by Nathan Jones
A familiar, but unexpected, voice replied. “They'll make themselves targets for us first, don't worry.”
Trev gaped into the darkness ahead. “Vernon?”
The former sheriff sounded amused. “I'm one of Harmon's relief squads, Smith, so here I am. Relieved?” Before Trev could answer he continued. “We're taking out any blockhead that pokes his head into view west of the barn. Get your prisoners and get out here, before the rest of the camp overwhelms you and they send trucks to surround us. Which will probably happen anyway.”
Nodding, Trev glanced back at Deb and the prisoners behind him. More were coming, although they hesitated when they saw him stopped. “Keep going!” he shouted. Then, gritting his teeth at the bullets he knew were about to head his way, he turned and bolted past the camp's perimeter towards the nearest cover.
Gunfire sounded all around him, but that was nothing new. A lot of it was from ahead, but he heard the whine of bullets all around, and saw one spark off a rock only a few feet in front of him. Only a few steps behind him Deb sobbed as she struggled to keep up, either panting for air on the verge of exhaustion or completely terrified. Maybe both.
“Lewis, you alive?” Gutierrez asked in his earbuds.
“For now. The blockheads are all running away from your attack, but that's not stopping them from shooting any prisoners they see.”
“You'll be out soon,” Vernon said.
Stinging pain on his thigh made Trev stumble, and he dropped to one knee and felt at his leg. Blood, but not much; he hoped that meant a graze. Still, the fact that he just got shot indicated that not all the blockheads were running away.
“Keep going!” he shouted, waving for Deb and the prisoners following close behind him to run on. “You're almost to our friends!”
Not stopping to see whether they listened he twisted around and lifted his rifle, searching for the soldier who'd shot at him. He spotted a few blockheads poking out from behind tents shooting at prisoners, and he focused on returning fire as more and more men and women fled past him.
There were a lot of people getting away. Dozens. Maybe the enemy hadn't killed as many of them as he'd feared.
Every few shots he dropped, rolled a few feet, then popped back up. He had to favor his thigh with each roll, which slowed him down, but hopefully in the darkness the enemy was going after his muzzle flashes. Even after he stopped seeing blockheads he kept shooting into the tents to the north and south ends of camp, where he was confident he wouldn't accidentally hit any prisoners. He doubted he'd get lucky and hit anyone, but he might get close enough to spook some and keep them pinned down.
The stream of prisoners finally flowed to a trickle, accompanied by Lewis, Jane, and Rick, and Trev popped up to join them as they bolted for safety. One of the armed prisoners in front of him went down with a cry, looking as if he'd tripped. It wasn't until Trev stopped to haul him up with his free hand that he felt the blood soaking the man's shirt. He was moving though, and groaning, so Trev slung the wounded prisoner over his shoulder and kept running.
Up ahead, among the flashes of gunfire, he saw men waving frantically. “Go, go, go!” they shouted, cheering him and the others on. Trev dug for an extra burst of energy and ran faster, stumbling and nearly going down but somehow staying on his feet.
Hands caught him as he reached the line of volunteers, lifting the wounded man from his shoulder to carry for him. But nobody stopped running and neither did Trev. Ahead of them the prisoners were still staggering in ones and pairs and clumps for the southern slope. Some stumbled, some fell, but there was always someone from the Aspen Hill volunteers to pick them up and keep them going, or carry them if need be.
With a start Trev realized that the man now carrying the wounded prisoner beside him was none other than Vernon himself. The former sheriff and his men were forming the rearguard of the retreat, bolting from cover to cover and keeping up their fire on the camp behind them as everyone else ran.
Vernon nodded at him. “Smith.”
Trev nodded back, forcing his reply out between panting breaths. “I have to admit . . . Vernon. You were the last . . . person I expected to pull . . . us out of the fire back there.” Then, although it wasn't easy, he forced himself to continue. “Thanks.”
