Mountain Man (Book 5): Final Stand [Last Ditch]

by Jones, Nathan

  It was late on the third day, while watching from a distance as six full squads of Sangue spread out to come at the column from the southwest and south, that he felt the jaws of the trap closing. On top of the numbers, this force was geared up with grenade launchers and big machine guns to go with their usual weapons, and were digging in to present an impenetrable wall.

  Combined with a similar setup from the enemies shadowing them from every other direction where they'd been spotted, it was pointing to some disturbing truths.

  Arguably, the four or so hundred troops hemming them in were in a position to catch up if they pushed hard, allowing them to attack from three sides. If they did that, with their weapons and training going up against exhausted, mostly untrained refugees, it would almost certainly be a massacre.

  And yet Jonas reported that while the enemy occasionally harassed his fighters in a desultory fashion, they weren't coming with any serious attacks. The man's judgment was that the bloodies were putting just enough pressure on the refugees to keep them running themselves to death to stay ahead of pursuit, and their fighters forced to be alert against attack all hours of the day.

  Meanwhile, the more lightly burdened and fresher enemy soldiers could stay rested and in control of the situation until they chose to finally make a move.

  At this rate, eventually the Camptown refugees would become so run down that people would begin collapsing by the side of the trail, easy pickings for the bloodies coming in from behind as the column was forced to go on without them. That, or Mitchells would have to decide to slow down even more to help the most exhausted among them. Something that was already happening, which made them more and more vulnerable to attack by the day.

  Once it got bad enough, they might actually have to decide to circle up and make a stand of it, at which point the bloodies could surround them and hit them from all sides.

  Tom wished he could see hope in their situation if they managed to keep up the pace, but Sangue was leaving them only one direction to go: west. Eventually they'd reach the edge of the mountains, probably within the next day or two at most depending on what pace they could maintain. Once they got there, he could guarantee a force of bloodies in vehicles would be waiting to hit them.

  So if they stopped, Sangue crushed them. If they kept going until half of them collapsed and the others left them behind, Sangue picked off the stragglers and then crushed whoever was left. If they reached the edge of the mountains, they were trapped and Sangue crushed them.

  He honestly didn't know why the enemy wasn't just coming at them hard from three directions right now. They certainly hated Camptown's people enough to want to hurt them, likely the sooner the better as far as they were concerned, and he hadn't seen many signs of bloodies delaying their gruesome gratification in the past. They certainly had to see that they'd overwhelmingly win any direct fight.

  The obvious answer was that the last couple months of fighting had made the enemy cautious, enough that they were opting to go for the slow but sure victory rather than risk Camptown's fighters springing any more surprises on them.

  That was certainly what Jonas seemed to think of the situation.

  In fact, the militia leader had begun insisting that with their options dwindling, their best course of action was to suddenly turn and attack. Ideally to the southwest, where hopefully the enemy's numbers would be thinnest and reinforcements slowest to arrive. If they could hammer the bloodies hard there and break through, they might be able to slip the trap they were caught in.

  Tom didn't see it. As far as he was concerned, the only result of that sort of aggressive move would be that they'd force the enemy to accelerate their attack plans and all move in at once, exterminating the refugees that much sooner.

  “Where there's life, there's hope,” he'd argued. “We've earned a reprieve because they're cautious of us. Let's make use of it to try to buy ourselves time to find a way out of this.”

  Mitchells had agreed with him. Brandon had as well, although from his troubled expression Tom had a feeling he'd only done so out of loyalty. Carl from the escaped slaves had gone with the man who'd saved him, and the civilian leaders had predictably all gone with the option that wouldn't see their practically defenseless charges put in danger any sooner.

  Jonas had fumed, but with opinion against him he'd had no choice but to reluctantly give in. So they'd kept pushing forward, knowing they might as well have been foxes being herded towards the hunters.

  Even knowing it was coming, though, Tom had to see for himself. They were still reasonably far from the western edge of the mountains, but time was running out and he needed an answer before it was too late to change their minds, if need be.

