Emilio,
Juanita and Raul came into the kitchen and found Karen, Tomma,
Vernie, and Errol sitting down to steamed greens, which were mostly
kale and fava leaves. Mrs. Ames was pouring her version of "green
drinks," hot water strained through mint, chopped herbs and
vegetable leaves. They had stocked up on baked potatoes and venison
jerky for the overnight maneuver, and had also made up a sackful for
Emilio.
"Good evening, friends," said Emilio. "I
am thinking, if this does not go so well, there should not be anyone
here tonight. The crew leaders for Wilsons, Jones and Beemans agree.
Mrs. Ames, if the animals all are prepared to be without you awhile,
I would say let us pack you and Nita and the boys for a night at
Hall. The Wilson people will wait for us all by their bridge."
Mrs. Ames had anticipated this, and there was not much that needed
to be done. David was called down from the lookout, a few possessions
not already in packs were gathered, and additional hay, comfrey, and
beets, with such grain as could be spared, were made available to the
cows and chickens.
The full complement of Ames were on the
road before nightfall.
The Wilsons bridge was on the left,
beyond an apple orchard, a few hundred yards' walk. Five of the
Wilson residents welcomed the two women and the twins from Ames, and
departed along the road into the night with them. They traveled
armed, and no one carried lights. A steady light rain had begun, and
the darkness was thick, but every Creeker had experience in
navigating the road by the contrast between the night sky above and
the even darker trees, fences and hedges at either hand.
Karen half expected Allyn to be waiting for her at the bridge, but as
the whistle for Wilsons he had duties across the Creek. Emilio,
Tomma, Vernie, Errol, and Karen trooped in single file across the
Wilson bridge and up the lane toward the farmstead.
"Word?"
– a challenge came from ahead.
Emilio gave the expected
reply. ""Jonathan! Word?"
"Gravenstein!"
"Good evening, Stannin. Ames coming in."
"Wilson greets you. Jones and Beemans are here; Holyroods and
Lazars are coming."
"Has every noncombatant been
sent to Hall?"
"Yes;
word got to the Holyroods and Lazars last, that's why their crews
aren't here yet."
They came up to the main house. Its
windows, along with the loopholes of its outbuildings, faintly shone
with the glow of alcohol lamps. Voices came from within; a few people
were sitting out of the rain under a pair of large redwood trees that
had been planted in the yard over a century ago. The Ames crew joined
these and sat, wet-haired and damp-clothed, in the darkness. The
difficult march ahead, under the conditions that had arisen, weighed
heavily now on all minds, and most conversations became muted.
Karen preferred to stand alone; sitting for very long in the cold
reduced one's readiness in case of the need for action. So did
conversation. In spite of herself, she began to shiver, rattling her
trash-bag poncho; the wool cloak she was wearing underneath it held
out some cold, even when wet; but the leather jerkin beneath that,
which some of the rain had found, robbed her of heat. To distract
herself from her discomfort, she recited inwardly, as she sometimes
did, pointers which Father attributed to his favorite author: Do
not think dishonestly ... do nothing which is of no use ... an
elevated spirit is weak and a low spirit is weak ... maintain the
combat stance in everyday life and make your everyday stance your
combat stance ...be able to look to both sides without moving your head.
The other crews, as it turned out, had been right
behind them. Stannin's voice challenged twice; other voices answered,
and the available forces had gathered.
Allyn appeared from
the night, with other leaders. "Emilio?"
"We
are here."
"Numbers?"
"We are
five."
"Nice; there are only, umm, twenty-eight of us
for tonight; three crews will be in reserve and will come stay here
later. They'll relieve some of us in the morning. Does everyone have
plenty of rations? Water? Gear?"
"We do."
Allyn was apparently in charge. Even in the dark, he looked
pleased with himself; but not overly so. A good man, even among these
well-meaning folk.
Other groups approached the tree from
the house and from beneath the other redwood.
"K,
here's the deal." Allyn raised his voice to reach all ears.
"We'll file up the trail from here to the saddle. Wilsons will
be on point, and will drop down the other side a bit and spread out
on picket. Each picket carries a whistle, a little higher pitched
than mine. Jones will spread out in the saddle and be prepared to go
to any whistle. Holyroods go left and spread out along the crest,
left flank. Lazars stay together behind the hill and get some rest.
Beemans and Ames go right and spread out as far as you can toward
Ridge, one every fifteen paces. We're setting dispositions now
because we're late getting up there and will need to keep quiet. I
know that's a very thin line, but it's the best we can do. If
they hit us, we raise all the ruckus we can, so the crews at Wilsons
will know to get ready for trouble. But they really can't come to our
aid till daylight; we're the only ones at all familiar with the
hillside. All set?"
