EMP 1500 MILES FROM HOME (9 page)

I know Wayne and Julie are not married to each other, and they are not sleeping together, but there is something there. I can feel it. I can see it in the way they look at one another when the other one isn't looking. No, they aren't leering, or anything like that. These are gentle looks that emanate love and caring. Any empath could read them. It is obvious. To me it seems like they were meant to be together. I hope I am not reading anything that isn't there just because I want a mom and dad so badly, but I don't think so.

Wayne

I heard it at first light. I was learning to operate with very little sleep and I doubted I was at my most alert, but it sounded like truck traffic on the highway.

We were camped in a small hollow, out of sight of, and almost a mile from the highway. Julie wanted to stop closer, but something, a feeling maybe, made me insist that we move farther from the road. Now I was glad we had.

We lay concealed and watched as a military convoy moved east toward the mountains. I counted six trucks, five Humvees with mounted 50-caliber machine guns, and two older jeeps. At a minimum, I estimated there could be 13 men. It was more likely there were more than that, possibly up to 70 or so, depending on what the trucks were carrying.

"How did they get those things running?" Julie whispered.

"The military stuff is EMP proof, I think," I said.

"Should we signal them?" Yeti asked. "If they are National Guard, or something, won't they help us?"

"Yeti, do you always trust the government?"

"No," Yeti snorted, "only idiots trust the government." He paused, "Oh, I see what you mean."

"I think we better stay right here for a while. We have enough supplies for the moment." I said. "Please, no shots fired now unless it is absolutely necessary."

"That makes sense," Julie said. "I am beat anyway. I could use the rest, and so can you guys."

Four hours later we heard machine gun fire and sporadic automatic rifle fire. The firefight lasted about six minutes. We had to travel through the mountain pass where the machine gun fire came from unless we ditched the horses and cart and climbed the mountains on foot. But the mountains were low. Maybe the horses could make it?

I had no idea what we would find if we went through the pass. I just knew I had to get across the mountains to get home and I wanted Julie and Yeti safe and with me.

Wayne

We stayed in camp the next day and moved out that night. The moon was only a shiny sliver, but it seemed bright enough in the cloudless sky. Watching carefully for rattlesnakes on the still warm pavement, we made slow but steady progress eastward. An hour before dawn, with a mile to go before the highway began to rise into the pass, we left the road, and sought a concealed campsite. We did not make a fire, nor did we move about during the day. We took turns standing watch and sleeping.

Julie changed the bandage on my shoulder. She said it was red and nasty looking. We didn't have any sterile bandages, so she slathered polysporin cream on my wound, and covered it with a bandage of the cleanest cloth we had. My shoulder still hurt, so Julie improvised a sling for me. The sling helped. She said we should have done that sooner. I wished I had paid more attention when Cap talked about field bandages and field medicine. I also realized that I had exposed myself in my hurry to drop the bad guys. I vowed never to do that again. It was a stupid mistake.

While Yeti slept, Julie and I talked quietly about what lay ahead. We had been climbing in elevation ever since we crossed the Rio Grande. At first trekking wasn’t difficult, but the previous day had been the steepest walking so far. Tomorrow, if we entered the pass, we would have to climb about 1,000 feet in only a mile or two. That would be a hard climb, especially for Yeti. I wasn't sure we could make the entire climb in one day. Julie agreed.

Julie was worried about the horses. She didn't think they were getting enough to eat. We decided to rest the horses and us for another day. We also decided we should move camp even farther from the road with first light the next morning. The nights were now moonless, and, even with a clear sky; starlight wasn't enough for us to safely move about.

Julie and I sat almost back to back as we spoke; whispered really. That way we could watch for approaching trouble all around us. After a while, Julie and I fell silent, each lost in our own thoughts. We had somehow developed that ease with one another that allowed us the quiet times that only long-married couples understand. Lucy and I had that, but none of our same-age friends did. It seemed to me that they all talked incessantly and unnecessarily, but then, after the quiet of the road and the End of the World, small talk seemed even more frivolous than before.

Julie said few people lived near the pass and we were unlikely to see anyone. However, I worried that taking the highway through the pass would make us potential targets if the convoy was camped there, especially because of the gunfire we heard.

I didn't know who they were. Most likely they were a National Guard unit, but it was possible that a gang had stolen equipment and arms from a National Guard armory. If that were the case, then they were just brigands bent on taking what they wanted. I didn't think they were feds, but I wasn't sure. It did seem the convoy was more disorganized than a military convoy would be, but I didn't know if that meant anything.

