by Nathan Jones
Trev smiled back. “It's a good community. Good people. You've earned that.” He stood up and started to rest a friendly hand on her shoulder, then hesitated.
Noticing it, Deb covered by reaching up to shake his hand. “Thank you, Trev. For everything.”
He nodded and moved to rejoin the others.
He wanted to talk to Chauncey. Ostensibly to get his opinion on inviting the non-Aspen Hill volunteers in their squads to come home with them, but mostly just because it had been a long time since he'd really had a chance to have a conversation with the retired teacher, and now they had plenty of time.
He found the man sitting on a rock, amidst a forest of the AK-47s and MP-443 Grachs they'd collected from the dead blockheads at the base of the slope. He was carefully cleaning a rifle that he'd taken apart and set on a clean cloth at his feet.
Trev supposed it was generous of the man to do the task so everyone else could celebrate, but he kind of wished Chauncey had taken a chance to relax himself. He came over to crouch beside the older man. “What's the verdict? Did our new weapons survive their tumble cycle down the hill with tons and tons of rocks?”
“Fewer than I'd hoped, but still enough to arm half the townspeople that don't already have weapons. On the plus side we've also got plenty of replacement parts.” His friend grimaced. “I'm more worried about our ammo distribution. We've got tons of .762 and 9mm rounds for all these AK-47s and Grachs, not to mention more spare magazines than we know what to do with, but yesterday's fighting used up pretty much the last of our .556 and .45.”
“Yeah.” Trev frowned. “I guess we swap over to the blockhead guns, then. Davis would probably love to have our M16s and 1911s anyway, since the military will want to use standardized weapons where possible. I'm guessing Lassiter and Erikson probably still have enough 5.56 and .45 that the weapons will get some use.”
Chauncey nodded thoughtfully. “That could work. Although you realize that Aspen Hill probably still has a bit of ammo.”
“And lots more guns that use it,” Trev answered. “More than we have ammo for. Besides, the valley refuge is lacking other supplies we might be able to get.”
“True,” the retired teacher agreed. “Let's see if Lewis wants to trade, and what.” He bent back over the disassembled rifle, focusing on his work.
At least until Rick approached, waving. “Hey Dad, aren't you going to join us?”
The retired teacher looked pointedly down at his amputated leg. “Really?”
The younger man grinned. “Oh don't give me that. You're getting around just fine on your crutches these days. And you know I've been working on carving a prosthetic for you.”
Chauncey sighed and set the rifle part he was holding back onto the cloth, reaching for his crutches. “I suppose so. As long as you've got a camp chair for me.”
Rick's grin widened, and he winked at Trev has he helped his dad to his feet and walked with him back towards camp. “I wanted to ask what you thought about Alice.”
It was Chauncey's turn to smile, although he was trailing Rick enough that his son didn't notice. “What about her? She lived with us for months, she's not exactly a stranger.”
Trev caught the flush of embarrassment on the back of Rick's neck. “I mean about Alice and me,” his friend corrected.
It was Trev's turn to grin as he watched father and son walk away. Then he glanced down at the weapons, and with a sigh sat down on the rock to finish maintenance on the rifle Chauncey had left half cleaned.
He wasn't the only one getting serious. Lewis, who'd been off with Jane in their own world for the last few minutes, abruptly clapped his hands and shouted over the hubbub of the crowd. “All right, people! It's early morning and we've got nowhere to be.”
There was a slightly confused pause at that, at least until his cousin continued a grin. “I don't know about the rest of you, but nice as this little shindig is I'd rather move it to a valley a ways north of here, where all the rest of our friends and family happen to be waiting for us. I figure we can get there today if we push, even loaded down with supplies.”
Ben clapped his hands as well, in applause. “Hear, hear!” he called. That drew a shout of agreement from the volunteers, and more cheers.
Lewis looked around the mountain, a bit wistfully, then motioned to their camp. “Come on. Let's go home.”
Chapter Nineteen
Homecoming
Lewis had been exaggerating a bit when talking about loading them down with supplies.
That was thanks to the tractor, which they loaded down instead. First off they raised the backhoe enough to hang several tarp-wrapped bundles from it, then raised the bucket as high as possible as well and turned it upright to fill with even more of their stuff. Mostly the AK-47s and Grachs captured from the blockheads, wrapped in tent cloth and spare clothing and stacked carefully on top of full ammo boxes and extra magazines.
It wasn't enough to hold everything, and more of their weapons and supplies packed every spare inch of space in the cab right up to the roof, which was also stacked high with bundles of supplies. By the time they got the tractor loaded up they were easily able to stow their remaining stuff in their packs, making a lighter load than usual.
With Lewis and the other squad leaders' approval, Trev had approached Harmon about trading the weapons they no longer had ammo for, making a good deal with the sergeant. That was thanks to the fact that the military had used up the majority of their fuel, so their forces would mostly be chasing the blockheads on foot. Which meant that any supplies they couldn't lug on their backs or on a few supply trucks were getting left behind.
