Fuel (Best Laid Plans Book 1) (18 page)

“And you're doing a good job,” Matt offered. He meant it: under Turner's direction the roadblocks had gone up quickly and efficiently, the guard and patrol rosters were taking shape nicely, and the officer had made sure the signs pointing to town along 6 had all been taken down. Matt wouldn't have even thought of doing that.

The man shook his head. “Yeah well sitting behind a roadblock isn't what I'm worried about. Ever since your buddy radioed in about the refugees I've been dreading our first visitors. I know I spoke for turning them away at the meeting but I hate having to be the one who actually does it.”

Silence settled as Turner brooded, finishing off his beer and tossing the can out beyond the roadblock. “What about the other towns in the area?” Matt asked. “Have we heard from them?”

The officer snorted and reached down for another beer. Matt couldn't say he was happy about the man drinking on duty. “Yeah, we can reach them on the radios. They're all taking in their refugees like good little citizens and some have even decided to take in all comers, not just the ones FETF sends their way. Price is even trying to set up a local network to get all the towns in the area working together to share the load.”

He popped the top on his beer and took several long gulps. “They're pissed at us, I can tell you that. I haven't been cussed out that bad since the Academy.” Turner abruptly swore and slammed his can down on a plastic armrest, making a bit of foam splash out. “Can you believe the town leaders, making that dirty deal behind our backs? And FETF sending a bunch of helpless mouths to feed our way! And while I'm complaining I'd sure like a crack at whoever blew up the Gulf refineries.”

Matt shifted awkwardly, not sure what to say. He glanced at the other men on duty, most of them to either side of the road sitting on the dressers pulled across the sidewalks, but they were all pretending they hadn't heard the outburst.

Before he could say anything Turner abruptly stood and reached down to grab the rest of the six pack. “You've got the hot seat,” he growled, yanking the radio off his belt and tossing it onto the chair. “Call if anything happens. I've got some business back at the office.”

Without another word the officer hopped off the car, stumbling on landing, and strode purposefully towards the town hall. Matt hesitantly climbed up to the chair and grabbed the radio, settling down on the plastic seat.

“The others in your shift are taking their time getting here,” one of the other men on duty grumbled. “Just because we don't have power doesn't mean telling time is suddenly impossible. Where's everyone's watches?”

Matt shrugged. Looked like Turner wasn't the only one on edge: maybe it was good a new shift was coming in before the refugees got here. Assuming they actually tried to get in.

A few minutes later the other people on shift with him began trickling in. Matt filled them in on the situation as the people in the earlier shift left, then together they all sat tensely waiting. An hour passed, then two, at which point he got some relief from boredom and tenseness when Sam came to visit him. The dark-haired woman had brought water, a gesture he appreciated even though he had plenty and the spring was a stone's throw down the street, and then she joined him sitting on the hood of the car facing out of town.

“You're awfully quiet today,” she said. “Worried about the refugees?”

Matt kept staring at the hills to the northwest, ultimately leading up to the mountain pass on the horizon that Highway 6 went through to reach Spanish Fork. “Kind of, but not really. I can't stop thinking about April and her family up in Midvale.”

That was, if anything, an understatement. When he'd spoken to his sister just before the phones died she'd seemed intent on riding out the chaos right where she was and had assured him that they had enough food storage to do it. But in spite of that he'd still been worrying about her a lot these last few days since making it to Aspen Hill. Especially following the chaos he'd escaped from in Orem, when his sister's family might be going through the same and he had no way to contact them and make sure they were okay. Learning about FETF sending refugees south had compounded his worries yet again, and now after hearing about Trev's news regarding the arrival of the first wave of refugees his worry increased even more.

“She has her food storage and a good house,” Sam said, doing her best to sound reassuring. The dark-haired woman knew April's situation since Matt's parents were worried too and his mom frequently mentioned her and reassured herself that they had what they needed, while his dad mused aloud about the difficulty of making the trip on foot with young children and how long it might take them.

Matt shook his head. “Trev had a lot of food storage up in Orem and he still decided it would be better to come south. The cities are dangerous.” She nodded, seeming unsure how to respond, and Matt fell into brooding silence again.