  So he left Dennis in charge of the scouts and reclaimed one of the horses he'd loaned to the town so he could ride ahead on his own, warning he'd probably be gone for at least a day.

  He didn't run into the enemy on the trip, which didn't do anything to ease his fears. In fact, during the final hour leading up to reaching the last ridge overlooking the foothills, his trepidation grew until it was a churning dread in his gut. He knew what he would find, knew what had to be there, but deep down some foolish part of him hoped he'd be wrong. That maybe, by some miracle, there'd be some opening the refugee column could slip through.

  His first glimpse at the valley below crushed that hope.

  Tom had seen things that filled him with despair before: the sight of his community burning in mass revolt during the shortages, as he stood on a hill overlooking it and realized he'd abandoned his family to the fate they'd earned for themselves. The sight of the settlers from Simon's convoy locked in cages in Newpost, suffering unspeakable horrors. The sight of Grand Junction overrun by Sangue, its surviving citizens languishing in a vast slave camp. The sight of his ranch burning down from a fire he set himself, knowing the future he'd hoped to build for his family was burning with it. The sight of Camptown in ashes, with no way of knowing what had happened to his loved ones.

  Of them all, nothing compared to seeing the dozens of vehicles and hundreds of soldiers dug into fortified positions in the foothills below, ready to greet the refugee column when it was finally driven out of the mountains.

  He'd thought hearing that nuclear warheads had obliterated billions of people, destroyed almost all technology, and rendered most of the world uninhabitable during the Ultimatum had been the end. He'd thought breaking his leg during the dead of winter far from his winter lodge, when he'd still been new to mountain survival, had been the end. He'd thought any other of a dozen hopeless situations he'd been in had all been the end. All those times he'd been wrong.

  Not this time. This time, it really was the end.

  Hope crushed, he rode back to the column to report on what he'd seen, gathering the leaders around him. His despair passed on to the others at the news, causing a wave of sagging shoulders, hanging heads, bitter curses. He could almost see a dozen spirits shattering in front of his eyes.

  “So that's it, then,” Mitchells said heavily when he was done. “I don't suppose you saw some miraculous way out of this?”

  Tom hesitated. “Not a way out, but what I believe is our only possible option going forward at this point.” He nodded at Jonas. “Your suggestion that I shot down originally. I wanted to see if you still recommended it.”

  “Which one was that?” the militia leader asked sourly. “That we hit the bloodies to the southwest and bolt through the gap, then flee south along the western edge of the mountains and hope some opportunity presents itself in the future?”

  Well, that confirmed he'd been right about it still being their only obvious option. “I figure we can keep moving forward for the rest of the day, act like everything's normal until sundown. Then we'll hit the Sangue camp farthest southwest as hard as we can, while our people push even farther southwest around them and travel on through the night for all they're worth.”

  “We're already run ragged,” Mitchells protested, shaking his head dully. �
��People will be pushing themselves to death with your plan.”

  Tom didn't need to be told that. He'd seen how Kristy was practically a zombie at this point, and Fiona had confessed a very real fear that his wife's milk production was slacking off due to the immense stress, so she might soon have trouble feeding Miles. The young woman had offered to breastfeed the newborn herself if need be, since she was still producing for Thomas. But Tom knew she was feeling the stress of travel herself and couldn't take much more strain.

  “In that case, we have no choice but to ditch everything but what we absolutely need to survive for the next few days,” Tom replied grimly.

  “And then we begin starving and drop like flies?” Mitchells demanded, aghast.

  Jonas slammed his fist against his palm with a sharp slap loud enough to make the people nearest him jump. “Do you not get it, old man?” he snarled. “We're dead tomorrow if we don't do this! That's where we're at! That's the situation we're in right now!”

