Next World Series | Vol. 6 | Families First [Battle Grounds]

by Ewing, Lance K.

  “It’s the time of year for the heaviest runoff!” Baker spat. “Someone is playing the devil with my river, and when I find out who they are, there is going to be a penalty of biblical proportions!”

  Baker turned back towards his following of a thousand or more—even he wasn’t sure anymore—and instructed one of his Inner Circle to devise a temporary plan to haul water from the Big Thompson River they had passed a few miles back. He was tired, even after being carried from the last camp to here. He instructed the tents to be erected quietly while he took his afternoon nap, which he hadn’t missed in nearly three years.

  “Early to bed, early to rise, work like hell and advertise” he remembered his father saying years ago. It took him quite a few years to adopt the model, but since the day he had done just that, he was in bed by 9 p.m. and up at 4 a.m., with a 2 p.m. 30-minute power nap, and of course his daily sermons in front of his ever-growing group, broadcast to who knows how many across the country. It was quickly becoming routine, and by the size of the group growing each week, it seemed to be working.

  * * * *

  The tent city was set up in a matter of hours, with many pitching in, understanding there would only be dinner and sleep after it was complete, however long it took. Enough water was secured for 24 hours, assuming no bathing of any kind. Some in the group quietly complained, while most others were happy to be off the road for however long.

  Maybe 20 percent truly understood why they were here and what sacrifices would need to be made if they were to continue living like this, regardless of the hardships of spouses, family, giving up pets and possessions, and living like occupied citizens of the most prosperous nation in the world only weeks ago. The rest were along for the ride—only concerned for the next meal and, if they were lucky, a biweekly shower. Very few understood they were expected to fight for their very lives in a matter of hours, or a few days.

  “There is no such thing as a free lunch,” Baker would say at the end of his daily sermons. Most dismissed it entirely as a saying they had heard before, but a few took it to heart, and those men that bore the brand took it as gospel.

  * * * *

  Baker called his inner circle for a meeting late in the afternoon and told them everything he knew about Sergio and the missing machinery. He demanded full confidentiality from his men and a vow to keep Sergio alive until the order was given otherwise.

  We will give them one more day while we settle in here, and attack at first light the following morning. If any more of our trucks and flying machines should go missing before then, a brand will be the least of your concerns. Baker finished his time with them and waited for his usual crew, all women, of course, to share his home.

  It amazed him that he could yell at his guards, most of them killers now, threatening their very lives, and not one of them thought to form a group to overthrow him. Even one of them could take over if they really wanted to, he thought, saying out loud, “fascinating, truly fascinating, how the human mind works. Isn’t that right, God?” he said, looking to the sky. Baker talked to God a lot; in fact, multiple times per day, and usually out loud. He was sure a man of his caliber would hear something back, and maybe even have a full-on conversation with the “Man Upstairs,” but he never did.

  * * * *

  All in camp settled in for the night, with extra security on the western and northern borders. Preparations the following morning started early, with a runway plowed into the hard dirt of the field and packed down by heavy truck tires to ensure its support. Baker sent a six-man team upriver to locate the source of water he was sure flowed through the valley year-round.

  Two hours later, a small flood ran down from above, and two of Hanson’s neighbors lay facedown in the water.

  “That’s how you take care of a problem,” said Baker right before his morning sermon, and ending in a clear statement: “Tomorrow we shall purify the wicked and settle into our forever home.”

  He tasked his leaders with preparing those who would fight with clear instructions on the when and how. Even losing half of his machines, he was confident in a massive landslide victory, putting him in his new home once the carnage was cleared.

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Rimrock Above Saddle Ranch

  Loveland, Colorado

  Drake and company watched intently, radioing to Mac every thirty minutes.

  “The shelters are temporary,” said Sergio to Drake and Mike from up on the hill. “They are coming soon.”

  Meetings in the Valley, both on the Ranch and at The West, took up most of the morning, with differing opinions of when everyone not on the front lines should shelter in place. Mac and Cory made a trip to the Rimrock early in the afternoon, and both agreed an attack could come at any time.

  Mac was left by John, Bill, Samuel and the Council to make the final call and was given two hours to officially do so. A late afternoon call to Samuel from the Colonel sealed the deal.

  “They are coming at first light,” the Colonel said soberly.

  “Where are you now?” asked Samuel calmly.

  “Close, so close I could knock on your front door in a matter of minutes. But they are here too. Not Baker’s group but his ‘handlers,’ you could call them.”

  “And Ronna?” asked Samuel, remembering the Colonel had a man who was following Baker’s group across the country, typically only one day behind.

  “They will be here in time. Inform your people on the front lines and those of the Ranch to stay low, fight hard and watch out for friendly fire.”

  “Anything else?” asked Samuel.

  “Yes, say a prayer for all of us.”

  * * * *

  Dinner was served in both the Ranch’s and The West’s dining rooms at 6 p.m., with clear instructions by both leaders that each family would be underground by 8 p.m. this night.

