by Nathan Jones
Carbonville and Price hadn't responded at all. Matt assumed they were probably still bitter about Aspen Hill refusing to send aid for the massive refugee camp the county seat had set up to take in all comers last fall, not to mention refusing to even accept the refugees sent by FETF that the town had agreed to take in.
Like it or not they were by themselves in this fight, and news of today's tragedy wasn't likely to soften any hearts. Aspen Hill would be left alone to either drive off the raiders or be destroyed.
Matt sighed and rubbed at his temples. He wished Lewis was there to help during all this, since his friend had a knack for finding optimal solutions in these sorts of situations, but from what he'd heard the remaining cousin had gone to sleep almost immediately after the attack.
He'd been expecting Lewis to show up at town hall to help with their brainstorming after learning that his friend had ended his shift a bit early, but the brown-haired man never showed up. It had remained a minor mystery until later in the afternoon when Sam came to visit Matt at town hall, to personally reassure herself that he was okay before making her way to the clinic in the adjoining auditorium to help with the wounded. Not to mention giving him a chance to see with his own eyes that she and the baby were just fine.
She'd also brought the news that Lewis was at home, and relayed a terse message from him. It looked as if the remaining cousin was swapping to night patrols, and would be using a night vision scope he'd gotten off the raider who'd died in the attack on the gardens. After passing on the message Sam expressed worry that their friend wasn't looking good, to the point that even after the horrific attack they'd just suffered it was bad enough for her to notice.
After giving Sam his message Lewis had gone to his cot and pulled his blankets over his head, then gone completely still. When Sam left a few minutes later to head for the new clinic at town hall he was still in the same position, like he hadn't even shifted in his sleep.
Matt trusted her intuition, but a part of him hoped she was just making assumptions. After all, on the surface it all seemed fairly reasonable. Lewis had been near the end of his shift after the attack, and he knew his friend wasn't sleeping well. And there was no reason he shouldn't swap shifts.
Even so Matt would've expected the man to be here helping sort things out after the attack, especially when it came to changing their strategy to prevent this kind of disaster from happening again. That his friend had instead seemingly thrown in the towel and headed to bed in preparation for solo duty really bothered him.
Lewis had saved lives today with his skill and quick thinking. He'd singlehandedly stopped the attack on the gardens, seen the next phase of the attack coming in time to give some small warning, and had bluffed the raiders into breaking off the attack to go defend their camps from a phony counterattack. The town had come to rely on his leadership, and most held him in respect bordering on awe. Even Gutierrez, the town's only trained soldier, had only good things to say about him.
Aspen Hill depended on him.
Maybe too much. Lewis had always been a solitary individual, preferring to solve problems himself and not really too interested or for that matter very comfortable with taking charge. Before he left Trev had been worried that his cousin was more bothered by shooting Ferris and Turner than he let on, and hearing Turner's verbal abuse on the radio couldn't have helped that. If he also felt the pressure to come through for the town then this attack might feel like a failure on his part.
Possibly enough of a failure to retreat into himself on solo patrols so he wouldn't fail again? While there was no one Matt would rather have out there watching for potential threats, if Lewis wasn't here when needed to provide his quick thinking and insight to the town during the next attack then everyone would suffer.
More importantly, if Lewis was taking responsibility for things he had no control over and blaming himself for everything that went wrong in the town he'd quickly tear himself apart inside. Matt knew exactly what that felt like and was having his own problems dealing with it, and he couldn't stand to see his friend doing that to himself. But at the same time he wasn't sure exactly what to do about it.
Maybe it would've been better for Lewis's sake if he'd gone with Trev. His cousin certainly needed the help, and abandoning him to make that dangerous journey alone had to be just one more guilt piled on Lewis's shoulders. But the selfish truth was that the town needed Lewis here, and would've been better off for having Trev too for that matter.
They couldn't afford to let the man break down or isolate himself on night patrols. Matt just wished he didn't feel so terrible for having to think like that, especially when his friend was suffering. He had to find a way to help him, for his sake as well as the town's. He just wished he knew how.
For the moment he couldn't worry about it, though. He had way too much to do reorganizing the town's defenses and reassuring demoralized townspeople that they'd respond better during the next attack. He spent just as much time reassuring himself of that. But he did resolve that the next time he saw Jane he'd talk to her about Lewis; now that Trev was gone she was closest to the remaining cousin, and although she had the interpersonal skills of a rock the two seemed to understand each other.
Maybe she'd have some idea of what to do.
And on the subject of Trev, even with everything that had happened he did spare the occasional thought for his friend, gone barely more than a full day now. He hoped whatever the man was facing out there wasn't as bad as what the town had to deal with.
* * * * *
After the stream of refugees he'd witnessed between Utah Valley and Aspen Hill last fall Trev had expected to see travelers on I-70. Sure, the winter was hard and lots of people must've died, but with spring the refugees would've gotten back on the move searching for someplace better.