Various voices gave assent.
"K, let's get our hike on. Give each other three or four paces,
so we don't all slap ourselves silly with wet branches." Allyn's
voice conveyed a wry smile through the clouded night.
:::
Avery
Murchison rang the spare buzzer. This would call together the entire
crew, who might be anywhere on three of the four floors below; there
was an elevator, but it hadn't been run – if it could run –
in the lifetime of anyone now living at Ridge. The stairs were a
problem for Avery; he could get up and down them himself, but it was
a slow and undignified process. From time to time, he felt the need
to oversee his crew's efforts, and the strongest would form a
two-person carry, then fetch the wheelchair for him. That seemed
somewhat undignified as well; so he generally resorted to to an "all
call" to the control room.
Eight bodies hurtled up the
stairs. Avery believed he felt no sorrow for himself at the sound of
so many feet; but his distant manner left no doubt that he'd
known loss, and would rather run than wheel. First to arrive was
young Billee, who had been resting in quarters after her ordeal of
the afternoon; the others came in after her, one by one.
"Evening. Take a seat." Steel folding chairs were numerous
in the facility. Ridge crew members, five men and three women, took
chairs from the stack by the smooth black basalt wall and arranged
themselves, by custom, in a circle in the square room.
"Billee here has had an adventure, as we all know, and it seems
likely we'll have visitors soon. I understand everything still
outside has been brought in? Good. We've done a fair job of
maintaining the front and back door; they match the hillside
reasonably well; but the windows can't really be helped. They are
likely to be obvious, though they're rather one-way. If the bandits
possess explosives we could be breached. Billee's bow, and the big
binocs, had to be left behind. Do we have a spare bow?"
Wilson Wilson, a son of the original orchardist on the Creek, spoke
up. "Yes, sir. I have an old compound that's not too big for
you, Bee, and six good carbon field points to go with." He
smiled.
"Ooh, thanks," said Billee. She leaned
forward, eyes alight with anticipation.
"Very good,"
said Avery. "So, other bows?"
"Two; yew-wood
longbows. About – " they consulted briefly –"thirty
arrows."
"Crossbows?"
"Five;
seventeen bolts."
"And the Ruger Old Army, which I
recharged with powder and ball today." Avery looked round the
group. "Not much; but we have the home ground, plenty of
provisions –" this brought smiles and chuckles – "and
lockable steel doors throughout. We don't expect everyone to converge
here; at the moment, Hall is safer from our guests than the trail
would be. So, Ridge is part of the front lines instead of castle and
keep. Savage Mary sent us someone on a science mission, but the
Captain's holding him at Hall tonight.
"We can't risk
having anyone outside in the dark; tomorrow we may try to link up
with the crews on the saddle." Avery nodded toward the east.
"We're the right flank. If our guests get round us tonight, Hall
could be in trouble. Wendlers, Tomlinsons, less one fighter, and
Gulicks are spread out at the bottom, with Hall in reserve. That's
not a lot of defense to meet twenty-four well-armed and very
experienced men." He let that sink in.
"Back when
we only had six or eight bandits at a time, we found that dealing
with them was hard work." He didn't look down, but everyone
remembered how he'd lost his legs. "So, we're going to batten
down tonight. Wilson, keep me company, we'll do watch and watch.
Billee, go the rounds and see that each floor has its food and water
and the lamp wicks and fuel are in good order. Two to a floor, doors
locked and barred, all entry refused except to this knock."
Avery rapped the table in a pattern all knew, though none of them had
heard "shave and a haircut" sung. "Sleep tight. With
any luck, we'll be fresh and dry at daylight and any visitors
will be wet and tired. Then we'll see. 'K?"
Nods all
round; sober but unfrightened faces. Along with their friends the
Ball Butte Murchisons, this crew considered themselves the elite
defenders of the Creek.
"Good; hop."
They
folded their chairs away and filed out. Wilson went with them. to
retrieve his gear. Avery could hear Billee in the stairwell,
haggling. "Look, you each have fifteen arrows; maybe you could
give me one each? Then at least I'd have eight."
One of a kind, thought Avery. After today's doings, Bee
will be a very good nickname for her!
:::
"Don't
mind about the girl; she knows her way around up there; that's all."
Wolf smiled. Dill had returned from the south slope of Starvation
Creek covered with stings; his right eye was swollen shut, and his
breathing was labored. He also seemed depressed at having been bested
by a child; but he had not returned empty-handed.
