Mountain War: Defending Their Home (Mountain Man Book 4)

by Nathan Jones

  Brandon gave him a startled look, then glanced at the scree slope they'd set up to fall. How long did it take? He'd never bothered to ask Pine, assuming the man even knew. A sudden horrifying image of the bloodies simply backing their vehicles to safety, fully aware of what had just been done to them and spitting mad about it, made his mouth go dry.

  He grabbed his axe and rifle, clutching one in either hand. “Come on!” he snapped, bolting across the road and ducking into the trees south of it. Once safely hidden among them, he started east at a breakneck pace.

  Cursing, his friend snatched up his own gear and followed. “Please don't tell me you're planning to try to drop another tree across the road behind the bloodies once they pass.”

  “If we can find one in time,” he replied grimly. “Otherwise we'll have to try shooting out the tires of the back vehicle when Pine starts the landslide. Or maybe toss some big rocks in the road to slow them down. Something.”

  “You're going to get us killed, you know that?” Andy groaned.

  Brandon ignored him. Mostly because while looking through the trees ahead, he'd finally caught a glimpse of the vehicles at the front of the convoy: two mules driving well in the lead as escorts. He slowed down and focused more on keeping out of sight of the road, heart in his throat at the thought he might not reach a spot where he could block the convoy's retreat before it was too late.

  That, or they'd spot him, or the work on the scree slope, or immediately get spooked by the trees across the road, and all back up to safety. At which point they'd swarm out of their vehicles seeking vengeance.

  He and Andy were still making their way into position as the vehicles passed by, slowly driving along the road below the scree slope. Over his shoulder he saw that the lead ATVs had stopped by the fallen logs, the drivers keeping the vehicles ready to move while two of the passengers warily watched the surrounding trees with their rifles raised, and the other four hurriedly got to work clearing the obstacle.

  The convoy was parked a cautious distance back, which thanks to Brandon's foresight put them closer to the western end of the scree slope, so even if they tried to back up they might not manage it in time. He looked up at the unseen hiding spot where Pine and the others waited. Do it, he silently yelled. Do it now!

  Pine must've judged the time was right too, because he caught puffs of smoke and saw the big rocks at the top of the slope starting to move, a low rumble rattling his teeth as what looked like the entire top of the hillside began to roll down, bringing everything below with it and building up force and momentum by the second.

  The bloodies were so focused on the fallen trees that it took a few critical seconds for the loud rumble of falling stone on the slope above them to register. As soon as it did, the already skittish drivers slammed their vehicles into gear and tried to back up. That created an odd effect as all the stopped trucks tried to move at different times, forced to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting each other even though all wanted to go backwards as fast as possible.

  That bought the landslide a few more seconds to pick up speed. Brandon unslung his rifle and shot out the tires of the rear vehicle, which bought time more as it slewed to one side and slammed into a tree, the other trucks coming behind having to brake and then frantically find a way to go around it.

  Brandon was about to shoot out the tires of the next vehicle in line, hopefully to completely block off both lanes of the highway, when Andy grabbed him by the collar and started yanking him along in the direction they'd been running.

  He tried to resist, his focus still completely on the backing vehicles. “Stop!” he yelled at his friend. “It's too late to find a tree to drop, we've got to keep them pinned down while they're still in the path of the rockslide.”

  “Dude, we're in its path!” Andy shouted in his ear, pointing up the slope. Brandon followed his friend's finger and felt ice run down his spine, no longer resisting as Andy pulled them both into a frantic stumbling sprint for safety, slamming into trees and spinning awkwardly around them, hurdling logs and underbrush, and crashing through tree branches.

  The rumble of the rockslide had become a deafening roar, which was no surprise because the results of their efforts were incredible. The entire hillside was coming down, the rockslide moving faster and widening in scope by the second. It would crush the slowed vehicles like beetles under a boot, long before they could get away.

  And even though he and Andy had been a bit east of the rear vehicles, and as fast as they were running, he was half certain they'd be crushed as well.