To prepare for that possibility Lewis had planned a route for him that took him on roads running alongside the interstate, with as few necessary intersections with I-70 as possible. But even though he made it a point to be very cautious about scoping out the road ahead, especially the highway when he was forced to ride along it, he only saw a few ragged stragglers and one very large caravan.
The grim truth was that there was just not enough water here. It was too great a risk for slow-moving groups traveling on foot, when death by thirst was only a few days away and there was no guarantee they'd see any water during that time unless they knew in advance about water sources along the way. Every gallon of water they were forced to carry with them was 8 extra pounds and only represented a bit over a day's supply. When they had to carry everything else they needed to survive, bringing enough water too could quickly become unmanageable.
That was sort of the point, though. Going north instead of south would've been a slightly more direct route for Trev and shaved critical time off his trip, but it would've taken him through areas where water was more plentiful and he ran a greater chance of running into people. Trev had been willing to risk it but Lewis had been adamant that the route he'd plotted would be far safer.
As his cousin had put it, making it to Michigan a day late was still better than not making it at all.
Now that he was traveling alone Trev was glad Lewis had insisted on planning a safer route. He still felt that urgency to reach his family, but with no one to rely on but himself he also felt the creeping sensation of a target on his back and unfriendly eyes behind every bit of cover.
Sometimes he actually found himself pedaling faster past potential but unlikely ambush spots a ways off the road rather than stopping to take a closer look through his binoculars, with the reasoning that if he was shot at he'd be hard to hit as a fast moving target and the angle was bad. That didn't stop him from swerving randomly as he passed, not caring if he looked like an idiot.
He just couldn't afford to stop to check out every slight bit of cover without adding hours to each day of travel in order to make the pace he wanted. As long as the highway itself was clear and the suspicious spots were farther tha
n a hundred feet away he was willing to risk a cautiously reckless approach. Thankfully so far he hadn't seen any true obstructions across the road that suggested potential ambushes.
Bandits were probably having trouble finding water in the area too.
Actually the roads were surprisingly clear of cars. He supposed that in a world without fuel most vehicles would stay wherever they'd last been parked, or drive as far as they could before the tank started looking empty then find the nearest exit with a flyspeck town in hopes of finding a safe haven.
Trev did come across few cars and semis every now and again that looked as if they'd run out of gas on the road, but not as many as he'd expected. The one thing they had in common was that they'd all obviously been looted, and most had been trashed as well for good measure.
Barren as this landscape seemed there were obviously still some people around.
But not many. There wasn't much in the way of towns along this stretch, but the few places he did see all looked completely abandoned. He supposed with no sources of water in the area and without the ability to pump water from the deep wells people had been forced to leave their homes.
That wasn't too surprising. Without fuel, living in or traveling through arid and semiarid zones required highly specialized skills and tools most people no longer had. Desert nomads spent generations learning where and how to forage for and cultivate water and food, and how often and how far they needed to travel to avoid running out.
He imagined cities like Moab, not too far to the south, had been abandoned as residents fled to places where they could find water. And he didn't even want to think about how Las Vegas to the southwest had fared since the Gulf refineries attack. Depending on how fast they ran out of fuel thirst may have emptied the city before riots could, and refugees coming from there had to have suffered terribly on their way to somewhere greener.
He was glad he'd reach greener areas before too long, and as far as he was concerned that couldn't happen soon enough; with no people to be seen anywhere boredom made the ride tedious, the hours passing one after another at a crawl. Trev found himself wishing he had his phone and ear buds so he could at least listen to music to distract him from the picturesque scenery and his own sore muscles.
Not the best idea to cover his ears when he needed to be alert, sure, and come to think of it he probably shouldn't be letting his mind wander when he needed to focus on potential dangers. But it got harder and harder as morning gave way to noon and the sun began slowly slipping down towards the horizon, until eventually he left Utah and entered Colorado. To his immense relief around that point green gradually began to creep into the landscape.
Trev began looking forward to breaks as much for the diversion of eating and drinking as for the chance to rest and stretch his muscles. At least the weather was relatively pleasant, the late spring cool enough to keep his exertions bearable, but not so cold that the wind of his travel chilled the light sweat he worked up.
The only real discomfort was that the arid climate sucked the water right out of him, parching his mouth and forcing him to guzzle more than expected, and more often too. Thankfully that wasn't too big a concern, because he was carrying enough water and traveling fast enough he'd always be able to find a source to refill his bottles before he ran out.
An opportunity for that came not too long after noon, when he reached the point where I-70 met up with the Colorado River. From there the Interstate followed along it and eventually its tributaries all the way up into the Rockies. If Trev could make his 150 mile goal for the day he'd be nearly to Glenwood Springs and approaching where the Rockies began by nightfall, so there'd still be water nearby.
Assuming he could manage that pace on the fairly brutal uphill stretch ahead. Yesterday the elevation had dropped a bit as he traveled, giving him more downhill or flat stretches than uphill ones, and for most of today the ground had been fairly level. But by the time late afternoon rolled around he was starting to encounter some serious switchbacks and steep grades as he got closer the Rockies.
