Shortage (Best Laid Plans Book 2) (20 page)

Apparently the massive refugee camp just north of Price had been suffering major problems with starvation, finding clean water, poor sanitation, and crime, and for all their efforts the FETF coordinators there couldn't seem to provide any relief. The supplies they'd brought when they arrived were long since gone, leaving them to deal with an impossible situation. Sort of like the situation in Aspen Hill on a much larger scale.

Unfortunately because of the poor conditions sickness had broken out in the camp. The local and FETF doctors had identified it as some type of flu, but whether it was a mild strain preying on the already weakened people in camp or a more virulent strain that had been brought by some group of refugees or possibly even the relief convoy itself, no one could say.

What couldn't be denied was that dozens of people had already succumbed to the flu and it had spread to hundreds of people. All efforts at containment had failed, and was probably impossible now because many people were fleeing the camp to escape before falling ill themselves, some inadvertently spreading the virus with them.

Price had closed off the town as best they could, forbidding refugees or even FETF coordinators and soldiers from entering. Thus far the flu hadn't spread to them, but it was anyone's guess whether things would stay that way.

What concerned Matt was that some of the infected might find their way up to Aspen Hill. Surprisingly, considering all the refugees' bitter complaints and maligning of “townies” when they'd been on the other side of the situation, now that they were part of the town they seemed happy to get behind the idea of closing the borders.

Only the new Mayor wasn't having any of it. She insisted that any refugees who agreed to keep the peace and fend for themselves were welcome, same as the refugees in the camp had been. More mouths to feed would mean more deaths when everyone was struggling to feed themselves, but she'd staunchly held to the position that if any incoming refugees wanted to make a go of it they could. As long as they were willing to accept that no help was coming for them and they had to take responsibility for their own survival, and breaking the rules meant being turned out in the cold.

Catherine was holding to her ironclad stance on protecting each individual's personal property from theft, either from other individuals or from the town itself. Some of the refugees hadn't been quite as enthusiastic about getting behind
that
resolution, oddly enough. But she'd made good on her threat to exile anyone caught stealing, making sure the patrols and people manning the roadblocks knew the faces and names of those who were now longer welcome in town, and after the first few days thefts had gone down quite a bit. Mandy was one of the many exiled in the first few days, but as time passed fewer and fewer thefts had been reported.

He supposed it helped that nobody really had anything to steal.

Catherine had managed to convince everyone of her point of view about open borders, so even though the patrols were back in rotation they were there to protect against attack, not turn anyone away. Only now, with this news of flu, maybe they'd have to change that stance after all. Matt's duty was to protect the town, and while you couldn't shoot a virus you could certainly keep it from getting anywhere close.

He'd have to argue that point with the Mayor, but until then he'd also need to warn everyone on the roster about the danger of coming too close to possibly infected refugees, and advise them to keep anyone coming from the south or east away from town.

Terry finished removing the last of the sutures, then probed the forming scar thoughtfully with his fingers to check for signs of deep seated infection. Last of all he swabbed the entire area with rubbing alcohol and wrapped it in a clean bandage. “You're sure you want to go walking around on it so soon?” his brother-in-law asked as he stood.

Matt stood as well, ignoring the twinge. “I accepted the job to protect the town. It's about time I started doing it.” He turned to Rick. “You've been on the western patrol route, right?” The younger man nodded. “Think they can spare you here so you can take me along it?”

“Sure,” Rick said, looking eager at the chance to get out. “Let's grab a radio so we can let Pete and Evan know we'll be crashing their party so they don't accidentally shoot us.”

Young as he was Pete Childress had proven a good man on patrols ever since he'd joined the Watson brothers helping Lewis and Trev on the northern border way at the beginning. He was careful and methodical about searching for anything out of the ordinary, diligent about checking in on the radio, and seemed nearly tireless. Evan, a refugee with a wife and son, Matt didn't know as much about.

Hopefully he'd get a chance to get to know all the new faces, townspeople and refugee alike. Matt followed Rick over to where the radios were charging. “How's the power holding up?” he asked.

Chauncey, seated behind the checkout counter listening on the radio with his shotgun propped under the counter, answered for his son. “Great. Lewis's solar panels are top notch, and he took good care of them. He had an efficient system going with them too, complete with batteries, so it's a good thing Ferris ripped it out whole to install in here.”

He held out a radio and Matt clipped it to his belt, noticing as he did that there weren't many to spare: the town was using almost all of them for patrols, roadblocks, and to coordinate with the Mayor's office at town hall. That could be a problem if the equipment started to break. He'd have to make sure everyone using the radios knew to be careful and practice proper maintenance.

Speaking of which . . . Matt made his way to the store's back room, where he found Scott going over the town's array of firearms and ammunition. “Oh hey, I was just coming to ask you how the town's stock of weapons is holding up.”

The older man turned to him. “I'm glad you did, because I've actually been wanting to talk to you about it.” He patted the table. “Ferris kept these all in good shape while he had them under lock and key, but since the town's started up the patrols again I've noticed firearms coming back with dings and scuffs. One refugee even turned in a rifle with the bore caked with dirt, like he'd shoved it into the ground muzzle-first or something.”

Matt frowned. “I'll put it in the announcements.”

“Good, because these weapons might be all we've got and we have to make them last. I can do minor adjustments and small repairs, and I've got a modest stock of replacement parts, but I'd feel a lot happier if your guys weren't tossing them around or using them as walking sticks or whatever they've been doing.”

“I'll make sure they treat them like their firstborn,” Matt promised. He checked out a scoped .308 assault rifle and a spare magazine, slinging the weapon over his shoulder as he led Rick out of the store.

