by Nathan Jones
He called for a few minutes of rest while he checked the terrain around them through the scope of Hank's rifle. The displaced Emery resident had been quick to offer the trade, since Brandon was a much better shot and could make the most of the scope, while Hank would probably be better off spraying automatic fire with the AK-47 Brandon had looted yesterday.
He couldn't complain; the man's lever-action 30-30 was a sturdy and accurate weapon. Although he still missed his old AK-47, and especially the pricey scope Trapper had given him for it.
Once Brandon was satisfied that there was still no sign of pursuit, he pulled his pack back onto his shoulders and called for the others to get going. They followed him as he led the way through a grove of aspen trees near the top of a grassy slope, which didn't do much for concealment but allowed them a good view of anyone who might be out there trying to sneak up on them.
They were almost to the other side, Brandon looking ahead deciding which cover to seek once they left the trees, when Pine abruptly paused. “Anyone else hear that?” he asked, cupping a hand behind his ear and turning his head slowly.
Andy snorted in disbelief. “How do you still have such good hearing? At your age you should be snapping for us to speak up while poking us with your cane. Especially if you've spent so much time working around explosives.”
The old man didn't respond to the banter, didn't even seem to hear it in fact. His expression had tensed beneath his bushy beard. “What part of “anyone hear that” made you think the right response was yapping like an idiot?” he demanded. “Listen!”
They listened. Brandon half expected to hear engines, although in this terrain even ATVs would have trouble. Instead what he heard was distant, sharply pitched barking, or maybe baying, drifting to them in the direction they'd come from. The sound sent ice down his spine, and not just on an instinctual level.
Hank groaned. “They've got dogs? You've got to be kidding me!”
“We're hosed,” Andy agreed, all traces of humor vanished.
Brandon ignored them, grimly climbing to the top of the slope and searching north through his scope. Unfortunately, it didn't take much searching to spot the dogs; they were visible enough, noses to the ground following what he presumed was the trail his team had left. In spite of their intent snuffling, they moved quick, bounding along baying eagerly that they had their quarry's scent.
But he didn't see their handlers. “Anyone spot any bloodies?” he asked the others, who'd joined him and were also searching the area with their scopes. Aside from Hank, who clutched his looted AK-47 nervously as he squinted at the distant shapes.
Pine was the first to answer. “None here. Looks like they sent the dogs ahead to sniff out our trail and are following their yapping. Hunting us like we're foxes in old England or something.”
That's what he was hoping for, and the one silver lining to this huge cloud. “All right then. Let's shoot the dogs and get out of here.”
The other four men nodded, although Andy looked a bit regretful. “Shame to kill them, but I guess it'd be a bigger shame to get run down and have my throat ripped out by one.”
It took a tense few minutes of waiting before the dogs got in range where they had a hope of hitting them on the first shot. Brandon wasn't sure if dogs were smart enough to realize they were getting shot at and bolt for safety if he missed, but he didn't want to take that chance.
They spent the entire time anxiously watching in the direction the dogs had come from, expecting to see Sangue soldiers charging into view on their trail at any time. Finally, at about three hundred yards, he decided they couldn't wait any longer if they wanted any hope of escaping the pursuing humans once the dogs were gone.
“I've got the front one on the left,” he whispered. “On my signal.” After waiting for confirmation that the others had their targets he clicked his tongue, let out his breath and held it, and squeezed the trigger.
His new rifle bucked against his shoulder, and around him, he heard the report of more shots. Hitting a small, fast-moving object like a running dog was no easy feat, but through his scope he saw his target stagger, go down, try to pull itself to its feet, and then go down again.
At his side Andy cursed, and Brandon swiveled his rifle to see that his friend's target was bolting away. Guess that answered his question about whether dogs were smart enough to run if they were getting shot at.
A few moments later Andy fired again, then relaxed. “Got it,” he announced. “That the last of them?”
Brandon ran his scope across the handful of still bodies, feeling a tinge of guilt. It was them or the dogs, sure, but they were just faithful animals doing what their masters forced them to. “Think so.”
“Good.” His friend straightened grimly. “This merry chase is looking a lot less fun now that they've got dogs.”
“Second that,” Pine growled. “Let's get out of here while the getting's good.”
No one had any argument with that; they slung their rifles and Brandon led the way in the direction they'd been heading, speeding up to a jog to try to get some distance between them and the dogs before their pursuers showed up and began hunting for their trail.
After a minute or so Andy caught up to him, expression tense. “So just in case the bloodies have more foxhounds or whatever, Trapper teach you any tricks for getting one off your trail?”
Brandon glanced back at the others, realizing they had all caught up enough to listen in, equally eager to know his answer. “I don't think he ever really had to worry about that. Unless he got stalked by wolves at some point and never told me about it. But Logan spent some time trying to teach Chase how to track game, and I learned a thing or two from him. And there's the stuff everyone knows, like running water and doubling back.”
Hank cleared his throat. “The more important question is, what do we do now? Is it smart to keep going south now that they're onto us?”
That was a good question. The bloodies had seen through their trick, so unless they were complete morons they'd realize that the obvious trail to the north followed by them sneaking south meant south was where they were going. All their effort had just been wasted time, put them even farther from the safety of Camptown, and made it easier for their enemies to close the distance in their pursuit.
