by Nathan Jones
Once Matt finally got his stomach under control he wiped his mouth with a shaky hand and stumbled over to where Lewis and the others waited. “According to Deb and Trev one of the men who ambushed her was the same guy who attacked Trev four days ago. Our defenders followed that group back to the camp northwest of here. I think it's reasonable to assume this was them?”
“Some of them, at least,” Lewis agreed. “It may be hasty to blame the whole camp.”
That seemed like just the sort of advice Gutierrez could use right now. Speaking of which . . . Matt toggled his radio. “Raul, what've you got?”
Gutierrez and half a dozen defenders had followed the bandits' trail, going slow and cautious in case of further ambush. “We're still tracking them, but I'm willing to bet money it's that camp a few miles northwest of here,” the former soldier replied, tone oddly flat. “The trail leads straight back to it.”
That confirmed their suspicions, although honestly if dozens of men had attacked Brandon's patrol there weren't really all that many other options, especially in that direction. Most of the displaced refugees sent by Rogers had split into smaller groups or moved out of the area, searching for some refugee camp or community that would take them in. The largest group by far was in that camp.
From observing the hundred or so men in there they didn't seem to be doing much in the way of providing for themselves, and there'd been more than a few suggestions that men from there were attacking and robbing people farther north of them, not just south towards Aspen Hill.
“All right, so we think we know who they are,” he replied over the radio and to the people around him both. “Now the question is: Are they insane? They've got what, a crossbow, some clubs and knives, and a few guns they looted from the patrol?”
“As far as we know,” Lucas agreed quietly.
Matt grit his teeth in frustration. “And they thought they could get away with this. Didn't they get the message when we lined up hundreds of armed townspeople as a warning not to screw with us? Or when we sent their guys who tried to sneak into town slinking back with their tails between their legs?”
Lewis shook his head. “Maybe they don't think we'll be able to track them. Maybe they think our shows of force was a bluff, so they're trying to lure us into a fight because they think they can take us and want to steal more of our stuff. Maybe they're desperate and plan to flee now that they've pissed us off. Maybe they think a town will be bogged down by procedure and bureaucracy and won't come after them in force. Or maybe, like I said earlier, this was just a portion of the camp acting without the knowledge or approval of the others.”
“Maybe some or all of the above.” Matt straightened, hand going to the 1911 at his hip. “Let's get our people together to go out there and get to the bottom of this,” he said grimly. Then he reluctantly turned back to the murdered patrol. “But first let's help Terry and Dr. Langstrom get these poor people prepared for burial, and call some people to help him take them back to town.”
The others nodded, equally grim. Matt called over the radio for someone from town to bring sheets to wrap the bodies in. Since Brandon had been killed almost immediately at the start of the fighting his body had largely been left alone, and might be made presentable for viewing with some work. But now that Robert was making caskets for the dead the funeral would certainly be closed casket for the other three.
It didn't take long to do what they could to help, which wasn't much. Matt left his sister and brother-in-law behind with the surgeon and a couple defenders while he took everyone else at a quick trot following after Gutierrez.
On the way Rick removed his helmet and held it out to Matt. “Here. I noticed you only brought a vest.”
Matt hesitated accepting it. “Look, I'm pissed off too, but we're going out there to talk first and foremost. We need to figure out what happened before we just start shooting up the camp, and wearing a helmet doesn't exactly scream peaceful negotiation.”
His friend shrugged. “I'm more worried about them shooting up my Mayor. Just put it on.”
It was hard to argue with that logic. Matt reluctantly put on the helmet as they jogged.
They were almost to the camp before they caught up with Gutierrez. The former soldier didn't let them stay caught up, either; he ran ahead with his people to check for scouts around the camp and sweep its perimeter for potential threats. Since the man was in charge in Trev's absence Matt didn't protest. Instead he led the others behind a low hill overlooking the sprawl of tents to wait for the all-clear signal. Once Gutierrez gave it Matt led the way shimmying up to the top, peeking down at the camp a hundred yards away from behind the cover of a small stand of scrub oak.
