Reclamation (Best Laid Plans Book 4) (7 page)

Trev wasn't willing to let it go like that. His family had been safe in Greenbush all winter, and the Halssons had been in Norway, so they wouldn't have known better. But he should've. How many times had he been robbed? How many times had people tried to rob him? He should've known better.

“We need to go get our guns,” his dad said, letting the sack he'd halfheartedly lifted sink back to the ground. “If he was telling the truth about leaving everything but the fuel behind we should go after it.”

That was a good point, although the weapons wouldn't be nearly as useful since Vernon had taken their new AK-47 and all the spare magazines, ammo, and other stuff Lucas had purchased. One of the former sheriff's men had been toting an AK, and he'd wanted all of that stuff for it.

Which reminded him. Trev glanced across the street at the townspeople. It looked like no one had stepped forward to take charge in the confused mass of people. The main emotions in the crowd remained uncertainty and fear, as well as the growing groundswell of outrage and resentment. With Vernon gone it seemed as if they'd lost their sense of purpose, and maybe their backbone too. He wasn't sure what they were going to do now.

“Do you think they've thought to release the deputies Vernon locked up?” he asked.

Lucas shrugged. “If so that's their business, not ours. I doubt they'd appreciate us sticking our noses in. Besides, we have our own problems to worry about.”

True enough. Trev abruptly stood. “I'll go after the guns.”

His uncle nodded and reached into the parcel of extra goods he'd been holding onto when Vernon's man kicked him out of the store. He pulled out a full water bottle, handing it over. “You'll be walking half the day to get there and back, but I suppose we don't have a choice.”

“Thanks.” Trev hadn't thought of water, but with twenty miles to go he was glad Lucas had before he could take off and regret his lack of foresight a few miles down the road.

His dad was also nodding his approval of the plan, even as he turned to look behind him at the General Store. “In the meantime this is still a trading post, or at least I hope it is if Newtown's people will cooperate, and Vernon left us quite a bit of money. We'll try to purchase new supplies and see what we can do about transportation. Hopefully when you get back we'll be ready to go.”

Trev grimaced. He wasn't looking forward to walking the 700 miles to Aspen Hill, including going over the mountains west of Denver and retracing the most brutal part of his trip. A few weeks of spring might've melted some of the winter snows away by now, but probably not enough. Good thing Vernon had at least left their winter gear.

As he started down the street in the direction the truck had vanished Deb broke away from the townspeople and came over to him. Her eyes were slightly red, as if she'd been crying or at least fighting not to. “Hey,” she said. “You okay?”

Under the circumstances? “Yeah,” he answered. “Are
you
okay?”

She nodded, although her expression grew even more miserable. “I'm so sorry. I was so proud of this town for the way we treated newcomers. For the way we treated each other. And you know, from the very beginning Fred was the example that inspired us all to be better. Then he did this!” A tear finally slipped free, and she wiped it away almost angrily.

“I'm sorry too,” Trev said. He felt like there was more he should say, but he couldn't think of it. “What will you do now?”

“How should I know?” she said, rubbing at her eyes again. “I looks like we need to go, but I don't know where. Or how. I guess we'll have to talk it over and figure it out.”

Trev nodded, again trying to imagine if Catherine and Matt and Chauncey and more of Aspen Hill's best people had suddenly abandoned the town. Aspen Hill might just shatter if that happened, especially during a crisis.

Since he couldn't figure out what to say or do he awkwardly extricated himself and continued on. At first at a walk, but before he'd even left town he found himself jogging, and having to consciously make the effort to not break into an outright run. Most of what spurred him on was his frustration at the situation, although the knowledge of the distance he had to travel and the fact that they couldn't continue on for home until he returned helped keep him going.

Anger and urgency both faded after the first mile, and he finally allowed himself to slow to a walk for a while until he could catch his breath to jog again. He might not've been in tiptop shape after the stress of the last couple days, but at least the two meals Vernon had fed them before the former sheriff pulled his stunt had given him the strength to keep up a good pace.

