by C A Bird
In only a few minutes he was back, buckling his belt as he walked out into the parking area. “Bring the furniture from the motel office and from some of the rooms. Bring the bedding too,” Chase ordered.
“This sucks, we’re almost out of food and it’s over eighty miles to Kingman,” Bing complained to Don and Jimmy, as they hauled the furniture and bedding from the motel rooms and threw it all in the middle of the parking lot. Rod broke into the motel office and came out holding dozens of keys.
“Good thing they don’t use those electronic keys. Damn things needed a computer to code them to the rooms.” He handed out the keys and some of the men led their women into rooms at the far end of the motel.
“There aren’t enough rooms in this one for all of us,” Chase called out to the riders, check out that other motel across the street.”
Happy to get away from him, a dozen cyclists gunned their motorcycles out of the parking lot one hundred yards up the highway and into the parking lot of a second motel.
As the gang members started returning empty-handed, Chase’s mood darkened. He turned to Bing. “We’ll stay here tonight and head for Kingman in the morning. Get me a bottle of whiskey out of the pickup truck.”
Nutts and Johnny rode into the parking lot, and pulled up in front of where Chase was sitting in a motel room chair, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. He had his boots propped up on the railing, a cigarette held between two fingers of his gloved hand. Chase blew a smoke ring. “You losers find anything?”
Johnny walked back to his saddlebags and withdrew two bottles of water. “Yeah, Chase. We found a house with a couple cases of water. Couldn’t bring them all but we can get them on the way out of town.” He walked over and handed Chase a bottle of water. “Had a little trouble with a couple of residents. We had to kill ‘em.”
Chase opened the bottle of water and drank the entire contents in one long swig. “Get back there and bring the water now, before someone else gets it.”
“Sure, Chase. Anything you say, man.” Climbing back in their saddles they roared off down the street. When they were 50 yards down the street Johnny looked over at Nutts and rolled his eyes.
The last of the riders had returned with similar tales of murdering hapless survivors. It was clear this gang was never going to leave anyone behind alive.
Bing and Cutter sat in chairs brought from a motel room out onto the walkway. They each had a bottle of water and a cigarette. “Do you think all the towns will be like this one? Cutter whined. “We’ll starve or die from thirst if they are.”
“Just the small towns. If there aren’t any people there should be more supplies. And big cities should have a ton of shit.”
“There aren’t any big towns until we get farther east. Except for Phoenix and Tucson. What about them?”
“Chase says we have to go farther east. Out of this whole southwest desert area. Where there’s a lot of rivers and lakes. And hunting.” He wore a bright pink bandanna today.
Smelling something burning, Bing glanced over his shoulder toward Chase, who was lighting a big bonfire, stoked with piles of bedding and furniture from the motel. Chase walked over to the street, and placing his gloved hands on a road sign, began rocking it back and forth. There was a loud crack, and throwing the stop sign onto his shoulder, he carried it back and chucked it onto the fire, looking over at Bing and Cutter with a grimace that served as his smile.
“Bing,” he yelled, “go get some of the other guys and bring me the bodies of those idiots the men killed this morning.”
“Bodies? Seriously, Chase?”
Chase just glared at Bing, then tilted his head.
“Sure, Chase. We’ll get ‘em.”
Wide eyed, Bing started down the rows of rooms, banging on the doors and waiting for the occupants to come out.
“Chase wants you guys to bring the bodies of the people the guys killed this morning,” he told the first man to answer the door. He lowered his voice to a whisper, “I think he’s gonna eat ‘em.”
“That’s bullshit, man. You go get ‘em, I’m busy.” He looked over his shoulder and grinned at the woman in his bed.”
“You want me to tell Chase you’re not gonna do what he said?”
“Ah, fuck man, I’ll go. Just shut your trap. I’ll be back, baby,” he said to the woman.
Bing was right. When they brought the three bodies, Chase butchered them himself, slicing them into steaks and other cuts of meat. In another five minutes he’d chopped down a small tree by the motel swimming pool, using the small branches as skewers and throwing the larger branches onto the fire.
He threw the entrails into the pool.