The size and number of crude shelters confirmed about a hundred people. There weren't many tents, and the spare cloth and other material the displaced refugees been able to find had been hung in sloped canopies around the fires to catch the warmth. There were a couple deer slung over those fires roasting, suggesting the men had more guns or bows and crossbows. There was no way the bandits who'd taken out the patrol could've returned in time to bring down game using the stolen rifles of their victims.
Either way it wouldn't be enough meat to go around. The men he saw were as emaciated and ragged as their tents, obviously missing more than a few meals, and a couple deer weren't going to help that. Of course, after butchering four Aspen Hill townspeople this scum of humanity had more to worry about than where their next meal was coming from.
“Cover me,” he said, directing the words both to Gutierrez over the radio and to the defenders with him. Then with one last check of his gear he rose and started down the far side of the hill.
To their credit the sentries the displaced refugees had set around their camp immediately spotted him and the others and scrambled to defend themselves, producing weapons and taking cover behind tents and anything else in camp that would offer at least some concealment.
Matt didn't see any sign of the weapons or other gear from the patrol, which as best he knew was five rifles, four pistols, four sets of body armor, four packs, and whatever else Brandon and the others had been carrying on them. It was a surprise the bandits left their victims the clothes on their backs. The fact that none of the men below were showing any of that wasn't proof of innocence, since Gutierrez had followed the bandits directly here.
He didn't recognize any of the men he saw as those who'd tried to sneak into Aspen Hill, either, and especially there was no sign of any man with a bruise on his face. No surprise there, since even if these bandits were belligerent they weren't going to flaunt their guilty friends in front of representatives of a group that significantly outnumbered and outgunned them. The displaced refugees probably still hoped they'd be able to plead innocence and send them packing.
Once Matt was a cautious distance from the camp he slowed to a stop, well aware that this was easy range for a rifle. There wasn't much they could do about that but keep an eye out for anyone about to shoot him so he could duck and run to safety. Still, standing in the open like this made the hairs on his neck prickle and his muscles tense.
On the closest edge of the camp several men had gathered just outside the nearest tent. One, the leader or at least spokesman of the displaced refugees, raised his voice to address Matt. His tone was nearly beyond unfriendly to the point of being threatening. “What do you want?”
Matt took a deep breath. What he wanted was to raise his M16 and fire a few bursts into that group, then start picking out targets inside the camp. Hiding behind tents wouldn't do jack to protect them; the men who'd attacked the patrol had lost more men than their victims, and they'd caught Brandon's people by surprise and got in close fast.
Here, even with their stolen guns and what little else they had, the displaced refugees probably couldn't even win against Matt and the seventeen people with him. It would be a one-sided massacre.
But there were right ways and wrong ways to do things. “We know four of our people were killed by men from your
camp!” he shouted back, doing his best to make his voice iron. “We're willing to give you one chance to prove the entire camp wasn't complicit in the attack.”
“You don't know anything!” another ruffian called, voice thick with contempt.
“Give up the murderers responsible for killing our people,” Matt continued, ignoring him, “and give your word you'll keep the peace from now on, or face justice yourselves. If you don't do both of these things, right now, we'll hold you all guilty for the loss of our people and respond in kind.”
Matt wasn't sure exactly what happened next. He was abruptly falling backwards, a pain in his chest like he'd been hit there with a hammer. He heard the distant crackcrackcrack of a three round burst from an M16 as he collapsed towards the ground, time seeming to slow down around him.
Then arms caught him beneath the shoulders, dragging him backwards up the hill and over the ridge. He looked up to see Rick, head tucked down protectively behind one shoulder as he watched his step behind him, moving as quickly as he could with Matt's weight. He had a vague thought that in their current situation his friend should've kept his helmet since he needed it more.