He alternated jogging and walking as the sun rose higher in the sky, marching on toward noon. It took him about two hours to reach the poorly hidden cache at the edge of the meadow, and by the time he got there he was tired enough to stop and take a serious rest.

Which took the form of him plopping onto his back halfway across the meadow, staring up at the clear blue sky above him until it stopped wobbling at the edges of his vision and his breath sounded a bit less like a rasping wheeze.

Then he got up and strode the rest of the way to the meadow's edge.

Vernon hadn't been lying about finding the cache through their poor job of disguising the spot where they'd buried it; the hole had been dug up again and everything taken out and strewn across the grass. The cans of diesel were gone, of course, but once again true to the former sheriff's dubious word everything else they'd hidden was still there.

Trev wearily began gathering things up, then put his mind to the unexpected task of figuring out a way to carry it all. Like with the water, he hadn't really thought through how he was going to lug 3 rifles, 2 flak jackets loaded with gear, and a full suit of riot gear including crowd control tools the 10 miles back to town.

“Fantastic,” he muttered. “It's just one thing after another.” And the worst part was he couldn't blame anyone but himself for the situation, since it was all thanks to his own poor judgement. Not to mention lack of planning and foresight. If Lewis was here he'd be facepalming himself into a concussion at what a mess his cousin had made of things.

After what felt like way too long he managed to rig one flak jacket with various straps and belts to tie everything else onto it, in a cobbled together mess that could almost charitably be called a backpack. It certainly weighed enough to remind him of his overloaded backpack on that disastrous first trip after the Gulf refineries attack.

To make matters even worse the weight was poorly balanced and the left shoulder of the jacket dug into his skin more and more with every step, no matter how many times he adjusted it. Before too long the skin was rubbed raw, and he sincerely hoped the trickles he felt under his shirt were from sweat. Eventually he bunched the shirt under the strap in a way that was tolerable enough to continue.

Tiring himself out running to the cache meant he went even slower on the way back, and was forced to take a ludicrous number of breaks to rest and remove the jury rigged pack. Thanks to that the trip that had taken a couple hours there took almost five to get back, which meant midafternoon was getting on towards late afternoon by the time he left the highway and trudged up the old worn road leading to Newtown.

He noticed that the town's defenders were back in their emplacements outside the town, so they must've been freed from wherever Vernon had stowed them. Trev was glad to see they were still taking their duties seriously even after their leader's betrayal. A few waved as he passed, although from the way some stood just staring at him he had to guess they had mixed feelings for the guy who'd brought the truck that had let their sheriff ditch them.

His first view of Newtown was a bit of a surprise, although maybe it shouldn't have been. It looked as if a whirlwind had torn through the town while he'd been gone, with a chaotic jumble of items strewn around where the townspeople had emptied their shanties and crudely built homes of any possessions small enough to take with them, or necessary enough to be worth the extra effort.

The Newtown General Store looked as if it had been completely stripped of its goods, anything useful taken away and everything else tossed in a pile in front with people poking through the rubbish searching for whatever had been overlooked that might be worth taking. And the large silos looming over the town were swarming with figures that looked tiny in comparison, who seemed to be emptying out the grain into sacks and other containers to take with them.

None of that was unexpected. Vernon bailing on his own people would paint a pretty clear picture of just how much danger the town was in, so it figured that the townspeople would be preparing to evacuate.

What
was
unexpected was that the people of Newtown were loading their possessions into dozens of handcarts, which looked as if they'd been crudely built from car trailers or from the chassis of stripped vehicles to make crude wagons.

Trev hadn't seen any of these carts and wagons the last time he'd been here, but it could be they'd been available and he just hadn't been looking. After all, a town that was setting itself up as a trading post and offering tons of grain for sale would want to have a way for customers to haul their purchases away in a world where fuel was scarce to the point of nonexistence. He could actually admire the ingenuity required to get good use out of useless cars and trucks.