“Ain’t nothing like a barbecue, huh boys?”
11
A dark sky lowered over the wagon train as it moved west. Mark and Lori, sitting on the seat of the wagon, were engaged in conversation, their voices low due to the somber mood set by the weather. Ashley and Kevin were fighting in the back of the wagon. They were just over a week out of Raton. Saying goodbye to Izzy and Terry had been difficult and had created a void in their little party.
Terry had given them directions to the west, following New Mexico Highway 555 through the Sangre De Cristo Mountains. Skillet and the Yancey boys didn’t like having to drive the horses on the asphalt road for too great a distance, but the topography was mountainous, making them have to stay on the road paralleling the Canadian River. They were relieved when the road became dirt after about 40 miles. Asphalt roads were much softer than concrete but still harder on the horse’s hooves than the ground. The road provided the best route through the mountains, taking advantage of passes along the way.
Like Mark and Lori, Jesse Cameron had been a runner in his former life. He was the only one of the men that tried to keep his hair short. Since no one knew how to cut hair properly, his brown, curly hair was uneven and stuck out from his head. He tried and failed to grow a decent beard, ending up with patches of fuzz on his cheeks. His friend Danny Fielder, who was a year younger, and six inches taller, was growing a full thick beard, and teased him unmercifully.
Jesse hated horses, and became bored when riding in a wagon, so every day he ran up ahead of the wagon train, trying to keep up with Sheri. Then he would run back for lunch.
Sheri flew down the dirt road, dodging the bushes and weeds that had sprouted up through the ground, arriving at the same time as Jesse.
“You know you’re never going to catch me, right?” she laughed, as she skidded to a stop.
“I’ll never catch you on foot, but if I had a bicycle I think I could keep up with you. With all the rain, the bicycles in Eagle Nest were rusted hunks of junk. Dan tried to buy us a couple of bikes in Raton but they told him our money was no good.”
“I know. I tried to buy some new clothes and they told me they were holding on to all the supplies they had, because they didn’t think they would ever have any more. One of the women told me they couldn’t eat gold and silver.”
“But they use gold and silver, and even jewels, for currency.”
She leaned her bike against the wagon. “They’re just using it as a method of exchange to buy things amongst themselves. They’re scared to death to let outsiders have any of their supplies. I think they’re making a big mistake by not learning how to make things themselves. What are they going to do after the supplies run out? Especially if they don’t set up trade with others towns.”
“I don’t know. Now that Terry and Izzy are there, maybe they can teach them to do things for themselves,” he said, “and maybe Willsburg can lend them books and software. They must have generators and working computers. At least for a few years until things break or they run out of gas. By then they’ll be a lot more self-sufficient.”
Jesse had his foot on the top of the wagon wheel leaning forward and stretching out his hamstrings. “I heard Mark say that when we get out of these mountains we would pass through a couple of small towns. I’m hoping for a bike shop. Then I won’t
have any trouble keeping up with you.” He switched legs and continued to stretch.
“Well… you can sure try.”
***
In two more days they were almost through the Sangre de Cristos. They had seen no towns, nor any people, but had passed an occasional ranch and a small cemetery. As often as possible they tried to drive the wagons alongside the road, if the ground was flat enough. They had left the Canadian River behind and, according to their map of New Mexico, were now close to the end of New Mexico Highway 196. Another, smaller river now paralleled the road. They had filled all the water barrels at Costilla Reservoir but, except for the game brought in by Matthew and Einstein every day, their food stores were getting low. Terry had told them to take the 516 that crossed into Colorado to take advantage of the best pass through the Rockies.
“Wow, take a look at that view,” Lori said, as they came around a bend and looked out west over an expansive valley. The road led down out of the mountains to the plains before crossing another mountain range in the far distance. “Do you think we can get out of the mountains before the rain starts?”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t think so. It looks like there’s still a few more miles before the road begins to descend into the valley, and I don’t think the rain is going to hold off much longer.”