Most of those supplies were things like the larger tents, bundles of tarps and sandbags, and other empty bags and boxes, the majority of which would be going to the refugee camps. There were also the various odds and ends the soldiers, as well as the volunteers who'd be going with them, had collected and were now forced to leave behind, along with the more permanent accommodations they'd built.
Harmon agreed that the Aspen Hill volunteers could have first pick of all that stuff in exchange for three dozen M16s, two dozen 1911s, most of the spare magazines for the weapons, and the three missile launchers they no longer had a use for.
Trev had to consider how much they could manage to carry with them, but he was also conscious of what the townspeople had “donated” to the military. And he couldn't forget the hardships the coming winter would bring. So his first priority was canvas and any other cloth he could find.
While he was picking through the growing pile of items to be left behind he heard a call, and looked up to see Vernon and a few of his men approaching. Even after their partial reconciliation Trev still tensed up slightly at the sight of the former sheriff. But he waved as he straightened, waiting for them to arrive.
“Doing some scavenging?” Vernon asked.
“Trading,” Trev replied. “Whatever we can manage to carry with us back home.”
“Ah, home.” The older man's mouth twisted slightly in bitterness. “It's a nice thing to have.”
Something about the way Vernon said it made Trev want to lash out, to remind him that Aspen Hill had been burned to the ground when the blockheads left, along with every other town. But he held himself back. “What are your plans?” he asked instead.
The former sheriff shrugged. “We'll go with the military. We don't have a community to return to, and none of us fancies trying our luck in the refugee camps.” His expression hardened. “Besides, I wouldn't mind getting a few more shots at the blockheads. I can't save the people of Newtown from what happened to them, but I can at least avenge them.”
“Fair enough.” Trev offered his hand. “Take care, Vernon.”
The man hesitated just a moment before shaking. “You too, Smith. All our problems aside, you're a decent man. I hope things turn out better for your town than they did for mine.” He hesitated. “As a personal favor, when you see Debra maybe you could . . .”
He trailed off, a
nd Trev waited patiently for a few seconds. “Could . . . ?” he finally supplied.
“Never mind. She's not interested in hearing anything from me.” With a wry twist of his lips Vernon reached into his pocket and pulled out his sheriff's badge, offering it. “Here. Aspen Hill will be better off with an honest lawman looking out for it.”
Trev accepted the gift, although he had to laugh. “You're giving this to the wrong person. I'll pass it along to Matt for you.”
“As you like.” The former sheriff motioned curtly and started off, his companions following close at his heels.
Trev looked down at the badge, then pocketed it with a shrug and got back to sorting through the junk for anything useful. He found a tightly wadded bundle of dirty sheets and immediately pounced on it, kicking it over to the small pile of canvas and spare clothing he'd accumulated.
Not far away Davis and his people were making their preparations to leave. While bargaining with Harmon the sergeant hadn't mentioned giving back any of the vehicles or supplies Aspen Hill had contributed, but Trev had made it a point to head off any awkwardness on the issue by assuring him that the military needed them more.
Still, he couldn't help but watch the trucks being loaded with a bit of wistfulness, thinking of how much more the Aspen Hill volunteers could take with them if they had even one. They'd be able to scavenge the sandbags from the abandoned emplacements, collect every spare log, scrap of lumber, and bit of furniture, and scoop up a bunch of other things that were being left behind.
Davis was hard at work coordinating the loading, shouting curses and commands with equal frequency as he pitched in where necessary. Remembering the request the sergeant had relayed through Lewis, Trev made his way over to make his farewells to him. As well as to his friends among the Marines and the volunteers who'd decided to stay in the fight.
Since Davis was hard at work he decided to make his other goodbyes first, starting with Graham. The demolitions specialist was poring over crates of his gear, but he looked as if he wouldn't mind an interruption.
“Try not to blow yourself up,” Trev called as he approached, offering his hand.
The Marine accepted it with a snort. “And you try not to burn yourself to a cinder. You and your cousin seem to like starting forest fires.”
“Saved your bacon with it.” Trev clapped the man on the shoulder. “You know where you'll be going?”
“Nah. Wherever it is, though, I'm sure there'll be things that need to be removed via demolitions.” Graham hesitated. “Listen. I've got to get back to work, but I just wanted to thank you for saving me and my people that day Williams died. You stuck your neck out for me when you didn't need to, and that means a lot.”
“We all owe each other our lives a dozen times over.” Trev gave him a last nod, then walked away seeking other friends as the demolitions specialist got back to work.
He wasn't the only one offering well wishes, and in many places the packing had ground to a halt in an informal gathering. Davis didn't look terribly pleased about the interruption, and his glares were hitting Trev as often as anyone else, so Trev broke off his conversation with Abrams to make his way over and offer the sergeant his hand.
“Bet you're glad to be heading back home to your families,” Davis said, returning the handshake with a crushing grip as they stepped away from the loading efforts. “Think you'll make it there today?”
Trev shrugged. “We may be underfed but we're in pretty good shape, although it's a long way to go over steep terrain.”
The sergeant grunted. “And when you get home?” At Trev's confused look his dour expression shifted to something else. Sympathy? “I've been a soldier for over a decade, Smith. I made it home every now and again during that time.” He hesitated, then fell silent.
