by Nathan Jones
Speaking of which . . . Matt made his way to the store's back room, where he found Scott going over the town's array of firearms and ammunition. “Oh hey, I was just coming to ask you how the town's stock of weapons is holding up.”
The older man turned to him. “I'm glad you did, because I've actually been wanting to talk to you about it.” He patted the table. “Ferris kept these all in good shape while he had them under lock and key, but since the town's started up the patrols again I've noticed firearms coming back with dings and scuffs. One refugee even turned in a rifle with the bore caked with dirt, like he'd shoved it into the ground muzzle-first or something.”
Matt frowned. “I'll put it in the announcements.”
“Good, because these weapons might be all we've got and we have to make them last. I can do minor adjustments and small repairs, and I've got a modest stock of replacement parts, but I'd feel a lot happier if your guys weren't tossing them around or using them as walking sticks or whatever they've been doing.”
“I'll make sure they treat them like their firstborn,” Matt promised. He checked out a scoped .308 assault rifle and a spare magazine, slinging the weapon over his shoulder as he led Rick out of the store.
“Back to patrols,” he told the younger man with a slight smile. “It's been a while.”
* * * * *
It had been, although Matt had done enough walking while searching for food to keep in reasonably good shape. Weakness from hunger was more of a problem, even with the modest portions of meat Catherine was giving his family. That and his leg.
Still, it felt nice to be out and about after staying off his feet over the last week. Matt just wished he didn't have so many worries pressing his mind to keep him from really enjoying it. The air was warm, with enough of a bite from the breeze to hint at winter being just around the corner. That was no surprise, since the weather tended to be nice like this around Aspen Hill during Thanksgiving week. It served as a reminder that tomorrow was Thanksgiving.
They wouldn't have any feast to look forward to, unfortunately, but it was nice to remember that there were things to celebrate. He only wished his dad making it home safely was one of them: Matt had a good reason to be out here checking the patrol routes, but a small part of him had to admit that he was secretly hoping to see his dad towing a wagon along the myriad of dirt roads criss-crossing the hills around him.
Matt was just about to turn to Rick to ask him about his family's Thanksgiving plans, more as a distraction than anything, when a sharp crack echoed through the hills around them. He stiffened, motioning for Rick to stop as he listened intently. “Did you hear that?” he asked.
The teenager paused, frowning, as the sounds were repeated, some slightly louder and lower pitched than others. “Gunshots?” he guessed. “With all these hills it's impossible to tell how far away or what direction they're coming from.”
They both fell silent, listening intently and slowly turning their heads, and Matt abruptly pointed towards Aspen Hill Canyon. “There. Makes the most sense.” He lifted his radio to his mouth. “Evan, you hear gunshots coming from the canyon?”
There was a short pause before the refugee answered, voice slightly distorted by static. “Nope, but we're close to the south end of our route. On our way as fast as we can make it.”
Matt nodded, although of course Evan couldn't see him. “Mayor's office?”
Catherine's voice responded almost immediately. “I heard you. Sending some people out there, and I'll have Terry go along to do what he can for the wounded.”
“Roger. I'm going to check it out and report what I find.” Matt clipped the radio to his belt again and started forward at a quick but cautious trot, unslinging his .308 and pausing regularly to check the hills around them through the scope. Rick followed clutching his shotgun and looking a bit jumpy, and seeing it Matt had to wonder if he should be feeling uneasy himself.
In a way he felt a bit bad bringing the younger man along, since in spite of his duty to investigate whatever was happening for the safety of the town he also had personal motivations. The canyon was a likely direction for his dad to take coming home, and if he was and he had the wagon of food then he would make an ideal target for Razor's thugs still out in the hills surrounding the town and causing trouble. The theory didn't make much sense because his dad hadn't taken a gun with him and the gunfire ahead certainly sounded like a shootout, but it was a possibility.
Whatever his motivation he kept going, ignoring his instincts screaming that it might not be the smartest idea to be heading towards the gunshots.
