by Nathan Jones
“You've got it good,” Brandon told him as he laboriously swallowed the last dry mouthful of his bar. “You don't have to eat this yucky stuff, you can get your favorite food whenever you want it.”
Fiona elbowed him in the side, but she was snickering. “Bad as it is, you should take seconds,” she urged.
The idea didn't appeal, and not just because of the taste; he didn't want to potentially deprive his family of another meal they'd need. But at the same time, he knew he needed more than he'd just had, at least to make up for how little he'd eaten the last few days.
He decided to split the difference and pocketed another bar. “I'll have it for a snack later,” he said, leaning over to kiss her. “Want to go for a walk? I want to go check in with Gray, see if any of the other skirmishers have come in.”
He wasn't holding out much hope for that, with the two who'd come back not having good news. But he wanted to believe that at least Pine had managed to get out and make it back safely; the old miner wasn't quite up to Trapper's level when it came to sneaking around, but he knew his way around these mountains.
His wife nodded, although she looked a bit forlorn. “Will you be going out again soon?”
Brandon didn't like the thought, and wasn't sure he could bring himself to ask his skirmishers to face the grinder again after what they'd suffered. At least not without taking some time to rest and train up a few more recruits.
Besides, an idea had been percolating in his mind while he'd been lying awake that morning. One that revolved around pushing a stone up a hill, only to have it fall again. It was probably insane, but he wanted to run it by Gray and see what he thought about it.
Fiona seemed happy to go out with him, even if it was just a short jaunt to Camptown to talk shop with leader of the valley's fighters. She walked with her arms wrapped around one of his, while he carried Thomas in the other. The baby was full and sleepy after his breakfast, but that didn't stop him from looking around with wide eyes as they made their way across the trampled meadow in the light of the rising sun.
His wife didn't fail to notice that rather than heading right for the center of town, he made his way to the small cluster of cabins belonging to the Knudsen clan. “Picking up Andy?” she asked.
Brandon nodded. He wanted to talk to his friend about his idea, too.
She shrugged. “In that case, maybe I'll stay to chat with Leanne and Tabby and Wendy and the others while you talk to Gray.”
Speaking of Tabby, the young woman caught sight of them approaching and rushed out to meet them, expression a mixture of relief and worry. “Brandon!” she called. “Is Skyler with you? Is he okay?”
Fiona gave him a sympathetic look; he'd told her about Trapper searching for the boy last night when he told her about the ambush. Brandon shook his head regretfully. “I haven't seen him. Trapper's still out searching.”
He hoped . . . he'd last seen the man heading out to slow down that group of bloodies, and there was no telling how that had gone. Then again, if anyone could give a bunch of bloodthirsty soldiers the runaround in these mountains, it was the mountain man.
The blond teenager's face fell at the news, and stayed crestfallen. “Andy went straight to bed last night without saying a word to anyone, and he hasn't come out yet this morning. What happened?”
Brandon winced, but to his relief his wife squeezed his arm supportively, then took Thomas from him and pulled the young woman aside to speak with her softly. Tabby allowed herself to be led away, especially when she was offered a chance to hold the baby.
That left him free to seek out the cabin the Warrens shared with others of the Knudsen clan. Andy, frequently teased for the fact that he remained a bachelor in spite of being a couple years older than Brandon, with younger siblings already married and with children, seemed in no hurry to build a place of his own and move out.
His friend was just stumbling out of the cabin to head to the nearby outhouse when Brandon got there. “Sec,” he said blearily as he stumped past.
Brandon waited while Andy relieved himself, coming out a few minutes later and ambling over to lean against the wall of his cabin. “Please don't tell me we're going out again today,” his friend moaned.
“I don't think so,” he replied. “Actually, I had something else in mind.” He quickly outlined his idea, trying his best to sound confident about it. He must not have done a good job, because Andy was staring at him like he was crazy by the time he finished.