The older man's eyes were on the ground ahead of him. He didn't have night vision, so he had to trust that the silhouettes of the people in front of him were leading him across clear ground. “You don't think much of me,” he said bluntly, “and you've got good enough reasons not to. But I'm willing to admit I made a bad call back in the canyon, and because of it five good people died. I couldn't just leave it like that.”
Even after Vernon's save tonight, the last thing Trev had expected from the man was an apology. He couldn't help but push it. “You didn't think it was a bad . . . call after it happened.”
The former sheriff risked looking over at him, anger briefly flashing across his face. “The bad call wasn't disagreeing with your plan, Smith. I still think it was reckless, it went against our mission there, and you tried to force me into it even after I objected. But in spite of that I still should've helped, since the alternative was leaving good people in a bad spot.”
Trev backed off. That wasn't where he wanted this to go. So he moderated his tone. “If you're willing to admit you . . . made a bad call then I can, too. I should've made sure you . . . were on board before trying a plan that might . . . rely on your help. It wasn't my only mistake . . . that night, but it's the one I blamed you for.”
Vernon hesitated for a second, then grunted. “We can't pretend there's not bad blood between us, Smith, and I wouldn't recommend any joint missions going forward. But it can't hurt to remember we're on the same side.”
“Fair enough. Thank you, again.” Trev broke away from the former sheriff to join Lewis, Jane, and Rick, who were running just ahead of the rearguard looking ready to join the fighting if they had to. He was still out of breath, but now that he was no longer carrying the wounded man, and everyone was moving slower to accommodate the exhausted prisoners, he was starting to get it back.
“Mending fences?” Rick asked, a slight edge to his voice as he jerked his head Vernon's way.
Trev nodded. “Within reason.”
His friend swore. “Does he honestly think we'll trust him after everything that's happened? I don't care if he personally carried me out in his arms, tonight doesn't change anything.”
Although he couldn't blame Rick for feeling that way, Trev couldn't let that slide. They still had to get back to the safety of the mountains with Vernon's people, a long distance to go. They couldn't afford to be snapping at each other like chained dogs the entire way. “The world isn't black and white,” he tried.
“Don't give me that.” Rick tore his eyes away from Vernon's back to glare at him. “He got our friends killed. He got Alice shot! As far as I'm concerned he-”
Trev grabbed his friend's arm, quieting him. “I'm as much to blame as Vernon,” he said fiercely. “I made the call to go ahead with the attack even when I wasn't sure he'd join us. I thought we could handle it and I was wrong, and our friends got killed because of it.”
The younger man flinched slightly. “Don't-” he started, then cut off. “You know I don't blame you. None of us saw the blockheads hiding out there.”
“It was a bad night. There's plenty of blame we can throw out, as much on the enemy doing things right as on us doing things wrong. Not to mention plain old bad luck.” He tightened his grip on his friend's arm. “But whatever happened, happened. Our focus has to be on tonight, not something that took place weeks ago. And tonight Vernon's people risked their lives to save us, and some of them might've died in the process. Tonight we have to get back to safety alongside them. So we will.”
After an eternal pause his friend nodded reluctantly, although his eyes strayed back to Vernon and his expression remained dark. He lowered his voice for Trev's ears only. “I'll go along, but I can't forgive him for what happene
d. Even after tonight I'm not about to trust him, no matter what you say.”
He supposed that was only fair. “We'll take precautions, and once we're back in the mountains we can go back to avoiding each other. But until then we do the right thing, and hope they do the same.”
“You really think they'll stick with us if we get attacked and they can break away clean?” Rick asked.
Trev hesitated. “They did at the camp.”
Vernon abruptly whistled piercingly from ahead. He wasn't the only one giving warning, either. Prisoners were shouting and pointing, and the Aspen Hill volunteers were gathering up on the right side of the line of fleeing people, holding their weapons ready as they faced north. Trev looked that way and groaned, putting on a burst of speed to catch up to his friends.
Half a dozen trucks were headed their way, headlights on and engines roaring. It looked like Faraday's distraction to the north hadn't been enough to pull all the vehicles from Huntington, which was hardly a surprise.
