Ever Onward (52 page)

Sipping his coffee, he watched the
morning mist burn off Cottonwood Mountain. To the north, Bear
Mountain was lost in the clouds. The little town of Sandberg was
over there, nestled in the whispering pines like something out of a
Zane Grey western. The Pacific Crest Scenic Trail passed right down
the main street. Before the Change, hardy backpackers used it as a
supply drop. The hikers were now long gone, as were all but two of
the original one hundred and seven inhabitants. Faith Cummings and
her father George still ran the general store. Even now Des, Nate
and five others were on their way there for supplies. The
Desperadoes were their biggest customers.

Thinking of the name always made Sam
smile.
‘Desperadoes’
. More Zane Grey, with a touch of
spaghetti-western thrown in. All they needed was Clint Eastwood to
ride up in a poncho chewing a black cheroot.
"

Yet, in his own way, Desmond Bardow
fit the bill perfectly. Tall, lean, silent, with a hang-dog
expression more reminisant of Gary Cooper than Dirty Harry. Still,
it was Des Bardow that held the band together. Hence the name,
Desperadoes. The cabin they now used had belonged to Des and his
brother. Des was the sole owner now.

Shirley Bates, the nurse Pussbag had
found way back on Day One, joined Sam on the porch. The smell of
fresh bread followed her out the door. Marla Stevens, one of
several women living at the camp, had started baking before
dawn.

“A penny for your
thoughts.”

Sam smiled. “You trying to bribe me,
lady?”

Shirley brushed a wayward strand of
mousy brown hair out of her eyes. “They’ll be fine, Sam. Sandberg’s
safe. I doubt the Sweep Teams even know it exists.”

“Sure,” Sam said. “Just like they
didn’t know about Lebec.”

Shirley frowned. “Lebec was just five
miles off the highway. Sandberg’s 35 or 40 miles away.” He still
blames himself, she thought, wishing she could ease his
pain.

Two weeks ago one of Jocco’s sweep
teams had burnt the little village of Lebec to the ground, killing
or enslaving all 27 inhabitants. Their only crime was that they
were suspected of sympathizing with the rebels.

'Rebels, hell!, Sam thought. All we
are is a few scattered groups hiding out in the mountains. Sure,
now and then we take a few shots at Jocco’s troops, or those
bastards, the tax guards, but most of the time we just scramble
around playing Davy Crocket!'

That, however, was far from true.
Before Lt. Sam Waterton joined them, the Desperadoes and the other
groups had disrupted Jocco’s plans on a hit and miss basis. Since
Sam’s arrival that ‘disruption’ had increased ten fold. Emboldened
by Sam’s success, the other groups in the area had stepped up their
own attacks. Don Paxton’s bunch now regularly patrolled Los Padres
National Forest and Jim Carroll’s band had been responsible for the
raid in Bakersfield. The Army of the Dark Stranger was getting very
pissed-off.

Hence the burning of Lebec.

Sam walked over to the coral. Cloud,
the Appaloosa mare, came up to him expecting an apple. Des and the
rest of them had more horses than vehicles. Since there weren’t
many roads in this rugged country, horses seemed like the best form
of transportation. Besides, Jocco’s troops traveled in trucks, and
even when they did venture off the roads, in the mountains a horse
could beat a four-wheel every time. The only problem was that he
still couldn’t ride worth shit. He didn’t fall off much anymore,
but his ass always hurt for days.

Cloud nudged him again, slobbering in
the remains of his coffee. “Shit!”, Sam said, not really
angry.

Shirley chuckled behind him. She liked
it here. Then again, she’d like it anywhere away from Jocco! The
very thought of that sadistic bastard made her skin crawl. When Sam
had told her six months ago that he wanted to make a break for it,
she had gladly agreed. The fact that they’d both probably end up
nailed to a telephone pole on Sunset Blvd. only made her more
determined than ever not to be taken alive.

Ever since China Lake, Jocco had
played them off against each other. If one caused trouble, the
other would pay for it. Both had been forced to teach their
respective trades; nursing and flying. Sam had taken it for as long
as he could, but when it looked like his student pilots were about
to graduate up to bombers, he’d decided enough was enough. He’d
tried to make light of it, but she had seen the fear in his eyes
--- eyes that she had secretly come to love.

