by Nathan Jones
They headed across the valley to a stand of evergreen trees, axes and saws carried between them. Tom waved at Skyler, who was with Tabby watching the animals, as they passed by the pasture; his son deliberately pretended not to see him.
Well, he'd give the kid time, let him get over his pique.
After spending a few minutes picking out a tree and deciding which direction to have it fall, Tom let Brandon go first with the axe chopping the first notch. But the young man only worked for a couple minutes before pausing, planting the axe on the ground in front of him with his fingers laced over the handle. “I've been thinking.”
“Hmm?” Tom replied. “Glad to hear it. What about?”
“Our situation.” His friend gave him a slightly impatient look, as if to say “what else?”. “Right now we've only been focusing on keeping the bloodies from getting anywhere near Camptown. But if we want to stop them from actually finding the place, we should probably think about trying to divert them, get them looking in the wrong places.”
He'd certainly dwelt on that more than a little himself. “You're not wrong. Right now it's taking everything we have just to fight them off, though.”
“It is,” Brandon agreed. Although from his determined expression, it was obvious he wasn't about to give up on whatever idea he'd come up with that easily.
Tom cleared his throat. “On the other hand, that doesn't mean we shouldn't try. For one thing, if we get Sangue looking in the wrong place then we won't have to ambush them so often when they get dangerously close to Camptown. What did you have in mind?”
The young man straightened, looking grimly resolved. “Well for one thing, if we could spare a few people, maybe even civilians who have some hunting experience, they could go out and lay false trails. Nothing too obvious, but something the bloodies would notice that would point towards locations where a group our size might hole up. More ideal ones than the bowl valley, even, where the enemy might believe we'd be. We could even stage a few ambushes along those trails to sell the deception.”
“Not the worst plan,” Tom said thoughtfully. “Wouldn't require much effort, and could produce some real results. What else you got?”
“I was also thinking we could get some of our fastest, craz-” Brandon cut off and cleared his throat in embarrassment, “that is, bravest volunteers, and send them out in small teams to snipe at Sangue patrols, then bolt in a different direction than the bowl valley and lead the enemy on wild goose chases. Those sort of hit and run tactics are more ideal for the sort of guerrilla war we're fighting anyway, less risky than these major ambushes we keep throwing at the bloodies. We can pick off a soldier or two here and there, keep entire squads running in circles chasing a handful of people, and run them ragged so they're constantly looking over their shoulders. That way they're the ones stretched thin and driven to exhaustion, not us.”
Tom actually liked that idea quite a bit; it was the sort of thing he'd be doing himself, if he hadn't been saddled with leading the volunteers. But at the same time he didn't like it. “That would be incredibly risky for the volunteers we sent out to do that . . . we wouldn't be able to provide them much support.”
“One person who knows these mountains and has prepared an escape route can get away better than dozens of volunteers,” his friend argued. “Besides, after keeping up those sorts of hit and run attacks for a bit, we could have our people lead Sangue into ambushes so they'll be even more wary of pursuing.”
Hard to argue with that reasoning. Tom mulled the suggestions over while Brandon kept silent, giving him space to fully think it through. “Let's way we tried this,” he finally said. “Would you be willing to take a dozen or so of our best people, train them in these sorts of tactics, then take them out, possibly for long periods of time, and wage that sort of war?”
Brandon's expression twisted into a sickly combination of eagerness and resignation. He had to know that since this was his idea, it was fully reasonable that he be expected to carry it out. And if he truly believed it was a good one, he shouldn't have a problem with that.
But at the same time, the young man had a wife and son who needed him. This was going to be an incredibly risky operation, one that would keep him from them for who knew how long. Constantly on the run, hunted, afraid if anything went wrong he'd be leaving a widow and orphan behind.
Tom felt guilty for asking him. But he couldn't think of anyone else who could even manage something like this, and it had been Brandon's idea.
After a few seconds of grim contemplation, his friend nodded resolutely. “I'd expected I was volunteering myself, planned on it really. Of course I'll do it.”
Tom nodded and clapped him solemnly on the shoulder. “Forget chopping trees for now. Let's talk to Brady, make sure you have the supplies you need for this. We can set up caches in the areas surrounding Camptown ahead of time, and give you plenty of weapons and ammo. Even as many of our grenades as we can spare . . . you'll probably find opportunities to put them to good use.”
“Shouldn't we talk to the volunteers first, see if I can even find people to sign up for this?” Brandon asked.
“Let's get things ready first, so we look like we're on top of this when we present it to everyone tomorrow morning at training.”
“Sounds good.” The young man hesitated, looking reluctant. “Speaking of being on top of things, I need someone who's got the sort of skills a skirmisher will need to help with training. Training that's probably going to be pretty much full time for at least a week.” He looked away, idly spinning the axe handle between his hands. “And I'm, um, assuming you're going to be busy with other duties, too busy to help with that sort of intensive training?”
Tom bit back a sigh. “You want Skyler's help.”