To his delight, his family had managed to purchase two of those makeshift handcarts for themselves, along with two smaller wagons. He found them waiting in the parking lot of the General Store, organizing a few last things in the carts. From the looks of it they'd managed to purchase more wheat, at least as much as they could carry, along with a few tarps to protect the sacks from the elements.

Lucas winced when he saw Trev limping into the parking lot. “Ouch. I didn't stop to think how much all that stuff weighed. I should've gone with you.”

“It's okay,” Trev said, wearily letting the pack slide off his shoulders to lean against the cart. He could probably lift it up inside, but he really didn't want to go to the effort at the moment. Instead he leaned against the makeshift aluminum siding of the cart and rubbed at his left shoulder.

“It's not okay,” Linda protested. “We need you able to push a cart!”

Trev couldn't help but shoot his sister a dirty look. It was true, sure, but she could've put it more tactfully after he'd just got finished lugging almost a hundred pounds for 10 miles. “All by myself, huh? What do those weigh, a thousand pounds each?”

“Just with the wheat alone,” his dad confirmed.

Trev winced. The carts had been cleverly made but they still looked fairly heavy. Which meant all told they'd be lucky if two people could manage one for any amount of time, and it would probably require at least three people. Meanwhile the smaller wagons weren't nearly as large or sturdily built as Lewis's, and were each holding 4 sacks of wheat or 200lbs. That weight wouldn't be terrific to haul, but compared to the carts he could almost envy whoever had the job.

Eight people should be enough to manage all that, barely, although they wouldn't be able to rotate out anyone for rests and would all have to take more breaks. But even if it was doable Trev didn't look forward to the grind.

Going on paved, mostly level roads would help with that a lot, but he remembered how difficult the trip up to the hideout had been and couldn't hope that good roads would be enough to make the difference. None of his family were used to walking long distances or hauling heavy loads the way he was, and while they'd adjust in time the first days were going to be brutal.

Still, there was no time like the present to get to it. Trev groaned slightly as he grabbed the makeshift pack he'd lugged all this way and heaved it up onto the cart. “Okay. Let's get going.”

“It's not a race,” his mom said, half stern and half concerned. “We've got a long way to go and you look like you can barely stand.” She handed him a strip of jerky, which must've been hard to trade for with the entire town packing up to move, as well as another water bottle.

Trev knew that. He'd already learned the lesson about not pushing himself numerous times, he just hadn't been thinking clearly since Vernon took the truck. So he accepted the food and sat down against the rubber tire of the cart to get what rest he could as his family continued with the final preparations.

While he was eating a small group of townspeople approached them, including Clara and Deb. “We're getting the caravan together,” the man in the lead called as they closed the final ten yards. “We just wanted to know if you'd be joining us.”

His parents and aunt and uncle stepped forward to meet them halfway. “Depends on where you're headed,” Lucas replied.

The man grimaced. “South. Not following Vernon, though . . . wouldn't mind it if I never saw that guy again. But he was at least right that the blockheads are coming from the north.”

“We're heading west,” Trev's mom said. “We've got family to get to. Although I suppose if any of your people are planning on going that way we'd be happy to travel with them.”

The man glanced back at his neighbors questioningly, then shrugged. “Haven't heard of anyone. I think most of us are going to stick together if we can. Safety in numbers, and even if Vernon tarnished Newtown's reputation I'd still say we've got a good community. One worth keeping together. If anyone is headed west we'll send them your way.”

There were handshakes all around. “I hope you manage to find a safe place to rebuild,” Trev's dad said by way of farewell. “Thank you for your kindness and generosity.”

The town's spokesman grimaced again. “It's an unpleasant situation all around, but you folks seem decent enough. I'm sorry you got dragged into all this, especially when you gave us your trust.”

* * * * *

Fifteen minutes later the family set out, dispirited but determined.

Trev and Jim started out pulling one handcart, aided by Linda pushing from behind, while his dad and uncle hauled the other with Mary pushing from behind and his mom and aunt did their best with the wagons.