had come again yesterday to look for more hidden stashes and his soldiers spent an hour poking around the entire yard with shovels. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, they had no extra food from what they'd gathered for the administrator to confiscate. Matt had even gone so far as to beg Ferris to let them go through the ration line before his family starved.

  Ferris had been unsympathetic. He'd even threatened to take Henrietta and deprive them of their daily egg, out of spite Matt guessed. And once he'd satisfied himself that there was no other food he'd started questioning where Matt's dad was, and Matt did his best to deflect the question by replying that he was out foraging for food, and the rest of them would be too if Ferris hadn't come around for another “inspection”. That seemed to satisfy the weaselly man, barely, and he'd left them alone.

  Once his dad left the situation was dire enough that in spite of his protests his mom and Sam had to go out searching for food as well. They went together, both with bear spray and Sam also carrying his bat, although it was hard to view the petite woman as particularly imposing even with the weapon. Still, he hoped it would be enough to deter potential threats, and they'd agreed to stay to safer areas while Matt searched outside of town, out along Jack Dawson's lands in fact.

  Speaking of the old man Henrietta had layed consistently, just like he'd promised. They'd used the daily egg and whatever herbs they could find to make a soup each day to share among the three of them, and while it wasn't enough it was something.

  It was early afternoon now and Matt had gone as far as he dared along the street, past where Jack's fence ended. Out this far he couldn't help but think of the old man's mention of the group who'd squatted on his land in the area, and although they'd been kicked out they might still be somewhere around causing problems. Them or Razor's goons. So he turned and started back the way he came, with barely half a bag full of edible plants.

  He'd made it about halfway home when a nearby bleat made him go completely still, heart hammering in his throat. He turned to see a chocolate brown buck goat wearing a collar ambling along a side street, nibbling at the weeds alongside the road.

  Matt stared at the animal, stomach rumbling. That was food, food for days for his entire family. Real food, food with substance, not bitter weeds and a third of an egg a day. He'd only had goat once and hadn't much liked it, but now he could practically smell it cooking, taste the tough stringy meat between his teeth. That could be the answer to a lot of their problems.

  Unfortunately what it was, without a shadow of a doubt, was one of the Watsons' herd. The Nigerian dwarf goats had been too small to interest Ferris when he was rounding up the town's livestock, and Chauncey had talked a bit about how valuable the animals had been for meat and milk while the rest of the town was struggling. He'd even given them a pint two days ago when he heard of their situation with the ration line. That fresh, creamy, odd tasting milk had been a blessing they'd been deeply grateful for.

  As he stared at the buck, torn with temptation, his mind darted back to what seemed an eternity ago while on the road with Trev to bring down April's family, when they'd talked about refugees. Trev had basically said that honest refugees died while dishonest ones survived by taking from others.

  Would his friend eat that goat? Matt had a feeling that in spite of Trev's pessimistic words he was the sort of person who'd starve before stealing. But it didn't really matter what Trev would do, did it? What mattered was what Matthew Larson would do.

  The goat ambled up to him, bleating and wagging its stubby little tail. He was young, and probably a wether judging by how friendly he was. Matt crouched down to pluck up a viny weed and offered it, and as the goat nibbled at the treat he grabbed the wether's collar with his other hand. The goat didn't balk as he stood and led it down the street.

  Towards the Watsons' place.

  There had to be more to measure a person than what they were willing to do to survive when times were hard. The difference between the sort of person Matt would like to call friend, and more importantly would like to be, and parasites like Razor and his thugs, or for that matter Ferris and his goons.

  If it came down to it he'd either find a way to live honestly or he'd face the consequences. He only hoped Sam and his family could forgive him. Even with that resolution, though, he had to wonder if he was just lying to himself. Desperation was a long ways from the Larson family as long as they had Trev's cache waiting for them, if they could find a way to get it here past Razor's siege and then keep it from Ferris's inspections. And in the back of his mind rode the hope that his dad would be back with a wagon full of food any day now.

  Maybe he was only being honest because in spite of their plight they weren't truly desperate. The food up there could help them survive for most of the winter, maybe all of it if they severely cut their rations. And without that desperation he wasn't facing the same crisis of conscience Trev had talked about.