Even if April and Terry decided to stay in Midvale, what if FETF sent them south with other groups of refugees in spite of their wishes? Were they somewhere on I-15 or Highway 6 struggling to make the long trek with scant provisions and a two year old toddler and a five year old in tow? What if they'd been sent north or east instead of south? What if the small town FETF was evacuating them to was Heber or Goshen or Manti or who knew where? Would the task force coordinators be understanding about the fact that April had family waiting in Aspen Hill and help speed their way south, or would they try to insist they go where they were told?

A thought had started brewing in his mind last night and had stuck there all morning, that waiting and worrying wasn't enough. He should be doing something, and that something was going north to find his sister's family and help them get back to Aspen Hill. He cursed his decision to trade the remainder of the gas in his tank to Mr. Tillman to partially pay for his purchases, and cursed almost as much his decision to drive straight down here rather than heading up to pick up his sister and her family and bring them down. He would've had enough fuel in the tank to make the trip, and surely Sam would've understood the need.

But thanks to his thoughtlessness and shortsightedness here he was, over a hundred miles away and with no way to help April's family if they needed it.

Matt closed his eyes and settled down with his palms flat on the roof of the car, struggling to calm his thoughts. There was no reason to panic just yet. If FETF was coordinating relief up in the cities and sending refugees where they'd prearranged for them to go then they had to have the situation under control in spite of the riots. For all he knew there might even be FETF coordinators leading the groups of refugees and helping them get where they were going.

Once the refugees started arriving he could go out and ask the FETF people, or the refugees themselves if they were unescorted, what the situation was like and how well the task force had things in hand up north. Most likely the news he got would settle his fears, or at the very least give him a better idea of what action he needed to take moving forward.

Assuming he wasn't once again reacting too slowly to the destabilizing situation and it was already too late for April and her family. Matt violently shook his head to dismiss the horrible thought, abruptly climbing to his feet so he could carefully scan the area around them to make sure no one was coming.

“It seems like a bad idea to tear yourself apart worrying,” Sam said. She'd jumped slightly in startlement at his sudden movement, but after a moment she also got to her feet to stand beside him. “Why don't you tell me about April and Terry and their boys? I'm looking forward to meeting them.”

Matt shot her a grateful smile and eagerly accepted her distraction, telling her about his big sister, his brother-in-law Terry who'd just graduated medical school studying to be a surgeon and was interning at a hospital in Salt Lake City, and their two tow-headed boys Aaron and Paul.

That opened Sam up to talking about her family in New York, a topic she'd avoided until now. Her parents were divorced and her mother was remarried, but she was still an only child. From her tone she didn't have too great a relationship with either of them, but in spite of that she sounded genuinely worried. Matt felt a bit bad that she'd had to suffer that worry alone up until now, and wished he'd thought to ask about her family sooner.

Before they knew it another hour had passed and Matt was halfway through his shift. About that time, though, Carl Raymond called in on the radio. He was one of the two men Turner had sent out to watch the highway, and he had news that they'd spotted a large group of refugees heading south in their direction.

For a moment Matt wondered if he should reply that Turner wasn't at the roadblock anymore, but before he could the policeman answered over the radio, probably using one of the ones recharging in his office. “Roger that. Stay out of sight and we'll see if they walk past us.”

“Understood,” Carl replied. “Turning the radio to silent for a bit.”

After that the silence became tense. “This is awful,” Sam finally said, lifting up on her toes as if hoping to catch a glimpse of the highway. “I hope they just go right by so we don't have to turn them away.”

Matt nodded grimly. “Me too. Do you think you could go let my parents know what's going on? Just in case.”

“Sure.” She fidgeted awkwardly, as if she wanted to say something, then abruptly blurted “Be careful, okay?” Before he could answer she lifted a hand in farewell and hopped off the car, hurrying down the street.

After that the tense minutes continued to tick by in silence for almost a half hour, until finally a squawk on the radio made Matt hurriedly straighten. “Officer Turner? This is Carl Raymond out on Highway 6. We've got a group of refugees trying to take the northernmost road to Aspen Hill.”

The radio almost immediately crackled with a response. “This is Turner. You've turned them back, right?”

There was a long pause. “Um yeah. Well kind of. We told them the town's closed and that they should continue south to Price where the other refugees are going. They aren't trying to force their way past us or anything, but after we talked to them they started setting up camp right on the highway at the turnoff, saying they won't leave until they've talked to the Mayor. They're pretty pissed.”

Turner cursed. “How many people? Is it the 60 person group Smith warned us about?”

Another long pause. “Uh no, or at least maybe. We've got over a hundred people here so some of them might be part of that group.”