Around them he heard the sound of more gunshots as the Aspen Hill group returned fire while also withdrawing to safety, with Gutierrez and his scouts covering them. From the way his friends winced and ducked, accompanied by the muted sound of gunfire from the camp, it was obvious the displaced refugees turned bandits were attacking them.
Matt was having trouble breathing, his flak jacket restrictive and the pain in his chest unbelievable. That body armor had just saved his life, and he was glad he'd taken the time to put it on.
“What happened?” he gasped as Rick set him down partway downhill from the ridge, safe from view of the camp on the other side.
“Snipers popped up from behind a tent,” his friend said grimly. “They went for you first, and at least one of them has decent aim.”
“They're not pursuing!” Lewis called, ducking down beside the two of them with the rest of the group. Nobody seemed hurt, to Matt's immense relief. Lewis felt beneath Matt's body armor, checking to see if any bullets had penetrated its protection as he continued. “But we should probably get out of here before they decide to. Can you walk, Matt?”
Matt rubbed at the sharp pain in his chest, struggling to regain his breath. Those fools thought that because Aspen Hill was a peaceful, civilized town, that made them weak. They'd already proven they had no respect for life.
“I can,” he said through gritted teeth. He lifted his hands for help getting up, but one shoulder became a blaze of agony at the movement. Lewis saw and left it to Rick to grab Matt's other hand and help him up one-handed, as he supported his side well away from where he'd been shot.
“Should I keep returning fire?” Gutierrez's voice crackled through his headset.
Matt freed his good hand long enough to toggle his mic. “Negative. Rejoin us as we withdraw.”
The former soldier sounded pissed, and for good reason. “The three of us have good cover. We could probably take out half the camp while they run around like chickens with their heads cut off. We've already taken out four of the guys with guns, although their buddies were quick to pick up the weapons and shoot back.”
“Rejoin us,” Matt repeated firmly. “Let's keep our heads.”
There was a long pause. “Copy that,” Gutierrez finally said.
The former soldier and the two defenders with him met them half a mile south of camp. Matt had paused to drop onto a log, wincing as Lewis and Lucas pulled off his vest and checked him over more thoroughly. There was a minor puncture wound where the bullet had pushed the vest material into his skin, and an ugly bruise was already spreading over his chest. But it wasn't serious, and Matt was sure he could make it back to Aspen Hill without too much effort so Terry could look him over.
Gutierrez crouched down beside him. The man was breathing hard, face tight with pent up rage. Matt realized he hadn't seen his friend since Gutierrez had seen the bodies of his close friend Brandon and the other members of the patrol. It was obvious the former soldier was taking it hard, and the camp's attack on Matt and the others certainly hadn't improved his mental state.
“I'll live,” Matt said, trying to smile. “Thanks for covering me.”
His friend didn't seem to hear him. “I volunteer to lead an attack on the camp,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “Tonight.”
“I've got reservations about being hasty here,” Lewis said.
“They murdered four people and shot at our Mayor!” Gutierrez snapped. “They shot at you! At your dad! We need to bring them to justice.”
Lewis had to be as angry as the rest of them, but he kept his head. “How? Even if they deserve it, which I'm not necessarily arguing they don't, if we massacre the entire camp Rogers will label it an atrocity. He'll use it as an excuse to call in the military to occupy the town and toss us all in chains. And that's if we aren't just lined up and shot.”
Lucas nodded. “Chauncey will have sent word of the attack on the patrol over the radio by now. I think we need to give the military at least a little time to respond to this before we act, just so we're not accused of jumping the gun.”
“Give me some credit,” the former soldier said. “We've got enough people and weapons to arrest the whole camp and take down anyone who resists.”
“At night, like you suggested?” Lewis shot back. “We don't have time to do anything before sundown, and there's no way you're making mass arrests in the dark.”
Gutierrez hesitated. “Okay, I might've been thinking more of going in guns blazing,” he admitted. “But I can manage a more restrained approach too.” He turned to Matt. “However we do it, we should do it soon. They've already proven they'll murder innocents without a second thought. If we wait they might take other lives we could've saved. Maybe Aspen Hill lives.”