“Back to patrols,” he told the younger man with a slight smile. “It's been a while.”

* * * * *

It had been, although Matt had done enough walking while searching for food to keep in reasonably good shape. Weakness from hunger was more of a problem, even with the modest portions of meat Catherine was giving his family. That and his leg.

Still, it felt nice to be out and about after staying off his feet over the last week. Matt just wished he didn't have so many worries pressing his mind to keep him from really enjoying it. The air was warm, with enough of a bite from the breeze to hint at winter being just around the corner. That was no surprise, since the weather tended to be nice like this around Aspen Hill during Thanksgiving week. It served as a reminder that tomorrow was Thanksgiving.

They wouldn't have any feast to look forward to, unfortunately, but it was nice to remember that there were things to celebrate. He only wished his dad making it home safely was one of them: Matt had a good reason to be out here checking the patrol routes, but a small part of him had to admit that he was secretly hoping to see his dad towing a wagon along the myriad of dirt roads criss-crossing the hills around him.

Matt was just about to turn to Rick to ask him about his family's Thanksgiving plans, more as a distraction than anything, when a sharp
crack
echoed through the hills around them. He stiffened, motioning for Rick to stop as he listened intently. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

The teenager paused, frowning, as the sounds were repeated, some slightly louder and lower pitched than others. “Gunshots?” he guessed. “With all these hills it's impossible to tell how far away or what direction they're coming from.”

They both fell silent, listening intently and slowly turning their heads, and Matt abruptly pointed towards Aspen Hill Canyon. “There. Makes the most sense.” He lifted his radio to his mouth. “Evan, you hear gunshots coming from the canyon?”

There was a short pause before the refugee answered, voice slightly distorted by static. “Nope, but we're close to the south end of our route. On our way as fast as we can make it.”

Matt nodded, although of course Evan couldn't see him. “Mayor's office?”

Catherine's voice responded almost immediately. “I heard you. Sending some people out there, and I'll have Terry go along to do what he can for the wounded.”

“Roger. I'm going to check it out and report what I find.” Matt clipped the radio to his belt again and started forward at a quick but cautious trot, unslinging his .308 and pausing regularly to check the hills around them through the scope. Rick followed clutching his shotgun and looking a bit jumpy, and seeing it Matt had to wonder if he should be feeling uneasy himself.

In a way he felt a bit bad bringing the younger man along, since in spite of his duty to investigate whatever was happening for the safety of the town he also had personal motivations. The canyon was a likely direction for his dad to take coming home, and if he was and he had the wagon of food then he would make an ideal target for Razor's thugs still out in the hills surrounding the town and causing trouble. The theory didn't make much sense because his dad hadn't taken a gun with him and the gunfire ahead certainly sounded like a shootout, but it was a possibility.

Whatever his motivation he kept going, ignoring his instincts screaming that it might not be the smartest idea to be heading towards the gunshots.

Or at least where the gunshots had been. They didn't hear anything more as they walked for roughly half a mile, finally making their way up the tall hill ahead that stood between them and the mouth of the canyon. At the top Matt cautiously poked his head over and saw a ragged, emaciated group, six women and three young children, standing on the canyon road while a middle-aged man and a teenaged boy dragged the bodies of four men into a line beside the road.

A tall, skinny redheaded woman about Matt's age or maybe a bit older stood off by herself on the road beside the bodies, covering them with a pistol held in shaking hands as her friends moved them. She was obviously wounded, with blood staining the left shoulder of her jacket, and from her alarming swaying Matt was impressed she was still on her feet.

Her caution was sensible, but the men she was covering were clearly dead. Matt could guess easily enough who they were and what had happened, but he wouldn't know for sure until he spoke to the refugees. “Stay here and cover me,” he whispered to Rick. He pulled the radio off his belt and handed it over. “You can report in too.”

“Cover you with a shotgun?” his friend protested, but Matt was already rising to his feet, rifle held ready but not pointed at the group below.

The redhead immediately saw him and started to raise her pistol, and Matt was torn between the sensible reaction of lifting his own weapon and the kinder tactic dropping flat while he shouted to reassure her. After all, she'd just killed four men and might not have a problem with adding a fifth to that number before he could get a word in edgewise.

In the end it was the fact that he was still about 100 yards away that decided him. Even a good shot would have trouble hitting him uphill against the rising sun at that range, and if it looked like she was seriously aiming for him he could drop and she'd have an even harder time of it. Not to mention she was wounded and looked as if she was barely on her feet.

So he lowered his rifle and raised his voice. “Easy there!”

She hesitated. “Coming to help your friends rob us?” she called in a hoarse voice, motioning. The man who'd been lining up the bodies hurried for cover while the other refugees began fleeing back up the road.

Matt shook his head, although he wasn't sure she could see the gesture with him partially backlit by the sun overhead. “I'm from Aspen Hill, the town a couple miles east of here, patrolling our borders. These men have tried to attack the town before, and we're actually grateful to you for dealing with them.”

“Not grateful enough to help when the bullets were flying,” she called back.

“We came as quickly as we could!” Matt answered, irritated by the accusation. The woman looked doubtful, but after a considering moment lowered her weapon. Or maybe she didn't have the strength to keep it up anymore. Matt felt his shoulders loosen. “I'm coming down! You're wounded. We've got a surgeon on his way who should be able to help you.”

He turned to Rick. “Radio the group. Tell Terry to be ready to stabilize a gunshot wound to the shoulder until we can get her back into town.” He sincerely hoped his brother-in-law knew what to do in this situation, intern or no. He supposed he'd had enough experience treating wounds after Razor's attack to have some idea what he was doing.