Get Out of Denver (Denver Burning Book 1) (10 page)

Dawn was cold. McLean got up and lit the fire, checked the horses, and heated some water. After breakfast they divided the tasks of packing away the tents and prepping the horses for the day’s ride. By the time the sun was really up they were on the trail and moving.

They had carefully buried the entire fire ring, brushed out all their prints with pine branches, and tossed handfuls of needles and leaves over the area. A skilled tracker would still be able to find the campsite, but to anyone else that happened by it would look like no one had ever been there. McLean wasn’t planning on being hunted by a professional, he just didn’t want to leave an obvious trail. “Leave No Trace” had become a mantra of security now instead of environmental ethics.

An hour after sunup they had to stop before descending a steep, rocky incline so that DJ could adjust his saddle and figure out what was causing it to slip to one side. JD took the opportunity to pull Carrie aside into the trees and have some target practice.

“We’ll take a few shots and then get moving again,” he told Carrie, “so that if anyone hears us we’ll already be gone by the time they get here.”

He showed her how to draw the pistol safely, thumb the safety off, and aim without putting her finger onto the trigger until she was ready to shoot. He helped her find a good shooting stance and grip, but emphasized that she wouldn’t always be in an ideal position and should practice drawing while mounted, and lying down as well. Then he had her aim at a knot on a tree several yards away and squeeze off a couple shots.

Carrie’s first shot knicked the trunk and her second missed entirely. JD, following the time-honored Hollywood Western tradition, wrapped his muscular arms around her to adjust her grip and aim. Then he had her take a few more shots until she was hitting the tree. He was just putting his arms around her again to explain how to line up the sights for longer distances when McLean walked over and saw them.

“Are you serious?” he called out to JD. “I thought you were shooting, not making love over here.”

JD let go of Carrie. “I was helping her aim!” he protested, but Carrie burst into laughter at the ridiculous situation, and JD joined in as he realized how transparent his attempt had been.

“Whatever,” McLean said, shaking his head and walking back to the horses. “Come on, let’s hit the trail.”

“We’ll have to take this up again later,” Carrie said.

“Yeah, maybe a little farther off in the trees,” JD replied, and they both laughed all the way back to the horses.

The group of riders wound its way through the mountains, crossing bends of Bear Creek and its tributary rivulets. The horses appreciated splashing through the frequent waterways and pausing to drink, and for their riders it became a way to measure the distance they’d covered. It felt good when, at midday, they came to yet another large creek and crossed it.

“We must have done miles and miles already today,” Carrie remarked over a brief lunch of jerky and granola. “How much farther do you think we have to go?”

McLean got out his map and compared their position to the location of his ranch. “Well, we’ve been taking it pretty easy, actually. Yesterday we only covered about eight miles with all that winding around. Today we’ve already done six so far, but that only puts us twelve miles on come sundown. At this rate it could be five more days to the ranch.”

He let that sink in. Five wasn’t a big number, but it suddenly seemed like a long time to them. A lot of riding, a lot of camping. None of them had been on a wilderness trip that long in many years.

“I’m hoping that we can gradually speed up, now that we know what we’re doing with the horses. We ought to be able to do twenty miles a day easy. On straight, level ground thirty or forty would be doable, more if we were in a hurry. But on these trails twenty would be fine with me. We have to find our way past these hills and mountains, and the last thing we want is to break a leg, so we have to go real slow at the steep and rocky parts.”

Carrie patted her horse’s neck. “I take back what I said. These mountains are huge!”

“It’s a serious journey,” McLean agreed. “Hopefully we’ll get out of this rocky, twisting country and into some more open meadows and wider canyons.”

“Well, let’s get going then,” JD said, swinging himself back up into the saddle. “I like camping as much as the next guy, but I’d just as soon get to the ranch and know where we stand. I have a feeling there’s a lot of work waiting for us there.”