“You are absolutely off your rocker,” his friend muttered, scrubbing a hand through his sleep-tussled reddish-blond hair. “You really think the bloodies will just hand us all that on a silver platter?”
Brandon smiled tightly. “We've already seen how they operate on more than one occasion. We haven't done anything to make them change their pattern of behavior, so there's no reason to assume they will here.”
“Unless someone else has,” Andy shot back. “Or they've seen the danger themselves and prepared for it.”
Those were both reasonable points, although Brandon was still a bit irked about having his parade rained on. “Would you rather go out and try to lead dozens of bloodies with radios around by the nose again? This could be a big victory for us, as big as Emery.”
“It could,” Andy agreed, but he obviously wasn't getting behind it. “Let's go see what Sheriff Gray has to say about it.”
Brandon led the way into the center of town, pausing as they passed the Knudsens' cabin to give Fiona a hug and kiss Thomas on the head. Then he strode purposefully towards the command building, where a group of fighters was already gathering for some purpose.
Gray was off to one side with Brady, sorting out supplies to load onto a few of the town's limited number of pack animals. The militia leader winced slightly at the sight of Brandon and Andy approaching, then he squared his shoulders and headed over to meet them. “Gerry, Warrens,” he said bluntly. “I'm a donkey's hind end sometimes.”
Brandon blinked, and out of the corner of his eye he saw his friend jump slightly. “Um?” he said.
Gray shook his head, already looking exhausted even with the sun barely risen. “Yesterday was a bad one for me. Had to have been just as bad for you, maybe worse, but I didn't think of that.” He hesitantly put a hand on Brandon's shoulder and looked between him and Andy. “I'm sorry about your people. They were some of the bravest I've seen. My condolences to their loved ones.”
“Thanks,” Brandon said hesitantly. “I understand something of the pressure you must be under. It takes its toll.”
“It does,” the leader of Camptown's fighters agreed. With some effort he straightened his shoulders. “What's your plan, Gerry?” Brandon started, wondering if the man had guessed he had an idea. Then Gray continued briskly. “I've already sent out a squad of skirmishers to the east, but we could still use you back out skirmishing. I've got some good people who could probably fill out your squad. Or if you want to jump into training, we could use someone who's got experience with your style of fighting who can pass it on.” He snorted. “Heck, we could even use you up north, pushing back the encroaching bloodies.”
Brandon cleared his throat, trying not to act self-conscious; with all the things that needed doing, he wanted to toss out a pie in the sky scheme that would probably just get laughed down? But he wasn't about to give up yet. “Actually, I had a different plan for up north.”
“I hope you're not talking about trying to go after the road again,” Gray growled. At their surprised looks he shook his head. “Holy smokes, you are. Forget it . . . we'd have a neat trick sneaking back up there after the hornet's nest we've stirred up.”
“That's only part of my idea,” Brandon said, more defensively than he would've liked. “Besides, if it's important enough for them to clear it this fast, it's a target worth taking out again.”
The militia leader snorted again. “Sure, assuming there was anyone to do it. Last I heard, we've already got everyone who can hold a gun out fending off Sangue incur
sions. We'd need an army we don't have just to get up there to do anything.”
“Right, we don't have an army,” Andy agreed, clapping Brandon on the back supportively. “But what we do have is a lot of extra guns, and nobody to use them.”
“Because pretty much every single able-bodied person is either part of the skirmishers, the fighters, or the defenders!” Gray snapped. “You want to arm the elderly? The kids? End up with dozens of Kristy Millers getting frantic with worry and giving us headaches, not just the one?”
Brandon squared his shoulders, fighting down his irritation and raising his voice. “No,” he said firmly. “What I want to do is take out the road, get Sangue to send a bunch of slaves to repair it like they always do, stage a jailbreak and arm those slaves with our extra guns, then once they're freed bring them back to the valley and recruit ourselves the army we desperately need.”