Matthew and Einstein ranged ahead, continuing to scout, missing having the Jeep to check out the miles ahead. The terrain became more uneven, and they were forced to move the wagons onto the road itself for the next thirty minutes. Sheri usually rode ahead on her bicycle, but today she stayed with the wagon train, something about the clouds making her want the comfort of her friends. It was midafternoon when Mark felt the first raindrops, as the fog settled down around their shoulders like a wet blanket. Mark blew the battered, brass horn, signaling for the sentries to return to camp.
Riders materialized out of the thickening fog. Chang rode up from behind, Mike came in from the right and Danny came from the left as they could all feel the oncoming storm. The acrid smell of ozone was in the air.
“Hey Mark, this looks like it’s gonna be bad,” Sam called out. The rain started to fall harder, the wind kicked up, and suddenly the flash of a giant lightning strike was seen off to the right, followed by a low rumble of thunder.
“Yeah, we need to get undercover, fast,” Mark yelled back. Mark’s wagon was in the lead and, as he pulled the reins to left, the horses headed down a short slope into a flat area filled with brush.
“Circle up,” he called out. The other two wagons came down the slope and circled to the left into their usual triangular shape.
“Chang, Danny and Mike. You guys finish up your guard duty and as soon as the next shift finishes their dinner I’ll send them out to relieve you and you can come eat. Sorry about the rain.”
The camp became a flurry of activity. Willy and Sheri drove stakes into the ground and strung a rope between them. They unsaddled the horses and tied them off to the rope, leaving enough slack for them to graze. Quickly covering all the gear with a large plastic tarp, they piled rocks at the corners to secure it against the brisk wind. Skillet and Jimbo unharnessed the team that pulled the Chuck wagon, while Mark and Lori unharnessed their own. Chris and Aaron took care of theirs and everyone else started pitching their tents, as the rain became a downpour. As soon as the wagons had stopped, Ashley and Kevin, tired of being cooped up all day, bailed out the back of their wagon and began playing in the mud.
“Jesse, Greg, Willy and Carlos,” Skillet called out, “can you guys rig the shelter for my fire?” They pulled four long stakes approximately seven feet long out of the Chuck wagon, and standing on a box, drove them deep into the ground in a square pattern in the center space between the wagons. They strung up a large cover between the poles and tied off guy ropes to stabilize it.
“Yo, Skillet. It’s all ready for you to start your fire, you old coot,” Jesse told the grizzled cook.
“I’m not old. I’m only fifty-four. I just look old, but I’m still prettier than you.”
Skillet walked around collecting rocks to ring the fire, oblivious to the rain. Once he had the ring formed he went to his wagon and fetched dry firewood stacked alongside one wall. Throwing a small plastic tarp over the arm full of logs, he ran back to the fire ring and inside of three minutes had a roaring campfire going.
“Ashley, Kevin,” Lori yelled out, “get in here, out of that rain.”
“Aw, mom, we’re tired of that old wagon,” Kevin whined, “can’t we play just a little longer?”
“Certainly not. It’s starting to get cold. Come on.”
Between the Chuck wagon and Chris and Aaron’s wagon, Mike and Greg set up their dome-like, nylon tent, staking it to the ground and placing basketball-sized rocks on each of the tent stakes. Carlos and Chang had pitched theirs next to it. The wind had become a gale and from inside his tent Mark heard Sam and Willy’s voices shrill on the wind, diminishing as they chased their tent across the plains. Mark stuck his head out of the wagon just in time to see them disappear in the fog, returning five minutes later with no tent.
“Son of a bitch! Why’d you let it go?” Sam shouted.
“You stupid slacker. You’re the one that let it go.” Willy reached out and shoved Sam. He tripped over a bush, falling into a rivulet now flowing along one side of the camp. Both Yancey boys started laughing. “Way to go, Willy. Now where we gonna sleep?”
“Under the wagon I guess. We’ll hang a tarp down the sides. It’ll be okay, bro. You shouldn’t have let go of the tent.”
“Screw you! You’re such a dick.”
Mark shook his head and pulled it back into the wagon. “Those boys just never quit.”
“No, but they keep things interesting. Come on kids, get out of those wet clothes.”