* * * * *
“Grenades!” Lewis shouted. “Anyone who's still got one, now's the time!”
In spite of his confident tone sick dread was churning in his gut. The camp had been horrific, but at least there they'd had confusion, distraction, and a few squads' worth of cover fire going for them. If even one of those trucks had a mounted heavy machine gun or missile launcher, they'd mow down the straggling line of fleeing people without difficulty.
Even if each vehicle only carried a full load of troops they'd outnumber the fleeing fighters and armed prisoners two to one, with the mobility to surround them and set up in the most advantageous positions. There'd be no running away, and Lewis and his people would have to worry about protecting more than three times their number of helpless civilians.
This was going to get ugly fast.
He pulled out his last grenade, yanked the pin, and hurled it towards the headlights, trying to time it so the explosion coincided with a vehicle driving over it. That the trucks were already in throwing range was a bad thing. Or maybe not quite, since his grenade went off a good ten feet ahead of the vehicles, who swerved to avoid the explosion.
Other people wound back to throw, while his and Vernon's fighters all raised their weapons and began firing at the headlights, or above them at the windshields. Behind the blinding light slightly dimmer twinkles appeared in burst patterns as the enemy returned fire, and around him people cried out and fell. The exploding grenades rocked the trucks but none scored a direct hit, and they continued forward.
“Halsson, Vernon, order your people to get down, NOW!” Davis's voice abruptly roared in Lewis's headset.
He dropped like a rag doll, as ordered, while at the same time shouting for everyone else to get down, too. Vernon was also shouting, as were members of their squads. The prisoners seemed only too happy to drop to the ground, especially as the gunfire from the approaching trucks continued.
Then twin streaks of fire lit the night from the slope to the southwest, making a burning line to the blockhead vehicles. One of the trucks exploded, while behind it two more were flipped sideways like kicked toys and fell into wild tumbling rolls. The final two vehicles screeched to a halt, then whipped around and headed back the way they'd come in a squeal of tires.
“That's the last of our missiles, Halsson. And from the looks of it the last of their pursuit, too. Hurry up and get those poor people to safety.”
Lewis lurched back to his feet, reaching down to haul up one of Vernon's fighters. It turned out the man was wounded, blood soaking his shoulder, and he yelled bloody murder as his wounded arm was yanked around. Lewis awkwardly hauled the fighter up into a fireman's carry while keeping hold of his G3, then lurched into motion again. “We're in the clear, people! Let's get out of here while it stays that way!”
A ragged cheer went up around him, and other figures popped up and began running again. Lewis looked around and spotted Gutierrez with most of their volunteers, weapons trained on the crashed vehicles. “Good thinking, Raul. Make sure none of the blockheads get out of that mess and start shooting us.” The former soldier nodded.
The first of the freed prisoners reached the bottom of the slope and began crawling up it, picking their way over deadfall and undergrowth. The squad mates Trev and Jane had left taking their shifts on the southern slope were there to greet them, as was every single medic under Harmon's command. Together they helped the exhausted and wounded people continue to safety.
Lewis got his wounded man to the nearest medic and lowered him as gently as he could, then collapsed a few feet away. A moment later Jane collapsed behind him, pressing her back against his to keep them both upright.
“How many did we save?” he mumbled.
The question was directed at no one and everyone. Alice, helping the medics, hesitated. “At least a hundred, I think.”
A hundred. The prisoners had flipped a coin on whether they'd live or die when Trev let them out of those cages. Lewis knew they'd accepted the risk, and had expressed a willingness to die rather than remain prisoners. Even so . . . had they known beforehand how it would turn out, would so many have taken the chance anyway? And what about their rescuers? Could they even call this a success?
Either way what was done was done. They'd all made their choice, and there was no taking back the consequences. Lewis sighed. “What about us? Did we lose anyone?”
It was Trent, standing nearby with Trev and Rick, who answered. “Mason,” he said reluctantly, “and Ted, I think. A few others are wounded.”