  The sheriff stepped back, shaken. “There must be-”

  “There isn't! Sangue outmaneuvered us and boxed us in. We're screwed.” The militia leader's fury faded as swiftly as it had come, shoulders slumping as he continued in a defeated voice. “This is it. A way to buy ourselves a bit more time to hope for a miracle that probably won't come.”

  A heavy silence settled. “You expect me to tell that to my wife?” Brady said quietly. “My children?”

  “Tell them whatever you want. Just make sure they're ready to run like the blazes come nightfall.” Jonas looked at Tom, then Brandon, then the other fighters. “Let's prepare this attack.”

  Tom didn't respond, wheeling his horse and making a beeline for his family.

  Skyler was craning forward to see what the commotion was about as Tom approached, Molly perched on the saddle in front of him. The toddler yelled and waved when she saw her daddy coming, but behind her Skyler's expression was grim, and he wasted no time lifting his sister down from the saddle and handing her off to Keri before nudging his horse forward to meet Tom.

  Back in the column Kristy remained with the others, Tabby leading her horse by the reins, although his wife's worried eyes followed her son to where he and Tom met up.

  “What's going on?” Skyler demanded.

  Tom nodded curtly away from the line of exhausted refugees, guiding his horse off a hundred or so feet before dismounting. His son followed, looking more and more uneasy. “Trapper? You're scaring the blazes out of me.”

  “There's reason for it,” he replied grimly. He quickly explained their situation, and the planned attack and attempt to break out of the trap that they'd be carrying out after dark.

  Skyler's already haggard features paled more and more until Tom was done. “Should I join the attack?” he asked quietly.

  “No.” Tom stepped forward and gripped his son's shoulder tight, staring firmly into his eyes. “While we're attacking Sangue and the refugee column is fleeing around us, I want you and Logan to be ready to take your mom and sister and brother, and Fiona and baby Thomas, and split off. Sneak them out of this trap the bloodies have us in and get them to safety.”

  Skyler stared at him, aghast. “Abandon Mer and Keri and Tabby her family and everyone else?”

  He looked away, but nodded firmly. “That's right. I suppose if you can convince Tabby, and her parents for that matter, you can take her too. I know she means a lot to you.” Skyler flushed and opened his mouth to protest, whether about his relationship with the young woman or Tom's plan, he wasn't sure.

  He continued before his son could. “As for the others, I'm sure they have their plans, or if not you can certainly give them some quiet words of advice, as long as you don't start a panic. But for you, for us, all that's important is your mom and siblings. Much as I hate to say it, even our closest friends are a secondary consideration . . . you have to get our family away safely.”

  The teenager yanked free of his grip and stepped back, shaking his head. “I won't do it! I'm not ditching everyone. I'll stay and fight, you take everyone to safety. You have a better chance of getting them out anyway.”

  “You're in no position to-” Tom cut off sharply, fighting back a flush of anger.

  He hadn't spent weeks searching for his son just to leave him behind to die now. And that wasn't the only consideration; he'd abandoned Simon's convoy to save his own skin five years ago, and had saved Kristy and Skyler in the process. He didn't regret that decision, especially since he'd warned the convoy leader it was exactly what he'd do if necessary.

  But he couldn't even consider slinking away and abandoning the volunteers he'd trained and led for so long, the townspeople he'd agreed to defend. The thought of leaving his family behind, helpless in a cruel world filled with monsters like Sangue, tore at his heart, but it was the decision he'd made the moment he invited the Emery refugees to the bowl valley, and later Gray's group as well.

  “I have a responsibility to these people,” he told his son firmly. “I promised I'd protect them, so I'll stay and do what I can no matter what happens to me. But you need to go. For your mom, and Molly, and Miles.”

  Skyler's shoulders slumped, tears filling his eyes. “So you get to do the right thing, while I have to choose between my family and betraying everyone else I care about?”

  It sounded truly awful when the kid put it like that. But awful or not, Tom refused to even consider not sending his family away to safety while he could. “You get the easy choice,” he whispered. “I have to abandon my family for the sake of everyone else. That's why I need someone who I know can protect them.” He put his hand on Skyler's shoulder again, and this time the young man didn't flinch away. “I'm depending on you, son.”

