Shortage (Best Laid Plans Book 2) (12 page)

He wanted to go after him, but he knew his dad was right that he was needed here. All they could do was pray, pray and trust that he knew what he was doing.

Chapter Six

Moving On

The first storm lasted for just under two days.

Lewis and Trev endured it restlessly in the small confines of their hideout, only popping out for firewood, to use the outhouse, or to check around during lulls. When it finally ended they emerged to a world covered with snow, with iron gray clouds still brooding over the mountains. It was impossible not to admire the wild beauty of the scene, but the lingering clouds warned of the possibility of more snow to come and encouraged them to make the best use they could of the time they had.

Their first priority was to take what they'd learned from conditions during the storm to set things up more comfortably, as well as clearing trails in snow that was already a few feet deep to the outhouse and the woodpile and icehouse.

After he'd packed fairly decent if narrow trails Trev got to work transferring the woodpile over to within easy reach right next to the lean-to, while Lewis threw together a crude screen in front of the hideout's doorway so the snow wouldn't pile up in it and force them to dig their way out every time they needed to make their way outside. His cousin also cut lengths of rope and stretched them at waist height between the hideout and the necessary locations, so even if a storm got bad enough to pose the risk of them getting lost they could follow the ropes where they needed to go.

Their hasty modifications and adjustments took most of a day, and they were just settling in to enjoy some venison steaks when growing gusts of wind rattling the new screen outside the hideout confirmed that another storm had blown in.

This one lasted less than a day, although it deposited another several inches of snow, and when it finally ended the day dawned clear and cold.

That cold wasn't enough to deter them. With little to do aside from wait and plan Trev and his cousin had agreed that once it was clear they should get back to searching for food. Foraging was going to be difficult to the point of impossibility with the snow, but they could still try fishing and hunting. It wasn't all bad, either, because the snow would reveal tracks and allow them to set snares or follow big game. They'd both seen rabbits in the area so they knew there were warrens nearby, and traps were just what they needed there.

Lewis had learned how to do most of the standard snares and spent some time during the storm teaching Trev. Trev was ready to try setting them along any rabbit tracks he discovered, but they'd agreed that since he had more experience with fishing he'd make his way down to the river and see if he could catch anything while Lewis did a search around the hideout for any signs of game he could hunt or trap.

His cousin's leg was healed enough for some exertion, and Lewis insisted now was the time to start pushing himself a bit to keep his muscles stretched. There was no saying how many chances they'd have to get out when the snows got deep enough to make moving around difficult, even with the snowshoes they'd brought.

So Trev finished checking his Mini-14 to make sure it hadn't gummed up or anything in the cold, then grabbed his fishing pole and blazed a trail to the gap in the cliffs where he'd climb down. He took it very, very slowly, aware of how treacherous snow would make the gap and then the steep mountainside below, which had been treacherous enough beforehand. It took him what felt like forever to wind his way down through the thick tangle of deadfall and trees to Huntington River, and he didn't see any signs of animal tracks along the way. He dearly hoped the fish were biting to make this trip worth it.

When he reached the river, however, all thoughts of fish vanished.

A bit down the road to the south, on the other side of the river, there was a turnoff with a sign of information for fishermen. A few tents had been set up around the sign, as if in some vain hope it might offer shelter from the storm. Trev pulled out his binoculars to check the tents and what he saw worried him.

For one thing the snow piled around them confirmed that they'd been there since the storm began yesterday, and he didn't see any sign of tracks. And even though it was late morning he saw no signs of anyone stirring. There was no sign of a campfire, either.

The temperature had dropped sharply with the storm, enough that for the first time since arriving Trev had donned his full set of winter gear, including ski goggles. Part of him hoped that these refugees were just late sleepers reluctant to venture out into the cold, but in the back of his mind a sense of dread was building that those meager tents weren't enough to offer any sort of protection from the cold, and if the people inside hadn't come equipped for the sudden storm it might have sealed their fate.

Caution urged him to head back up to the hideout and report this to Lewis, but at the same time if those people were in serious trouble he wasn't sure they could afford that sort of delay. So he made his way to the ice-crusted rocks they regularly used to cross the river and hopped across them, being extra slow and cautious to avoid the disaster of falling into icy water.

Then he unslung his rifle and started forward quickly but cautiously, alert for any signs of people emerging from the tent or approaching along the road. He didn't see anyone, and it was unlikely there'd be too many travelers during a storm, but unlikely wasn't impossible.

Although he had the urge to call out he kept quiet, and moved quietly as he approached. He wasn't sure if that was to avoid risk if these refugees were unfriendly or because he was secretly bracing himself for the sad sight of tents full of frozen corpses.

He'd come within twenty feet of the still camp when he abruptly froze, ears picking up the softest murmur of conversation from the tents. The noise filled him with a surge of relief, and he cautiously moved a bit closer.

“Come on, Jen,” a man was urging. “The storm has stopped and the sun is out. We need to get up. We need to see if everyone else is all right and then keep moving. If we stay here we'll die.”

A weak, listless woman's voice replied. “If we go out into the cold we'll die too. I'm freezing even next to you in the blankets. Can't we at least wait until afternoon when it's warmer?”

“What if it doesn't get any warmer? Or what if there's another storm? Our only hope of survival is getting out of these mountains. It'll be warmer down in Sanpete Valley, and they might have the help for us we couldn't find in Huntington.”

Trev wasn't sure if Jen's response was a sharp catch of breath or a quickly held back sob. “We won't make it. No food, not enough warm clothing, already exhausted, and now we'll have snow to trudge through.” There was a long, miserable pause before she continued. “Let's just stay in here, Peter. No matter what we do we're going to die. We might as well be together and as warm as possible when the end comes.”

