First Spring (Nuclear Winter Book 2)

by Nathan Jones

  Or maybe he should've refused to leave Aspen Hill way back at the beginning. He'd known Ferris didn't have orders to leave, he'd known it was wrong to take the last of the town's food and any other useful supplies they could haul out on bike trailers. He could've warned the people who'd later become his closest friends, his community, about what the little weasel was planning. He could've prevented some of their suffering.

  The past was behind him, Carrie said. But things always loomed best from behind.

  He finally allowed her to pull him to the table, sitting without a word while Lewis got his food. Even though he was so hungry his stomach was eating a hole clear through him, what he really wanted was to just go back to the truck, away from all these accusing eyes.

  He saw enough of those in his memories.

  Before taking a bite Raul drained his water glass. Not just because he was thirsty but because his mood was about right for another drink. He pulled the bottle of sangria from his pack, popped it open, and poured himself a generous measure.

  Then he motioned the bottle towards Carrie. “Sangria?” She gave him a funny look, and with a flush he remembered she was still 19. “Sorry, forgot you're under 21.”

  The young woman snorted, a bit bitterly, and snatched the bottle from him. “Those laws don't exist anymore. Besides, I'm old enough to have been through hell on the front and taken a faceful of shrapnel. Screw the legal age.”

  Raul glanced at Lewis, who shrugged, so he shrugged too as she dumped her glass of water on the ground beside the table and filled it to the brim from the bottle. “I guess I only turned 21 a few months ago myself,” he admitted. Actually that hadn't been a consideration for him for years, and he felt like a bit of a jerk for holding Carrie to a standard he'd never held himself to.

  The food, combined with a decent sangria, was amazing. Better than he'd had in over a year. Raul was able to push his confrontation with Jack to the back of his mind and just enjoy the meal. It helped that Carrie took some time filling them in on what had happened at the reception, then Lewis went over everything he'd found out about potential trades.

  Raul had just started recounting his sale of his spare firearms when Lewis nudged his elbow in warning. He followed his friend's gaze to see three blockheads heading their way. “You've got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

  They were seated at the end of a table, along the aisle at the edge of the feast grounds near where the Canadian tables began. Which meant the CCZ thugs would walk right past them.

  Or not, since the enemy soldiers seemed to be looking their way. Lewis glanced at Raul. “You didn't happen to piss off any blockheads while we were here, did you?”

  “Not that I know of,” Raul said, casually leaning back to hide the motion of easing his collapsible baton in its strap at the small of his back.

  “Um guys, I think they're here for me,” Carrie said quietly. “Those three were part of Mikhailov's escort.”

  Sure enough the blockheads made a beeline right for them and stopped a few steps away from the end of the table. They got curses and insults from people in the US convoy, and even a few from the Canadian tables. But the three men ignored it all, sneering at Carrie with a predatory look that made Raul want to pound their faces in.

  More than he already wanted to, that was.

  The blockhead in the lead abruptly spoke, in English with a strong Russian accent. “You are woman the Americans paraded around at reception,” he said to Carrie. “The “face” of war crimes we are accused of committing.” His slight smirk as he said that made Raul grit his teeth.

  He started to snap out an insult, but Lewis spoke up before he could. “We've been told not to fraternize with members of the CCZ convoy,” his friend said coolly.

  The blockhead held out his arms in an expansive gesture. “As have we. But I was sent by my friends to extend our deepest regrets for what happened to you. Is tragedy to see such a pretty devushka so disfigured.”

  It seemed like the man's tone was sincere, as was his expression. Raul started to relax until the blockhead continued. “We'd have much more fun with you if we'd captured you uninjured.”

  An outraged rumble started from the other convoy members at the tables around them, although everyone seemed to be following Erikson's orders about keeping the peace. They all kept their places, content to hurl curses and insults.

  Not Raul. He was barely aware of rising, hand snapping out to grab at the man's throat. He was going to kill him, no matter the consequences.

  Somehow Lewis was faster. His friend caught his arm and got between them, speaking quickly and urgently. “We were warned to avoid trouble, and our hosts are armed.”

  “This SOB started it,” Raul snarled, glaring murder at the man around his friend. The blockhead just smirked back.

  “This SOB's obviously trying to get you to attack him so you get in trouble,” Lewis replied. He was visibly angry, but as usual had stayed rational in spite of it. “If you do he can claim he was just joking or at the very least not doing anything but talking. Sticks and stones.”

  The blockhead, voice mocking, kept going. “Of course plenty of my friends would be happy to just put bag over devushka's head. Is nice body.”

  Raul felt Lewis's grip on his arm tense, anticipating his outburst at the fresh provocation.

  What neither of them expected was for Carrie to launch herself from the bench and catch the man with a full-armed slap. Then, as he reeled backwards, she viciously brought her knee up between his legs. The blockhead dropped into a writhing ball on the trampled dirt, cursing in Russian in a strangled voice.

  “Have fun with that,” she spat. Around them the tables burst into approving applause, while an outraged roar swept over the CCZ tables and half a dozen uniformed CCZ soldiers rushed down the aisle to their friend's defense. The two blockheads standing behind the downed thug immediately went for Carrie, swearing, and Lewis let Raul go so they could intercept them.