  The rumble was so loud it vibrated the air around them now, his hearing giving way to a high-pitched ringing in his ears as the force of the noise threatened to rupture his eardrums. What looked like a tidal wave of rocks and loose debris was visible out of the corner of his eye, falling towards them with a certainty of death.

  Brandon nearly impaled himself on a dead branch that broke at the wrong angle, then stumbled a few more steps towards a thick stand of trees ahead. A rock bigger than his body flew past, close enough for him to feel the air of its passage before slamming into a tree and tearing cleanly through it. Spurred on by the sight, he threw himself into the dubious shelter of a hollow between three trees, curling up and cradling his head protectively in his arms as Andy sprawled beside him.

  For what felt like an eternity the ground heaved and shook beneath them, deafening crashes and the sharp cracks of trees being smashed and ground to pulp shivering the air all around. The overwhelming rumble of shifting earth made his teeth rattle and threatened to deafen him, even with his hands over his ears. A sharp impact against his shoulder made him yelp in pain.

  I'm going to die. I'm going to get buried under countless tons of rock in a landslide I helped create, crushed to paste long before I have to worry about suffocating.

  About the time the roar faded to a rumble, then tapered off to the muted clatter of bouncing and shifting rocks, Brandon finally allowed himself to believe he just might've survived being practically in the path of a landslide. He lowered his hands and cracked open his eyes, squinting through the dust billowing in the air around him and lifting his shirt to breathe through before he choked on it. At his side, he was relieved to see that Andy seemed unhurt, looking around with only the whites of his wide eyes free of the dirt caking his face.

  Incredibly enough, the roadside greenery in the direction they'd been running towards looked mostly untouched, with just a few stray boulders and rocks here and there, and a few trees that had been knocked down or had branches broken off. Then Brandon shimmied around to look behind him, and felt like he was going to be sick.

  Just beyond the protective huddle of their three trees, a pile of rocks and detritus began. One that stretched for at least a hundred yards, covering the road and having completely flattened everything south of it for at least half that distance.

  The trucks were nowhere to be seen, not even the ones that'd been closest to the edge. Given the sheer power of what they'd just witnessed, Brandon was pretty sure everyone inside had been killed quickly.

  Although apparently not all of them; now that the deafening roar of shifting rubble had faded away, he heard a new, more familiar sound that seemed oddly muted to his ringing ears. Gunfire, coming from the far side of the pile, near the trees they'd dropped across the road. At least half a dozen guns, maybe twice that.

  Had some of the vehicles been more successful driving forward, or was it just the two escort mules and their soldiers who'd come out of the disaster unharmed? Either way, it was frustrating beyond words to hear his friends fighting desperately, and to be trapped on the other side of the landslide with no way to reach them. At least, not without circling well to the south around the tail end of the hill of rocks and debris that stretched fifty yards beyond the road it had destroyed. Which would take forever.

  Brandon had to try, though.

  “Come on!” he called, scrambling to his feet. Then he realized that in his mad panic to flee the landslide
he'd dropped his rifle, probably losing it for good. That just left him with the 1911 holstered on his hip; he was a fair shot with it, but it meant he'd have to get closer to the enemy than he'd like if he wanted to have any hope of hitting them.

  Andy joined him on unsteady legs, a shallow gash on his forehead. He was still holding the axe he'd been carrying, his rifle slung on his back, although both looked dusty and even a bit dinged up.

  The sight of his friend reminded Brandon of his shoulder, but it wasn't hampering his movements and he didn't have time to worry about it at the moment. Drawing his .45 and holding it ready, he started forward at a trot to circle the massive pile of debris they'd created. His friend reluctantly followed, tossing his axe aside and unslinging his rifle.

  They'd gone less than halfway around when the gunfire ahead petered out. Brandon tensed, ready to seek cover in case the wrong side had won, much as he hated to acknowledge that possibility. Although it was more likely the soldiers who'd been in the mules had managed to flee, and were now lurking around in the area.