And so, six months ago, they had
forged passes, stolen a jeep and headed north. They’d made it as
far as Castaic Lake in Angeles National Forest when they ran out of
gas. After that they’d walked. They were cooking breakfast in a
road-side rest area when two men and a woman on horseback suddenly
appeared. All were heavily armed. Shirley and Sam had two choices;
fight or invite them to breakfast. Wisely they chose the
latter.

That was how they’d first met Des
Bardow and his Desperadoes. The name still made her think of a
sixties rock band. Sally and the Slugs; Jimmy and the Jets; Des and
the Desperadoes. Yet she knew she was being unfair. Des was a good
man. He’d taken them in even before he knew she was a nurse and Sam
was in the military. Good, simple folk trying to do the best they
could. Sam, however, had changed them from a rag-tag bunch of coon
hunters to a crack gorilla unit. Hardly a week went by without some
highly organized action against Jocco or that slimy little shit
Pinkton. But Sam had been pushing himself too hard. He looked tired
and thin and --- and driven. Striking back at Jocco was all he
thought about, and, to Shirley’s dismay, all he seemed to care
about.

“I still don’t like it,” Sam muttered,
now letting Cloud’s thick tongue finish off the rest of his coffee.
“I should have gone with them.”

Shirley casually looped her hand
through his arm. A tingle passed through her, but she thought she
hid it well. “You can’t do everything yourself. They’ll be back in
a day or two. Des knows the way and Nate’s with them. He told me to
make you take it easy.” ‘Take him fishing or something’ were Nate’s
exact words. The old eccentric had had that twinkle in his eye when
he said it too. Nate knows I love Sam, she thought; but then that
old coot doesn’t miss much. Not like SOME I could name!

She leaned a little closer.
Sam didn’t notice. Part of his mind was planning the next skirmish
with Jocco’s troops, while another part was worrying about his own
group over in Sandberg.

Eddy lowered the fieldglasses. “Looks
quiet enough, Jess. I vote we go in.”

Jessie Williams continued to study the
little town through his own glasses. Gone was the once gangly boy
with the unruly mop of blond hair. In his place was a tall,
broad-shouldered young man with weathered skin and a hard set to
his mouth. Both lean and lethal, Jessie now watched the world
through hunter’s eyes. Nearly a year on the road had robbed him of
more than his youth --- it had taken his innocence as
well.

The little town of Sandberg lay before
him. A gas station at the far end. Several stores, mostly empty. In
front of one an old man sat in a rocking chair. A cat was on the
man’s lap. Jessie didn’t see any weapons. Nothing else moved. He
spoke into a small walkie-talkie, listened to a female voice
respond, then continued to survey the town.

Eddy grinned. “Christ, Jess, you’re
getting as cautious as your old man.”

Cold, blue eyes washed over him. Eddy
was reminded of a hawk he’d once seen up close. “Maybe, but we’re
all still alive.”

Minutes later, Jess and Eddy moved
silently back down to the waiting convoy. Guards were posted front,
center and back. This close to a town, even one as small as
Sandberg, everybody was on yellow alert. Enrico waved at them, then
turned back to watching the three vehicles.

Bobby Stewart met them. “Gas station
working?”

Jess shrugged.

“See anyone besides the old man?”,
Cobb asked.

Jess shook his head.

Bobby appealed to Josh. “We need gas
bad.”

“Foods running low too,” Flame put in.
“I’m getting damned sick of peanutbutter.”

Josh, looking both leaner and older,
turned to Cobb. The ex-cop shrugged. Josh read the gesture and
smiled at his son. “You call it, Jessie.”

Jess looked up at the sky. Grey clouds
obscured the mountains ringing them in. “Looks like rain. Be good
to have a roof over out head for a change.”

Eddy grinned and gave the ‘thumbs up’
sign.

Like separate cogs on a well greased
machine, each moved swiftly to their assigned place. Within
minutes, the three vehicles were ready to roll. Like everything
else the group did, the line of march was well thought out. Josh,
Jessie and Flame up front in the Westfalia. Og the pup, much bigger
now, went with them. Eddy’s blue van, along with two newcomers,
Rick and Suzy, followed at a distance. Cobb, Bobby and two more
newcomers, Enrico and a stunning blonde named Gretta, brought up
the rear.