Or at least where the gunshots had been. They didn't hear anything more as they walked for roughly half a mile, finally making their way up the tall hill ahead that stood between them and the mouth of the canyon. At the top Matt cautiously poked his head over and saw a ragged, emaciated group, six women and three young children, standing on the canyon road while a middle-aged man and a teenaged boy dragged the bodies of four men into a line beside the road.
A tall, skinny redheaded woman about Matt's age or maybe a bit older stood off by herself on the road beside the bodies, covering them with a pistol held in shaking hands as her friends moved them. She was obviously wounded, with blood staining the left shoulder of her jacket, and from her alarming swaying Matt was impressed she was still on her feet.
Her caution was sensible, but the men she was covering were clearly dead. Matt could guess easily enough who they were and what had happened, but he wouldn't know for sure until he spoke to the refugees. “Stay here and cover me,” he whispered to Rick. He pulled the radio off his belt and handed it over. “You can report in too.”
“Cover you with a shotgun?” his friend protested, but Matt was already rising to his feet, rifle held ready but not pointed at the group below.
The redhead immediately saw him and started to raise her pistol, and Matt was torn between the sensible reaction of lifting his own weapon and the kinder tactic dropping flat while he shouted to reassure her. After all, she'd just killed four men and might not have a problem with adding a fifth to that number before he could get a word in edgewise.
In the end it was the fact that he was still about 100 yards away that decided him. Even a good shot would have trouble hitting him uphill against the rising sun at that range, and if it looked like she was seriously aiming for him he could drop and she'd have an even harder time of it. Not to mention she was wounded and looked as if she was barely on her feet.
So he lowered his rifle and raised his voice. “Easy there!”
She hesitated. “Coming to help your friends rob us?” she called in a hoarse voice, motioning. The man who'd been lining up the bodies hurried for cover while the other refugees began fleeing back up the road.
Matt shook his head, although he wasn't sure she could see the gesture with him partially backlit by the sun overhead. “I'm from Aspen Hill, the town a couple miles east of here, patrolling our borders. These men have tried to attack the town before, and we're actually grateful to you for dealing with them.”
“Not grateful enough to help when the bullets were flying,” she called back.
“We came as quickly as we could!” Matt answered, irritated by the accusation. The woman looked doubtful, but after a considering moment lowered her weapon. Or maybe she didn't have the strength to keep it up anymore. Matt felt his shoulders loosen. “I'm coming down! You're wounded. We've got a surgeon on his way who should be able to help you.”
He turned to Rick. “Radio the group. Tell Terry to be ready to stabilize a gunshot wound to the shoulder until we can get her back into town.” He sincerely hoped his brother-in-law knew what to do in this situation, intern or no. He supposed he'd had enough experience treating wounds after Razor's attack to have some idea what he was doing.
The teenager hesitated. “Are you sure? What if she shoots you?”
“Then I suppose you'll have to arrest her. But I think it'll be okay.” Matt smiled grimly. “Anyone who takes down
four of Razor's former thugs is all right in my book.”
He made his way down slowly, noticing that the refugees remained back a safe distance in spite of his assurances. The redhead kept her gun drawn as she made her way over to him, but considering she nearly fell once Matt was more worried for her than about her. He stopped to let her come the rest of the way if she wanted, but she stopped as well. “I'm Matt Larson. I'm in charge of the town's defense.”
“Jane Mathers,” she replied, still sounding cautious. “I'm in charge of this group.” She abruptly slumped to the ground.
Matt rushed forward to fall to his knees beside her. Her eyes were drooping but still open and alert, but her strength had obviously given out. “We can worry about introductions later,” he said. “We need to do something about that shoulder.”
“It's not so bad,” she mumbled. “Mostly just fatigue and hunger. Got dizzy for a second.”
