Sinagua Rising: A story of survival after a worldwide catastrophe

by R. G. Andersen-Wyckoff

  With a twinkle in their eyes, the issue of a honeymoon came up and Tanner had a ready response. “The tent that Travis has been using to store his supplies and tools isn’t really needed for that purpose anymore. Those things can be moved into one of the other greenhouses. I suggest we go out on the promontory toward the southern end and clear a site there to place the tent. That can be our honeymoon suite for the foreseeable future. I dare say that over the years we’ll have more than the upcoming two occasions to use it. We just have to make sure that the honeymoons occur at least a week apart,” he finished with a chuckle, joined into by the others.

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  Spring had already been a busy time and showed no sign of lessening as the preparation and planting of the field crops, tending and maturation of the aquaponics crops, and work on the pueblos took most of their waking hours. They did find time for campfires, with singing and musical accompaniment, and friendly conversation around the fire pit. And, the love birds managed to find time for moonlight walks and star gazing as both couples began to talk more seriously about marriage. But that was about to change.◘

  Chapter 37

  The Scorpion War

  In the prelude to dawn, in late May, as the early-risers were rubbing the sleep from their eyes and enjoying the quiet time when they could think about the day ahead before climbing out of bed, the silence was suddenly ripped asunder by the now well-known rumble of motorcycles, quickly followed by the sound of numerous gunshots.

  Bishop knew immediately that the Scorpions were out of their nest again. But, this time, instead of the distinctive sounds coming from the southern approach to the Village, or Tequa, the north wind was bringing the rumble and pops from the Jack’s Canyon side of the mesa.

  The men dressed quickly, grabbed their firearms, and assembled in front of the Meeting Hall. Bishop suggested that Jack, Travis, and Tate remain in the village, along with the women and children, while the rest would go with Bishop, tethered to the village by two-way radio.

  It took about 15 minutes for the group to reach the Jack’s Canyon overlook, just above the waterfall, dismayed to find their worst fears realized. The sound of shooting continued to echo up to the mesa from Pine Valley, though they couldn’t tell who was doing the shooting. Motorcyclists raced in an out of the community, while some spun wheelies through the large garden the folks from Pine Valley had worked so hard to prepare, destroying much of the vegetables that were already evident even from the top of the mesa. Almost as quickly as it had begun, the noise subsided to only a sporadic shot or the sound of a lone motorcycle moving about in the little community.

  They watched as two pickup trucks with large utility trailers moved from Jack’s Canyon Road into the community. That tells me why we didn’t hear the motorcycles approaching on 179, thought Bishop. They obviously carried their bikes and themselves in the trucks and trailers to surprise the Pine Valley community. The residents hardly had time to react to the onslaught of the Scorpions, probably being outmanned and definitely outgunned.

  As Bishop informed the others of his assumptions, the trucks and trailers pulled out of Pine Valley loaded with people, led and followed by a phalanx of motorcycles. It was too far away for Bishop or the others to count how many people were in the trailers or the backs of the pickups, but they estimated there must have been twenty or thirty. They counted only 15 bikes, all single mounted, plus however many Scorpions drove and rode in the truck cabs, So, Bishop reasoned, they must have left some of their members back at the farm to keep an eye on the others they had kidnapped, and to oversee the work they were doing. Once the Scorpions departed, the valley seemed deathly still. Small fires sent smoke into the air and it was quickly caught by the north wind and carried to the mesa. It smelled like wood smoke and nothing else. It appeared the Scorpions didn’t take the time to set the little community on fire. The only sign of life was a lone figure standing by the now destroyed garden.

  “I think we need to go down there and see what happened,” said Bishop, “but I think just four of us will be enough. I don’t think we’ll face a fight. Let’s go back to the village and then Tanner, Colby, Jason, and I will go down to survey the place. The rest of you can continue the work you already had set out to do.”

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  Bishop led his team, riding two to an ATV, to the north end of the mesa. From there they went by foot, not knowing what to expect, following the jeep/hiking trail that led down to Pine Valley, the northern terminus of the old Hot Loop Trail. It was covered by brush and obviously had not been used in a very long time.

  Bishop had them spread out as they entered the Pine Valley community, just in case someone still had a hankering to shoot someone. To their surprise they found no dead bodies and no general destruction like they had found at Tequa and the Full Moon Saloon. Then, from between two houses about two dozen men and women emerged walking in a tight group. No one appeared to be armed and all appeared to be at least in their 60s, or older. One man stepped forward, apparently their leader and, holding his hands up to show he had no weapon, addressed Bishop.

  “Please sir,” he said, “we are unarmed and mean you no harm. We have nothing to offer you, as we’ve lost everything we had—our young people and our food.”

  “We also mean you no harm,” Bishop responded. “We heard the motorcycles and the gunshots and simply came to see what happened. Can we just sit down and talk?”

  The old man, easily Bishop’s age or more, signaled them to follow him and he led them to a small recreation center in the middle of the community. The rest of his people followed and sat quietly to the side as the old man and Bishop talked.

  “My name’s Bishop,” he said.