They took fewer breaks that afternoon and pushed on until almost sunset. They were in the deep mountain country now, intentionally far from any major roads or popular cabin valleys. Steep cliffs rose around them, with pines covering every hillside that wasn’t bare rock. By the dying sun’s orange glow they set up another camp site by a little stagnant pond at the head of a wide, empty valley.

Dinner that night was quieter. The group put most of their energy into the little tasks required to keep the horses and themselves in good shape. They went to bed without much conversation, each of them inwardly daunted at the situation they found themselves in. Out here, even a small accident or misstep could be dangerous. There was no one to call for help, no one to rely on but each other. A serious injury would slow them down for days, and a small scrape could get infected and cause a lot of trouble, on either them or the horses.

The next morning they broke camp and hit the trail again after McLean reviewed the route on the map.

“This wilderness is downright daunting when you’re on foot,” DJ said, eyeing the distant end of the valley ahead of them. It was wreathed in mist which obscured the area for now but would soon burn off. “What I’d give for a nice, straight highway right now.”

McLean nodded. “We only did about eleven miles yesterday. This is slow going. I thought the horses would speed us up substantially. In the open they would, but on these narrow, winding mountain trails we almost might as well be on foot.”

“Well, why don’t we head toward two-eighty-five?” DJ asked. “We’re probably, what, four miles north of it now? If we could get onto it we’d probably be able to get twenty miles west by nightfall.”

“Only if it’s empty,” JD chipped in. “Otherwise we’d have a lot of people to deal with, maybe worse. Remember the soldiers we saw.”

“I know,” DJ said. “But they were following the freeway. That’s far to the north of us. Anyway, this wears on me. I’ve never done any backpacking before like you guys.”

“Neither have I, DJ,” Carrie told him. “I thought I was in good shape, but I am getting pretty sore and we’re only two days in. And not just saddle-sore. My face is getting chapped from the wind and sun, and my legs hurt.”

“Oh. Well, I meant more mentally,” DJ replied. “But I hear you about the chapping.”

“Anybody know any good trail songs?” JD asked. “That ought to help your state of mind. How about--”

“This isn’t The Sound of Music,” McLean broke in. “If you burst into song and somebody comes after us, we’re leaving you behind for bait.”

“Come on, you wouldn’t let him play his harmonica,” Carrie protested. “Now we can’t sing either? Maybe you need some candy to sweeten your mood.”

“Hey, I’m not trying to be the bad guy,” McLean said. “I’m not even the leader here, I’m just the only one of us who…” He stopped himself before he said something that would alienate him from the others. “Anyway, you’re all adults. Sing if you must, but let’s try to stay focused on our goal.”

Nobody wanted to sing anymore, but Carrie rode up alongside McLean and handed him a piece of hard candy from her pack. She smiled at him, and he took it with a grunt. It did raise his spirits a little, but they drooped again when it began to rain.

The clouds had been slowly moving in all morning, but they closed around the mountains and grew dark and heavy quickly. The rain was soft at first but became a steady drumming on the hoods of the riders’ jackets, and then larger drops started splashing off the horses’ necks and soaking everything. Parts of the trail where they had to get past large rocks became trickier than before, and DJ’s horse slipped dangerously on one.

McLean called for a halt when they got to a fork in the trail. A sign for hikers and mountain bikers pointed the way south to a trailhead. “This is the closest we’ll get to the highway. We could go south here and scope out the road, see if it’s safe and will allow us to travel easier. Otherwise we have to head northwest for a way, up over that pass there.”

They all stared through the drizzling rain and fog to the mountain pass a few miles on. It was several hundred feet higher and the pass itself was completely obscured by clouds.

“I’m definitely for the highway,” DJ said. “If we could go faster and safer on the road, we could be out of this mess by sundown. I’m not looking forward to camping in the rain up here.”

“I vote we check out the highway, too,” Carrie said. “If it doesn’t work out, we can always backtrack.”

“Well, we can as long as we aren’t killed by desperate people on the road,” JD said ominously. “Or followed back this way.”