“Need, more like.” His friend held up his hands. “I know he's pretty much grounded to the valley, and I fully support that. We can restrict our training to these nearby slopes.” He must've seen Tom still had his doubts, because he smiled widely. “Fi tells me he's not jumping into training the defenders with both feet like he usually does. Maybe this will keep him occupied, give him less time to think about not being able to go out with us.”
“I get the feeling Kristy doesn't want him involved in any of this at all,” Tom argued wearily.
“Probably. But the skirmishers are going out to risk our lives, and I'd kind of like us all to know what we're doing first. Who else is going to train us for this besides you?”
Now he did sigh. Looked as if he might be sleeping out in a tent after all. “I'll talk to her, you ask Skyler.” Brandon started to grin, and Tom grabbed his shoulder and glared at him. “Just training. Don't even put the idea in that kid's head that he's doing anything more.”
“Just training,” his friend agreed solemnly.
Chapter Ten
Skirmishing
Gray Tucker, once leader of Grand Junction's militia and now in charge of a refugee group of just over six hundred people, possibly the only free survivors from that city of tens of thousands, silently accepted the binoculars Jonas offered him.
His militia lieutenant pointed him to a location far to the southeast, where a narrow ribbon of road snaked across their path. “See what I'm seeing, Sheriff?”
What Gray saw was hundreds of emaciated slaves working frantically to clear a giant pile of rocks and boulders that had blocked the road, while Sangue taskmasters beat any who faltered, even those who collapsed from exhaustion. At the edge of where they were digging, a half-buried truck had been unearthed, the crushed cab cut open so a couple bloated, decaying bodies could be dragged out and laid out of the way. Two more destroyed trucks had also been hauled off to one side, both crushed and mangled.
“What I'm seeing is it looks as if somebody dropped a landslide on a Sangue convoy,” he said, still peering through the field glasses. There had to be at least half a hundred soldiers in sight along the road and on the surrounding slopes, searching warily for any sign of enemies. Which led him to his next
conclusion. “This isn't an isolated bit of sabotage, either . . . someone around here is taking the fight to Sangue, in a big way, and the bloodies aren't best pleased about it.”
Jonas spat off to one side, not seeming impressed. But then, he'd been part of the Grand Junction militia when they'd been a real thorn in the side of the invaders from South America, handing them continual defeat and keeping them from getting anywhere close to the trade city.
Of course, that was in another lifetime. Before the army the bloodies served as a vanguard and bandit force for came in and stomped Grand Junction flat with barely a fight. Before the city's survivors spent months first fleeing north through Colorado, then forced to turn back into Utah when they encountered more Sangue up in Wyoming, and finally fleeing south along the Utah Rocky Mountains.
Now here they were, almost as far south as they'd started in Grand Junction and only a couple weeks of travel west of their fallen city. A long, hopeless march that had claimed thousands to desertion or death by starvation and disease, and left those still remaining at the end of their strength. Full of despair, and well aware that when these mountains ran out there'd be nothing waiting for them but more bloodies.
At least, that had been the view until Gray saw this sign of resistance against the enemy. Small resistance, maybe, but Sangue was certainly taking it seriously.
And so were his men. “You think they might help us?” Benny, a young man who hadn't been with the militia long before Grand Junction fell, asked hopefully.
Before Gray could think of a gentle way to disabuse the poor kid of the notion that anyone out there was well enough off to offer help to over six hundred refugees, Jonas laughed harshly. “They'll probably come at us guns blazing to scare us off the moment they realize we're here. We'll be lucky if they're any more merciful than Sangue, and we all know what we can expect from the bloodies.”
“We'll seek them out anyway,” Gray announced, handing the binoculars back to his lieutenant.
Everyone turned to him in shock, but none were more surprised than the most quarrelsome member of his militia. “Come on, Sheriff,” Jonas complained. “By now you've got to know better.”
He met the man's eyes firmly for a few seconds, before turning to look at each of his other men in turn. “What I know is that we're at the end of our rope. We've got to cling to any hope, no matter how slim. Right now, that's the enemy of our enemy in this area.”
Benny nodded, looking relieved. “Should we start looking for them?”
“No.” Gray motioned curtly to the workforce busily clearing the road. “The bloodies are swarming around here, and we've got hundreds of civilians. We're not sneaking them past anything, which means we've got to swing far west, circle well around this mess before we can even think of crossing the highway and continuing south.”
“What if our potential salvation is somewhere east of us?” Jonas asked sarcastically.
“Then I guess you've got one less thing to piss and moan about.” He turned away, ignoring the other man's sudden scowl. “Come on. We've got our work cut out for us trying to get past this obstacle, let's not take any chances by hanging around where some patrol could spot us.”
Word spread along the line of exhausted civilians like wildfire as they painstakingly veered west and continued struggling to put one foot in front of the other. Gray wasn't sure how many of the beaten down people actually believed there might be help for them somewhere ahead. But at this point they were so dispirited that even the thinnest thread was enough to hang their hopes on.
Of course, it was anyone's guess how many of them would still be alive by the time they reached that nebulous source of hope.
* * * * *
“Why don't you join the defenders?” Tabby asked, tucking a strand of golden hair back beneath her hat.