Chapter Seven
Crowded
Dead silence greeted Brandon's words, and he realized with a start that several of the nearby fighters had been listening in, at least to his last declaration.
Gray's eyes had gotten more and more narrow throughout the entire thing, and as the silence grew oppressive the militia leader abruptly gestured curtly and strode away. “With me, Gerry.”
Brandon shot Andy an uncertain look, then followed the sheriff towards the command building while his friend stayed back with the group of fighters. Who, he couldn't help but notice, immediately gathered around the redheaded man to pepper him with questions.
Gray noticed it too, expression tightening even more as he stomped into the building.
Brandon followed him, finding the room even more organized than when he'd last seen it, with numerous maps hanging on walls or spread across tables and marked with pins and notations jotted on scraps of paper. More notes were stacked everywhere, many pinned on those nail-sticking-out-of-board thingies.
Brady's wife, Betty, was inside with a couple other women doing some sort of clerical or organizational work. But the moment Gray entered he immediately cleared his throat, tone polite in spite of his tight expression. “Pardon the interruption, ladies. Can I have the room for a few minutes?”
“Of course, Sheriff,” Betty said, giving Brandon a curious look as she shooed the others outside in front of her.
The moment they were gone, Gray sank down on the edge of one of the tables and put his head in his hands. “Lure Sangue into delivering slaves right to us, so we can free them and get them to join our war,” he said quietly. “Well, that's a trick the bloodies probably wouldn't expect us to try.”
“But it's worth trying?” Brandon pressed.
Gray rubbed his eyes wearily. “You know I'd love to free that many people, Gerry, and not just for potential recruits. Saving people captured by Sangue was one of my militia's highest priorities when we were fighting the bloodies, behind defending Grand Junction.” He shook his head. “But even if your plan did work out like you hope, and after we took out the highway the bloodies brought in a bunch of slaves to clear it again, what then? They'll also bring hundreds of troops to guard those poor souls, all spread out patrolling the area and digging in defensively. We don't have the manpower to stage a jailbreak, not even if we took every single fighter off defending Camptown and sent them north.”
Brandon hesitated, wondering if Gray was failing to see the obvious. “We've got the firepower, and once we get it to the slaves in the camp they'll be the manpower to stage their own jailbreak. Free themselves.”
The older man sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “I had a feeling that's what you meant.” He gave the map a faraway stare, expression bleak. “So rather than a major assault, you'd take a small team in to free the slaves, smuggle in arms, and neutralize a few key targets?”
He nodded. “Something like that. And the best part is, the plan doesn't have to be completely successful to be worth attempting. We take out the road and we're already ahead. Then Sangue delivers a bunch of slaves to where we can actually be in a position to help them, instead of us needing to go find a slave camp that's probably way too far away to even make the attempt. If we can convince the slaves to escape, killing their guards in the process, we not only delay Sangue from clearing the road but we might get them to abandon it altogether. And at the end of it all, we could have dozens or even hundreds more people willing to fight on our side.”
Gray snorted. “And, if we're being so optimistic, after Sangue gets so thoroughly spanked they might abandon the road entirely. Heck, they might decide we're not worth the effort anymore and go away.” It was obvious he didn't think that was happening; he abruptly stood to glare at Brandon at eye level, voice hardening. “On the other hand, even if all the slaves die in the attempt, we've still deprived Sangue of their labor and inconvenienced them.”
Brandon flinched, blood draining from his face at the thought. “No! That's not . . .”
The old sheriff pressed forward relentlessly. “Didn't stop to consider that, Gerry? You want to give a bunch of AKs to half-starved, untrained men and tell them to suicide themselves against their captors, all for the flimsy hope of freedom?”
“That's not what I want at all!” Brandon nearly shouted, horrified at the prospect. He'd imagined it more like when Trapper had saved him and Fi and the rest of Simon's convoy from a fate worse than death. Or, for that matter, more recently when they'd saved the slaves from Emery.