Matt rolled up his pant leg enough to get to the bandage wrapped above his knee, the cleanest cloth he had available. He unrolled it and cut off the end that had been in direct contact with his wound, then bunched the rest up and pressed it to the woman's shoulder. She sucked in a sharp breath when he did, hunching slightly. That gave Matt a look at her back and he saw that there was a larger wound there.
A through and through. That could be more serious than a bullet lodged in the body, or less, but it meant they wouldn't have to dig anything out and risk doing more damage. Matt shifted the bandage to press against the larger wound, drawing another agonized breath from Jane. He saw her eyes start to roll back in her head.
He knew it was important to keep patients conscious for some injuries, but he wasn't sure if gunshots were included in that. Was it anyone who was in shock, or just head injuries? Either way it was probably good to get her talking to distract her. “I'm guessing Razor's men ambushed you. That body at the end is Simons, the last of his lieutenants. You must be good with that pistol.”
With some effort she focused and looked up at him. “Dad taught me. He was always a gun nut. Seemed like more than just a hobby after the world ended.”
Matt heard a soft crunch of gravel and looked up to see the older man approaching. “Only one of the attackers had a gun,” he said, pulling out a handkerchief and offering it to Matt, who took it to press against the front of Jane's shoulder. “That fellow you call Simons. He was hiding while his friends jumped out at us, so he got a shot off before we even knew he was there. I managed to shoot him before he could shoot again, then kept shooting until he stopped moving.”
The refugee modestly patted the stock of the rifle he held, a .22 Matt thought. “Jane got the rest. She downed two of them before they even got close, then even after getting shot managed to get the third one while she was flat on her back on the ground.” He held out his hand. “I'm Tom Harding.”
In his arms Jane went limp, and Matt grit his teeth. His hands were a bit full at the moment so a handshake wasn't happening. “Nice to meet you, Tom, but we can get your story once we're all back safe in town and she's been seen to. Rick!” He said that last in a shout. “How far is Terry?”
“You'll let us into town?” Tom asked hopefully. “Do you have food?”
That was always the question, wasn't it? Matt bit back a sigh, still doing his best to keep pressure on Jane's wounds. Then an unsettling thought struck him. What if they were from Price and their bedraggled state was from more than just hunger and exhaustion? “Our town's borders are open. Which direction did you come from?”
“Over the mountains from Fairview,” the older man answered. “We were following Highway 31.”
Matt fought a surge of uneasiness. “31 takes you to Huntington, well to the south of here.”
“We nearly got robbed near Candland Mountain on Halloween and decided it would be safer to take side roads the rest of the way.” Tom gave him a somewhat indignant look. “What, do you think I'm lying?”
“Of course not,” Matt said, and he didn't. “Still, Candland isn't too far away and Halloween was almost three weeks ago.”
The teenaged refugee and only other man in the group, who looked a lot like Tom and was probably his son, had led the other refugees along the road to stand close by. At this he interrupted angrily. “Do we look like we're in any shape to set traveling records? We didn't know those smaller roads at all and kept getting lost and finding ourselves going the wrong way, forcing us to backtrack or trailblaze. Then a week after we left Highway 31 a storm hit and we were snowed in for days. We lost two people to the cold before the weather cleared enough to travel. We've been going slow, gathering firewood and searching for food as we went, and every day we've had a bit less strength to put one foot in front of another. It's a miracle no one else has died since the storm.”
“Take it easy,” Matt said calmly. The kid had claimed the gun Razor's thug had shot Jane with, a larger caliber bolt action rifle, and Matt had no interest in being shot himself over a temper tantrum. “I believe you, I was just being cautious. We've had news of a flu outbreak in the Price refugee camp and want to keep it out of Aspen Hill, that's all.”