Skyler grunted, not turning his eyes from watching the herd.
“I know it's not the volunteers, and we probably won't ever see fighting.” She shuddered. “At least I hope we won't. But it's still an important job, to be ready to defend the valley if the volunteers aren't here to do it. And not even your mom could argue with you fighting as a last resort.”
Sure she could, he thought sourly. She'd have me hiding under my bed when the bloodies come for us. He hadn't actually asked her about the defenders, of course, but at this point he didn't see any chance she'd say yes.
His friend sighed, fiddling with her hair again. “It's just you don't seem to be having fun with the training like you used to. Maybe if you were a defender too, you'd care more again. Not be so miserable.”
Maybe if he wasn't reduced to showing people which end of the gun to point downrange while his friends were out there getting shot, he'd be a bit less gloomy. “Can we talk about something else?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light for her sake.
Tabby gave him a sympathetic look, then sighed again. “Doesn't seem like there is anything else to talk about, these days. Other than how hungry everyone is and how it's getting harder and harder to find food.”
Yeah, that was a fantastic direction to turn the conversation. It beat the alternative, though. “Your brother and sister and cousins going out to hunt for bugs, now?”
“Yeah, it's helping us stretch our food supplies longer.” She made a face. “Mom grinds them into a paste and puts it on bread, but it's still the worst meal of the day.”
Skyler could imagine. He felt a bit bad that his family was so much better off than everyone else. Not great, but at least he wasn't going to bed hungry or having to eat bugs. Maybe he could ask his mom to invite Tabby, and the other Knudsens who watched the livestock of course, to join the summer retreat group for meals, along with paying them in food.
He was mulling the idea over when he noticed Brandon, Trapper, and Brady over by the edge of Camptown. Brady shook hands with the two other men and headed back towards the storehouse, while Skyler's adoptive dad headed back towards the retreat. But to his surprise, Brandon split off from the mountain man and came towards the pasture.
He had to admit that he had mixed feelings about his friend's approach, mostly out of resentment that being a decade older let the man do whatever he wanted.
“Think he's actually going to help out watching the herds?” Tabby asked idly, watching him approach. “Not that I blame him when he's been so busy, of course.”
It turned out Brandon wasn't. “Hey guys!” he called as he joined them. “Mind if I grab Skyler for a quick chat, Tabby?”
Skyler perked up, wondering what that was about. Tabby rolled her eyes at them, a silent remark on how she always seemed to be the go-to for watching the animals whenever anyone else was called away. He gave her an apologetic look as he walked off a short ways with Brandon.
“I'm not going to beat around the bush,” his friend told him. “I'm putting together a squad of a dozen or so skirmishers to go out and harass the bloodies, keep them from Camptown.”
That sounded super, super cool. “Trapper went for that?” Skyler asked; his adoptive dad was the soul of caution, and skirmishing seemed like a dangerous job.
“He sees the need.” Brandon fidgeted. “Well, I'm going to get right to it. I want you to help train us in what we'll need to know for skirmishing.”
Skyler wasn't sure whether to stare in shock or burst out laughing. “I take it you're going to be gathering the best people for this. I can handle the defenders, with Logan's and Mr. Knudsen's help, but did you not hear how big a disaster it was when I tried to train the recruits?”
His friend shrugged. “You've got skills my people are going to need, and we don't have much time. If anyone tries to get on your case about your age I'll knock some sense into them.”
“You'd have to start with my parents, since there's no way they'd agree to let me do something like this.”
“Well actually, they already have,” Brandon said, smiling sheepishly at his incredulous look. “It's not much different from what you're doing with the defenders, and I've already promised
we'll only train in the valley and on the adjacent slopes. It's not ideal, since I'd like to train on unfamiliar terrain where we can get the most benefit, but to get your help I can work with it.”
Skyler couldn't help but be impressed the guy had managed to get his mom to agree to even that. She'd barely been willing to let him help train the defenders, probably afraid he'd get swept up in all the excitement and run off to go shoot some bloodies again. Doing something like training skirmishers would have her climbing the walls with worry.
And for that matter, did he want to? Everyone was willing to praise his skill when they needed him to teach them what he knew, but the moment it came time to actually do anything important with it he was suddenly a snot-nosed kid again.
Well, the sad fact was that even though he resented his situation, beggars couldn't be choosers. He'd barely been able to tolerate helping out with the defenders, basically being a shooting range instructor. And on a good day, maybe getting around to lessons on building and using fortifications, and moving from defensive emplacements to fallback positions.
Training in skirmishing seemed a lot more interesting.
Brandon shifted, scratching at the back of his head beneath his hat. “So what do you say? You on board?”
Skyler shrugged. “Sure.”
“Great!” His friend clapped him on the shoulder. “Let's go find someone to take over for you with the livestock, and we can start planning our training regimen and going over what we'll need to know. I'd like to have my squad ready to head out in a week if possible, and we'll be training from sunup to sundown during that time.”
A week didn't seem like much time. But then again, only spending mornings training volunteers wasn't exactly getting them ready for a fight in a hurry, either.