“What do you really care what I take with me?”
“Weapons are a threat to us.”
“Lamar, they are also a necessity to survive. I’m going to pack my truck, and I’ll be gone in fifteen minutes.”
“Ray, we are reasonable people. I’m sure we can find a compromise. Cameron, would you agree to let Ray leave with one rifle and a bed roll?”
She nodded. “There’s the deal. The committee grants you a waiver for the weapon but not the truck.”
Brittany tugged at Ray’s shoulder. “Let’s go. Just us again.”
“She stays here,” Lamar said.
Ray shook his head. “I’m her guardian. We came here together. You’re not going to separate us unless we say so.”
“She’s not your ward.”
Ray had it at four to one, not counting Lamar. He tucked a thumb in his belt next to the pistol. “Same as, times what they are.”
Brittany jumped between Lamar and Ray. “We’re both going. My Mom and Ray were married. She wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Cameron whispered to Lamar. He frowned and shook his head.
Brittany started for her room. “Wait for me Ray, I won’t be a minute.”
She returned in five, carrying a pack, a bedroll, and an M4 rifle. There had been little said in her absence.
“Would you pack for me, too?” Ray handed her a key, and she set down her gear. “I’m sure Lamar would prefer that.”
Brittany took longer with Ray’s things. She staggered up the stairs under a load that included the Remington and the AR-15. She went back for his duffel.
“One rifle, Ray. The rest I can overlook, if you can carry it out of here.”
“You have a point about that Lamar. You’re going to drive us two miles off the property. Just so someone doesn’t decide to shoot us in the back.”
Lamar huffed. “I’ll let that slide. But while we’re on to possibilities, what’s to stop you from stealing the truck if I do?”
“My word I won’t.”
* * *
The departure was carefully orchestrated. Cameron fetched the Kawasaki Mule. Burke loaded Ray’s and Brittany’s gear. They walked to the vehicle tightly grouped. Danny Vallen joined Cameron in the front seats. Lamar sat between Brittany and Ray in back. A quarter mile past the property line, Lamar climbed out and Brittany slid low in the seat. Ray watched behind them, rifle ready.
Cameron turned left at the open north gate, continued through Alburnett, and stopped abruptly opposite the remains of a burnt farmhouse on a wide open plain.
“Two miles,” she said.
Ray stepped out on the passenger side and stood beside Danny Vallen. Brittany touched a 9mm to Cameron’s ear.
“Time for you to get out,” Brittany said.
Danny reached for the gun on his hip. Ray restrained him and took it.
“I see what your word’s worth,” Danny said.
“I said I wouldn’t steal a truck. Brittany made no such promise and anyway, this isn’t a truck. Lamar should appreciate the careful parsing of words.”
“He’s not going to be happy,” Cameron said.
“Did you not see what just happened? He was set to put me out without food, water, transportation, or any means to obtain them. Do you get what that means?”
“He was protecting us,” Cameron said.
Ray snorted. “Maybe if I dropped you twenty miles out you’d understand.”
“Don’t, Ray,” Danny said
Ray stared at the man. “At least tell me you see this for what it is.”
“Lamar is a decent man. He’s no hothead. I don’t know what you two got going. He’s not the kind of man to pass bad words on others.”
“Just the kind to put us out to die on no more than his say so. You think about that.”
“I’m sure he has his reasons.”
“He’s power mad, and I’m in his way. That’s all it is.”
“If you say so, Ray.”
Chapter 116
Karla skied across the meadow into a frigid gale. The marine, deep cycle battery she carried in her backpack grew heavy before she had half finished the two mile trek. The wind slackened as she entered the trees on the northeast ridge, and she tromped on, breaking trail in the knee deep snow.
The Suburban still sat on the trail where she’d disabled it after the attack two years before. She reconnected the ignition, installed the battery, and warmed the glow plugs. She cranked the engine. It caught and ran and the fuel gauge displayed half a tank. It was a good start.
The vehicle wouldn’t take her to Iowa. It would burn all the fuel she had before leaving Colorado. Securing clean diesel on the road was problematic, but possible. A bad choice would stop the vehicle dead. Not a problem for the Golf. It could get her home without fuel, though much slower. And anyway, she had enough on hand for it.
She let the engine idle a few minutes while considering the options. Inserting new valve stems on her rims required breaking the tire bead then restoring it and inflating the tires. Easy enough with a compressor, tire mounting equipment, and the power to run them. The Golf could manage the power, but couldn’t be moved to the tools. Karla elected to haul the wheels to town, install new valves, then return to the Golf with a compressor.
She skied the mile to her Golf, jacked a rear wheel and removed the tire. She tried rolling it in the snow, then carried it, stopping to rest several times on the trip to the SUV. Three more trips saw the daylight gone and the Suburban cleared of snow. Exhausted, Karla dragged herself to the house. In the morning, she’d back the SUV a mile and a half down a narrow steep path in deep snow.
Chapter 117
Ray and Brittany set camp in dense woods on the banks of the Cedar River. They walked the perimeter, collected acorns and soaked them for later. They snacked on walnuts they’d also found in abundance.