“Rogers will accuse us of taking the law into our own hands no matter how we do it,” Lewis warned. “He'll probably get on our case just for the shootout we just had.”
For a moment Matt hesitated, looking around the group. He agreed with both sides of the argument. Their friends had been brutally murdered, they'd just been shot at, and their Mayor had almost been killed while extending the olive branch.
But again, there was a right way and a wrong way to do things.
“Middle ground,” he said. “I'll return home with Lucas and we'll gather enough defenders to surround the camp and force them to surrender. We'll plan for the attack tomorrow morning, rest and prepare and try to get back here well before dawn so we can go then. Raul, post everyone else here as teams of sentries around the camp for the night to keep anyone from leaving until we get back. You're right, we can't risk letting them go out and attack more innocents.”
“Works for me,” Lucas said. “If we can't get a response from the military overnight they have no one to blame but themselves for ignoring us.”
Gutierrez seemed satisfied with the decision, too. “We can probably contain them, as long as they don't try leaving all at once. If you bring back a hundred or so defenders it should be enough to intimidate them into giving up.”
“All right then.” Matt nodded to Lucas. “Give me a hand up.”
While the former soldier gathered everyone around to plan how they'd watch the camp, Matt started back for home with Lucas close by ready to support him in case he needed it. Even with time to organize the defenders and rest up a bit before dawn, he had a feeling it was going to be a sleepless night for him and good chunk of his people.
And Sam was going to kill him when she found out he'd been shot.
* * * * *
They'd killed Brandon. They'd killed him. In cold blood, in a cowardly ambush, and mutilated his corpse. Him, and Greg, and Frank, and Olly, and they'd tried to take Deb alive to do unspeakable things to her. Raul couldn't just forget that, because he'd set up that patrol himself and asked each person in it to go out there. He'd promised Trev that
Deb would be safe, had leaned on Brandon to make sure his friend would look out for her.
And they'd killed him. In cold blood. Him and the others. And they'd tried to take Deb.
Raul ignored the cold. The damp of thick dew gathering on everything, including him, as the night progressed. The growing pressure in his bowels. Hunger. Thirst. Weariness. His eyes barely blinked as he watched the camp below, where almost a hundred of the bandits slept.
His friends in Aspen Hill understood desperation. No one could live in the world the way it was now without feeling that crushing emotion as a constant companion. They'd watched friends and loved ones die. They'd endured sickness, starvation, cold, and the terror of faceless men who wanted to kill them and take everything they had.
But there was a difference between understanding desperation, and understanding just how deep desperation could go. Even when things were at their worst, few of his friends had ever faced their troubles alone. Not only alone, but with the knowledge that there was no one out there who cared about them, who depended on them, who hoped and prayed for their safety and a swift return to loving arms.
Raul understood. He'd watched as the only thing he'd had left, his duty to his country, had been stripped from him by a constant string of choices with no-win outcomes forced on him by Riley Ferris. His discipline as a soldier, neat grooming, well tended gear, straight back, clear conscience, had all been eroded away. He'd seen it happen, trapped, too cowardly to even protest, as his FETF relief squad had gradually devolved into bandits and raiders, preying on the very people they'd sworn to protect.
Aspen Hill hadn't been an escape from his desperation. He'd stolen from them, too, when Ferris first occupied the town. He'd failed to protect them, abandoned them to Razor's gang. Sam and Alice had nearly been raped because of him, something he didn't think Matt and Rick should ever forgive him for.
So when he later left the raiders and surrendered to Aspen Hill, he'd almost hoped they'd execute him for his crimes. He deserved it. And when he saw how even now they hesitated to fully accept him into their community, to bring him in as they'd brought in refugees, crippled veterans, and mentally scarred former prisoners of the blockheads, he knew he deserved that too.