Matt stared at the radio in shock. A hundred people camped out on the highway. And this was just the first group, the people who'd made the trip down from Utah Valley the quickest.

“That many uninvited guests sitting on our front door,” the policeman muttered, barely audible over the radio. “Okay, Raymond, stick around and keep an eye on them. Let us know if they get antsy or try to come our way.” He abruptly changed his tone to almost a bark. “Listen up, Roadblocks 1 through 3. I'm going to send around what nonlethal weapons my office had stocked, and if you've got anything like that I'd encourage you to bring it with you on shifts. From now on if anyone who isn't a resident of Aspen Hill approaches the roadblocks you are not to let them get within twenty feet. Give them a verbal warning, then if that doesn't work use those nonlethal tools to deter them. Under no circumstances are you to use firearms unless you come under attack yourselves. Everyone acknowledge.”

Matt looked around at the other men on shift with him, who'd gathered around to listen to the exchange. Most looked too surprised or intent on the conversation to realize he was looking for a response, although a few met his eye and nodded. Matt lifted the radio to respond, but before he could roadblock 2 beat him to it, with 3 not far behind. Once the air was clear again he transmitted. “This is Matthew Larson at Roadblock 1, acknowledging your order. I've got bear spray and am prepared to use it.”

After a short pause Turner responded. “All right, then. I'll go tell Anderson and the City Council what's going on. We'll see if they want to bother with responding to the refugees or try to wait them out. Until then sit tight. Over and out.”

The rest of his shift was infuriatingly quiet, with no news either from the men watching the refugees or from Turner or anyone in the city government about what they were going to do about the new arrivals. Between the tension and the tedium Matt felt like he was trapped in a cage, and more and more he found himself standing on the roof of the car to get a better view northeast.

When his shift ended later in the afternoon he was tempted to stay around waiting for news, or maybe go directly to town hall and find out himself, but he wanted to get home to report the day's events to Sam and his parents and talk to them about the situation.

Still, he had a feeling that not knowing was going to make sleep difficult to find that night, and he honestly hoped Anderson and Turner and the City Council had decided on a solid plan of action.

Chapter Nine

Plight

The next morning Matt and Sam made their way up to Roadblock 1 to see what was going on, even though Matt didn't have a shift that day and had been planning on doing a shift on patrol north of town to relieve Trev.

To their surprise they found a crowd of Aspen Hill residents gathered, over a hundred people. The Mayor and the entire City Council were huddled at the front of the crowd, just behind the roadblock, and Matt learned from the people near the back that a delegation was going out soon to meet with the refugees.

Matt paused to ask some questions and learned that during the evening shift at the roadblocks Anderson had sent a dozen men hauling freight carts from Tillman's to bring water to the refugees. That was a kindness Matt hadn't even thought of, and he was glad the Mayor had. He also thought it was smart to not send even a little food, to reinforce the town's position that they had none to spare.

Anderson hadn't gone with the water, and he'd instructed the men bringing it to drop off the jugs and come back with as little contact as possible other than to send along assurances that he and the City Council along with Turner would meet with the refugees the next morning. Mostly to give an official message reinforcing Aspen Hill's stance that they weren't taking anyone in. From what the people Matt chatted with had heard it was the council's hope that by shutting down all communication aside from that one message and by keeping the refugees on the highway it would encourage them to keep going south to where they'd be more welcome.

Once he'd got the gist of things Matt excused himself and turned to Sam. “I'm going to volunteer to go with them as part of the escort.” Part of his intention was to make himself useful, but a stronger motivation was to check out the camp and, if possible, learn where they'd come from and whether any of them had news about whether FETF was sending refugees their way from Midvale. It was too much to hope for that anyone in the camp would have specific news about his sister's family, but he was going to ask around just in case.

It would also give him an idea of how refugees fared on the long walk south, so he'd know how April and the others would fare if they were also forced to make the trip.

“Why?” Sam asked with a slight frown. “You don't have a shift today and there's plenty to do around the house.”

“I'm really worried about my sister,” he confessed. “I want to see what it's like for the refugees, see if anyone has heard anything about Midvale or the nearby areas. And maybe I'll get lucky and someone will have news about them, although that's a long shot.”

“I understand.” The dark-haired woman patted his shoulder sympathetically. “I could come with you and help, if you want.”

“That would be great.” Matt said glanced over at the forming delegation. “We can see, but I think Turner wants to keep it to as few people as possible. He might not even want me along.”

