by Nathan Jones
Matt didn't completely blame the refugees. They were being used by Rogers and had been put in a terrible position, and although their individual choices were their own responsibility they were largely acting in desperation. That didn't change the town's duty to protect itself, though.
As another deterrent, decided on after Trev's group was attacked, Matt put far more of the town's defenders to patrolling along roads for miles around the town, keeping peace and doing their best to protect their nearby neighbors. Over the last few days they'd also taken in a few families who'd been forced to flee their isolated homes or small communities, at least until this situation could be resolved.
Two days ago they'd caught a couple bandits who'd committed serious enough crimes to warrant more than warnings, with the testimony of a traumatized pair of children a patrol had found along a road and brought back to town, whose family had been victims of the two men. The crimes were horrific enough that no one had any objections to the criminals being executed according to the town's openly stated laws.
All of it done with full disclosure over the radio and endless requests for the military to step in or at least offer input on the situation. Requests which were, as always, ignored.
Matt was glad Chauncey was tirelessly on the radio pleading their cause. The retired teacher honestly laid out the situation to everyone who would listen, while confirming that Rogers was doing his best to spread disinformation about the town and what was happening.
Even now the camp coordinator was misrepresenting the situation, suppressing facts, and capitalizing on the natural sympathy people had for refugees. His falsehoods were so outrageous it was no wonder Grimes had effectively booted out the Aspen Hill delegation in a fit of anger.
The way Rogers laid things out made the people of Aspen Hill look like unspeakable monsters. He wove an impressive fiction of an agreement by Aspen Hill to take the refugees in, with food and supplies delivered to the town ahead of time. Then, when the refugees came expecting aid, Aspen Hill instead opened fire in the air above them and drove them scattering into the hills, then hunted individual groups too close to town and chased them still farther away, wounding, injuring, and even killing some.
Needless to say his fictitious refugees were mostly defenseless women and children. Rogers even spoke of going to the town to retrieve the refugees' food and deliver justice, only to have guns turned on his brave soldiers, forcing him to withdraw. Nobody seemed to question his timeline even though Chauncey had been giving Aspen Hill's side of things for nearly two weeks, and even more vehemently in the eight days since they'd been forced to turn back the thousand refugees Rogers sent their way.
It was a sickening distorting of the true events to paint Aspen Hill in the worst possible light and make the major a saintly martyr. Matt couldn't even conceive of the type of mind that could concoct such a scenario, let alone actually believe it.
The things the man was accusing the town, and specifically Matt, of made his blood boil, but there was nothing to be done but keep dealing with events as they came and telling the truth to anyone who would listen. Still, it was worrisome that things weren't calming down, and were instead getting worse by the day. And Rogers got to sit back in his camp and watch things fall apart without needing to directly go after the town again.
After dinner on the eighth day found Matt sitting at the radio desk with a handful of others, listening to Chauncey's regular report of what he'd heard and who he'd spoken to.
“I suppose the good news is that it's not all bad news,” the retired teacher said. “Word is that the nearby towns are rumbling in protest and asking awkward questions about what's going on up here. They don't like the idea that the problems with banditry we're seeing here might spread closer to them, they don't like the idea that the military isn't saying or doing anything about the situation, and they really don't like the idea that their rations might be taken away as punishment for displeasing Rogers or someone like him.”
“That's good,” Trev said.
Lewis shook his head. “Good but not great. Remember, the military is centered around the refugee camps. They're going to have an unconscious bias for the refugees, not just because they're responsible for them but because those people vastly outnumber the independent residents living in the area. They might not care as much about what the surviving towns have to say.”
“There's one other big piece of news,” Chauncey said. “I'm not sure it'll directly help us with our refugee camp coordinator problem, but it's indirectly related.”
Matt frowned. “What is it?”
The retired teacher looked to the side as if gathering his thoughts. “Well, even though the military is mostly controlling what goes over the radio, Rogers's behavior is calling into question things like overreach of military power and lack of a civilian government. It's mostly still an undercurrent at the moment, but people are genuinely worried about the possibility of a military dictatorship.”
“Possibility?” Lewis said. “All respect to Generals Lassiter and Erikson, but we've pretty much been in one of those since they came to the Rocky Mountains. Although there wasn't much worry about that while we were fighting the blockheads.”
Chauncey hesitated. “There's plenty I could say about how far the nation has strayed from its roots, and watching it all collapse after the Gulf burned certainly didn't help. But the majority of US citizens still have a healthy disdain for tyranny, and now that the crisis has passed they want Caesar to set aside his dictatorial powers, so to speak.” He shrugged. “To get to the point, more and more people are talking about reinstituting the civilian government and holding some form of elections.”
“Well that's good,” Matt said. People like Rogers would have trouble getting away with anything if they were accountable to someone besides fellow military officers who might be inclined to take their side.
“Good, but it doesn't really help us. There's no time to organize any of that before the first snows, and anyway people are focused too much on surviving the coming winter to spare the time. That's something for next spring, assuming nuclear winter gives us a summer before the snows start falling again.”