  “Please do not bring anything you cannot fit in a small backpack, as we are short on room,” both men told their nervous members. “All food, water, and anything else needed for basic eating and sanitation will be provided,” they added. “We anticipate you all being inside for a day at a bare minimum, to a few days tops. A few Council members will stay, providing support,” said John, “and nobody is to leave the shelter for any reason until it is safe to do so. It’s important that Mac, our head of security, and everyone on the front lines not be concerned with people running around the Ranch while they are defending our Valley. We will have help from Samuel’s good friend, a Colonel, and his soldiers. You will likely hear gunfire, helicopters, and even artillery fire, but please remain calm and inside. Chef Rico and half of his team have been working all day on a week’s worth of provisions for everyone and are just now finishing stocking the shelters. You will each find a one-page instruction paper on the front table as you exit here, explaining the next steps—one per family, please. There are cots, sleeping bags, and enough blankets for everyone. Please arrive no later than 7:45 p.m. tonight, so we have an accurate headcount. Let’s pray.

  “Lord, these are trying times, and we trust in your plan for all of us residing in this Valley you have entrusted to us for the past 70 years. We ask that you watch over us, instilling calmness in our hearts and forgiveness for those who seek to bring harm to our Valley. We will fight in your name, Lord, and with your guidance we will prevail. In your name, we pray. Amen.”

  The Ranch was a buzz of activity. Mac and Sarah would disagree on where she would be during the heat of battle. He wanted her on the Ranch and in the shelter with people he knew well, and she was determined to stay at The West, not in the shelter but in the hospital for “the inevitable incoming,” as she put it, that they would see almost immediately. Mac lost the battle and was resigned to putting extra armed security from the Ranch side around the hospital.

  Hanson and the two brothers geared up to fly two planes and one helicopter, as they did final tests on the equipment. Vlad gathered a few to run Bert around the property after a quick training ses
sion earlier in the day.

  I said good-bye to Joy and our boys. Ringo and Mini were too much to be cramped in a basement with dozens of people. They would be our eyes and ears and would stay on our side if my prayers were answered. I had so many requests out now, I swore I wouldn’t ask for anything else for a very long time if they were granted.

  “That’s not how it works,” Joy had reminded me.

  I shrugged it off, focusing on what I could control, checking our gas cans across the bottom of the Rimrock.

  My mom had told me she would let me know when it was time. Given her sense of feeling things most others didn’t, and knowing how close she was to Mabel, I felt the message of what and when would come if needed. I was in bed by midnight, with no sleep to be had this night. If the fight lasted more than a day or two, I wasn’t sure how I would hold up. I had comfort—if it can even be called that—knowing everyone on both sides would likely not be sleeping this night. The hours dragged on, and it was the first night I had slept away from my wife and boys since it all started.

  The plan was for everyone doing the dirty work to meet at 4 a.m. by the machine shop. Every vehicle had been gassed up and tested. There was one stretch of road free of power lines, long enough for a small plane to take off and land—for an expert pilot only.

  * * * *

  I sat outside at 1 a.m., smelling the smoke of the mountain fire somewhere up by Estes Park, or closer if I were a betting man. The irony, I thought, would be defeating Baker and his soulless fighters, only to be run over by a forest fire, hours or days later. I resigned myself to not play the what-if game tonight. There were just too many opportunities to go off in another direction, and I was reminded of a saying, or was it a song, suggesting that most things we are concerned about never happen anyway.

  I hummed the tunes from my favorite singer I had heard hundreds of times over the years and wondered where he was tonight. “Take care of your family, Tom,” I whispered. “They are coming here and there.”

  Sitting in silence, I clutched my AR and thought about stories I had heard about Military guards falling asleep at their posts.

  “Not me,” I said aloud, standing and realizing I had the advantage of moving around and getting my blood moving to stay awake.

  It didn’t hurt that I was scared. Not like last time exactly, where we faced a small number of them, but now realizing there were many more coming over the hill for a final battle…and honestly, how many times can one man escape death in a hostile world?

  By 2:30 a.m. I realized I wasn’t the only one wandering around outside. The crew of Lonnie, Jake, Vlad, Aiden and Shane made their presence known with our new friend. The veterinarian asked to join Sarah at the hospital. More than a few women walked the property with confidence, armed to the teeth, but thankfully no children under the age of 17 that I saw. I felt a pit in my stomach, like I had ten times before after the day, but this time it was not the same. All those before were trying to survive to get to this Valley. Now we were here, and if we were victorious we could at least have a chance of starting over, a clean slate wiped of road tears, blood and sacrifice, a chance to start anew and farm the fertile soil, focused on family and friends for the foreseeable future. I took this chance, as did all the others, and had traveled more than 800 miles for a better life. I wouldn’t trade it now, couldn’t trade it now. Gathering my travel companions, who had all become family together, I snuck a look at my watch, reading 3:37 a.m.