  Before reaching Chauncey's house he encountered Wes Watson searching the streets. The fifteen year old brightened when he saw Matt and the goat and hurried forward. “Oh good, you found Coal,” he said, grabbing the goat by the collar. “Thank you so much for bringing him back. I was sent out to look for him while everyone else got to go watch the excitement.” The young man turned and hurried the spirited wether up the street towards his house.

  Matt followed, a bit annoyed by how matter of fact Wes was being about him returning the goat when it had been a bit of a tough choice for him. But he had something more important to worry about. “Excitement? What's going on?”

  The young man turned to give him a surprised look. “You haven't heard?” he whispered, a smile fighting to break free. “Ferris and his soldiers are pulling out!”

  Matt stopped dead, eyes widening. “Seriously?” Wes nodded and he found himself grinning. “That's the best news I've heard in a month!”

  “I know, right? Once I get this little cage breaker tethered I'm going right over to see what's happening.”

  “I'll go with you,” Matt offered, catching up to the young man again. “What happened? Why are they going now?”

  Wes shrugged. “Ferris claims he got a radio transmission from the FETF coordinators up north recalling him, but my dad insists he never heard anything like that on his radio. It's been weeks since he heard anything about the Task Force at all, aside from bits and pieces concerning the relief convoy down in Price. Not since the Antelope Island refugees rioted and basically eliminated the FETF position in Salt Lake City.”

  Matt nodded. He'd been pretty shaken to hear about what had happened at the refugee camp where he'd found his sister's family, considering they'd just been there and could've been caught in the violence if they'd stayed just a little longer. When April heard about it too she expressed her fervent gratitude that Matt and Trev had come to get them out when they did.

  When they reached the Watsons' house Wes just dragged Coal over to the fence and tethered him right there with a bit of baling twine, then lifted him up over into the front yard. Matt couldn't help but wonder about theft, since the refugees continued to wander the town causing trouble, but the young man seemed more interested in what was happening at the storehouse. He took off at a trot and Matt fell in beside him.

  A few blocks over they found a crowd gathered at Tillman's, a few refugees but mostly townspeople. In front of the store fourteen bicycles waited on kickstands, six of them attached to bike trailers, and soldiers were coming in and out of the store carrying buckets of grain and other food to put in the trailers or stuff into camouflaged backpacks.

  Matt was surprised at the sight for a moment, until he realized that of course with even what little driving Ferris and his soldiers had done around town they'd be out of gas. This was probably their best means of transportation.

  Better than walking. Matt couldn't believe he hadn't thought of bicycles when he and Trev headed up to the cities.

  Just as he and Wes arrived F
erris emerged from the storehouse-turned-FETF headquarters carrying his familiar clipboard, tapping it thoughtfully with a pencil. Behind him, completely ignored by the bureaucrat, Anderson dogged his heels looking desperate.

  “You can't leave, the town needs you!” the Mayor insisted, hurrying after Ferris as the man made his way over to watch the bike trailers being loaded.

  At that Ferris paused to give him a disgusted look. “Oh, so now you care? You people have been whining about us being here since the moment we arrived.”

  Anderson hesitated uncomfortably. “Well I suppose some may have been. But that doesn't change the fact that we rely on your protection. You took our guns!”

  “Relax, Mayor,” the FETF administrator said, contempt dripping from the word. “All your guns are in the storehouse. You can pass them out to every Tom, Dick, and Harry once we're gone. Shoot each other up for all I care.”

  Catherine Tillman hurried out of the crowd to intervene. “But you're loading these bike trailers with as much of our food as you can take, not to mention a good chunk of ammunition!”

  Ferris turned to her. “Your food? Have you forgotten we brought an entire aid truck to this miserable town? What we're taking is nothing in comparison.”

  The councilwoman put her hands on her hips as she glared at the nearest bike trailer. “I think you'd be surprised how it adds up, especially with you folks here for a month eating that entire time. Besides, those buckets you're loading up have L.H. written on them. I'd bet every dollar left in town that those initials stand for “Lewis Halsson”. This food isn't yours.”

  “No offense, but twelve M16s disagree with you.” Ferris jerked his head towards his soldiers, busy loading up the trailers with their assault rifles slung across their backs.