by Nathan Jones
Then for another ten or so seconds he stood with his head cocked, struggling to place a sound he hadn't heard in almost a decade. His mind recognized it immediately of course, but then rejected it as impossible and searched for something, anything else that could be causing the distant rumbling.
Thunder? Landslide? A large herd of animals running? But deep down he was aware there could be no doubt what it was: engines.
Multiple engines.
Tom didn't know which was more impossible, that there were still working vehicles or that for some reason they were driving along through the middle of the badlands of New Mexico, miles away from any road or notable landmark. But he couldn't argue with his ears, which had spent over two thirds of his lifetime listening to that familiar noise as practically a background to his daily life.
How the blazes? Sure, there'd been all those rumors of hearing engines, or spotting aircraft or tanks. But like that guy back in Grand Junction had said, those rumors were like the UFO stories of the post-Ultimatum world.
Almost no vehicles had continued running after the EMP that came with the global thermonuclear war. The ones that had quickly ran out of fuel since the shortages had already made gas hard to come by and impossibly costly. Then as petroleum extraction and refining came to a swift grinding halt fuel disappeared altogether.
But by some impossibility he was hearing engines, a dozen at least, getting steadily closer. It didn't matter where they'd come from, all that mattered was they were the likely cause of the disappearing convoys.
He had to warn Simon.
Tom turned and bolted back towards the convoy. Unfortunately he'd ranged almost two miles out from the group, which normally would take anywhere from thirty to forty minutes to get back to at his walking pace. If he ran at his best manageable speed he could maybe get there in fifteen minutes, perhaps twelve if he ran flat out until he collapsed under the weight of his pack.
But even that wouldn't be nearly fast enough. Those vehicles behind him would be traveling at least 25 miles an hour, probably closer to 40 or 50. They could cover the same distance in minutes, descending on the helpless convoy long before he reached them.
Which meant he needed to get a faster warning to them. Tom slowed to a stop and put his fingers to his lips, ready to give the prearranged signal. Then he hesitated.
Was whistling loud enough to be heard for miles such a good idea? The engine noise at this distance should drown out any noise those people in the vehicles might hear, at least he hoped, but was he willing to risk it? There was a chance they weren't heading right for the convoy and might pass it by, but if they heard him whistling all bets were off.
He had to risk it. There was no way they could fight against a dozen vehicles and who knew how many bandits, well equipped enough to make entire convoys disappear. Their only hope was to find a place to hide, which meant they had to get moving now before the threat came in sight.
Decided, Tom blasted out the appropriate signal. Hopefully the convoy would hear, remember what the whistles meant, and immediately begin searching for a hiding spot.
They didn't have long.
A quick look south gave Tom his first glimpse of the approaching threat, distant reflections of sunlight off metal and windshields against the heat haze. The sight galvanized him back into action, and he ran down the slickrock slope he was on and towards the nearest high spot that gave him a view of the convoy, hoping he'd reach them in time to give visual warning as well.
* * * * *
Kristy felt her blood run cold as the whistles, faint but piercing, carried through the air to reach the Hendricksons' cart near the back of the convoy.
She still remembered the mountain man gathering them around him before leaving Emery, and again before they tried to sneak past those possible bandits near Green River, and a final time just before they'd changed route to cut directly across the badlands. Each time he'd painstakingly demonstrated each whistle and what they were supposed to do if they heard it.
It was a simple system, with one, two, or three initial whistles followed by one to four followup whistles. The initial whistles indicated the level of threat, the followups what direction it was coming from going clockwise from north. For instance one then one meant stop and be wary of a possible threat to the north. Two and four meant prepare to defend themselves from imminent attack from the west.
Three and three meant run and hide, trouble worse than they could handle coming from the south.
“Circle up!” Simon roared from the front of the convoy. “Weapons ready!”
Kristy stared at the redheaded man incredulously. Had he misinterpreted the signal or was he deliberately ignoring its warning? Three blasts meant do whatever they could to try to avoid being seen, and failing that abandon the wagons and scatter in the hope they might get away.
Instinctively she found herself obeying her almost-boyfriend's orders, following after Bob as he did his best to urge the gelding to a faster pace to catch up to the wagons already moving into defensive positions. Skyler came to take her hand, eyes wide with fright, and that immediately made her doubt herself.
She trusted Simon with her life, but was it smart to just go to him and hope for the best in the face of the mountain man's clear warning? Even if she joined everyone else in the cover provided by the circled wagons she wouldn't be able to do much to help. She had no gun and she wasn't a very good shot anyway.
Wasn't it better to err on the side of caution, run and hide with Skyler and the Hendricksons? She prayed Simon and the others could hold off any attack coming their way, and if they did she could always rejoin them afterwards.
But if they lost she didn't want to be trapped with them.
Simon was watching her approach anxiously, making sure she was safe and where he could protect her. It tore at her heart to make the safe decision, but she refused to take chances with her son's life.
So she clutched Skyler's hand tight and dragged him over to the side of the cart, where she began gathering a bundle of things they absolutely couldn't survive without. Mostly food and some of the smaller water bottles, along with tent and blankets and a few warmer clothes.