Winter still reigned there, same as on the Manti-La Sal mountains, and Trev actually had to break out a coat when the wind started blowing down from the snow-covered slopes in the distance. He only hoped that the good weather Aspen Hill had seen had kept the snows manageable along 70.
It was doubtful any snowplows were out keeping the Interstate clear, which meant he might get seriously bogged down going the 100 or so miles to get him over the Rockies. He might even have to break out a tarp and drag the bike on it like a crude sled.
As he tugged on his coat he found himself grateful that Lewis had convinced him to bring along all his cold weather gear, just in case. The extra weight and bulk didn't seem quite so excessive as the breeze bit right through his shirt while he closed the zipper.
There was a small silver lining on the cloud, though. The side roads had almost completely disappeared up in the mountains, aside from Highway 6 branching off from 70 every now and again for a short while before rejoining the Interstate, and with the cold he didn't see any fellow travelers who might present a danger to him.
Or maybe that was a bad sign, warning how harshly winter still gripped the road ahead.
Trev could at least content himself that he had plenty of experience with traveling in the cold, and he had his warm gear to keep him going so he should be up to the challenge ahead. Conditions weren't too bad at the moment, and since it was almost full dark he'd probably stop soon and tackle the worst part of the trip to Michigan (he hoped) in the morning. With any luck he could manage to get to Denver in a day or two, and make up the lost time on the downhill slopes on the other side of the mountains.
With that in mind he pushed into the fading twilight and finally stopped not far short of Glenwood Springs. There he turned north on a smaller road to go around the moderately sized city, until he came to a secluded turnoff with a few scattered houses and a gas station.
Trev braked to a stop a safe distance away and used his binoculars to inspect the area in the fading light. It appeared abandoned, which wasn't too surprising. Glenwood Springs had only a bit larger population than Price, maybe more if Denver or any other large cities had sent refugees their way, and pessimistically the city had probably fared similarly to Price over the winter. Those who remained would be huddled in the city proper doing their best to survive, although it couldn't hurt to keep his eyes out for scouts and patrols.
Once he was satisfied that the turnoff really was deserted he cautiously walked his bike into town, one hand on his .45 in its underarm holster beneath his unzipped coat and his Mini-14 on his back ready to be quickly unslung.
It was going to be cold tonight, and while he had the equipment he needed to camp outdoors in the cold there was no reason not to take shelter if it was available. At the same time he didn't like the idea of breaking into someone's house, even if it was abandoned, so he made for the gas station instead.
The place had been ransacked at some point, but thankfully none of the windows were broken. Trev pushed open the unpowered automatic doors and brought his bike in to lean against the cash register, then went outside again for a moment to grab the metal trash can sitting beside the doors and tossed the lid with its hinged doors on springs aside. Once he punched some holes in the can near the bottom for air flow it would make a good fire pit.
With that task done he pulled the doors shut again, which turned out to be more awkward than opening them had been, then pulled out his flashlight and began poking around to see if anything had been overlooked by the looters. A cursory search didn't find anything.
Trev wasn't really surprised that even a small gas station in a tiny abandoned turnoff had been picked bare by scavengers, but it was a bit disappointing even so. Jane and Lewis's deer jerky was sustaining enough, but it wasn't exactly delicious. Preserving meat was fairly simple if you knew how, but it required a lot of practice and experience to produce results that weren't too dry or tough or had odd flavors. It just didn't com
pare to the beef jerky most gas stations tended to keep on display as travel snacks.
And he had to admit that even with almost no expectations, after a winter of home cooked staples he'd sort of been looking forward to the sort of junk food gas stations tended to stock. Chips, soda, candy, things he'd eaten in moderation before the world ended but had spent long winter nights craving.
It was that longing that coaxed him into wasting time checking the place out more thoroughly after he got a fire going in the trash can, burning handfuls of the rubbish strewn everywhere. Bathed by the heat radiating off the metal his nearly dead muscles urged him to just curl up and go to sleep. Especially facing the prospect of an even harder ride tomorrow, uphill and possibly having to make his way through deep snow,
Instead he went into the backroom and started checking the discarded boxes and crates there. There was stuff that would make better fuel for the fire in here, but aside from a few stacked boxes of motor oil that had been left behind, low priority with cars out of the picture, he didn't see anything of interest.
More out of dogged stubbornness than anything else he began shifting the motor oil, then paused halfway down the stack when he uncovered a box that was about the same dimensions but was unmarked. Barely daring to hope, he pulled out his pocketknife and slit the tape so he could look inside. With the flaps pulled halfway open his flashlight beam shone on the contents inside and Trev froze, mind reeling.
Snugly packed in the box he saw a dozen different types of 24 count display boxes of candy bars, all unopened and as pristine as if they'd just come off the factory floor.
Trev slowly pulled out his favorite kind, struggling to contain his awe as he ran his fingers over the letters printed across the top and sides. Nothing he could've found in the box could possibly be better than this, not even silver coins or other valuables. It wasn't just food, it was a luxury.