Shortage (Best Laid Plans Book 2) (7 page)

There was no sign of them, but he did see two men and a woman from the refugee group crossing the bridge over the river below and peering up in his direction. They must have heard the shots and had found the courage to investigate them. As he watched the redheaded woman leading the group reached down to draw the pistol at her hip.

Trev ducked back down and scuttled across the clearing in a crouch, then began climbing up the hill to where his cousin waited.

“What is it?” Lewis demanded, painfully craning his neck to peer down the slope behind Trev.

“Refugees on their way to see what's going on.” Trev slung his .223 over his shoulder, then the G3, noting that in spite of Lewis's state not a drop of blood had touched it. Finally after a quick check around to make sure he hadn't left anything he crouched and did his best to help his cousin to his feet, offering him his free shoulder. “Do you need a crutch?”

“It's not too far up to the road. If you can get me there you should be able to drag me the rest of the way. It'll lead anyone following nearly straight to our hideout, but we'll worry about covering our tracks once we get closer.” Lewis set his mouth in a thin line and hopped up the slope, doing his best not to put weight on his leg. Trev stumbled forward as well, nearly losing his balance in the slick deadfall, and his cousin hopped again.

Somehow they managed to make their way up through the trees along the steep slope, laboriously climbing over deadfall and through densely clumped blockages of evergreen branches. The entire time Lewis hissed out quick, labored breaths and his face got paler and paler. It seemed like an eternity they stumbled along, and Trev even heard a few shouts from the refugees now far below them. He ignored the noise, although with every step he expected to hear a gunshot from the redheaded woman's pistol to accompany it, or maybe a bloodcurdling shriek as one of the two remaining bandits caught up to them and attacked from behind a tree.

Neither of those things happened. Maybe the investigating refugees saw the scene of the ambush and decided to get out of there before they were next, and for all he knew the two remaining bandits might still be running south like he'd assured Lewis.

At last they reached the road, and Trev felt a bit less urgent as he used some straight sticks to splint Lewis's leg. Once he'd done the best he could they rested it on the bundle of coats and bandit weapons and tied it tight. Lewis, true to his penchant of always being prepared, had popped a few painkillers he'd had in his pouch and was slumped in an awkward laying-down position on the road, face still pale.

Trev felt like a bit of a jerk as he pulled his cousin's arms up above his head and tied his wrists-over the sleeves to avoid welts-to the stock and barrel of the G3, but he couldn't think of any other way to pull him. Thanks to a week of pulling wagons it didn't feel particularly tiring dragging his cousin's weight over the dirt, grass, and for some better stretches snow, pulling him along by the weapon's strap. It also wasn't nearly as quick as he would've liked and left a huge flat track behind them, but there wasn't much he could do about that aside from frequently check their back trail to make sure nobody was sneaking up on them.

He wasn't sure he was mentally ready for another fight, but he knew he had to be for his cousin's sake.

* * * * *

Her group had immediately scattered in all directions when they heard the gunshots. Even after realizing that none of those shots seemed to be aimed at them and two men were fleeing south along the river everyone remained in cover, doing their best to hold a heated whispered debate about what to do. Most had wanted to just turn back and look for another way to go, while others insisted that gunshots or not Highway 31 was the
only
way to go and they had to find a way forward.

Jane Mathers had had de facto leadership of the group fall into her lap, just when she was least emotionally and mentally prepared to take it on, but there was no choice but to rise to the challenge. So she convinced middle aged Tom Harding, the only other person in the group with a gun, in his case an old .22 rifle, to come with her to check the gunshots out. When Tom agreed to go 15 year old Alvin, his son and the only other man in the group, insisted on coming as well.

She thought she'd seen hints of movement around the log on the slope above, although everyone had been so worried about hiding for the first few minutes that nobody had seen much, and by the time they calmed down the gunshots had ceased.

Although she was afraid it was suicide to check it out, especially as they crossed the bridge and she saw a man duck out of sight behind the log before she'd even managed to draw her pistol, she knew that if they didn't their forward progress would cease. At that point they'd either have to backtrack and find another way or go all the way back to Fairview.

They couldn't go back to Fairview. Only starvation waited for them there. So they'd just have to be careful as they checked this out.

It didn't take long to climb high enough up the slope to clearly see the ground below the log and what lay there, and once she'd gotten a good look Jane paused to tuck a strand of red hair behind her ear. It was that or scream out loud at the sight of bodies. These men had definitely been the targets of the gunshots, and by the looks of it things hadn't gone well at all for them.

The moment she got her shock under control she immediately dropped into a crouch, yelling to her companions. “Get down!” As they hurried to comply she felt her heart in her throat, expecting a shot to ring out at any moment. She'd been afraid this was what they'd find when they investigated the gunshots, but since they had to follow the road right beneath the spot there hadn't been much choice but to either check it out or go back the way they came.

Whoever had the skills and firepower to take out these men could just as easily attack her group, so Jane couldn't think of much to do aside from confront the problem directly. “Hello?” she shouted, cautiously climbing the rest of the way up to the log but keeping it between her and anything higher up. “Whoever you are, we're friendly!” She really, really hoped the people she was talking to could say the same.

Uneasy seconds passed. Jane tried shouting a few more times, trying to get a response, but there was only the eerie rustle of wind in the trees around them. Finally Tom awkwardly climbed his way up to her on the steep hillside, still doing his best to stay low. “Think they're gone?”

Jane gave him a dubious look. “You think whoever it was would just shoot a bunch of guys then walk away?”