Bobby’s towtruck had long since been
replaced by a Light Armored Vehicle. The long, steel-plated truck,
complete with electronic radar, rotating machineguns and a 50 mm.
armor-piercing cannon, was a battle-ship on wheels. Both the L.A.V.
and the four new members had come from Nevada.

After loosing Rambo’s trail five
months ago near San Francisco, increasing numbers of Jocco’s
soldiers had forced Josh and his group to either turn around or
head east. They chose east. In Carson City, Nevada, they met John
Cartwright. Cartwright, a rugged, silver haired rancher, had
gathered together over fifty other survivors and was living on a
large ranch they laughingly called the Ponderosa. Though there was
no Hoss or Little Joe, there were plenty of cattle and guns. The
cattle came from the open ranges; the guns came from Nellis Air
Force Base.

Cartwright had made them welcome and
invited them to stay. Road-weary and dispirited, the small group
had accepted the offer and stayed the winter. In the spring, they
had resumed their search for the one-eyed man. Traveling west, they
now found themselves just outside the sleepy little village of
Sandburg.

Josh turned to Flame. “Check with the
LAV. See what Gretta’s got on the radar.”

Flame fiddled with the radio Cobb had
installed. After a few snaps, crackles and pops, Gretta’s Swedish
accent filled the airways. “Looks good, Josh. Nothing moving on the
screen.”

Jessie let the Westfalia slowly roll
up to the old man in the rocker. Josh slid open the side door and
stepped out, a smile on his bearded face. Flame, beaming from the
passenger’s seat, held her Smith & Wesson cocked across her
lap. Eddy’s van idled at the end of the street. Cobb in the LAV
waited just over the hill.

“Hi there,” Josh grinned. After
introducing himself, he asked about the gas. George Cummings, a
weathered sixty-seven and plagued by arthritis, nodded.

“Plenty of gas. Trouble is no
power.”

“We’ve got a portable generator,” Josh
replied.

The older man stroked his stubbled
chin. “It’ll still cost you.”

Josh smiled. “You take Mastercard or
American Express?”

George chuckled, then leaned forward
in his rocker but made no attempt to rise. The cat uncoiled from
his lap. All three of them saw the revolver stuck in his belt.
“Fresh meat’s what I need. A body gets mighty sick of pork n’
beans.”

“And peanut butter,” Flame put in.
George smiled in her direction.

“You live here alone?”, Josh
asked.

A hard glint flashed in the old man’s
eyes. “Mostly. Some friends from up yonder drop in now and again.
They usually bring a deer. I’m partial to venison.”

Inside the Westfalia the radio
crackled. Eddy was getting impatient.

“Might as well tell your friends to
come on in,” George grinned. “If there was going to be any
gun-play, it’d of happened by now.”

Josh looked at the old man closely,
then nodded to his son. “Tell Eddy it’s all clear. Cobb as
well.”

George turned and waved. From the
doorway behind him a young woman immerged. She was dressed in jeans
and a red flannel shirt, and carried a double barreled
shotgun.

“My daughter, Faith,” George beamed.
“Sorry about the gun, but we live in hard times.”

“
We do indeed, my friend”,
Josh agreed sadly. “We do indeed.”

Later that day Josh sat with George on
the front porch sipping Southern Comfort that the younger man had
opened after dinner. George regarded the amber liquid in his glass,
took another sip, then set it aside. “Lord, but that does go down
smooth!”

“Have another?”, Josh asked, going to
refill the older man’s glass.

“No thanks. Two’s my limit. Any more
and Faith will take a broom to me.”

Josh capped the bottle and took out
his pipe. The sound of hammering reached them. Besides the deer
George had wanted, the price for filling the three vehicles,
especially the LAV, had been the portable generator and someone to
fix a leak in the store roof. Jessie and Rick were up there now
nailing on new shingles. From inside the store came a softer sound
--- feminine laughter. Hearing it, George’s eyes
glistened.