  Then he heard a piercing whistle from across the road and up the slope, and saw Pine standing up from behind the hidden fold and waving his arms. Brandon broke from cover and waved back with both hands. The old man spotted him and whistled again, somehow making it sound relieved, and motioned towards the western end of the slide where the firefight had taken place. He and the other five men with him started circling around the path of the landslide to more stable ground to make for it.

  Brandon glanced at Andy, who shrugged. “Guess they got them all,” his friend said.

  Guess so. Hard not to be impressed by that, when it would've been six on eight. Maybe more, if other bloodies had managed to get out of the rockslide that way. Had Pine had his people sniping the front escorts during the noise and chaos of the hillside coming down, evening the odds?

  They soon came in sight of the trees fallen across the road, which had almost been moved out of the way in time, although it looked as if none of the convoy's other vehicles had tried to pull forward; in panic mode they must've all seen escape as backing out of the trap.

  The two mules were still where they'd been, undamaged aside from the dust settling over them and a few dings and scratches. It looked as if one had tried to pull forward around the trees, but the driver was slumped over the steering wheel with an ugly gunshot wound to the neck. The other seven bloodies from the vehicles were sprawled around, many looking as if they'd been shot while trying to scramble onto the mules, or off them.

  Brandon and Andy got there first, giving them time to verify all the enemies were dead and loot the bodies. It gave Brandon a chance to replace the rifle he'd lost, although to his irritation none of them had a scope; he'd have to borrow another one from Trapper, or he supposed the town storehouse now, when they got back.

  “Good shooting!” Andy called to the others, as they picked their way the last twenty feet down to the road.

  Pine grunted, although he looked pleased. “We may not be up to Trapper's marksmanship, but these idiots were all standing around gaping at the mountainside coming down on their buddies. That, and the racket of falling rocks covered the noise of gunshots. We took out half of them before they even realized what was happening, and the other half as they scrambled to get on the mules and escape.”

  That confirmed what Brandon had expected. He nodded and turned away from the explosives expert, staring back at the pile of rubble they'd just buried the road with. Even if Sangue used the same sort of tactic they had back when Trapper and Pine took out I-70, bringing in an obscene number of slaves to clear away the rubble in record time, it was hard to imagine they'd have any easier of a time clearing this mess. And bringing in that sort of manpower just to clear a road that wasn't anywhere near as important as an interstate highway probably wasn't all that tempting.

  So best case, the enemy would just abandon Highway 29, giving them less reason to search around for Camptown. Worst case they'd have to throw a lot of resources, maybe resources they didn't have to spare at the moment, making the road usable again.

  And the convoy! Brandon squinted through the dust still drifting in the air, searching for any sign of the buried vehicles and soldiers. “How many bloodies you think we just took out?”

  Andy grinned. “Dozens, if all those trucks were full of troops. A half dozen vehicles, usually a driver and passenger and half of one of their squads of soldiers in the back. That's a real blow against them, isn't it?”

  “It is,” Pine agreed with grim satisfaction. “Shame the gear and supplies they were carrying got smashed along with them. Could've really used it.”

  “They don't have it, so that's good enough for me,” Stewart said, rubbing his injured leg. “And speaking of Sangue and the huge blow we just struck them, what do you say we get out of here before more show up?”

  “Second that,” Brandon agreed, glancing at the mules. “Once we've decided what to do with what wasn't destroyed.”

  Pine gave the two side-by-sides a long, thoughtful look. “I suppose we can take anything of value, including the battery and any lightbulbs, siphon the diesel out, and destroy them.”

  The volunteers stared at him in disbelief. “What?” Brandon demanded. “These are two working ATVs! They're worth their weight in gold!” He realized almost as soon as he said it that, given how worthless gold was since nobody wanted to trade for it, that wasn't completely an exaggeration.