She helped Kevin change into warm jeans and a long sleeved shirt. Ashley put the wet ones against the tailgate, out of the way. The wagon lit up from the flash of another lightning strike and the thunder crashed a few seconds behind. The canvas cover of the wagon magnified the hammering sound of the rain. They all huddled together, seeking comfort from the storm, and Lori shivered, remembering another maelstrom in what seemed like another life.
“Mark, what does this storm remind you of?”
He looked over at her, and saw her eyes wide with fear. “Lori, it’s okay. That storm was worse and you were hurt.”
“As bad as it was, I wasn’t scared. I was injured and cold but you were there, and I felt safe.”
He moved over toward her, putting his arms around her as the kids nestled in their laps. Before the war he had never felt as warm, comfortable and safe as he did at that moment.
Willy and Sam, already drenched to the bone, helped Skillet get dinner ready. They couldn’t get any wetter so they made several trips back and forth from the Chuck wagon to the campfire. A large kettle sat slightly off kilter on a rock, a stew of venison and vegetables just beginning to simmer, and giving off a heavenly aroma. Skillet stirred it with a long wooden spoon. As quickly as it had come, the wind died away and the tarp over their heads quit flapping.
“Hey, you guys. Look what I found.” Willy came through the rain and ducked under the tarp holding up a can of something in his right hand. Water ran off his battered cowboy hat creating a tiny waterfall before his eyes
“Okay, I’ll bite. What is it?” Sam said, as he tried to grab it out of Willy’s hand.
“Get off me, man. It’s a can of frosting. Cake frosting. It was buried in the bottom of a box of other cans. We’re going to have dessert tonight.”
“Yeah? What are you gonna put it on?”
“Hell, we’ll just eat it right out of the can. You got a spoon?”
“Come and get it!” Skillet yelled at the top of his lungs. Sixteen hungry people, all but the baby, most with plastic tarps held over their heads, hustled to the campfire and grabbed plastic plates and tableware off the small wooden table under the edge of the area protected by the tarp. Skillet
ladled the stew onto everyone’s plate and Greg sliced a loaf of bread for everyone to share. They huddled around the campfire, bumping into one another in the confined space and tripping over the children. By the time they’d finished their meal, the lightning and thunder had stopped, and the rain had settled into a steady whisper. Skillet and the Yancey boys gathered the dishes and took them to the Chuck wagon.
Matthew, Einstein and Greg headed out to relieve the guards. A few moments later the wet, hungry men came into camp and dug into the pot to finish off the remainder of the stew. The others huddled around the fire.
“Hey everybody, don’t leave yet,” Willy yelled. “We’ve got dessert.” He held up the can of chocolate frosting, and a spoon. The sun had set and the last of the twilight was settling into the West as brilliant points of light illuminated the western sky. They moved the small table into the center of the space under the tarp which had settled down, no longer snapping in the wind.
Willy removed the plastic lid and yanked on the pull-tab to open the can of frosting. He sunk the spoon into the frosting and, eyes wide, scooped up the sugary, delectable treat, deliberately and slowly licking it off the spoon.
“Oh my God, that is so good.”
“Can I have some? Can I?” Kevin wormed his way to the table and held out his hand for the frosting. Using his finger, he scooped out his portion and stuck it in his mouth. The can was passed around from person-to-person, everyone laughing and enjoying this reminder of life before the war.
Matthew watched everyone pass around the frosting can. There was no moon and the night was now completely dark. He was around fifty yards from the campsite and the campfire illuminated the area in a warm glow. Matthew thought he could’ve been observing a scene from the 1870s, except for the motorcycle parked alongside a wagon, several plastic items, including the tarp that provided shelter by the campfire, and a couple of nylon, backpacking tents set up in the meadow between two of the wagons.
Chief swung his head to the left, his ears pricked forward, as he nodded his head up and down to alert Matthew to another’s presence. A shadow materialized out of the night and Einstein rode up to Matthew’s position. Einstein was wearing a poncho to keep off the rain and was uncharacteristically wearing Willy’s cowboy hat. His long hair fell out from under the hat to his shoulders. The rain had dwindled to a drizzle.