  Someone went to find Jim minutes before, but at the agreed upon time we all were there, even Mike.

  Grabbing an empty white five-gallon bucket, I filled it with small rocks of various sizes and held it by its handle.

  “You have stood by my family and me,” I started, “since the very beginning. Any of you could have denounced us, run away from us, deceived us, or been indifferent to us, but none of you chose that path. You instead chose to support us, praise us, defend us, and put your lives in the same bucket as ours.”

  I swirled the bucket as I spoke, with the rocks occasionally clanging together but rotating smoothly around in a circle. “We are in this bucket, all of us who once had different hopes and dreams for our future and that of our families.” I intentionally swirled the bucket faster, as the rocks of all sizes stopped clanking and swirled in harmony.

  “Though there are some among us who are single thus far—no matter, we are all family now. When one falls, we all fall,” I said, slinging the contents of the bucket into a nearby wall. Each rock slammed the wall with varying intensity, but all fell to the ground in a uniform pile.

  “This is my home!” I stated loudly. “It has always been my home. It is home to more than 200 God-fearing people, all a family now, and I, for one, will die a happy man protecting this Valley from all who would seek to destroy it. If you are with me, say ‘I!’ If you are with me, say ‘Us!’ If you are with me!” I said in a near-primal scream, say, “Families First!!”

  “Families First” was broadcast so loudly, I was sure Baker had heard it in the next valley over. I smiled for just a minute, forgetting about all in the bunkers we were fighting for—scared to death, no doubt, about what they could not see.

  “Lock and load!” I called out, with everyone following suit and heading silently to the machine shop.

  “What was that all about?” asked Mac when we arrived. “Baker himself may have heard it!” he added.

  “I hope so,” I responded unapologetically.

  * * * *

  Front-line fighters trickled in over the next 45 minutes. Some were ready to go, some were visibly sick, and most fell somewhere in between.

  “With the exception of Mike and Sergio,” I whispered to Jake, “the rest of us just want this to be over. A quick victory leading right into the farmer’s family life and homeschooling the kids.”

  “I know, brother. It’s great to think about, but we have a river of blood to cross before we ever see that happen.”

  “With all that you know now, do you wish you had never met me?” I asked.

  “Truth be told,” he replied, “you aren’t the first one to ask me that. In fact, you’re the third adult to do so since we left our home in Plano.”

  I wracked my brain to think of who else—besides his wife, obviously, who would have a valid point—would ask such a question.

  I didn’t ask but waited for his answer.

  “I lived in Plano,” he responded after almost a minute of silence. “The same city Vlad’s gun shop was in, about to be run over by thugs and thieves. In the same city, a true rancher named Jessup staked his family’s claim for generations. Vlad knew his time was short, as did Jessup. I’ll bet you silver to worthless dollars it’s a leveled city of burned-out buildings and ranches, from one town border to another. So, the quick answer is no. I’m not wishing that we never met you and your family. You saved our lives, and now I have a chance to pay back that debt. Mark my words, I will pay it or die trying.”

  * * * *

  “Okay, everyone! Gather over here!” called Mac several times, until most were within normal talking distance. “We are told they will strike at dawn. I have scouts on the Rimrock who are telling me there is a stir in camp already and we can expect this to grow over the next hour or two. Each person here is on the front line. Some are ‘Forward Offense,’ you could call it, if this were a soccer team. Some will be Midfield and some Defense. Ten of you have already been designated Goalies, five here and five at The West property. This means you will do nothing less than throw your bodies in front of the goal, in case our shelter is about to be breached. Everyone we care about is in one of those shelters. And mark my words, should they get that far, I and everyone in front of you have already sacrificed our lives. You will be our last hope.

  “Everyone should be locked and loaded, with spare rounds on each person, and in designated areas here, here, and here,” Mac added, pointing to the map of the Valley. “Those from The West are not to take up arms, but many will be on the front lines to assist
us, as well as providing valuable intel on precise locations of our opponents. Next, the skies will be filled with aircraft of various types, some friendly and others not. Avoid them all and do not fire on any of them. We don’t have time to pick out the good from the bad. Our fearless leaders—John, Bill and the Council—will be sheltered until this is over. It’s my call. If anyone has something to comment on, let’s hear it.”

  Nobody raised a hand or voiced out loud.

  “Lastly,” Mac continued, “we only shoot in response. Let me be perfectly clear on this for clarity, though. If the crisis passes the midpoint of the Rimrock, even without firing a shot, we are in our right to defend this land with everything we have. Don’t waste a round that could bring us food later, but also don’t save one that could have protected this Valley. All those in, say ‘I!’”

  We all responded in unison, and each grabbed a small gunnysack handed out by Rico and his chefs-in-training as we headed to our predetermined spots. There was a radio for every third man, leaving some information to be passed the old-fashioned way.