“Southwest,” he said finally. “We can't go anywhere near the valley until we're sure we've shaken anyone on our tail.”
Pine scowled. “We keep veering west, we're eventually going to run out of mountains. Not to mention every mile in the wrong direction we go is another mile we'll have to make up.”
“You think I don't kn-” Brandon cut himself off, taking a deep breath and fighting for calm. “They know our location, they've got radios, they've probably got more dogs, and we'll have to pass the highway at some point to get back south, which means they can have vehicles waiting to cut us off.”
“Why don't we go east, then?” Andy asked.
They all turned to stare at him incredulously. “Back towards the rockslide we dropped across the road, the place that's going to be swarming with bloodies?” Hank demanded.
“Well not directly there,” his friend said defensively. “But it'll be the last direction they expect us to go, and if we circle north around it we'll actually have less time to get back to Camptown than if we veered even farther west. And flimsy as it is, right now the only misdirection we've been able to keep about where we're operating from is that Sangue thinks we're somewhere south of Joes Valley, so even if they realize we're not heading west anymore, that would still keep them looking in at least kind of the wrong direction.”
Now that Brandon had a chance to get used to the idea, he actually didn't hate it. “We've got a small opening while they don't have dogs on our trail,” he mused. “If we break northeast right now, by the time they get dogs back looking for us they'll have the animals searching in the wrong direction, and that might give us enough time for our scent to fade. And if we do our best to hide our scent in all the ways
we talked about, we could lose them entirely and slip away.”
The others mulled that over. “Well, I guess it's the best of a bad situation,” Pine agreed, voice grudging. “So we just go?”
“Not exactly.” Brandon rubbed his hands together briskly, energized now that they had a plan. Even if it was an insane one. “Let's start with that first trick, heading west and then doubling back. And we need to hurry.”
* * * * *
“Can't these guys make up their minds?” Neal groused.
For once nobody jumped on him for opening his big mouth. No one had the energy, after over two days of fleeing west while being pressed hard by the enemy squad.
Of course, Tom should've known that silence would just encourage the man. “They'd barely left Trapper's ranch when we spotted them, moved slow as a glacier for days to the ambush valley. Now they chase us like their pants are on fire and they're bolting for the only water for miles.”
“Yeah, they were super cautious when they thought they might be walking into a trap,” Logan agreed glumly. “Then when they actually did they stopped being cautious about it, so it'd be awfully handy if we had another ambush waiting for them up ahead.”
The bartender snorted. “Sure, that's a plan we can keep up our sleeves for the next time we get our butts handed to us by the bloodies.”
“You're right, it is,” Tom told him curtly. “Not that I plan to lose again.” Neal opened his mouth, probably to say they'd lose anyway or something like that, and he narrowed his eyes in warning. “Save your breath . . . our team's helping carry the wounded when we get moving again.”
Skyler showed up a few minutes later, reporting in after scouting their pursuers. Tom pulled him aside in case the news was bad. “What's it looking like?”
His son shook his head grimly. “We're keeping ahead of them for now. Even while chasing us down like this they're keeping to a consistent marching pace, double time or something. Although they might decide to charge if they think they're close enough to catch us.”
That wasn't great news. Worse news was that they were swiftly getting closer to the western edge of the mountains. At that point, they'd have to either turn north or south. South would be bad, since it would take them away from reinforcements in Camptown and they'd eventually hit I-70 and the strong Sangue presence there. Assuming they weren't able to circle around the enemy and make their way north again.
It would have to be north, although even then it wasn't a perfect solution if the bloodies continued to dog their heels. How long could they keep up this chase, anyway?
“Should we try to go faster, put some distance between us?” Skyler asked, glancing at the exhausted volunteers around them.
Tom shook his head. “If Sangue's found a consistent travel pace that lets them go long term without exhausting themselves, trying to go even faster might just end up with us exhausting ourselves sooner than them and getting caught.”
His son seemed to accept that, although he wasn't happy about it. “Maybe we should turn around, try to hit them again. Our numbers are still pretty even.”
He was surprised the teenager was even suggesting it. “Only as a last resort.” Before Skyler could push the argument he gave a low whistle to get everyone's attention. “All right, people! Let's move!”
They pushed hard for the rest of the day, feeling the weight of the relentless pursuit behind them with every step. The wounded weren't getting worse, which was a relief, but the pace was clearly taking its toll on them and slowing the entire group down. Only Tom's experience moving through this terrain was letting him keep his people ahead of Sangue, and he constantly dreaded that the enemy might be using their radios to contact other troops in the area to join the pursuit, or maybe even cut them off.
A few hours before sundown, gunfire from far behind made everyone yell and bolt for cover. Tom quickly got them moving again, recognizing that it wasn't intended for them, but while the news was a relief for everyone else it terrified him.
That gunfire had to involve his son.
He left Teddy in charge of keeping everyone moving and rushed back to find Skyler, praying with every step that the boy would be okay. He'd never forgive himself if-
He paused, glimpsing a sandy-haired head ducking through the trees not far away, and with a surge of relief gave a low whistle and hurried to join him. Skyler kept going, rushing to catch up to the volunteers, although he gave Tom a guilty look as he caught up.