Tom shot his son a stern look. “It's all right, Alvin.” He turned back to Matt. “I can give you my word we haven't been through Price. We came to Sanpete through Nephi along I-15, making our way east to Ephraim. They'd set up a refugee camp at the college there, but the situation wasn't good. They had no supplies and some of our people were attacked, so we decided to move on. South didn't seem like an option, neither did north or west, so we made our way up to Fairview and tried 31. Folks in Fairview warned us the mountains would be dangerous and the land was drier and more barren to the east of them, but we didn't see much choice. Now we're here, and that's everywhere we've been since the Gulf refineries attack.”
Matt nodded. “Now you're here. We'll find you shelter, and you'll have the opportunity to join our hunting parties and forage for anything you can find. I'm afraid the town doesn't have much to offer in the way of food, but we have weapons you can borrow for hunting and we'll do whatever else we can to help.”
“What about Jane?” the older man demanded. “She could hunt, but she's in no condition to fend for herself now!”
Matt hesitated. “You took down a threat to the town,” he offered, “that deserves something. We'll do our best to take care of her until she can get back on her feet.” Glancing over his shoulder he saw Terry and half a dozen men coming down the hill towards them, Rick in the lead. “Good, our doctor's here.”
* * * * *
To Matt's relief after a quick inspection Terry reported that Jane's wound wasn't life threatening. Although serious, it probably wouldn't have caused her to pass out so quickly either if the blood loss hadn't come on top of exhaustion and hunger. Terry taped the two holes with patches until he could get her back to the storehouse, then had Matt help him lift her onto one of the four stretchers his group had brought with him.
It was slow going, with Jane on a stretcher and the ten other emaciated refugees having trouble putting one foot in front of the other, but they finally reached the storehouse and set Jane on the cot set aside for surgeries while Terry got to work on her. It was a simple procedure, he was quick to assure Tom when the older man worriedly questioned him, but he needed to concentrate and also keep the area as sterile as possible so he closed curtains around himself and April as they worked.
Sam had been waiting at the storehouse, and as soon as Matt set the redheaded woman down and backed away to let Terry work she threw her arms around him. Then, to his embarrassment, she insisted on checking his leg to make sure the cut hadn't reopened. It hadn't, thankfully, although it had seeped a little and needed to be cleaned and bandaged again.
Catherine was also there when they arrived, and while Sam worked on his leg she stood beside his cot to have him go over what had happened. The Mayor had already formally welcomed the new group and offered them cots to rest on, and although there wasn't much to spare she announced that they'd already cont
ributed to the town by taking out four of Razor's thugs and insisted they each be given a bowl of soup.
It was humble fare, made by boiling bones, a few root vegetables, and a pile of other edible plant matter that needed softening with some herbs and spices to try to mask the somewhat bitter taste. The bones had then been cracked open and the marrow inside scraped out and added to the broth: they couldn't afford to waste anything they could possibly eat at this point. Matt wasn't a particular fan of the soup, but the refugees made no complaints as they ravenously emptied their bowls.
The Mayor insisted Matt and the others who'd gone out to the canyon, as well as Sam, all have a bowl too, so they settled in for a meal. While they were eating Ben came in to introduce himself to the new arrivals, starting a discussion with Catherine and Tom about finding them a place to stay.
Over the meal Matt overheard the new arrivals talking again about the near robbery along Highway 31 on Halloween, and out of curiosity asked a few questions about it. He pretty quickly came to the conclusion that it wasn't likely Razor's gang had been the perpetrators, but what surprised him was that he recognized the stretch of highway they described where the ambush had been planned.
It wasn't far from Lewis and Trev's hideout, and he couldn't help but wonder if one or both of his friends were the “Spirit of Huntington River” that the refugees had taken to calling their benefactor. When they mentioned that whoever had taken out the bandits might have been wounded in the fight Matt became even more concerned for his friends. Hopefully they were all right.
Another thing he learned was that Jane's dad had been killed by those same bandits a few days before the attempted ambush, and she had taken over leading the group even while grieving his death. If Matt hadn't had reason to respect her after seeing how she'd protected her group at the mouth of the canyon, he certainly would've started after hearing how the refugees talked about her.