Ray spread the contents of his bags and asked Brittany to do the same. He smiled and gave her a hug. The duffel contained a few days of military rations, the .22 target pistol, a hunting knife, night vision goggles, matches, and box after box of ammunition for their various weapons. His pack had a heavy coat and gloves, matches, a first aid kit, and more ammunition. Hers was packed similarly.
“I guess we can hold off a small army.”
“I figured we could scrounge everything else, like on the farm.”
“Smart girl. Good move grabbing both my rifles.”
“I thought Lamar would make you choose. I didn’t want to.”
Ray picked up the Beretta, tucked it in his belt and looked to Brittany. “Thanks for stopping me. It wouldn’t have been pretty. How’d you know?”
“Times what they are. When you say that, it scares me. It’s like what’s left to live for.”
“I guess it is in a way. I’ll try to avoid it.”
“Think there’s fish in the river?
“Tomorrow we’ll dig up some tackle and find out.”
* * *
Morning brought fog in the chill fall air. Ray stopped the Mule just past a brick two story home with a large front porch. They scanned for signs of life and saw none. Approaching houses always had risk. Ray called out, twice as they circled the building, still looking for recent activity. Ray shouted they’d leave if anyone was home. He kicked open a door when the calls went unanswered.
They didn’t find fishing gear, but left with bedding, a coat for Brittany, a few pans, plates, and utensils. They entered more homes, some with human remains and the smells of long decay. Far from the road, they discovered a log house encroached by woods. It had fishing supplies and a concrete cellar with a wood stove.
“Might be our winter quarters,” Ray said. “I think for now we’re safer in the woods. An occasional campfire is harder to find than a fixed stove for heating.”
“You think they’re looking for us?”
“I don’t know. It’s for sure Lamar doesn’t want us back. It’s a long stretch to se
nd a hunting party. I don’t think he’ll find many eager to track us down. He’s seen what can happen to even a well armed group. Sending men to their death wouldn’t help his image, even if they killed me.
Chapter 118
Karla backed the Suburban fifty feet and got it stuck. She shoveled it out. Down the first hill, it slid into bushes. She shoveled and jacked and pushed. On the third downslope, she hit a tree. She spent the afternoon working the SUV back to the path. Snow began to fall from deep grey skies. Tracks filled as fast as she could clear them. She tried once more and wedged the truck between trees. Wet, cold, and defeated, Karla trudged to the house through a howling blizzard. She brought the wheels back to the Golf the next day.
* * *
Karla’s meat was three days gone when she shot a deer two miles to the southeast and a thousand feet lower. She spent a day dragging the animal to the shed and arrived too tired to hang the frozen carcass. She cut at it for a week and went looking for another. She guessed by the dwindling daylight she was well into December.
* * *
A thaw. February, Karla thought from the lengthening days. She had been on the mountain more than four months. She was lean, as always, but now fit and strong. She returned to the Suburban with a shovel and a handsaw. The snow pack was at six inches, manageable or worth trying. She took a day to cut away shrubs from under the vehicle and to remove a ponderosa pine that squeezed one side of the SUV—a Douglas fir holding the other. Two more days were spent clearing and leveling a space large enough to turn the vehicle around. Karla had learned her lesson trying to back down in the snow. Day four brought thick gray clouds and the feel of snow. She started down, tired of waiting.
Karla did not find a VW with a similar tire size in South Fork. She did not wish to try Del Norte. She did find an air compressor and plenty of tools in a large barn. Valves were available on any tire. She broke beads with a cold chisel and hammer and took eight valves.
Outside, daylight had faded and the clouds spit snow. She loaded the truck and followed her tracks, reaching the fire road before full dark. She made it to the hiking trail, but could coax the Suburban no more than fifty feet up. She backed to the fire road and parked the SUV. She packed snow on the hood to protect from thermal imaging, then dragged her sleeping gear into the trees.
Five inches of snow fell overnight. The sky cleared in the late morning as Karla lugged the tools and compressor up the mountain. She also carried on her back a quiver of aluminum broadhead arrows and a compound bow she had picked up in South Fork.
She completed the three and a half mile trek by midday, rested a few minutes, then cleared snow from around the Golf and set to work on the valves. She had the tires broken down and the valves in by late afternoon, but again had to quit work as light failed her.
The house was cold. Karla lit a fire and cooked two pans of cornbread with the last of the meal. She packed jerky in plastic pouches. She hiked into the woods and hung the bow and quiver from a pine. Then she got a few hours sleep before returning to the Golf at dawn.
She used a loop of rope to help set the tire beads and plugged the compressor into the car’s built in power inverter, her batteries now fully charged. The tires inflated, and she mounted them. She installed new battery cables and brought over a battery from the house. The engine cranked but wouldn’t start.
Karla cursed, then pushed back in the seat. She had insufficient tools to repair or even diagnose the ailing engine. She had ten days food packed and ready—enough time for the Golf to get her home in electric mode. Risky, but doable. She was sick of the damn mountain. She wanted off while she could. She made three trips to the house, loaded her gear and pointed the Golf down the slope.