They made their way up to ask, and it turned out Matt was pretty much right. Turner bluntly thanked Sam for her willingness to offer but refused, stating that aside from the Mayor and City Council he was only bringing half a dozen men as security. “You can come along too if you're offering,” he told Matt. “The more guns the better, up to a point.”

Sam looked disappointed as she stepped back into the crowd. “You need to teach me to shoot,” she told Matt. “I feel like I can't do much to help.”

Matt gave her an incredulous look. “You spend just about every day helping, either at the storehouse or around my parents' house.”

“Well yeah,” she admitted. “But I still wish you'd teach me to shoot.”

He wasn't sure he'd be the best teacher since his own experience boiled down to the odd trip to the shooting range whenever he'd come down to Aspen Hill from college, usually borrowing Trev's or Lewis's 1911 and paying for the ammunition he used. But he supposed he was better than nothing. “I will,” he promised. “Bullets are precious, but I can at least take you down to the range to get you familiar with the gun and show you how to do dry fire drills. It wouldn't hurt to do more of both myself.”

Not too long after that the delegation left. Fourteen people in all, with Anderson and all five members of the City Council in a clump at the back, while Turner led Matt and the other six men up ahead a ways. The police officer had his shotgun and service weapon, a couple of the men had rifles, and the rest bore holstered pistols of all calibers. Matt only hoped they didn't come off as too aggressive when they reached the refugees.

It was a fair distance, but for Matt the hike didn't feel very long compared to the two patrol shifts he'd done north of town walking 20 miles over 8 hours: in just under two hours they came in sight of Highway 6 and the refugee camp. On the road a couple hundred yards from the highway the two men Turner had assigned to keep watch in the night were sitting blearily on some lawn chairs with blankets wrapped around them, even though the morning was already pleasant. Turner clapped each man on the shoulder and sent them home, assigning two men from his group to take their place once the delegation left.

As for the refugee camp . . . Matt wasn't quite sure what to say. It almost didn't look like a camp at all since there were so few tents. Instead most of the families huddled together beneath blankets right off the side of the road, for some their few possessions sitting nearby in children's wagons or wheelbarrows, while most of the rest had backpacks or wheeled suitcases.

There was one big tent with a few smaller ones scattered around it in the field beside the junction where the highway met with the road leading to town. From that tent several men emerged and started forward to meet the delegation, joined by others in the camp until there were about twenty of them. Although they did their best to look calm the refugees were glancing nervously at the weapons Matt and the others carried.

“About time you bother to come out and talk to us,” an older man at the front of the group called. “We're citizens looking for help, not hobos and vagrants.”

Anderson stopped the delegation about ten feet away. “I'm John Anderson, Mayor of Aspen Hill.”

“Kendall Farnsworth,” the older man replied reluctantly. He gestured curtly to the two men beside him, both in their early 20s. “My sons, Benjy and Rod. Does knowing our names make it easier to treat us like human beings?”

The Mayor's mouth tightened. “It's not about that. We'd help you if we could but we have nothing to spare. I hate to say it but you wasted your time coming here, so the best thing to do is go somewhere else. There are towns farther south that are taking in refugees, and from what I hear Price is organizing a relief network to care for you all.”

“Yeah, your man guarding north of Aspen Hill mentioned the town isn't in much better shape than Provo,” Kendall said, narrowing his eyes. “And those folks who stopped us here yesterday said the same. Which must mean you've got tens of thousands of people waiting in ration lines to get a cup of food apiece? That all your businesses have been looted and ransacked and the local government has fled or is in hiding while rioters wander around demolishing random municipal structures?”

“Well no-” Anderson started to say, but the refugee talked right over him.

“But surely you've got gangs of thugs roaming the streets mugging anyone brave enough to go anywhere during the day, and at night breaking into entire neighborhoods full of houses and tearing them apart for food and valuables? That your town's crime rates for murder, rape, and theft have skyrocketed? And I'm sure your people haven't had a meal in days, because aside from a small number of hoarders who emptied the stores and restaurants in the first few days everyone else is starving?”

Anderson shifted uncomfortably. “Okay fine, we're better off than that. But we don't have food to spare either.”

“Not to spare, but you do have food,” a woman in the crowd of refugees who'd gathered behind the twenty men shouted. “What, saving it for a rainy day?”

“For winter,” Councilwoman Tillman shouted back from her place behind Anderson. “And we don't have nearly enough. A lot of us will go hungry.”