“Skyler, grab your things!” she shouted. Her son stared at her in confused disbelief, as if he thought she was crazy, and her frayed nerves snapped. “Now!”
With a start he dazedly moved to obey.
Vicky and Bob, who'd been frantically pushing the cart to help the gelding move it more quickly towards the safety of the forming wagon circle, both paused to stare at her incredulously. “What are you doing?” Vicky demanded.
“Didn't you hear the signal?” Kristy replied. “The threat's too big to fight, we have to run!”
Bob frowned, looking at her as if he thought she was being irrational and he didn't know how to handle it. “Simon said-”
The mountain man's whistle came again, more stridently, and it was still the same clear, piercing three and three blasts. Kristy gave up. “Please, please save yourselves!” she shouted to her friends, even as she staggered away from the cart with the bundle in her arms, her son stumbling along behind her with his own armful of possessions.
She desperately hoped her friends would see sense and follow, but when she looked back she saw them still pushing the cart to join the rest of the convoy, throwing anguished looks back at her over their shoulders.
Simon stood on top of a wagon seat shouting orders while most of the rest of the men, all carrying rifles or shotguns, hurriedly took positions behind wagon wheels and other cover. The convoy's leader finally noticed her fleeing and froze, eyes widening with alarm.
“Where are you going?” he shouted after her.
She was almost out of range of easy conversation and didn't want to stop, but even so she hesitated just for a moment. “The warning said to run and hide!”
The redheaded man's face twisted in impatient disgust. “Trapper's a coward, of course his advice would be to run away!” he shouted. “Come back here where it's
safe!”
Kristy had already taken too long pausing to talk, and decided she couldn't risk staying any longer. So she just gave her almost-boyfriend an anguished look as she sped up to a full run again. His return expression as she turned away almost looked betrayed, as if her decision to flee was a declaration she didn't think he could protect her.
Well, she supposed it kind of was.
“Are you stupid, woman?” he yelled at her back. “Get to the wagons, now! Think of your son!”
Kristy grit her teeth and sped up, forcing her stumbling feet to continue on. As she ran she half hoped Simon would follow her in some romantic gesture, and in doing so lead the rest of the convoy with him in fleeing for safety. But the next time she risked a glance over her shoulder she saw that he'd gone back to organizing his men, although his head constantly turned to seek her out as she got farther and farther away.
“Shouldn't we stay with the others, Mom?” Skyler asked as he did his best to keep up.
She could only shake her head; she wished she could be sure they shouldn't, but at the moment she had to go with her gut. And her gut was telling her to get her son safely away.
But Skyler clearly wasn't as confident in her decision. “What about Lisa and her parents? We can't just abandon them!”
“We'll do what we have to do, Skyler,” Kristy snapped. “I tried to talk to them and they made their own decision. I hope it works out for them, but we're following the signal's warning like we're supposed to.”
Skyler might have still had his doubts, but he knew that tone and kept his mouth shut, following silently behind her. Kristy took one last look back, relieved to see that at least she wasn't the only one who'd decided to flee into the surrounding terrain. A dozen or so other people were also running, although none in her direction. Most were headed north, away from the danger, even though there was no real cover in that direction.
On the other hand Kristy's unthinking flight had taken her east and a bit south, almost in the direction of the danger she should've been avoiding. On top of that she was heading right towards a thirty foot high cliff, and the only break in it she could see for a hundred yards in either direction was a narrow, steep gully cutting up to the higher ground above, the bottom of it so broken and strewn with boulders that it would take several minutes to climb it.
Even so she veered to head straight for the gully, hoping it would provide a safe hiding place for them.
“Mom!” Skyler shouted from behind, sounding alarmed. Kristy glanced at him over her shoulder and saw that he'd stopped in his tracks twenty feet back, facing south with his hands cupped behind his ears as if listening to something.
She stopped too, about to shout for him to keep going, when an odd vibration to the air made the hairs on her neck stand on end. For a moment she couldn't place it, and then with horror she recognized a noise she hadn't heard since before the Ultimatum.
The sound of car engines.
“What is that?” her son demanded. “It sounds like a bunch of giant bees!”
Of course he wouldn't recognize the noise an engine made. The closest thing he'd ever heard to one was Miles making those noises while telling him stories, and that wasn't exactly an accurate depiction. But what were cars doing in the middle of nowhere, where there were no roads or any reason to come here? Even a nightmare wasn't this bizarre.
Kristy shook herself free of her surprise and ran back to grab Skyler's wrist, tugging him along with her as she continued towards the safety of the gully. They were only twenty or so yards away now, practically out of sight of whatever was coming from the south, and she wasn't about to sit there gaping as a bunch of vehicles full of bandits drove up and shot them.
The grisly thought sent an almost physical pain through her as she thought of Bob and Vicky and Lisa, back there awaiting whatever was coming. And Simon! But there was nothing she could do but look out for herself and her son.
Just inside the gully she found a protruding lip of rock she could lean around to stare south. She didn't have binoculars or anything and the heat haze obscured the horizon, but even through it she could see the glint of sunlight on metal and glass from over a dozen spots in the distance.