“What was that?” he demanded.
“They tried to send scouts ahead to see where we were, maybe even take potshots at us,” Skyler said defensively. “What was I supposed to do, let them pass me by and gun me down on the way, before continuing on to threaten you?”
“You should've come back and warned us.”
“They would've been right behind me, and probably gone to ground by the time we started looking for them.”
Tom cursed; Kristy was going to kill him. “Did you get them, at least?”
Skyler drew himself up proudly. “One. The other scurried back to his friends.”
Well, if his son was going to deliberately break his promise, even for a good reason, at least he did a good job of it. Shaking his head, he pointed forward. “Go join the others. I'll take over scouting.”
The teenager glowered. “I'm just a couple weeks from turning fifteen, how long are you going to keep-”
He pointed again, lowering his voice sternly. “Go!”
Skyler went, muttering under his breath deliberately loud enough for Tom to hear. “Nice shooting, Skyler. Saved the day again, Skyler.”
Well, he was certainly displaying his maturity. Although it was hard to deny the kid was doing a good job. Tom continued back to a spot where he could lay eyes on their pursuers, and spent some extra time making sure the bloodies hadn't tried to run more scouts ahead.
By the time the Sangue squad finally set up camp for the night, Tom was stumbling over his own feet, eyes bleary and sweat soaking his shirt. He had to admit that it had been a while since he'd pushed himself this hard for this long; even on some of the more fast-moving convoys he'd been part of in the past, he didn't think they'd ever kept up this sort of brutal pace. Especially not on steep mountain slopes choked with undergrowth and deadfall.
He hurried back to the volunteers to let them know the chase was over for the night, and was alarmed to see that they'd already stopped and sprawled across a fairly flat clearing. Either they were too exhausted to keep going, which was hard to fault them for, or they remembered Sangue stopping around this time last night and decided to take a chance without even waiting for the scouts' confirmation.
Well, considering most of them had to be dead on their feet, especially the wounded, he was glad they were snatching what rest they could. “Bloodies have stopped for the night,” he announced as he strode into the clearing, doing his best to keep his back straight and steps energetic. “Neal, Reina, they're back on the bottom of the far slope we passed a half hour or so ago. You've got first shift watching them.”
Even exhausted as the bartender looked, he wasn't too tired to whine about that. But he and his lover grabbed their gear and reluctantly set out again.
Skyler sidled up to him. “Guess I'll see you for the second shift?”
Tom glowered at him. “No. No more scouting for you, even if you hadn't been taking too many night shifts as it is. Get some food and rest.”
His son gave him a wounded look. “Right you need me most seems like the worst time to worry about my safety.”
“I'm not changing my mind, son. Get some sleep.”
“As if today couldn't suck any more,” the teenager muttered, kicking a rock and sending it skittering away noisily enough to make Tom wince. Although he decided now was probably a bad time to get on his son's case about potentially drawing the attention of any enemies out there with his carelessness.
“Some days are better than others,” he admitted, clapping Skyler on the shoulder. “But any day we're
still breathing at the end of is a good one, right?”
“What about the day we got to Newpost?” his son shot back.
Tom grimaced, remembering as their hopes turned to ashes when they saw that the trading post had been occupied and learned the awful fate of their friends from the convoy. Not to mention the night attack on Kristy's camp by the two bandits that still haunted his nightmares.
“That one wasn't the best,” he admitted. “But we were alive at the end of it. And thanks to that the next day was a far better one. We were able to get our people out and get safely back to Grand Junction.” He clapped the teenager on the shoulder again. “Got to get through the bad days to find the opportunities to make the good ones.”
Skyler just stared sullenly at the weary recruits and volunteers resting in the clearing, far fewer than there should've been. “Sometimes hard to believe there'll be any good days moving forward.” Without waiting for a response he turned and stomped off.
Biting back a sigh, Tom turned and made his way over to Teddy. His friend looked like death warmed over, closer to Tom's 40 years than the couple years older than Kristy he really was. “Do me a favor and take charge of setting up camp tonight?” Tom told him. “Also, pick out some people to go on watch later.”
Teddy perked up just enough to give him a wan smile. “You finally letting yourself get a full night's sleep, Trapper? Was half afraid you were going to push yourself until you dropped dead.”
“Something like that.” He clapped the younger man on the shoulder and made his way to where his son was sulkily setting up a tent, getting to work on his own. As the rest of the volunteers settled in, he climbed into his bedroll and forced down some strips of jerky and treated himself to a chunk of crumbly cheese. Then he settled down and let his exhaustion claim him.
He wasn't sure he'd gotten a full night's sleep when his eyes flicked open early the next morning. Even less restful was waking to the grim thought that they'd reach the western edge of the mountains before lunch. They'd need to turn north before then, to avoid risking getting circled with nowhere to go but down into Sanpete Valley, where Sangue could easily call in vehicles to catch them. In order to stay ahead of their pursuit they'd have to go even faster when they changed directions, exhausting themselves that much more.