  “My name’s Riley,” the old man responded. “We’re all that’s left of our little community. That gang on motorcycles swooped in on us with guns blazing, though they didn’t shoot anyone. We didn’t even hear those danged motorcycles until they were already in our community. They ran them around like quarter horses rounding up cattle until they had the whole community corralled. They took everyone: men, women, and children. We were too old to do them any good, I suppose, and they left us behind—but not before they destroyed our precious garden,” he added, obviously shaken by the loss. “It was to be our salvation, to keep us from starving and they just ran those damned motorcycles through it like it was just so much fun for them. What difference would it have made to them whether we old folk had something to eat or not? We’ll die soon enough even with the produce from the garden,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  “Well, maybe you can salvage some of the plants and do some replanting, so your garden begins producing again,” offered Bishop. “What do you use for water?” he asked.

  The old man smiled and replied, “We have a well. One of the small groups of survivors that joined us last summer brought a generator and a 250-gallon storage tank with them. One fella wired the pump to the generator and we’ve been using it ever since. We have a 250-gallon gasoline storage tank in our little maintenance yard and we’ve siphoned the gas from our vehicles and stored it as well. We only use the gas for the generator so it should last us a while. We ran a hose from the well pump to our garden and we use that same hose bib to get water for our own use,” he said rather proudly.

  “Most of our community were out of town last year when that damned solar-whatever hit, and some more skedaddled as soon as they could. Then a small group joined us that used to live up near the golf course and told us they had passed some folks headed to Red Rocks State Park, so a few of our people decided to go there, as well. That left us with about 50, plus a dozen children. Now there’s only us old folk,” he concluded with a sigh.

  “Was there a boy named Eddie with that group that left for the park?” asked Jason.

  “Yes, as I recollect. He and his family used to live here in Pine Valley until they heard about the park from the golf course group,” replied Riley.

  “Tell me, Riley,” asked Bishop,
“what was the name of the leader of the group that joined y’all last year?” Bishop had a premonition that he already knew the answer.

  “Well, it was old Ham Geddes’ kid, Cindy, and her husband Jonas. Those bikers took them. And she was pregnant,” he added with obvious distress.”

  “I thought so,” said Bishop, “I gave him that generator and storage tank last year up at the golf course, but when I went back to see him he was gone. Now I know where he went. Do you have enough food to get you by for a while, Riley?” Bishop asked.

  When he was assured they still had plenty of food scavenged from all the houses in their community and what they had grown in a small garden started by Cindy Caldwell last year, Bishop told him, “Okay, Riley, we’re going to go now but we’ll be back. And, we’ll see what we can do about getting Jonas and the rest of your people back,” though he had no idea how they might go about doing that.

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  Bishop’s group left the same way they had come, not concerned that Riley saw them going up the trail to the top of the mesa. In fact, Bishop even turned and waved at him as they crested the mesa and dropped out of sight. On the way up the trail, the four of them discussed what they knew and what they could do, if anything.

  It was Jason who said, “I think those Scorpions are just a bunch of bullies picking on folks who weren’t prepared to fight back in any effective way. But, I think it’s about time they met their match.”

  Colby chimed in, “I agree. We have a good group of ex-soldiers who know how to handle themselves and weapons, and I think we need to turn the tables on the Scorpions; give them a taste of their own medicine. We can’t just sit back in Duwa and wait and hope that they won’t catch us off guard. We need to take the offensive.”

  “I agree, too,” added Tanner. “I don’t have the military experience some of our group have, but I can shoot and I can follow orders. I think we need to discuss this with the whole village, but I, too, think we need to take action.”

  Bishop smiled at the strength of his group’s reaction, and he knew they were right. If the Scorpions want a war—we’ll give them a war.”

  Bishop radioed ahead to Jack and told him everything was okay and they would be back in 15 minutes. He requested that Jack gather everyone in the Meeting Hall—they had something to discuss.

  Bishop related what had transpired to the gathered group, especially the fact that he now knew what had happened to his friends, Jonas and Cindy Caldwell, and the fact that she was pregnant. He also related what his group felt about taking the battle to the Scorpions’ front door. There was no dissent—just apprehension. No one wanted to live in fear that somehow the Scorpions would do to them what they had done to the Pine Valley community, but they didn’t want to lose any of their men, either. That night, after dinner, the men gathered around the tables to discuss a plan of action. The women, not to be left out, stood behind them and listened attentively. As everyone already knew, Bishop and Bud had the experience necessary to strategize a battle plan. Even Tess listened in and they made use of her knowledge of the layout of the Scorpion’s nest in their planning.

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  Two nights later, sometime around 10:00, Bud and Colby parked their trucks just off I-17, on the turnoff to Rim Rock. They had put duct tape across the top half of their headlights, as people had done during the World War II, to make the lights as undetectable as possible, yet still be able to see to drive. The nights in that particular part of the country were exceedingly dark and though there would be a crescent moon later that night, it was now blocked by a low cloud cover. They brought both trucks in order to carry some of the people they hoped to free, back to Pine Valley. If they couldn’t carry them all, they’d make an additional trip.