She almost yelled at the fool when he abruptly snapped his arm up over the log and into view of the hillside above, waving frantically. No gunshot sounded, and after a moment he slid over to a different spot and cautiously poked his head up, doing his best to see without exposing himself too much. “Two dead up there. That makes five when you add them to the three on the slope below the log, and none of them have guns. Also some of their coats are gone. I think whoever killed them has already been and left.”

That made sense to Jane, considering the man she'd seen had probably been looting the bodies. And since no one had fired a shot at them yet and they'd given some fairly good opportunities for that she figured it was as safe as she could hope for. So she also cautiously lifted her head above the log, looking the two men over. Almost immediately she gasped, eyes locked on one of the men slumped against the log farther down. “That's Dad's snowsuit!”

The reason leadership of the group had fallen into her lap was because the former leader, her dad Mitch, had gone out scouting a few days ago and hadn't come back. He'd had the group's only large caliber rifle with him, a good bolt action .30-30 with a scope, along with the black and gray camouflaged snowsuit she was looking at now.

When he'd disappeared there'd been no sound of gunshots or anything else to suggest what had happened to him, and since they didn't know exactly where he was scouting they couldn't really go looking, either. Especially if there were enemies lurking up on the mountainsides to the left and right of the road, since that would mean either leaving the group vulnerable to attack or putting the searchers into the same danger her dad had run into. And he was lifelong gun nut and a pretty amazing shot.

She'd tied her stomach in knots worrying about him ever since, checking the hillsides to either side for his return as much as for signs of enemies. Now, looking at his winter gear on a dead man's body, she finally had to accept the horrible truth she'd resisted all this time.

Her dad was dead.

The breath went out of her in something between a gasp and a sob, and Jane curled herself up behind the log in a fetal position, doing her best not to make any noise. Her world was crashing down around her, but that didn't change the danger she and the others were in. A few moments later she felt strong arms around her, as Tom mumbled awkward but sincere condolences.

He should've known her better than to offer her any comfort, since her usual response to these kinds of situations was to seek solitude. But maybe he was doing it for his own sake as much as Jane's; he'd been her dad's close friend for years. Either way in her current state it was hard not to snap at him.

She firmly pushed the older man away and stood, throwing caution to the wind. They'd seen no sign of whoever had killed these men, and anyway the enemy of her enemies was her friend. She hoped. Drawing her Glock she began cautiously checking the bodies. They all seemed to be dead, their wounds taken during the firefight.

Jane had a hard time feeling sympathy for their fate after what they'd done to her dad, especially since a quick look down at the road confirmed what she'd feared during the climb, that this was an ideal spot to ambush anyone passing below. These men had been planning to attack her group same as they'd attacked her dad, she was sure of it, and with his rifle and whatever weapons they'd already had it would've been a massacre.

No gunshots rang out from their hidden benefactors as she made her way over to the man in the snowsuit, trying to hide how it made her skin crawl to see a face other than her dad's wearing it. A closer inspection of the body confirmed that on top of the bloodstains from the two bullet wounds he'd taken there was also a torn patch and a much larger bloodstain on the suit's back, as if from a stab wound.

That seemed confirmation enough of Mitch's fate. Jane went very still, unable to look away from the torn patch for what could've been seconds or minutes.

Sometime later she pulled herself together to find that Tom and Alvin had gathered the bandits' packs and any other useful gear they'd been carrying to bring back to the group. There was valuable stuff there, even a little food in the form of cans of beans and jars of peanut butter. Tom even convinced her to let his son have the snowsuit, and in spite of the thought of being torn with grief every time she looked at it Jane had to admit that the young man needed the warm clothing, so she agreed.

As she and Alvin packed up the first load of supplies to bring to the group Tom went to investigate some footprints he'd discovered in a shaded and snowy part of the hill. While he did Jane gave the clearing behind the log one last look.

“It's hard to believe that this could've been us getting robbed or even massacred if these men had had their way,” she mused to herself.

Alvin heard her and shivered slightly. “Are you sure you saw someone?”

She gave him a surprised look. “Of course I did. The guns are gone, right?”

The young man nodded. He looked almost like a kid, or at least more of a kid, as he glanced around uneasily. “It's just, well, it's Halloween, right? And you always hear old Native American legends about haunted mountains and ancient curses. Maybe some spirit sensed their evil intent and took them out.”

Jane chuckled, trying to hide her sudden uneasiness. “The Spirit of Huntington River?” she asked. She glanced up at the early afternoon sun. “Come on, it's broad daylight. Don't try to spook me with ghost stories.” In spite of her flippant response she found herself thinking back to the man she'd seen. He'd been so silent and had disappeared so suddenly, but he certainly hadn't been see through!

“If it's a ghost then it's one that bleeds,” Tom abruptly said, picking his way across the clearing. “There's a stump up there with a lot of bloody snow around it. Either the bandits had someone up there or our friend got hurt protecting us.”

Jane hesitated, torn. It seemed pretty clear the “spirit” didn't want anything to do with them, and seeking him out to offer help might just cause trouble. It was probably better to thank their good fortune and be satisfied with her dad's death avenged, small consolation as that was in her grief.

“Let's get this stuff back to the group,” she said, starting down the slope. The other two were quick to follow.

* * * * *

It took almost twice as long to get Lewis back to the hideout as it had taken for them to trail the bandits, even at the leisurely pace the seven men had set. Trev had hurried as much as he could without jarring his cousin's wound, but all the time he'd secretly dreaded what would happen when they got home.

He would have to dig the pellets out of Lewis's leg, clean the wounds, then bind them up again. It wasn't squeamishness that worried him but that he would do something wrong and worsen his cousin's condition. Or, even worse, would discover that the wounds were more severe than they'd thought and there was nothing he could do. After convincing his cousin to protect the refugees he would never forgive himself if Lewis suffered permanent injury because of it.