Trev grimaced. “So it's not actually good news.”
“I never said it was.” The retired teacher shrugged again. “If nothing else, the idea of future civilian authority and having to deal with politics might make our rogue major a bit more cautious about his public image. Assuming the military is actually willing to cede power to a civilian government.”
“Fantastic,” Matt muttered. “That's the sort of optimistic thinking I like to hear.” He clapped the older man on the shoulder. “Anything else?”
Chauncey sighed. “It's been fairly quiet around here, but Brandon's patrol radioed in about a camp to the north that a handful of refugees are setting up for the night, close enough to town to warrant sending them packing. He's heading in to do that now.”
Matt noticed Trev stiffen slightly. Deb was still on Brandon's team, and he understood his friend's worry. But so far they'd encountered quite a few people setting up camp within their territory, mostly out of ignorance, and only a few had caused real trouble when the defenders demanded they move. Besides, a few refugees didn't seem like too great a danger.
“Tell him to be careful,” he said anyway.
“Will do,” the retired teacher replied, bending back over his radio.
Matt sighed. “In the meantime I need to have a conversation with some of our people who want to go out and hunt, even with all these bandits around causing problems. Why don't you come with me and tell them why that's a bad idea, Trev?” If nothing else it would take his friend's mind off any worry for his kind-of girlfriend.
* * * * *
Deb missed Trev. No, not because she was emotionally dependent on him and had become a wreck without him. At least not like she had been.
But she liked being around him. He tended to look on the bright side of things while acknowledging life's imperfections, but h
e didn't let any of that keep him from sincerely caring. Or from finding humor in topics she would've found troubling otherwise, somehow managing to set her at ease and help her look on the bright side too.
Still, with all the tension and trouble around his presence would've been a comfort. It didn't seem fair that she couldn't at least say hi every once in a while, let him know she was still alive and doing okay. And since she was avoiding him it was awkward to hang out with his family, too, so that was more of her close friends she was isolated from. Even being with Linda wasn't like it had been, although the girl wasn't the easiest friend at the best of times.
Regardless of how people walked on eggshells around Deb, not to mention acting like her emotional baggage impacted her ability to think, she wasn't stupid or a child. She knew Linda well enough to know that when the girl had come to warn her about Trev's intervention, the truth might be slanted by Linda's perspective. Deb could also guess at where the girl might've smudged the facts.
Yes, Trev's family were nice people and they cared about her. They might be worried for Trev, but they wouldn't leave Deb out for the wolves even if they thought it was the best thing for him. Which they didn't. They just saw a problem and agreed it needed to be addressed. Which Deb was just fine with, since she wasn't blind to the problem either.
In a way they really had helped her by suggesting she and Trev take a break. It had given her a chance to straighten out the parts of her thinking that'd been going bendy. And hopefully before too long she could try again and things would work better.
Although now wasn't really the time to be thinking of all that.
Not that the four men huddled around the newly started campfire a few hundred yards away looked like too much of a threat. None of them were armed with anything more dangerous than a sturdy walking stick, and all looked dirty and hungry, bracing themselves for the night's chill as the sun sank towards the horizon. They'd set up camp beside a convenient copse of tangled evergreens, which had given them easy access to plenty of deadwood for their fire.
Brandon led the way as the patrol cautiously approached, weapons ready. At the sight of them the refugees warily came to their feet, hands held out unthreateningly to the sides. That made Deb feel even more confident that this wasn't going to turn violent.
“No need to arrest us,” one of the men called. He had an ugly fading bruise across one cheek, as if he'd been struck hard in the face within the last few days. That tickled Deb's memory for some reason, although she wasn't sure why. Or maybe it was just the open indication of past violence. Still, it put her slightly on edge as he continued. “We're just camping the night.”
“Fair enough,” Brandon called back. “But you're too close to Aspen Hill. I need you to pack up and head north, and not stop until you're at least a mile away.”
The men grumbled amongst themselves. “We didn't know,” their spokesman whined. “We don't want any trouble, we're just trying to get by.”
Brandon shrugged. “That's fine. Just go ahead and move on, and stay at least three miles away from town in the future.”
“How do we even know how far the place is?” another refugee cut in. “We haven't even seen this mythical town of yours.”
Deb tensed, hefting her weapon even though it seemed impossible that the men would try anything. The patrol was more than far enough away to respond in time if the refugees charged them. So why were they being so cantankerous?
“You don't need to know. If you're worried about getting too close you can give us a wide berth and make things easier on both of us.” Brandon was obviously losing patience.
“Yeah but we didn't know we were getting close,” the spokesman said, still whining. “You're going to make us pack up after we've already got a fire going and everything, with sundown only a few hours away?”
Brandon waved his gun to indicate for the refugees to get going. “Yes you didn't know, you've already told us. That doesn't change the fact that you can't be here. You're too close to Aspen Hill, you need to move now.”