  But the explosives expert just shook his head. “Not to us. We can't take them with us into the mountains, especially not after destroying every road within a day's ride of Camptown. Assuming we wanted to risk leaving the sort of obvious trail they'd lead right back to the bowl valley. And even if we had someplace else to take them, if we tried to drive on this road Sangue would be on us like flies on carrion, especially after the ruckus we just made with this rockslide. That leaves taking anything useful and making sure the bloodies don't get any more use out of them, either.”

  It was clear nobody liked the thought of destroying working vehicles, but they couldn't really argue his point, either. But Brandon still shook his head, looking over the trees he and Andy had felled to temporarily block the road. “Help me finish moving these,” he told the others, starting forward.

  Pine was the first to catch up to him, looking annoyed. “Were you listening to a word I-”

  “I was,” he cut in mildly. “But I get this idea that the bloodies are going to be royally pissed about us taking out their road and an entire convoy. If we destroy the mules here and walk off, we'll soon have a bunch of soldiers chasing us. Might be they find our trail, might be they search randomly.” He paused meaningfully. “Or might be they assume we came from the south, and we'll have even more trouble headed for Camptown.”

  The others nodded, seeing where he was going with this. Andy especially brightened. “So we take the ATVs down the road a ways, so Sangue knows we took them, then abandon them and torch them behind us and leave a nice obvious trail for any pursuit to follow?”

  Brandon clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Exactly. We'll use your idea of getting them searching north of the road, leave a trail that's not too suspicious in that direction and lead them on a merry chase. Then, when we slip their pursuit or they stop searching for us, we can circle around and return to Camptown from the west.”

  “What if our “merry chase” ends up with us getting hunted down and cornered?” Stewart demanded, glancing doubtfully down at his injured leg.

  Ah. True, that would be asking a lot to force the man to run for his life in his condition. Or to ask anyone else to take that sort of risk, for that matter, when all they'd signed up for was taking out a highway.

  Brandon shifted uncomfortably, not liking the option that left but resigned to it. “I should be able to leave enough of a trail on my own to get them following me,” he said, with more confidence than he felt. “The rest of you can hide, make sure the bloodies catch the scent and chase me, then carefully make your
way to Camptown by a roundabout route to make sure you don't lead them to it.”

  The others stared at him like he was crazy. “I'm not asking you to use a risky idea I thought up while I run off to safety,” Andy protested.

  Pine nodded. “I've never walked away from a job I was part of, especially not when it meant leaving my team in the lurch.”

  The other volunteer also chimed in that he wasn't ditching them. That just left the townspeople. Hank decided to stay with them, too, while the other two agreed to help Stewart get back to the bowl valley. On the plus side, the three agreed to find a way to haul back as much of the weapons and supplies from the soldiers they'd just killed as they were able. They also promised to cache the rest, and everything they stripped from the mules. A resource the volunteers could use in the future if they found themselves back up this way, or could at least come back for if possible.

  Decision made, they got the trees moved enough to get by, hopped in the mules, and roared west. Pine drove one vehicle, since none of the younger men knew how, and Hank drove the other since he'd at least been allowed to drive farm equipment as a young teenager before the Ultimatum.

  Neither drove well, often having trouble even keeping the vehicles going straight. In spite of that, Hank seemed to be having the time of his life, while when Brandon glanced back at the old man in the second vehicle he looked visibly frustrated by how his skills had withered away in the last fifteen years.

  “I could get used to this!” Hank shouted over the roaring wind, a stupid grin on his face. They were going around thirty miles an hour, the fastest the side-by-sides could manage without really pushing the engines.

  As vehicles went Brandon knew that wasn't fast, but compared to running or even riding a horse it was enough to take his breath away. “Don't get too used to it!” he warned. “We won't have these things for much longer.”

  In spite of the enjoyment of riding in a working motor vehicle, a first since the Ultimatum for all of them except Brandon, the mood was tense as they drove along. They knew that at any moment they might encounter another convoy of bloodies heading east along the road, and if that happened they were in huge trouble, since there was no way they could pretend to be members of Sangue themselves.