“But
all
of us will thanks to your broken promise,” Kendall cut in angrily. “Your town has what, a few thousand people in it?”

“Nine hundred and fifty, give or take,” Anderson replied coolly.

“Well there's just over a hundred of us here. You could easily take us all in.”

Anderson shook his head, but it was again Catherine Tillman who answered. “No, we couldn't. And what about the next group who comes, and the next? We're sorry for your circumstances, we truly are, but Aspen Hill will stay closed. Find somewhere else to go or just sit here on the road.”

Matt shot the older woman an alarmed look. That was as good as an invitation to set up a permanent camp. Hadn't they come here to convince the refugees to move on? The councilwoman seemed to realize her mistake almost immediately, but it was too late to take the words back.

Kendall pounced on it. “You know what, I think we will. Except we're going to move closer to town, within walking distance of this spring your people bringing water last night told us about. Not just because of the water, though: we had a group pass us by on the road heading south early this morning and we didn't like the looks of them. We'd all feel safer if we were off the road.”

“No don't do that!” Anderson said, giving Catherine an angry look. “You need to leave since we have nothing to offer you.”

“Neither does anyone else,” Kendall's son Rod said, judging by his tone trying to turn anger into sarcasm. “If we have nowhere else to go we're happy to stay right here. Besides, you said your town is closed, you didn't say anything about the area around it. We can sit right in front of these roadblocks your people mentioned and if you don't like it tough. Attack the camp and show us what kind of people you really are.”

The words were greeted with murmurs of agreement and even a few cheers and hurled insults from the crowd of refugees. Anderson held up his hands desperately for calm. “Now hold on, there's no need to talk about violence. I don't think it's a good idea to camp right outside of town because that's just asking for trouble, but if you think you can find a good reason to stay in the area nobody's stopping you. Just be aware that no matter what happens you won't get any food, and none of you will be allowed inside Aspen Hill's city limits for any reason, either.”

“You'll at least let us use your spring though, right?” Kendall demanded.

Matt looked between the two groups despondently. He didn't like the thought of a permanent camp, not at all. Not only because it could be trouble but because it meant they'd have the people they were refusing to help sitting right where everyone in Aspen Hill could see them, which would make holding to the town's resolution that much harder.

He almost wished Anderson would refuse the request, but however morally gray withholding charity from these people might be, refusing water was downright wrong. That was one thing the town had plenty of, something these refugees vitally needed to survive and couldn't find easily anywhere else around here unless they wanted to drink unpurified water from the stream.

“Of course,” Catherine answered when the Mayor hesitated. “That's one thing we do have to offer, at least.”

Kendall glanced at the refugees around him, then sighed. “We hope you'll change your mind once you see we're decent people. Would you at least spend some time in camp, let us introduce ourselves and tell you our situation and what brought us here?”

A few members of the City Council murmured their disapproval of the idea, and Turner shook his head firmly, but after a thoughtful pause Anderson nodded. “I think that would be a good idea.”

“Come on, then,” the refugee said, turning. “I suppose first I'll introduce you to the rest of my family.”

Matt followed the delegation as they went from family to family, listening to their stories and sympathizing with their plight. As they went Kendall wasted no opportunity to guilt them about their decision to turn the refugees away. The older man really knew how to tug at the heartstrings, all without openly accusing them of being selfish jerks.

That was a restraint the other refugees didn't share, as they spiced their stories of fear and suffering with bitter mentions of their hope of a refuge in Aspen Hill keeping them going. Anderson was the main target of their anger, and the Mayor looked more uncomfortable with each passing minute. Not that anyone else in the delegation was truly comfortable with the situation.

Matt wanted nothing more than to leave immediately, and the only thing that kept him around besides his responsibility to the group was that while mingling among the refugees he had plenty of opportunities of his own to talk to people.

In spite of their bitterness the refugees were eager to talk about what they'd suffered, and while listening he found opportunities to ask questions about Midvale and specifically his sister and her family in the vanishingly slim hope that someone, anyone, might have news. Nobody did, but nothing he heard on that walk through the camp reassured him that April's family would be okay.

After about a half hour a call from the north end of camp warned them that more refugees were approaching down the highway. A small group of a dozen or so were visible at the moment, but who knew how many might be coming behind them. Anderson immediately made his goodbyes and ushered the delegation back out of camp and down the road leading into town.