  Besides Bud and Colby, the attack group consisted of Bishop, Matt, Jason, Jenny and Tess. Bishop left Tanner in charge of the village, despite his entreaties to join the “war party.” They decided they needed Tess because of her Spanish language ability and her knowledge of the layout of the Scorpions’ farm. Jenny refused, under any circumstances, to be left behind, using the argument that she could shoot better than any of the men, except maybe Jason; and someone needed to hang back and keep an eye on Tess. Of the men, all but Jason had active military experience and could hold their own in a fire fight. And, the men had no doubt that Jason would be no shrinking violet. They parked the trucks in amongst a grove of large oaks where they would be hard to see in the dark. All were dressed in camouflage clothing, including Tess, who wore a slightly altered camo outfit that belonged to Jen. They all had black balaclavas salvaged from the firefighter’s equipment shed rolled on their head like watch caps. With the masks down they would be almost invisible. Each wore a pistol on their belt and carried a rifle, except Tess, who was rightfully afraid of guns. Colby also carried his hunting bow and arrow quiver slung over his shoulder. They had two miles to walk to the Scorpions’ nest. Tess led the way with Bud at point, Bishop and Cole beside her, the rest trailing. No one spoke. They didn’t need to because they had predetermined what they would do and how they would do it. They used hand signals when needed. Their primary objective was to rescue any people being held against their will by the Scorpions and, their mission, as distasteful as it was at some level, was to eliminate the threat of the Scorpions. They all knew what that could mean, but hoped that some other alternative might be found.

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  By midnight, the clouds were dispersing and the crescent moon revealed the extent of the Scorpions’ farm. Tess’s description had been amazingly accurate. The farm was surrounded by barbed wire with a front gate that yielded to a gravel drive. A large plantation style house sat at the end of the 200-yard drive, facing the front gate. Fifty yards behind the house was a huge barn, most likely a hay barn, with a long, covered shed jutting out from one side like a sore thumb. According to Tess, this barn had no hay but provided storage for the Scorpions’ motorcycles, and the covered shed was their repair area. Another large barn stood some 50-yards away from the first and close to a very large garden and corn fields. Tess said the corn fields were very large and took at least 15 minutes to walk from one end to the other. The second barn appeared to at one time have been the farm’s equipment barn but, according to Tess, was where the kidnapped workers were now held.

  Bishop’s group eschewed the gate and worked down the fence line toward the motorcycle barn. The only light appeared to come from the house and a generator could be heard near the back of the house. There were several pickups parked in a large gravel area to the side and back of the house, and two large utility trailers. A back door and large porch faced toward the barns.

  As they had planned, the group lay down in brush near the large barn to wait until there was no sign of activity in or around the house. As it appeared the Scorpions were wont to do, there was music, laughter, and boisterous noise coming from the house. Several times, men were seen exiting the back door to urinate in the yard, a sign that either their toilets were not working or they were getting too drunk to care about sanitation, or both. There was no doubt in their minds that the Scorpions were drinking and partying.

  Colby pointed out to the group that two men with rifles sat in over-stuffed chairs that appeared to have seen better days, just a few feet from the farmer’s door into the second barn. They could barely be seen in the shadow cast by the barn. There appeared to be no guards by the first barn and no roving guards on the grounds. The moon was now in their favor and the sky was completely clear, giving them enough moon and starlight to clearly see all the area around the house and barns.

  Bishop guessed it was approaching 2:00am, when the back door opened and a large man exited, roughly dragging two disheveled Hispanic women by the arms. They were both whimpering and he was obviously berating them, though Bishop could not make out what was being said. He took the women to the second barn, joking with the two guards as he approached them. One guard then unlocked a padlock on the barn door and the l
arge man shoved them both into the darkened barn, laughing as he did so. The three men conversed some more, there was more laughter, and then the door was again padlocked.

  The large man went back to the house, turned off the generator, and went inside. Flashlights or lanterns could be seen moving around in the second story windows and then all was dark—and quiet. Bishop’s group waited another hour to make sure all the Scorpions had time to fall asleep, though he doubted it took that long. Then, it was time to act.

  They dispersed according to their plan. Jason moved to a position squared up with the front entrance. Anyone coming out that way was his. Colby, Matt, and the two women moved quietly toward the first barn and squatted down in the covered shed. Bishop and Bud quietly made their way around behind the second barn and crept along the side closest to the door. All waited a few minutes to listen for other signs but, beyond snoring coming from the second barn, there were none. The two guards, having been left out of the party in the house, nursed a bottle between them and chain-smoked. They apparently weren’t afraid of any captives escaping. Bishop and Bud silently moved up behind the guards and before either could move they sent them into permanent slumber, their necks quickly and expertly broken.

  Bishop moved out into the moonlight and waved toward the first barn. Jen and Tess moved in a low crouch toward Bishop; Bud passed them going back to the first barn, carrying one of the dead guards over his shoulder fireman style.

  Bud, Colby, and Matt entered the first barn, which was unlocked, and went to work placing pieces of rag they had in their camo pants’ pockets into the gas tanks of the motorcycles. There was plenty of gasoline in jerry cans in the barn, which they used to soak the rags and then spread around the barn.