* * *
At the hiking trail, tracks emerged from the trees and joined hers from the day before. Karla didn’t stop to determine the direction of travel. It was far more likely someone would track where she was going than where she’d been. She remained on high alert as she bounced down the trail to the fire road.
Tracks there led from the woods to the Suburban. Karla stepped out with a rifle to retrieve the bedroll she had been unable to carry up the day before. It was gone, along with two days of jerky she had left with it. No wonder she was followed. What would go through a man’s mind over someone who would abandon food?
She got the Golf moving. She was two miles from where she’d first spotted the tracks. Certainly he had continued up the trail. How close had he been while she worked on the car? What would have been his introduction?
Karla’s smile returned after she put a mile behind her. The man would follow her tracks to the house. It likely wouldn’t remain vacant long. She marveled at her timing, and wondered, when he looked around, would the man wet his chops, anticipating her return?
She stopped at the barn in South Fork where she’d worked on the tire valves, cleared a spot in front and parked the car with the solar wings fully extended. Karla rummaged through the well stocked barn, the reason she had gone back. She found a multimeter, pulled a glow plug and found it dead. The same with a second. A quick guess said Marcus had damaged the engine control module. A replacement would be hard to find. She let the batteries charge, then put the Golf in the barn for the night.
Karla took blankets from the house and a phone book. There were no VW dealers in the region, thus probably not enough VWs for parts dealers to worry about. She needed a city or a stroke of luck.
* * *
Morning. More sunshine. Karla drove to Alamosa and parked the car in a dealer’s snow-free lot. She searched it, two others, and three auto parts houses. Then she drove through the mountains to Trinidad, still in need of the module.
She found a Golf diesel on the lot of a small Toyota dealer near the interstate. She had the hood up and the module disconnected when she heard engines on the highway and ducked. They were distant and grew louder, big diesels. Karla lay between vehicles and watched the interstate a couple hundred feet away. A Humvee passed, then two tank trucks and another Humvee. They were headed north: Pueblo or Denver. Neither was good news for her.
Karla moved her car behind the dealership and installed the module. The engine spun to life. She let it idle for a few minutes, then satisfied all was well, shut it down and removed a few more parts from the other vehicle and stashed them in her car. As she prepared to depart, another engine sounded. She crept to the edge of the building. Two SUVs rushed south.
Chapter 119
Karla camped in wasteland east of Trinidad, unsettled by the newly busy interstate. She ate a cold dinner and tarped the car. She slept under blankets clutching a rifle. The traffic made her nervous; people in general did. She didn’t trust anyone in the state of Colorado and preferred her highways empty.
She climbed a telephone pole at dawn and scanned ahead on US 160: straight and flat, clear for a few miles. She moved on, burning diesel and pushing a hundred, anxious to put the state behind her.
East through fenced scrub, past abandoned ranches but no settlements, slow rises, gentle curves, few trees, the occasional dry creek. Low hills appeared north and south. This land was in ways more desolate than the mountains Karla had departed, but more easily accessed, too.
An object ahead reflected light. Karla’s hand flew to the rifle as she braked hard. Through binoculars, a truck lay upside down at the end of a couple hundred feet of torn dirt and scattered boxes. The front left wheel pointed a useless angle. A woman sat in the dirt, her back against the open passenger side door. Karla advanced, aware of the possibilities, then stopped, past the truck and off the road where she could see both sides of the vehicle.
“Hey there.” Karla stepped out holding the M16.
The woman waved. She was young and small with long brown hair tied through a ball cap.
“You okay?”
“I can’t walk.”
Karla moved closer. “You alone?”
“Who are you?”
“I guess that’s a ‘
no’. He in that culvert?” Karla nodded at a sheet metal tube crossing under the pavement a hundred yards west.
The woman worked her mouth but didn’t answer.
Karla stepped around the truck, checked it out, then sat on her heels a few feet from the woman. “It’s all right. I’m not interested in shooting anyone today.”
The woman gave a little snort.
“But I figure you hang here long enough, someone’ll come by who is.”
The woman nodded, holding her leg.
“Think it’s broken?”
She nodded again.
“That’s a pretty bad fix in a place like this. I can’t do much for the leg, but maybe I can get you closer to where you belong.”
The woman’s eyes brightened.
“Put your hands up,” a male voice shouted. Karla glanced left. A young man pointed a pistol at her from across the road near the culvert. He was beyond the range of anything but luck.
Karla raised her rifle but didn’t aim. “If you say ‘I’m sorry,’ I’ll forget you said that and I won’t have to break my word to your girlfriend and kill you.”
He continued to point the gun. Karla sat and propped the rifle on her knee.
“Tim! Put it away.”
He lowered the gun then moved slowly toward them. Karla shook her head. “Place the gun on the ground or in your pocket. But you touch it again, I’m not going to like it.”
He stuffed the gun in his pants.
“Okay. C’mon over.”
* * *
“I’m moving on in five minutes.” Karla said. “I can maybe help you or not. It’s up to you. First, are you on the move or do you have a place to stay?”
“We’ve got a place,” the woman answered.
Karla stared at Tim. “I don’t want to know where it is. But if I drop you within a mile, can you get her there?”
“Sure.”
Times What They Are Page 44