The two fell silent, and Trev slowly backed away for a while before turning and trotting back to the crossing. He had nothing to offer aside from the clothes on his back, which he wasn't about to give, but as dire as the camp's situation sounded it didn't seem like they were in danger of dying within the next hour.
Now
it was time to go back to the hideout and talk to Lewis.

He took the trail a bit quicker on the return trip, although he still moved cautiously, and when he reached the hideout he left the fishing pole and bucket by the door and hurriedly followed his cousin's tracks south along the meadow.

About five minutes later he found Lewis crouched beside some distinctive rabbit tracks breaking the pristine untouched snow in a line as far as his eye could follow. His cousin was using a nearby branch to set up a snare across the tracks. Trev hurriedly caught up to him and explained the refugee situation down below.

To his relief Lewis immediately straightened, wincing slightly at his wounded leg. “Let's gather up as much firewood as we can carry, and enough food to keep them going for a few days. We can also give them those coats and the axe you took from the bandits. They'll need it to chop firewood.”

Trev nodded and led the way back to the hideout, where they quickly got to work. When he'd been carrying firewood during the lull between the two storms he'd debated building a sled, but since the snow was still shallow enough that he could still trudge through it he'd elected to construct a carrying frame instead.

He'd used the simple, effective design people had used for hundreds or even thousands of years, with long sturdy sticks bound together with twine in parallel L-shapes that he could pile firewood high on, then use more twine to tie everything in place and keep it from falling loose. More rope with padding made straps so he could wear it like a backpack, which allowed him to carry about five times as much as he could holding a load in his arms and only took a bit longer to load and unload.

While Lewis loaded up a backpack of food and a few other necessities they could spare, along with the coats and axe, Trev filled the frame with as much firewood as he thought he could carry while going down the steep path and trying to cross the rocks. When he was ready to set out he noticed his cousin rolling up the deerskin they'd gotten from his buck to also give the refugees.

Lewis had spent the last couple weeks cleaning and curing the hide as best he knew how and had seemed fairly satisfied with the end product, even talking about making moccasins and belts and other things from it. Looking at it now Trev hoped it would help keep the refugees warm.

Satisfied they had as much as they could manage, Trev led the way back through the gap and down the mountainside to the river, then opted to be the first to cross over the rocks. It was more than a little tricky picking his way over the slick surfaces while dealing with the slightly unbalanced load of firewood, but somehow he managed it. Lewis came next, even more uncertain on his wounded leg, and there was a frightening moment halfway across when he started to slip and had to take a quick step to the next rock to catch himself. If he'd slipped again he would've been in the river, but luckily his footing stayed firm.

“Do we announce our presence?” Trev asked as they followed his set of tracks towards the tent.

His cousin hesitated. “I'd say let's just leave the stuff and go, but they could follow our tracks if they were really curious. Let's have a little conversation and make sure they know their best bet is to get out of the mountains before winter traps them in.”

The camp remained eerily still as they approached, but now Trev could hear conversations in all the tents, and even a bit of talking back and forth between tents. When Lewis called a greeting the talking died down at once, and a moment later a shivering man wrapped in a blanket stumbled out of a tent, holding a walking stick defensively.

Lewis helped Trev shrug out of the frame and drop the firewood to the ground. “We're going to light a fire and get some venison cooking, okay?”

The man opened his mouth as if fumbling for a response. “What?”

“We've got canned food that you'll have an easier time preparing, but better to save that for the road.” His cousin began kicking a space clear of snow while Trev got the smallest sticks and bits of bark he could find out for kindling.

It was starting to dawn on the man, and he looked at the backpack and firewood with desperate hope. “Those are for us?”

A few other men were ducking out of tents, with women and a few children crowding the doors staring out with wide eyes. Most had light jackets, sweaters, or blankets, with only a few real winter coats to be seen. Trev thought Lewis looked slightly uncomfortable at suddenly finding themselves outnumbered, but none of the men seemed unfriendly. Actually they all looked cold and weak, and the most common expressions on those unshaven faces was shock.

“As much as we could spare,” Lewis confirmed. “It should help get you to Fairview, if you hurry before another storm hits.”

As his cousin continued working on the fire Trev unloaded the backpack, handing out the food, coats, deerskin, fire starters, and axe. It felt a bit strange to be giving a potential weapon to a perfect stranger, and as if realizing it the man quickly set it down beside a tent.

Within ten minutes they had a good fire going and venison steaks skewered on sticks cooking over the flames. As they worked the refugees explained their situation, which was nothing surprising to Trev. They'd come down from American Fork, sent to Huntington by FETF. But when they arrived they were dismayed to find that along with the few hundred people the Task Force had sent there were already over a thousand other refugees there, and the town didn't have much to spare. After a bit of discussion they'd decided to try their luck going over the mountains into Sanpete, which was reputedly greener and had more available food.

The residents of Huntington had warned the sixteen people that they'd have to hurry to get over the Manti-La Sal range before getting snowed in, and there'd been refugees coming along Highway 31 from Sanpete that refuted the rumors of bounties to the west of the mountains, but with no other available options they'd decided to go and hope they'd find a solution.

It was a miracle none of them had died when the storms hit, forcing them to huddle together for warmth in the inadequate tents and hope for some relief. As the refugees were quick to express, with fervent gratitude, that relief had come in the form of Trev and Lewis and their offerings.

Once the venison was cooking Trev and Lewis bid the group farewell and left them gathered around the fire warming themselves by the flames and salivating over the roasting meat. Together they trudged back the way they'd come with just the empty backpack, since Trev had left the simple carrying frame behind for the refugees to use.