There was civilization to the east, but that was down towards the interstate where Asher’s people were more likely to be patrolling. Although there were no towns to the west, he knew that there were some scattered farmhouses in that direction. Ironically, heading west would take them closer to Blue Creek, but they would be concealed by the foothills. Heading in any other direction would put them out in the open.
Only one vehicle passed by, but it was headed south along the paved road that ran along the freeway. It was a beat up old Ford pickup, most likely the farmer who owned the land they were tramping around on. Patton wouldn’t put it past Asher to have decoy vehicles, but at this point, they didn’t have enough time to be that cautious. At some point they needed to make a move.
Patton motioned for the rest of the group to join him on the road. This was their make or break moment. Patton took the lead and began to trudge up the hill. As bad as he felt, he was by far the best conditioned person on this march. Every so often he looked back to see how the others were doing. Perhaps it was the human survival instinct kicking in, but the worse he felt physically, the less he cared about the others.
Ahead the road dipped down about twenty feet and then rose up again. It was going to be slow and brutal, but he needed to keep going. The one thing that had gotten him through those long, weary and brutal marches during Delta selection was the thought of those men during the Bataan Death March. They walked for dozens of miles with no food or water, with the Japanese soldiers killing their friends all along the way. If they could do that, he’d told himself a thousand times, then I can do this.
And it was those thoughts that kept him going now. Yes he was in danger, but in as much danger as those men on the Bataan Peninsula? No, he decided, shaking his head as vigorously as he was able. They went through worse than he was going through now. He could keep going. Patton had been so deep in thought he didn’t notice the dust billowing up on the far side of the next rise. Also, he didn’t hear the truck’s engine. He was so lost in thought, in fact, that he might have gotten hit by the truck had it not stopped in front of him.
When he came to his senses, an old man was standing there and staring at him in wonder. Patton was so shocked that he nearly collapsed. Luckily the old man was spry enough to catch him before he fell to the ground. The old man offered him water and he drank greedily when he was handed a water bottle. The man offered him some pistachios but his mouth was too dry and sore to eat them. Food could wait but the water was heavenly.
“What? How? Where?” the old man said, exasperated. “Where did you come from?”
Patton pointed towards Blue Creek.
“You were over there?” the older man asked, his eyes growing wide with surprise. He knew that some sort of experiment was going on over there.
Patton nodded, tears rolling down his dirt-streaked face. Whether unashamed or too tired to care, he didn’t wipe the tears away.
“What’s your name?” the farmer asked, still unable to comprehend the condition of this man, this human being.
“Patton,” he rasped. “Patton Larsen.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” the older man said out of habit. “I just wish we could have met under better circumstances. I’m Ronald Harris.”
PART FIVE
A RECKONING
CHAPTER 32
Ronald Harris was a good and humble man, but he was no debutante. He’d seen some of the world and he knew how to think quickly on his feet. The Larsen fellow had gotten his people out of Blue Creek safely, but he was in no condition, or position, to help them recover. He called to apprise his wife of the situation and asked her to call their friend who was a doctor. He took Patton and Ginger in his truck and drove them home. When they reached the ranch, Mr. Harris helped Patton into the house and started making calls. He called doctors, nurses, other farmers with trucks and trailers and people from his church. Within a half hour he had enough vehicles to transport people back to his home. The people would have to stay in the barn for now, but it was clean and they were able to make it warm. They found enough beds to get them situated for the time being.
As Mr. Harris was leaving to go back for the first group, Patton stopped him.
“I have to come with you,” he said.
Mr. Harris grabbed his arm and led him back to the house. Patton tried to resist but he was just too tired and weak.
“Young man, it looks like you’ve been through hell itself. Why don’t you just come back and sit and relax. Get some water. We’re going to take care of your friends.”
Patton stood there, wanting to resist and force his way back into the truck but the man was right. He was in no position to help anyone. Harris led him to the living room and sat him in a recliner.
“Honey!” he yelled towards the kitchen.
His wife, a plump but pretty woman, came walking out, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Is this him?” she asked, concerned.
She walked to where Patton was sitting and put her hand on his forehead, as if she were his mother checking for a fever. She looked at her husband with concern then returned to the kitchen. Mr. Harris could hear the kitchen faucet and she returned with a large container of water. She handed it to Patton and he drank it greedily. When he finished, he handed it to her and thanked her. He tried to stand but Harris pushed him back into the seat.
“Patton,” he said calmly, “we’ve got this taken care of. You sit here and relax and we’ll go get your friends.”
Patton nodded. As Harris began to leave, Patton stopped him.
“Someone didn’t make it. We buried her…” he said, unable to finish.
Harris stopped and stood, obviously dumbfounded. Never in his life had he experienced anything like this.
“Okay Patton. Once we get you all settled in, we can go get her and bring her here.”
Hot tears formed in Patton’s eyes and he nodded gratefully. Harris patted his wife on the shoulder then left to retrieve Patton’s friends.
It was a chilly night but they were able to get the barn to a decent temperature. Two doctors had come and gone, replaced by two others. The barn was a huge structure, big enough to house two large combines plus various other equipment and supplies. The apex of the roof was nearly fifty feet high, supported with large steel girders. Concrete had been poured for a floor. It was drafty but they cranked up the heaters high enough to keep the survivors warm.
All of the people were cozy in makeshift beds or cots and all were hooked to IVs. It looked like a World War I aid station. Still, most were responding well to treatment. Whether it was his physical constitution or his psychological will, Patton was the first to somewhat recover from the journey. Two days after arriving at the Harris ranch, Patton was ready to head back to Blue Creek to get his wife. His biggest problem was that had no idea what was going on the other side of the mountains.
When everyone was asleep, Patton snuck out of the barn and into the Harris’ home. While in the living room the night before he noticed a landline phone. As he suspected, the front door was unlocked. He turned the knob quietly and entered the room. The reason for all the subterfuge was the doctors’ orders—the patients were to do nothing aggravating. Furthermore, they were told they shouldn’t leave the Harris ranch for at least a week. Patton was about to do something that broke both orders.