  He was certain Skyler would continue to balk, showing all of the stubbornness that ran in the family. So he was genuinely surprised when the teenager's face crumpled and he threw his arms around Tom and broke down. “I hate this, Trapper,” he mumbled. “Why does it have to be like this?”

  “It doesn't.”

  Tom jumped as if struck by lightning, whirling to find Kristy standing a dozen feet away. She was ashen and looked like she barely had the strength to stand, but that wasn't stopping her from glaring at him sternly. He wondered how she'd snuck up on them, and how long she'd been there.

  “I know why you're doing this, Tom,” she said gently, but with that same familiar obdurate stubbornness that he knew meant she would never, ever back down, “but you should've asked me first. Because unless you were planning on having Skyler also sneak out all the women he rescued from Joes Valley, and the Knudsen clan, and Betty Everett and her kids, and our few remaining friends from Simon's convoy, then you can forget it.”

  “There's no way we could get that many people away without being caught!” he protested. At his side Skyler nodded vehemently.

  Kristy swayed slightly, but her expression remained like a boulder. “Then I guess we'll be staying with our friends and praying for a miracle.”

  Tom strode forward, taking his wife gently by the shoulders. “Kris, you can't ask that of me,” he said in quiet anguish. “I won't lose you, or Skyler or Molly or Miles. Even if I have to drag you away kicking and screaming right now, I won't let you die here.”

  Her eyes softened, and she rested a hand on his cheek. “You'll win tonight's battle, and we'll get the refugees safely around the enemy and out of this trap. Even if we're still in this situation a few days from now, that's as good a time to do it your way as tonight.”

  She slid her cool fingers down to the back of his neck, pulling him forward until their foreheads touched. “We've already sacrificed so much, my love,” she whispered, so quietly he barely heard her. “At least give us a few days before we have to abandon our friends. I'd do it, for the sake of our children, but I'm not sure I'd ever be able to forgive myself.”

  Tom stood for several long seconds, feeling torn in half. Then he nodded once.

  Kristy kissed him gently and stepped back. “I'll talk to t
he Knudsens and the others, make sure we're all ready to push hard tonight to get away.”

  “Good.” Tom straightened as if he'd just dropped a heavy pack; he had to admit that, much as he hated the risk Kristy was taking, this decision rested lighter on his shoulders. He turned to Skyler, who'd led the horses over to join them. “I want you to help scout for the column, guide them safely through the dark. But make sure you stick close to your mom while you do it, just in case you have to get her out if things go wrong.”

  He was half afraid Kristy would protest even that precaution, but thankfully she didn't. Skyler nodded grimly, then put a supporting arm around his mom and helped her up into Horse's saddle. He handed Tom his horse's reins, then led Horse back towards the column.

  Tom watched them go for a minute or so, hoping he hadn't just doomed his family. He'd just have to make sure this fight was a crushing victory, so bloodies lurking out in the night wouldn't be in a position to threaten his loved ones.

  Reassured by that resolution, he hauled himself back into the saddle and headed over to where Jonas and Brandon were gathering the fighters.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Last Ditch

  Word spread through the column as casually as news that they were making a break for their lives not long after dark could, just in case Sangue had scouts watching them who might grow suspicious.

  The refugees continued on their usual plodding but determined pace, pushing themselves to the point of exhaustion, as all along the line people delivered news and made plans, trying to make it all seem completely innocent. Considering the stakes, for the most part they were unexpectedly convincing in the deception.

  A half hour before full dark, just like always, Mitchells called a halt and they all collapsed, setting up camp with the minimal necessary effort and choking down a meal of Sangue ration bars. Then they piled into their tents to pass out from exhaustion.

  That was part of the deception, of course, but it was also their last chance to rest before the coming ordeal. Anyone with a lick of sense took advantage of it.