“What was it like?” Trev asked quietly.
For an uncomfortable half minute he thought Davis wouldn't answer. “Everything changes once you become a soldier,” the Marine finally said in an equally quiet voice. “Everyone looks at you different, treats you different. Even the ones celebrating you as a hero. Even family. A lot of the time it's hard to pin down, but it'll always be there like a wall.
“People know you've been in combat, that you've probably seen friends die and had to kill your share of the enemy. No matter how casual they act you can tell it's always on their minds, like they're half afraid you're a ticking time bomb ready to go off. And that's the polite ones. The impolite ones pry into your experiences for all the wrong reasons, and the downright rotten ones hold it against you.”
The sergeant sucked in a sharp breath and snorted bitterly. “I don't know. Maybe things are different since the Gulf burned. It sounds like your town's seen its share of trouble, and defending your home is a different situation than fighting overseas. Maybe being in the middle of all this will give your people some perspective. Still, I thought you should have some idea of what to expect.”
“I appreciate that,” Trev said.
Davis fixed him with a stern look. “Take care of your people, Smith. Whatever homecoming you receive, make sure they know you're there for them. That somebody's ready to help them when things get tough. After all you've been through you can be sure things will get tough, and often just when there's nobody willing to lend a helping hand. No one gets through combat without some scars, and the ones you can't see can be just as bad as the ones you can. Memories that never leave you, that come rushing back at the worst possible times.”
Trev nodded slowly and offered his hand again. “Thank you, Sergeant,” he said. “For getting us through this, for helping us defend our homes. For everything.”
The Marine returned another crushing handshake. “Be grateful you have a home to go back to, Smith. That's a precious gift these days. Half the reason I'm still fighting is so people like you can enjoy that luxury.” His eyes narrowed with determination. “And I'll keep fighting this to the end, until every American citizen who's lost their home has a chance to go back, or at least has the safety to build a new one. There are worse things to die for.”
Davis abruptly began barking orders for his people to get back to work, but as he turned away Trev almost thought he saw tears in the older man's eyes.
The Marine started to leave, but Trev called him back. “You may have lost your home, but that doesn't mean you don't have one. You and your men are welcome in Aspen Hill anytime.”
The sergeant glanced over his shoulder, giving him a half smile. “I appreciate the sentiment,” he said. Then he walked off.
The sentiment. Trev had meant what he'd said, but at the same time he was speaking on his own. He hadn't consulted the town or even Lewis about the offer. And what if Davis did take him up on it? How many soldiers would he bring back with him? These few dozen, or a few hundred? A few thousand? Would they be able to take care of themselves or would they need at least some food and shelter until they could sort out their situation?
What if the rest of the town didn't agree with taking them in, and it created a situation like with the refugees last winter? Only this time with heavily armed and well trained refugees, going into a nuclear winter that would be ten times worse?
He was an idiot. Davis had outright said he was willing to throw away his future so towns like Aspen Hill could have one, and all Trev offered in return was a pipe dream. He was glad the man had decided to accept the thought behind it rather than get insulted.
Still, Trev had meant what he'd said. He'd talk to Mayor Tillman and Matt and the other town leaders about taking in any soldiers who returned. After everything those in the military had sacrificed for their sake, they deserved that much.
And who knew, maybe Davis would take him up on his offer after all.
* * * * *
Those going north with the military were ready to leave before the Aspen Hill volunteers.
Although they were parting ways, both groups were heading up Highway 31 to start with. Along the entire stretch of mountains the military had defended, the onl
y two roads still open were one in the south that Lassiter had jealously guarded, and one in the north that Erikson had literally sacrificed lives to hold. The military was even now gathering on that northern road, vehicles and troops on foot trickling through the choke point in a stream that would take hours or possibly even days.
Lewis watched Davis's convoy disappear up the road as his volunteers made their final preparations to leave, loading up the supplies Trev had picked out. His cousin proved to have a good eye for what the town needed, cloth and canvas that would be useful both for construction and for blankets and warm clothing for the coming winter. They managed to fit a fair amount on the tractor, packing it around the weapons and other supplies to protect them during the trip.
Then it was time for them to go.
Even slow as it was, the loaded tractor easily left them in the dust as it made its way back to the valley refuge. Chauncey had suggested holding its pace back to match the volunteers and stay with them, mostly to protect the supplies it carried, but Lewis had decided that wasn't worth the waste of fuel.
Besides, if anyone was stupid enough to rob them they could call in a favor to Davis, and the military would come down on the would-be thieves like a ton of bricks. Although Lewis didn't think that likely . . . not when everyone was still celebrating defeating the blockheads, with a prevailing spirit of harmony and pulling together for the good of all.
So their supplies went on ahead, and Lewis and his volunteers followed at the best pace they could manage.
It wasn't an easy hike, or a short one. They pushed hard to cover the distance before dark, trudging upslope and jogging downslope with few breaks in between. The prospect of home pushed them to keep going in spite of their weariness, and Lewis actually had to worry more about his people overexerting themselves than slacking off. Especially the freed prisoners who'd come with them, who were still recovering from their hardships and hadn't fully built up their strength.