After what had happened to his skirmishers, the last thing he wanted was to lead more people to their deaths. The thought of causing the deaths of dozens or even hundreds of innocent men sickened him.
Gray was right, he hadn't stopped to consider that.
The older man seemed to read all that in his expression. “But you do realize that's the most likely outcome?” he said quietly. “That even if the slaves did manage to get free and kill their guards, a great many of them would die in the attempt.”
Brandon closed his eyes and swallowed bile. But even if that had been enough to nearly kill his own enthusiasm for his crazy plan, he didn't think Gray was completely right. “If it was you,” he said quietly, “being worked to death to help your enemies win a war against your own people, with no hope of anything but a life of horror, would you say no to a man offering to break your chains and give you a gun so you could free yourself? Fight, even if it probably meant death, on the chance of something better? Avenging lost loved ones, maybe having a chance to be reunited with those still alive, and doing your part to prevent your captors from hurting anyone else?”
Gray sighed heavily. “If it was me? In a heartbeat. And probably for most of Sangue's slaves as well.”
“And for me,” Brandon said sharply. “Because I've been there, in case you forgot. I watched them do unspeakable things to the people I cared about most, and even now I sometimes hate myself for not fighting harder to stop them, even if they would've killed me for it.” He met the old man's eyes in a blaze of determination. “If I'd had even a sharp rock and a chance back then, I would've taken it.”
“I haven't forgotten, and you're not wrong,” Gray agreed. “I just wanted to make sure you weren't thinking of those poor men as simply a tool to strike at the bloodies, with no thought to the price they'd pay.”
“I hadn't really thought it through,” Brandon confessed. “Now that you put it like that, I-I'm not sure I can ask that of them. Not without feeling like a selfish SOB for how we'll benefit from their choice.” He looked away. “I've already led enough good people to their deaths.”
The sheriff nodded, expression softening. “That's part of leadership, Gerry. And as leaders go, you're a better man than most.” He stepped forward and rested a hand on Brandon's shoulder, dark eyes boring into his. “Which is why you're going to break the chains of these slaves, and offer them the weapons, and give them the chance they've been desperately hoping for ever since Sangue took them. Even if it eats you up inside knowing the incredible risk they'll be taking if they accept. Even if they all die in the attemp
t, and you're left knowing you're the one who put them on that path.”
That sounded a lot like the man was agreeing to Brandon's plan. But rather than feeling triumphant, his heart was leaden.
Gray patted his shoulder reassuringly before turning briskly towards the door. “All right. I need to get my fighters on their way, but then let's put our heads together and plan this op of yours.”
* * * * *
It was certainly getting crowded in his mountains.
Tom stared through his scope at the squad of bloodies below, the third such group he'd found and carefully searched around in the last few days.
It was just common sense; if he hoped to find Skyler, and his son was out hunting Sangue, then he needed to find the enemy too and see if the teenager was lurking around them. It wasn't the best way to go about it, but he wasn't sure what else he could do.
Sure, the obvious answer was to think like his son. He certainly knew the boy well enough, or at least thought he had before Skyler really began bucking his and Kristy's authority. The problem was, the obvious thought when it came to skirmishing alone was to go out away from even the territory the other skirmishers operated in, then get to work.
Which meant Tom needed to operate outside that territory as well. That was a pretty darn vast space, one that would take months to cover on his own, even if he stuck to looking in the places that were well away from the other skirmishers.
Either that, or Skyler might think to go start nibbling at a high profile target like Highway 29, the Sangue camp at Joes Valley Reservoir, or the ruins of Emery assuming the bloodies planned to rebuild the place rather than simply moving their new supply post somewhere else.
Since Tom was headed north he'd reach the highway soon enough, and from there he could head east towards the reservoir. That would knock two targets off his list, assuming Skyler hadn't already been there and moved on, or was planning to go there after Tom had already checked the place out.