  Raul hadn't done more than grabbed his target, both of them twisting and shoving to try to drag the other person to the ground, when the Mexican soldiers arrived from their positions standing around the periphery of the area.

  The guards roughly separated all of them, regardless of what side they might be on. Raul allowed himself to be pulled away from his attacker, carefully raising his hands as he stared down the barrel of a shotgun he desperately hoped was loaded with a bean bag round.

  Of course those could be lethal too under certain circumstances, and at the best of times getting hit by one was no joke. Especially from less than a foot away.

  “Mierda!” one of the guards said, digging his toe into the downed blockhead's side. The man's groans went up a notch in volume. “Chicas Norteamericanas, no?”

  Raul had to agree.

  There was a shout as Lieutenant Faraday pushed his way through the Mexican soldiers, accompanied by a few of his men. “You guys again?” he demanded, glaring at the three of them. “What the blazes are you doing?”

  Lewis opened his mouth to reply, but this time it was Carrie who spoke up first. “Sorry, Lieutenant,” she said in a strained voice, scarred face pale with rage. “This pile of garbage was trying to start something by saying he wished he and his friends had captured me during the fighting to have some fun with.” She punctuated the statement by spitting on the blockhead, to a sharp noise of protest from one of the Mexican soldiers.

  Faraday scowled. “You were told to avoid trouble,” he snapped. Then he sighed. “That was some nasty provocation, though. I'm going to go shout at whatever chucklehead is supposed to be keeping these CCZ boys in line. In the meantime it would probably be best if you three turned in for the night.”

  “Right,” Lewis replied. Raul reluctantly nodded.

  The lieutenant curtly gestured to one of his men, who began speaking to the Mexicans in passable Spanish about letting the three of them go. Raul could've argued their case better, but he was still seething and at the moment would've made a terrible negotiator
.

  Raul and his companions quickly gathered up their stuff and grabbed their plates. He and Carrie downed the rest of their cups of sangria, and within half a minute they'd got reluctant permission from the guards to leave without facing any punishment for fighting. They wasted no time heading back to the American corner of the camp.

  They'd just reached the entrance when they were intercepted by Colonel Grimes. “May I speak to you for a moment, Ms. Grant?” he asked.

  Considering the night she'd had Raul wanted to object, even if it wasn't his business. Carrie seemed to read his mood and shook her head at him. “Of course, Colonel.” She nodded to them. “I'll see you back at our campsite.”

  Raul reluctantly joined Lewis heading back to their truck. Once they got there Lewis wanted to do a quick inspection of their goods, even though Paul nodded to them in greeting from his position guarding Orban's truck in a silent reassurance that he'd kept an eye on things.

  That left Raul sitting on the passenger's side step staring towards the command tent, waiting. His head swam and he felt slightly sick to his stomach; he hadn't drunk anywhere near his usual tolerance, but it had been a long time since his party days and before dinner he'd been drinking on an empty stomach. When he reached this point he usually ditched the party and found somewhere to curl up and sleep it off.

  Finally, after what could've been fifteen minutes or an hour, Carrie's slender form materialized in the twilight. She'd changed back into her jeans and shirt, and looked as tired and unsteady as he felt; she'd probably also drunk more than she was used to.

  He was on his feet in an instant, although he swayed unsteadily. “You okay?” he called in a soft voice.

  She nodded and tiredly made her way to slump against the hood near him. “I guess. Grimes wanted to apologize for using me to score points, and for the fact that it made me a target for harassment. Apparently he waited until afterwards to decide it wasn't the nicest thing to do.”

  “Yeah.”

  With a sigh the young woman pushed away from the hood and started towards her tent. Raul followed, half hoping she wanted to talk more. But to his disappointment she immediately dropped into an unsteady crouch and began unzipping the opening. “Well, I'm beat. Wake me for my guard shift if we're doing that tonight.”

  “Sure,” Raul said as she slipped into her tent. “At least the night wasn't all bad . . . you got to kick a blockhead in the nuts.”

  Carrie made no reply, but he thought he heard her laugh quietly to herself as she zipped herself inside.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Business

  That night the camp was raided.

  Lewis, nearing the end of his watch, stiffened at the sound of gunfire and confusion, members of the convoy screaming and shouting questions, and over them soldiers shouting for everyone to stay put and keep calm.

  He popped on his night vision and peeked out the back of the truck, weapon ready, as Gutierrez and Carrie scrambled out of their tents near the cab with their own weapons, backing up under the vehicle to use it as cover. They both moved clumsily and looked groggy, probably still slightly drunk or enjoying the start of their hangovers.

  After a quick inspection of his surroundings Lewis concluded there was no sign of any activity aside from other confused people trying to figure out what was going on. That relaxed him a little, but he kept his eyes peeled until the commotion died down. After that one burst of gunfire there hadn't been any more, and most of the chaos seemed to be people responding to that.

  A few minutes later soldiers began doing rounds to assure everything things were under control. When one came by their truck Lewis hopped out to ask what had happened.