The vehicles were traveling fast, and all too soon were close enough to see clearly.
It was a formation with three big military trucks in back escorted by a dozen or so four wheelers and side by sides driving ahead and to either side. The four wheelers all had a driver and a passenger holding a rifle ready to fire, while the side by sides had a driver and three passengers leaning out or standing on the seats clinging to the roll bars with their weapons ready.
Just right there that made almost thirty men, and who knew how many bandits were in the trucks. Kristy felt a crushing surge of despair at the sight; the bandits were so much better equipped as well as having the numbers. There was no way Simon and the others could fight off so many, no matter how well they shot.
The mountain man had been right to signal for them to hide or even flee if they had to. Kristy was relieved she'd followed that signal even though it had meant leaving Simon and the Hendricksons behind. But at the same time dread churned in her gut at the inevitable fate of her loved ones as the bandits descended on them like a pack of mechanical wolves.
When only a few hundred yards separated attackers and convoy the ATVs split off to encircle the ring of wagons, trapping the terrified settlers in and preventing escape.
“Mom, we should get out of here,” Skyler whispered urgently.
Kristy nodded. Her son was right, of course, but she couldn't bear to leave without seeing what happened to her friends. So she stayed huddled behind the rock and watch as the bandits slowly closed in, preparing to attack.
* * * * *
Tom's backpack felt like it was full of rocks, his legs were rubbery, and his throat was raw as sandpaper by the time he panted his way to the top of the low rise a hundred or so yards east of the convoy, which ended in a line of cliffs thirty feet tall.
They'd spent most of the morning circling south to get around that natural obstacle, and it provided a decent vantage to see what was happening. Which was good because directly north of him was a steep, boulder-strewn gully running up to the top of the rise, and he couldn't go any farther without circling far around it.
Come to think of it that might've been a good place for some of the fleeing convoy members to hide from the bandits, who were now moving to surround the helpless group of settlers. Or if not a hiding place at least it would've taken away the advantage of the bandits' vehicles, forced them to either circle and take a rough drive up the steep opposite slope of the rise or approach on foot up the gully.
It might've given the settlers a fighting chance, but too late now.
From the looks of it Simon had chosen to stand his ground, even though Tom's warning should've made it clear they were facing a threat they couldn't hope to win against. And now that the three trucks and dozen or so ATVs had circled the convoy there was no choice but to hope fighting was the right call.
Tom seriously doubted it.
He settled into a crack in the rocks that would conceal him from anyone who wasn't standing right on top of him, staring at the unfolding scene in helpless frustration.
Could he help? Was there anything he could do? Right from the first he'd been clear with Simon about this: if an attack came he wouldn't put himself in danger on the convoy's behalf unless he had to. It wasn't that he didn't want to do what he could where reasonable, but one man couldn't change what was going to happen down there.
The only thing he could think to do was try to help anyone who managed to escape, hide them and get them safely away from those bandits. But unfortunately he didn't see anyone who'd actually managed it; a dozen or so people had fled north at his whistle, but they'd already been run down by a few four wheelers and were now kneeling on the ground with their hands on their heads, guarded by three gunmen as a couple more bandits got to work tying their hands.
&nbs
p; And from the looks of it the convoy wasn't doing much better. Simon and his men were firing at the bandits circling a few hundred yards away like vultures, but it didn't look like they were hitting any of the fast moving targets. Meanwhile on the closest of the three trucks a mounted machine gun had been uncovered and its gunner was swiveling to target the circle of wagons.
Tom instinctively ducked and closed his eyes as it opened fire, not wanting to see people he'd traveled with for months being ripped apart in a hail of bullets. He heard distant screams above the roar of the heavy gun, and in spite of himself forced his eyes open to see what was happening.
To his relief the gunner had targeted low, hitting the ground in front of the wagons. Tom saw a couple settlers clutching nasty ricochet wounds and one of Simon's men was unmoving on the ground in a puddle of blood, but all things considered it could've been much worse.
The convoy's leader must've agreed, and seen the futility of continuing to fight. He climbed out from behind the cover of the wagons and made a big show of throwing down his AR-15 and raising his hands high over his head. Several of his men joined him.
That was all the invitation the bandits needed, and in less than a minute all the vehicles were closing in on the defenseless group. Armed men quickly pulled terrified settlers out from the circle of wagons and into the open, binding their hands behind their backs as they herded them towards the military trucks.
Tom was a bit confused as to the enemy's purpose there; from what he knew of bandits their only interest was taking anything of value from the people they robbed, maybe raping the women if they were that sort of scum, and either leaving their victims with nothing or murdering them in cold blood to cover their tracks. But so far these bandits weren't so much as touching anyone aside from to move them along, and there was no sign they were lining anyone up to be executed. It didn't make any sense.
Then, with horrified realization, it did.
Bandits with vehicles were probably part of a larger, more organized force, maybe not bandits at all but some sort of invasion. And since they were interested in more than just a simple smash and grab they'd want to make use of whatever was available.