Whoever they were, they had machine guns and they showed they were willing to use them. If they were camped at the head of the pass, we would have difficulty avoiding them. We had no way of knowing if they were in the pass or not, unless we climbed the mountain to get a view. I didn't think Yeti was capable of that sort of climb, and I wasn't sure I was either. Cap taught me a little about climbing and rope work, but there were no mountains in Indiana to practice on, and we didn't have any climbing rope.

I was sure there were a few Indian trails over the mountains, but we had no idea where they were. This was once Apache territory, and the Apache moved like ghosts on the land. Their trails were often rugged and remote. Even if we could find one, I wasn't sure we would be able to use it. However, the mountains here were fairly low and not nearly as rugged as the mountains along the Front Range in Colorado.

I wasn't worried about how long it might take us to get over the mountains. Cap taught me that it always takes as long as it takes. I was glad he was there to take care of Lucy and Ben. That freed my mind to think about how to get home to them, rather than be consumed by worry and make even more mistakes, even though there were times I could not stop worrying about Lucy and Ben, and how they might be doing.

Our horses were steel-shod. If we took the horses through the pass, the sound of the horse’s hooves on the pavement would telegraph our passage for half a mile, or more, if someone was there to hear.

In Indiana, near where we lived, there are folks who live the old way, without electricity or modern vehicles. You could hear their horse’s hooves on the rural blacktop roads as their buggies passed. I wondered how those folks were doing? Even they depended on many things produced by modern civilization. They were an industrious bunch though. If they needed something, I would bet they would figure out how to make it.

I thought we should silence our horse’s hooves. We could cover the horse’s hooves with wraps of cloth, or something similar. I even wondered about making, for lack of a better term, sandals for the horse’s hooves from old tires. But we didn't have any old tires, and the only strong cloth we had was our blankets.

It was now September, and the nights were growing colder. Losing one of our blankets would be tough, but leaving the horses behind would be a serious setback. The cart carried our food and water, Yeti's chairs, as well as the stuff we had accumulated. If we moved forward on foot without the horses, we would have to leave most of our water, food, guns, and other stuff behind.

I didn't like either alternative. I liked them even less when I once more heard the machine guns in the pass. Julie started at the sound of the guns, as did I. Yeti slept through it all.

"That didn't sound good," I said.

"They are still in the pass."

"Yeah, darn it." We fell back into silence after a bit. Julie was getting sleepy so I told her to turn in. She nodded and rolled up in her blanket.

I decided we should move out before dawn and get farther from the highway and closer to the mountains. If I were in charge of the group in the pass, I would set lookouts to see what might be coming up the road. I had to assume that they had done so. Being closer to the mountain front and away from the road would make us harder to see, as their attention would likely be focused on the highway.

What really puzzled me was why here? From what Julie told me, there were few people around here and few spoils to be had. Well, if they were a military unit charged with imposing martial law, controlling the pass made sense of sorts. If they were an invading army, controlling the pass also made sense. After some thought, I had to admit that there was no way for me to determine their purpose at the moment. I simply had to assume it was bad.

I dug out a small notebook and a pencil and began listing things we should do. First, we needed to be sure that nothing we had, or used, could reflect light that could be seen from a distance. Then, we needed to ensure that everything moved very quietly. Sounds could be heard across the desert for a long way, especially anything that banged or clacked. Of course, camouflage was needed. We needed to show only the colors of the terrain through which we passed. I wasn't sure how we would accomplish that one, or even if we could with what we had. Fortunately, my once white shirt was now a dirty brown and our coats were drab as well.

I sat watching and listening for another four hours. Then Yeti awoke and, after he watered a nearby mesquite bush, took over watch. Julie was still asleep. I told Yeti about the gunfire and warned him to stay quiet. Yeti nodded. I rolled up in my blanket as best I could. It was, as always, too short, but with the jacket, I was fairly comfortable and soon fell asleep. That night I dreamed about 50-caliber machine guns. They were still on my mind when I woke before dawn.

Cap taught me about the 50-caliber machine gun. It is a fearsome weapon that, in the hands of an expert, can take men down at 1650 yards (almost a mile) and is still effective on larger targets at over 2,200 yards (1.25 miles). That means it outranged the Mosin Nagant and the 30-06. Both of these rifles had a maximum-targeted range of maybe 1000 meters, although the bullets would carry up to two miles. If we faced the machine guns, we would lose. Superior armament always wins in a face to face.