  “Some idiots tried to rob one of our trucks,” the young man said with a grimace. “We saw them moving around in the back and challenged them. They opened fire, just to get our heads down I think, and split. As far as we can tell they didn't have time to take anything.”

  “Wow,” Carrie said, approaching with Gutierrez. “So someone tried to raid our convoy in the middle of the summit? Do we know who it was?”

  The soldier shrugged. “I'd put money on blockheads, but they're on the other side of camp. They'd either have to go through the Canadians or Mexicans, circle around from the outside, or go through the marketplace. It could've been anyone, though. Maybe even someone from our convoy who bolted and will come strolling back in sometime tomorrow like nothing ever happened.”

  Lewis glanced towards the border between their camp and the Canadians, which wasn't far away. Along with the barbed fence it had its own patrol of Mexican soldiers, almost like a mini no man's land. “Aren't our hosts closely guarding all the camps and the perimeter to prevent something like this?”

  “They're guarding it,” the man agreed, “not closely enough, it looks like. Someone got through, so my money's on them either being lazy or incompetent.”

  “Why not both?” Gutierrez said with a dour smile.

  The soldier laughed. “Yeah. Or corrupt on top of it.”

  From their tones Lewis had a feeling this wasn't sincere criticism, and had more to do with the way soldiers talked trash about members of other countries' armed forces, or even other branches of their own. Mostly competitive one-upmanship.

  The young man slapped the side of their truck in a parting gesture. “Anyway, just wanted to let you know what the confusion was and that there's nothing to worry about. Even if our hosts aren't on top of things, we are.”

  After he was gone Gutierrez sighed. He and Carrie were both casting longing looks towards their tents. “How long til the shift change?” he asked. “I guess I can take over now.”

  Lewis shook his head. His friends both looked completely wiped out; aside from being a miserable experience for them, he wasn't sure how much good they'd actually do on watch. “I'll take a double so you two can rest more.”

  “You sure?” Carrie asked, although he could tell from her tone she really wanted to accept.

  “Go on, I've got this.”

  His friends hesitated a few seconds more, looking chagrined, then mumbled their thanks and staggered back to their tents. Lewis settled down for another full shift, splashing some water on his face to stay alert.

  It wasn't all bad. His mind was racing with all the information he'd learned yesterday, trying to do the math on the value of what they'd brought versus how much they could fit in the truck and trailer. He wanted to set up a place where he could be advertising his archives, so while he took care of selling everything else he'd hopefully get some business there as well.

  He was sure there were plenty of people with electronics who wanted new movies and music and books to read, and now that trade was a thing and fuel would soon be flowing their way from Canada they could actually power their devices up. Get back some of the 21st Century amenities they'd gone over a year and a half without.

  Which led to questions of whether to let them browse and pick out what they wanted, paying for things as they went, or just dump as much of the archives as they could fit on their drives and pay a lump sum. And there was the question of charging an amount people would be willing to pay, but enough to make it worth his while. Technically any value he got from his archives was pure profit, copied information. But it had taken him a while to compile his archives, not to mention he'd thought of doing it when few others had, and that deserved some reward.

  Also he'd be selling the spare drives where he could, and expected to charge a high price for them.

  The time passed somewhere between a crawl and a blur, but finally Lewis checked his phone to see it was 3 a.m. He wearily pulled himself out of the back of the truck and made his way over to Gutierrez's tent, slapping the side of it a few times. “You're up,” he whispered.

  After making a bit more noise and raising his voice a little his friend finally stumbled out of his tent, looking awful. Mumbling a request for Lewis to wait he downed nearly a quart of water in one go, lurched off to the latrine, and after almost fifteen minutes
came back looking nearly human again.

  As soon as he'd handed off the night vision gear and his phone Lewis made a beeline for his tent, ready to crash. “Wake me up at the end of your shift,” he said over his shoulder.

  Gutierrez's startled voice came from behind him. “Seriously? That's only three hours!”

  He paused. “I know, I can make the sleep up tonight. I want to get a full day of trading in, make the most of our time down here.”

  “Okay, if you're sure,” his friend said uncertainly, shuffling his feet. “Thanks again for covering for us last night.”

  “No problem. You can return the favor tonight.” Lewis collapsed on top of his sleeping bag, not even bothering to zip his tent. He was so tired he was almost tempted to just pull it over him like a blanket instead of worming his way inside. He compromised by getting himself halfway in, pulling it up as high as he could across his chest, and passing out.

  As he drifted off he heard the sound of Gutierrez zipping him in from outside.

  * * * * *

  Carrie was grateful her hangover was a mild one. Just a slight headache, queasy stomach, and the realization that even morning sunlight was really, really bright. With a bit of extra sleep and some time to recover she would've been just fine in a few hours.

  Unfortunately what she got was a member of Colonel Grimes's staff coming around at the crack of dawn, to tell her she was due at the US convoy's official meeting for the trade summit in less than an hour.

  “We've got your uniform ready for you,” he said in an apologetic tone, wincing at her glare as if looking into a spotlight. “And, um, a sink for washing up.”