“And it would set us back several miles, uphill on the way back,” McLean added. “But if the road is clear, we could make a lot better time. DJ’s horse would appreciate it; I think it’s the least sure-footed of them.”

“Hey, don’t sugar-coat it. I’m a terrible rider,” DJ confessed. “I don’t want to take the whole group down with me. If you think we should stick to the trail, I’ll follow.”

Carrie shook her head. “No, let’s go down to the highway. I think it’s worth it. What’s the risk? There are four of us, and we have horses and guns. I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

“Okay,” McLean said. “Let’s get down there quickly, and see how it looks. It’s about two miles south. When we get close, no singing or unnecessary talking. We don’t know what we’ll find on the road.”

They turned off and followed the southward trail down a series of hills and ravines. They had to be careful in steep spots, but the going was easier than the steady climb they had made all day, and within an hour they neared the highway. There was no sound of cars to tell them how close it was, but on a crest in the trail that gave them a view over the treetops below they glimpsed part of the paved road curving away around the mountain.

“We’ll leave our horses by that cluster of pines,” McLean told the others. “Go check it out on foot, silently, then come back for the horses if we’re all clear.” He asked DJ and JD to stay with the horses. JD half-jokingly grumbled that McLean just wanted his own alone time with Carrie, and McLean let it slide because he didn’t want to discuss his real reasons: JD was unpredictable and loud, and he didn’t know how DJ would handle it if they had to turn back and retrace their steps.

McLean and Carrie, taking only their guns and a pair of binoculars, headed down the trail together on foot. It was a relief to be off the horses and free of backpack straps. McLean noticed that Carrie’s Gore-Tex jacket was making a swishing sound as she moved, and showed her how to carry herself more quietly. They were soon out of site of the others, and got some relief from the rain under evergreen boughs that criss-crossed over the trail.

Before they got even close to the road, however, they heard a gunshot. Immediately they froze, and McLean pulled his hood off to hear better. Another shot followed, and this one was accompanied by a yell and a scream. The sounds came from the valley ahead where the highway lay, not back up the trail. There was a pause, and then one more shot rang out.

They waited breathlessly for a several minutes. No more sounds came from the highway down below, which was almost entirely obscured from their view by trees. Down the trail behind them JD came scrambling over the mud and rocks, stopping when he spotted them.

McLean gestured for him to go back to the horses, that he and Carrie would go to the road to investigate. JD nodded and retreated back up the trail.

McLean continued cautiously down toward the highway, rifle in hand. Carrie followed. When they came to a final ridge that overlooked the canyon floor, they left the trail and picked their way carefully through the bushes to a vantage point above the road. Getting down on his belly and motioning for Carrie to do likewise, McLean crawled to an outcropping of rock and peered over the edge, making sure that only his head was visible and that it was close enough to the rocks to avoid sticking out.

He could only see parts of the roadway through the trees and boulders that covered the hillside that led from their position to where the asphalt began. But the view was enough. He didn’t even need the binoculars he had brought to know that they could not travel this route. He held up his hand behind him to warn Carrie to stay back.

On the shoulder of the roadway under some trees, a small group of rough-looking men were standing around a body on the ground. They carried guns, and one of them was going through the pockets of their victim. It was pretty clear what had happened moments before.

In the bushes on the far side of the road, something terrible was being done to another victim, silently and uninterrupted. In the center of the highway a large man stood with a shotgun at his shoulder, talking to a woman in black leather who also carried a gun.

Several people were moving up the road farther on, slinking quickly away from the scene. McLean could see a child among that group. He spotted two more such groups along the road. Pulling out his binoculars, he could see that they were not in good shape. Most didn’t even have rain-proof or warm clothing. One had a bike that the gunmen had allowed past, but he was walking it because it had a flat tire. Another carried a single box of cereal, all that he’d been allowed to keep from a shopping cart of supplies that he had wheeled all the way from Denver, only to lose it to the gunmen.