On the
table between them lay a lightweight bow; several arrows to match, a
leather-bound case containing a beautiful pair of air-raid warden's
binoculars dating from World War II, which she had tried to hide
away, a fanny pack (when had he last seen such a thing?)
containing an oddment of possibles, including an old lip-balm tube
which had been refilled with scented grease of some kind, a steel
water bottle, and a packet of large leaves containing a half-eaten
cake, redolent of grains and apples. Last, but not least, there was a
badly rusted steel sign, about a foot wide and two feet high, with
tiny holes at the four rounded corners.
"This interests
me the most, Dill; and the fact that you had the presence of mind to
pick it up, and go back to acquire the kid's toys, after what you'd
been through ... well, I'm impressed."
It took a lot to
impress Wolf. Dill, sore as his ass was, sat up straighter. "So,
what's it say, Wolf?"
"I'll tell ya; th' thing's
had a lot of weather, but th' writin' was – smashed into it – as
well as painted. 'NO TRESPASSING. INTRUDERS WILL BE ARRESTED. SECURE
AREA. USDHS.' Now, you say that there had been a fence there?"
"Yeah, Wolf. They'd took it all away but it looked like it
was concrete-anchored posts and chain link, with a trail along th'
inside, and it went right around th' mountain. Saw some old razor
wire, too."
"So these folks may have somethin'
more goin' on than just gettin' straw in their hair. Huh. Thanks a
whole bunch, Dill; you go get some rest."
"Wolf."
"Dill."
Wolf made the rounds of the campfires.
From each group, he got a sense of their morale, which was high after
the day's feasting and plundering, and he made sure they'd remembered
to set sentries. Before dawn, they would take up their war gear, and
go have a look at the peasants' paradise.
As he came up to
the house, Cougar met him on the steps.
"Wolf."
"Coug."
"Gotta tell ya 'bout somethin' we
heard on that radio thingy."
:::
Carey
Murchison felt what he thought of as pain-in-the-gut more and more
these days. Willow-bark tea was not going to cut it; so he rode out
the storms of red-in-the-eyeballs hurt either by himself, till they
passed, or otherwise tried to look quietly introspective in a
leaderly way. Others, he felt, habitually looked to him to think his
way through these emergencies, so when he ran out of ideas – and in
this much pain, who has ideas? – he bluffed his way through, for
the sake of Creek morale.
The current spasm went on much
longer than usual. Fortunately the runner was out, to see if
non-combatants had thought to clear themselves out of upper Creek,
and to pass on Murchison's strong opinion to the effect that they
should do so if they had not. Avery had not called since reporting on
little Billee's near miss on the south slope – busy with
dispositions to lock down the Ridge overnight and anchor the right
flank. So no one was present in the command center to witness that
"the Captain" had doubled over and almost fallen to the
floor in a faint. He was reaching for a half-finished cold mug of
peppermint-chamomile tea when the radio kid knocked and entered,
without waiting for a "come in." Carey looked sourly upon
him, but the effect was lost on the nearsighted eyes behind those
thick panes of glass.
"Sir, if I can't go up tonight,
perhaps I could demo our idea down here?"
"And
what would that involve?"
"I'd connect the car
radio to your twelve-volt current – you do have twelve-volt, right?
– it would be quite safe; I have an in-line ten-amp fuse here. The
doorbell buzzer can't hurt the radio or vice versa. The output wires
go to a speaker – I have one here, but, in fact, they will run your
'phone – the impedance is not too much of a mismatch – and also
Mr. Murchison's on the Ridge! That way you could both listen to any
broadcast messages – as reported by our recorder to you today –
if the antenna does any good, here in the shadow of Ridge."
"It sounds like you just need something to do; I've heard the
message. If, as I suspect, they're just repeating the same one over
and over, I don't see the advantage of rushing this. We can haul this
up the hill and set it up for you; we understand the principle. But
it might not be for days if ever; there's a war on. Do you have more
phones that could match up with the three we have? That I
could use."
Uh, no, sir, dynamics were superseded long
ago."
"More's the pity. But you have lots of car
speakers and computer speakers and such; could you rig up some kind
of intercoms? One for Wilsons would be super, and one for Bridge and
one for Mary, just for starters."
Selk gave a look of
astonishment; apparently he'd not expected this line of thinking from
the "Old Man." "Umm, you know, I think we just
might!"