In a few minutes we had everything packed and were moving away from the highway. Both Julie and Yeti agreed we should move closer to the mountain, which Julie said was called Whiteface Mountain. In the two hours before dawn, we made about three miles, and then settled into a small arroyo that hid us from view of Highway 60, and, hopefully, the mountaintop.

About two hours after dawn, I snuck out of camp and walked back along the base of the mountain. Julie did the same in the other direction. I made it back to camp almost three hours before Julie. I was starting to get worried when she showed up.

"Did you find anything?" I asked.

"Not really."

"I think I may have found a way. Back about a quarter of a mile a big arroyo cuts into the mountain. I think we might be able to make it to the top of the mountain there, but we will have to pack our stuff on the horses and ditch the cart." I looked at Yeti. "That will make it rough on you."

"That's OK," Yeti said.

"Do we have enough water?" Julie asked.

"I don't know," I said, "we have ten gallons."

"We will have to go on water rations," Julie said. "I haven't heard of any springs on Whiteface Mountain, but then I don't know much about this area."

We spent the day getting our gear ready, making sure we would make as little noise as possible, and show no reflections. We sacrificed one blanket and covered the horse's hooves so the steel shoes wouldn't ring on the rocks. We used the other two blankets to make pack rolls to go over the saddles. The extra guns were more difficult to pack, but we rolled them in extra clothes, inside the blanket rolls. I vowed to try to find some real packsaddles and some canvas, as well as another cart and several more horses when I could.

Our food supply was getting low but it was too dangerous to hunt because the sound of a rifle shot could bring trouble. Julie said we had enough food for three days. Our water would last no longer. That meant we had three days to cross the mountain. It wasn't a big or particularly rugged range, but it would be easy to run into trouble if we weren't careful.

We decided to start when the stars were out. We hoped there would be enough starlight to reach the arroyo, and then make our way far enough up the arroyo to be safely out of sight. Once in the arroyo, we would hole up and wait for morning.

After the stars came out, we made our way to the mouth of the arroyo, and then walked a good distance up the arroyo before stopping. We took turns standing watch and getting a few hours sleep. Julie and I let Yeti sleep the longest since he would need the most energy to make the climb. Yeti was dropping weight, but he still had a long way to go. I was sure he would eventually lose the weight, if we lived long enough.

With first light we moved out again. We only had a couple of miles to cover to get there, but the rise was around a thousand feet per mile. That worked out to a climb of almost one foot for every five feet we walked, certainly not the steepest gradient, but still very tiring—especially for Yeti.

Julie led the horses while I walked point. Yeti followed the horses, sometimes holding on to the last horse's tail to make it up a particularly steep section.

As we climbed I saw clouds forming. There was something about them that made me nervous. Soon they were gray and rising.

"We are in for a rain," Julie said.

"I hope it isn't a thunderstorm like the one I saw when I drove from Albuquerque to Socorro."

"I am afraid it may be bad. See how fast the clouds are rising and this is still morning. Usually rain comes in the afternoon."

"Should we take cover?"

Julie studied the clouds a bit more. "Yes, I think so."

I looked around for a good spot and saw none. "Yeti," I said. "Do you see a good spot for us to find protection from rain?"

Yeti looked around. "No, I don't. I wish we had the cart. We could use it for shelter. I am guessing we don't want to be on a high spot because of lightning, and, if the storm dumps a lot of water, we may not want to be in the arroyo bottom. He pointed to a pair of large rocks about ten feet apart midway up the slope. "Let's go there.”

Soon we had the horses tethered between the rocks. We draped our largest plastic tarp over the tallest rock to make a low tent. Yeti placed big rocks on the edge of the tent while Julie hobbled the horses. The clouds were growing darker while we worked. I placed our most necessary gear under the tarp. I put head-sized rocks under the upslope end of the ground tarp and then used more rocks to weight it down. I hoped that would keep water off of our ground tarp under our makeshift tent.

I hoped the hobbles and the tether line would be enough to keep the horses from bolting during the storm. I could already hear thunder in the distance and soon we saw lightning flashes.

I picked my rifle up to put it under the tarp when I saw a stream of sparks move from the ground to the rifle barrel. The static electricity made my hair stand on end.

"Wayne, put the rifle down," Yeti said. "The charge is building and the rifle could cause a lightning strike."

I put the rifle down beside a rock and followed Julie and Yeti under the tarp. The storm rolled in quickly. Soon the rain was beating at the tarp and thunder came almost instantly on the heels of every lightning strike.