“Why?” the refugee shouted, going from petulant to angry himself in a flash. “We're just sitting here around a fire trying not to starve and freeze to death! You're already keeping us out of your town and not giving us anything, why do you have to harass us way out here?”
The patrol leader sighed, anger giving way to weariness. “Look, you can just as easily camp a mile north of here, outside our patrol range. Then we wouldn't have-”
Brandon's words cut off in a grunt, followed by a terrible gurgling sound. Deb turned and saw in blank horror that he had an arrow buried in his neck and was slumping to his knees, rifle clattering to the ground as he lifted his hands towards the wound in stunned incomprehension.
Feeling a sort of numb disbelief, she turned away from the fire towards the nearby copse where the arrow had come from. To her shock she saw over two dozen men with crude weapons like baseball bats, golf clubs, and metal pipes with tape handles had burst from hiding places and were closing the distance towards her patrol, already more than halfway to them.
Screaming a warning to her three remaining companions, she lifted her AK-47 and snapped off a shot. A man went down clutching his stomach, adding his own screams to the confusion. Deb started to aim for a man carrying a baseball bat who'd nearly reached her, but he swung and managed to hit the end of her rifle, knocking it out of her hands.
Somehow she was able to duck away from the bat's backswing as the man stumbled past, diving for her dropped weapon. Around her she heard a few brief spats of gunfire, quickly followed by thuds and screams as her patrol was overwhelmed and beaten to the ground. And the original four men at the fire had also joined the fray as soon as her and her companions' backs were turned.
It had been a trap, and they'd literally walked right up to it.
Before Deb could reach her gun a solid kick to her side knocked her away. She curled up around the agonizing injury, thoughts of going for her weapon momentarily forgotten in a haze of pain as more kicks followed to her thighs, hips, butt, lower back, and finally a vicious one to her crotch from behind.
That last one made her involuntarily flip over onto her back still huddled in a ball, tearing a cry of pain from between her clenched teeth. She looked up dazedly to see the man with the bat looming over her. He'd been happy to kick and stomp on her with his boot, but now he hesitated in bringing the bat down on her head.
Not from any kindness or unwillingness to seriously hurt her, of course; he was leering down at her with the same expression the blockheads who'd taken her prisoner had worn. The look she'd seen far too often during those nightmarish first days in their hands, which she remembered only as a horrific blur she did her best to avoid thinking about.
He wanted her relatively unharmed for his own sickening reasons.
But his moment of hesitation was all she needed. The other bandits were still swarming around the rest of her patrol mates, swinging their brutal weapons long past the point of being necessary to the accompaniment of noises she didn't want to think about. Another horrific event that would feature in her nightmares if she survived this.
And if she wanted to do that then this would be her one and only chance, since once they'd played out their aggression on the bodies of her friends they'd turn their attention on her for other malevolent desires.
Her attacker shifted the bat to one hand, reaching for her with the other. “Don't struggle, and maybe you'll-”
Deb drew her pistol from its concealed holster behind the waistband of her jeans, disguising the motion with the all too sincere cringing she was doing. Before the man even realized what was happening she shot him in the face point-blank.
The result wasn't pretty, although she barely noticed since she'd already started moving, rolling away as he fell on top of her. She yanked her legs free of his dead weight and stumbled to her feet, eyes searching for the only enemy currently holding a ranged weapon: the man with the crossbow who'd shot Brandon. She fired at him until he we
nt down, too.
Then she turned and bolted, her sprint fueled by wild terror and desperation at what awaited her if she was too slow. Guilt churned in her gut at leaving her patrol mates behind to the bandits, but she knew there was nothing she could do for them now. At least by the smallest mercy their deaths had been fairly quick.
Behind her she heard shouts and howls as the nearest bandits tore after her in close pursuit. She stumbled and nearly fell, and by sheer luck at that exact moment a thrown chunk of rock passed just over her head, missing her by inches. In an instant she regained her balance and started sprinting again, pushing for every ounce of speed.
Part of her wanted to turn and unload the rest of her magazine at her pursuers to slow them down, but the rational part of her brain clawing for control through her panic knew that would be counterproductive. Even if she took down half of them the rest would swarm her before she could get away again, and after the fight she'd put up they'd make her suffer even worse for it.
She desperately wanted to live, but she'd fight with everything she had to avoid going through that hell again. Never again.
All she could do was keep sprinting flat out, listening to the snarls and pants seemingly right in her ear from her closest pursuers, and hope she was faster than them. Her lungs burned, her throat was raw, her legs felt rubbery and she stumbled more and more often, but somehow the expected hands grasping at her pack or weight tackling her from behind never came.
If there was one thing going for her it was that the men chasing her were weak from hunger. They didn't have the strength to keep up their pursuit for long, and she was able to outpace them. The noise from right behind faded until she was sure she had a lead of at least ten feet, and she risked a glance over her shoulder to see that the bandits had finally come to a panting halt.