"Well, that's a priority. Go back to
Mary's – you can find it in the dark? It's quite safe to do so at
the moment, I think. Thank her for the blades. And propose,
from me, a crash program in communications. And please – beg her
for me – we appreciate the expertise and the industry that have
gone into making the percussion caps, but when can we have some
cartridges – with primers?"
This last was said
with some force, and poor Selk jumped, but maintained his composure,
and turned to go. Carey called him back.
"One more
thing. Could you also say to Mary that Carey her friend would
love to see some kind of hand grenades – if there's enough
powder."
"Yes, sir. What are 'hand grenades?'"
"She'll know. Hell, soup cans full of nails and screws and
BP, with a five second fuse, would be just lovely. This here is hill
country, and we need to be able to reach behind these boys and spank
'em on the butt."
Selk's eyebrows went up behind the
glasses.
"Umm, I'll see what I can do, sir!"
:::
Long
past midnight, Ellen Murchison hobbled across the bridge to the Mess
Hall with a limp and a crutch. She also had a fever and a cough, but
she reckoned there might well be worse things happening than whatever
her condition might be. Good information was not to be had at
Chaneys',
and so she came looking for her husband, or anyone who might be able
to fill her in.
Hall was packed; it looked like the scene at
some Red Cross shelters she'd come across in days gone by. Many
people from farms on the upper Creek had decamped from the
anticipated invasion point, and most of them had come here. In the
dim light from alcohol lamps and tallow drips, bedrolls had been
spread out along the walls and among and even on some of the tables,
and though many people, among them women with children, oldsters and
a few disabled, were asleep or attempting to sleep, others were up
and about, and a clattering came from the kitchen.
Ellen
made for the stairwell down to the pantries, where a door led to the
command center.
"Ellen!" She turned, painfully,
toward the voice. It was Velma Ames,
the cattle breeder. "I heard you were in hospital! Have they
turned ya loose? Honey, you don't look so good ..."
"Seen Carey?"
"Oh! He's popped up a couple
times, mostly hides in that damp basement. Shouldn't ya sit down,
then?"
"No, m'better'n
I look, honest. See you in a bit." Ellen pressed on.
Getting down the stairwell with the crutch took more doing than she'd
anticipated, especially when she had to negotiate two cooks in the
dark, bringing up a large sack, but eventually she came to the door
and gave it her customary knock.
Indistinct voices came from
within, but she could tell that one of them was Carey's and he had
recognized her knock. The door opened, with a whiff of old tallow –
the room was not sufficiently ventilated – and Huskey,
the crew leader from Bledsoe's,
stood aside to let her in.
"Ellen, what in the effing
hell
are
you doing up?" asked Captain Murchison, who was sitting across
the broad table from her, with the Creek map spread out before him.
"Same thing you'd be doing, Murch,"
Ellen croaked. She looked him over, and was shocked to discover his
condition had worsened since she'd seen him last. If
a man shrinks in a week – practically right before your eyes –
how long before he fades away completely?
"Well, it's obvious you're here without Dr. Chaney's
permission. How'd
you get the crutch?"
"Stole it. Got time to fill
me in?"
"Sure. Mr. Huskey,
close the door, please, and join us."
"Yes, sir."
They huddled round the map beneath the lantern.
"We've
got about thirty people here. I think."
Murchison stabbed at the map with his finger, in the vicinity of the
Starvation Ridge saddle. "And fifteen or twenty in reserve, at
the bottom. Elevation between them is a couple of hundred feet,
though, and there's just the one steep trail, so the reserve can't
get at a fight quickly if it develops at night. Or, for that matter,
in daytime. Everything is muddy now. We'd have asked them to move up
closer, but that north slope is all tangled thickets, people would
lose touch."
Ellen nodded.
"Up here –"
he indicated the Ridge facility – "is Avery's bunch, about ten
in all, hunkered down till daylight, with plans to feel out the
situation at dawn and try to hook up with Allyn's crews."
"So there's a gap in the line."
"A big one.
And Avery's been blind since about two in the afternoon – they
jumped his lookout."
"So, she dead?" This was
offered hopefully; capture would be so much worse.
"No;
got away! So we don't know where the bandits are right now. With any
luck they're still skulking around Lawson's; they've had two battles and
a long march, then slaughtered everyone at the homestead, so I'm
guessing they won't move till daylight, with all this terra
incognita
in front of them."
"But you don't have any
confirmation of that."
"I don't, which is why
we're scattered all over, not knowing their movements. It's an effing
mess. Now, right above us –" he drew a line from the Ridge to
the Bridge – "we have nobody.