So Mason hadn't made it through this time. That was going to hit Trev hard. Lewis shut his eyes and tried to focus on the positive. “We did a lot of damage to the blockheads tonight.”
“And Davis and Faraday will have done more,” Jane agreed. “Not bad, considering we ripped our carefully crafted plan to shreds and took a flamethrower to the-”
“Whoa whoa whoa!” Trev abruptly shouted, and they both stumbled to their feet in surprise. “Deb, put the gun down!”
* * * * *
Trev breathed an inward sigh of relief as he managed to get himself between the muzzle of Rick's 1911 and Fred Vernon.
Of course, that meant he was staring up the iron sights into the eyes of an obviously unstable person.
For a moment Deb's expression went slack, as if she hadn't quite grasped what had just happened. Then her eyes grew even wilder. “You're with him?” she demanded. “You, of all people?” Her arms holding the gun began shaking slightly, not a good sign.
“We're all on the same side,” he answered, doing his best to keep his voice calm. He slowly raised his hand towards the pistol as he continued. “Whatever he did in the past, it's the blockheads who're our enemies. Put it down.”
Deb wavered, starting to look calmer. And Vernon chose that moment to open his mouth. “Trevor's right, woman. I'm not your enemy, I just saved you.”
“Saved me?” Deb said, voice cracking. Her arms began shaking even more, and Trev saw her finger twitch on the trigger as she tried to sidestep around him. At this range he wasn't sure how much his body armor would do to stop a .45 ACP round. “Because of you I was their prisoner in the first place! Because of you they starved me and beat me and worked me to the bone for over a month! Because of you they-” she cut off, shuddering.
Trev's hand had frozen when she came close to pulling the trigger, but now he continued to lift it until just his index finger rested on the top and side of the barrel. “I don't think you really want to kill him. Do you? And I'm pretty sure you don't want to kill me.” He ever so carefully began lowering it to point towards the ground.
She was wavering, her eyes calming down. “You know what he did to us, Trev,” she whispered, voice pleading. “You know what he left us to. You could've been in the same situation. Your family.”
The gun was pointing at the ground now. Trev breathed another inward sigh of relief as he moved his hand up to the back of the barrel and put the safety on. “He stole from us,” he agreed.
“He abandoned us. But there are people guilty of far worse. Let's focus on justice for them.”
Deb's shaking had grown so bad he was afraid she'd drop the 1911 on her own. Trev gently closed his hand over hers and started to take the gun from her. “I borrowed this from my friend,” he continued. “May I return it to him, please?”
After one final moment of tension Deb nodded and let go of the weapon. As Trev turned to hand it to Rick she dropped to the ground and began to sob. Alice came over and knelt to put her arms comfortingly around the older woman's shoulders, and Deb leaned into her and sobbed even harder.
Trev turned to look at Vernon, noticing that many of the man's fighters held their weapons ready. “You handled that well,” the former sheriff said grudgingly, “but I think I'm tempting fate staying here. Too many old grudges. We'll go ahead and get going.”
“That's not the worst idea.” Trev glanced at Rick, who hadn't put away his pistol, before looking back at Vernon. “Thank you again.”
The former sheriff motioned, and his people fell in and started up the slope towards the path that led over the ridge to the main camp. But Vernon hesitated after only a few steps and looked back at Deb. “I am sorry, Ms. Rutledge. Whatever I did, I never meant for it to cause anyone this sort of pain.”
He continued on, and Trev finally let out his pent up sigh of relief. He turned back to where the medics were working, ready to get back to seeing what he could do to help.
When he saw Davis standing there with everyone else he jumped slightly in surprise. “How long have you been there?”
The sergeant snorted. “Long enough to see I didn't need to step in. Nice save, Smith. I think this is your first run-in with Vernon's people in a while that hasn't ended with you punching someone.”
Trev found himself grinning instead of getting annoyed. He stepped forward to offer Davis his hand. “Nice save yourself. It was turning ugly with those trucks.” The sergeant returned his strong grip. “How did it go to the south?”