They are little likely to come straight at Hall, not knowing the
terrain, but it's an intolerable gap, with everyone descending on us.
So I've pulled three crews across the Creek –" he nodded at
Huskey
–"on the assumption
that
there are no more armies like this one approaching Ball Butte or
Bridge. They can cover between the Ridge trail and the drop-off above
the Bridge; then tomorrow we'll scrape around and see who's had
enough rest and resupply to send toward whatever develops."
"Well, Carey, that's just about what I would have done."
Ellen turned her head – her body was too stiff – toward the young
man. "Do you have the shotgun?"
"Yes,
ma'am."
"When's
your jump-off?"
"Soon as possible. I was just
leaving."
"'K, if you have time, send somebody to
Chaney's for the revolver and the powder and ball kit. But," she
smiled, "umm,
don't tell 'em where I am."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank
you, ma'am. Captain." Huskey
disappeared into the hallway.
"A good one,"
remarked Carey.
"Yes, he had a lot to do with how well
it went up at the lookout." Ellen gave in to a coughing spell.
"Girl, you are a sorry mess. When I looked at you last night
– in the morning rather, you were out like a light and looked like
you would sleep a week."
"'S'just
a cold. Murch,
it's you I'm worried about." She covered his hand with hers.
"Why
are
you melting away on me?"
Carey looked at the wall. The
silence stretched on. Tens seconds, twenty. She gave him his own
time; he'd always taken inquiry into his health as an invasion of
privacy.
Now he looked at the ceiling, then down at their
hands, fingers interlaced, and finally again directly at her. "Ellen,
it's bone cancer."
"I knew
it!
The effing DU.
I never did like it that you were on the old LAV-30Fs."
"Well, it was my job;
I didn't ask for it; they posted me." He smiled sheepishly.
"Enjoyed it, though."
"Shit. Liked it! Effing
killed
yourself
liking it." Tears filled her eyes. "So, how long have we
got?" I
will not
fall
apart.
"Y'know ... lot of other ways to get radiation poisoning; I'm
sure I'm not the only one on the Creek. It's in the rain, you know. Me? ... maybe two
months.
If
that crowd over the hill doesn't get us first. Or their friends."
"And nothing we can do?"
"Girl, there was
nothing we could do back when there was something
we could do! And now, for pain, I drink effing
peppermint tea."
"Oh, Murch."
Murchison withdrew his hand. "Ellen, we got a lot to do
between now and then. Identify weaknesses, find some strengths,
encourage new leadership, and, assuming we're not too badly damaged
in the next week or so, batten down for the winter and make it
through to spring with grain and animals intact!"
Without
you and without Mo-reen,
she thought. Dammit!
"Ellen,
I know what you're thinking, but you should see the shape you're
in. A cold these days is no joke,
and neither
is a wound, even a small one."
"True. What have
you got for sore throat?"
"Try some of this stuff;
mostly chamomile, with a little honey. S'cold,
though." He poured a mug for her. "Were losing two of your
fellow patients already."
Too
much dying.
"I make that ten of us, plus all of the Lawsons.
What's with
these
intruders, anyway?"
"They're just the same as us.
We
lucked
into a sheltered area with clean land, replicable foodstuffs, and
enough labor to run it; they didn't – till now. That might be the
only difference – oh, and that they've had more practice at
killing, lately, than we have."
"Did you get a
look at the bodies? They must have been brought here."
"Ours or theirs?" he smiled grimly.
"Theirs.
I shot them all, except one, I think – Huskey
brained him – but it was too dark to get much of an impression."
"I'm surprised you didn't get at least one prisoner for me."
"Sorry about that, but we didn't know how many we were
dealing with."
"Well, I can tell you. All white,
male, muscular, tattooed, shaved heads, bumpy faces, and war paint.
Makeshift clothing and weaponry,
some effort toward camo."
"Kind of a skinhead militia?"
"Mm-hmm, or maybe they're dealing with lice. Lotsa pilgrims have lice."
"Magee.
He's back."
"It's the look he cultivates. But I
think he's in Roseburg."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Why do you think that?"
"Remember KKUV?
He's broadcasting from there."
"No!"
"Yep. I think he's out of touch with this bunch – but he's
looking for them, or some kids enough the same as makes no
difference."
"Jeeah,
Murch,
they all get together, no more Creek for sure."
"That's
right. We're going to have to go all out, I think. Which we're not
yet focused enough to pull it off."
Ellen collected her
crutch. "Murch,
I really, really love ya, but I think I better get a move on now."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Got some focusing to do."