They both had their own wounds to heal from, and even with their growing friendship they were still relative strangers. He didn’t even know where she’d lived or what she’d done before the Gulf burned, or what her life in Newtown had been like. And in spite of the time they’d spent together neither had really opened up to the other, or shared any thoughts deeper than their current situation.
Still, that might be something to hope for from the future.
“We’ll figure it out,” his dad said, coming over to clap a hand on his and Lewis’s shoulders. “But let’s save worrying about that for tomorrow. The war’s over, we’ve defeated the threats facing the town, and we’re in a position to meet whatever challenges we encounter next.” He gently nudged them both towards the assortment of log cabins and stick-and-mud houses the shelter group had built. “Come on, we’ve got breakfast ready for you.”
Trev followed, feeling surprisingly content. He was more than happy to follow his dad’s advice, at least as far as pushing his worries to the back of his mind.
It had almost been a year since the Gulf refineries attack. A lot could change in that time; the world could change. But no matter what happened some things stayed the same. Trev had his family with him, and his friends, and the people of Aspen Hill around them.
All the hardships they’d suffered had only strengthened the ties of their community: the shortage of food and lack of a lot of what they’d been accustomed to, the Gold Bloc invasion, reclaiming their home from the enemies that had tried to take it. It had all fueled their determination to survive and prosper together.
Beyond that, they’d found within them a strength they hadn’t known they had. They’d learned to handle problems they couldn’t have even contemplated in their comfortable existence before the Gulf burned. It had been a hard process to go through, overcoming their weaknesses and facing the challenges of surviving with their integrity intact, and too many of them hadn’t made it. Trev wouldn’t have wished the survivors’ hardships on anyone, but in the end they’d come out better for it.
Nuclear winter was a daunting prospect, and their suffering was far from over. But Trev thought they were ready for it. Whatever the future brought, things would only improve from here.
Epilogue
New Beginnings
Pete hissed slightly as he peeled back the bandage. It was sticking to his leg, and he had to spend almost a minute mustering his courage before he could tear it off in one go.
That opened the wound, of course. Why wouldn’t it? Fresh blood began trickling from the through and through, a stark contrast to the blackened crust of dried blood already there. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the rag out of the pot of boiling water he’d just removed from the fire, then slapped it down where the bandage had been.
For a moment his vision went white with pain, and he slumped back gasping against the tree he was sitting against. Maybe he shouldn’t have messed with the bandage, but it needed to be changed regularly, didn’t it? Anyway he’d also needed to make sure the wound wasn’t showing any signs of infection. It was swollen, sure, and throbbed with every heartbeat, but he hadn’t seen any of the ugly black veins that indicated blood poisoning.
Once he was able to move again he dropped the old bandage into the boiling water, watching the liquid go from clear to red from crusted blood. He poked at the stained cloth with a stick to clean it out as best he could, then lifted it free and hung it over one of his tent’s stake lines to dry. The tent itself he’d already taken down and packed away, just in case he needed to move, but the hanging line had been useful for keeping any cloth he sterilized away from dirty surfaces until he used it.
He never thought he’d make it this far, almost to the Colorado Rockies. But it turned out that once he’d managed to sneak past the front lines the blockheads got a lot less vigilant, confident they controlled the territory. It had given Pete plenty of opportunities to hit at them, although he’d had to pick his battles carefully to make sure he never bit off more than he could chew.
His friends all called him reckless, but he’d showed them. They’d be proud if they could see him now. He’d made it almost three hundred miles in about a month, going along Highway 191 then Highway 40, picking off blockheads as he went. He had to have taken out dozens by now, and none had ever gotten close to catching him as he fled or went to ground.
That is, up until those two yesterday. Who would’ve thought anyone would be that vigilant while taking a piss during a random rest stop? That guy’s off the cuff shot from almost three hundred yards had to have been pure luck. After all, nobody aimed for the thigh, did they? Thoracic cavity shots was what Pete had been taught.
At least the truck had driven off rather than sticking around to fight, giving him time to hastily bind the wound and limp his way out of there. And just as luckily he hadn’t seen a blockhead truck since. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the convoys were all driving east instead of west, now.
Had his friends won? Good for them if they had. That meant Alice would be able to head home and take care of the sheep he’d given her before leaving. Maybe she and Rick could become shepherds now, make the switch over from the herd of goats the Watsons had needed to slaughter over time to feed their family through the hard times. Pete had eaten more than one meal from their table, a kindness he’d never be able to repay now.
His two best friends being together wasn’t something Pete liked to think about, not after the hopes he’d had for his own life with Alice. But if it meant a better future for her he could live with it.
Assuming he lived.
While he waited for the bandage to dry he finished off the last of the leftover rabbit he’d bagged the morning before his failed ambush. It wasn’t nearly a meal, and he was going to have to worry about food soon, but it took the edge off the gnawing pain in his belly.
He must have dozed off after that, because when he woke up it was to a low rumbling that immediately set his senses on full alert. Truck engines.
With a groan he grabbed the bandage, now dry and stiff, and hastily wrapped and tied it around his thigh, gritting his teeth at the pain. Then he levered himself up using the stick he’d selected out for a crutch, favoring his leg as much as he could, and hobbled along the steep game trail that led over the rise to the cliff overlook he’d used for yesterday’s ambush.
It hurt more to settle down in his hiding place there than it had to get to his feet in the first place, and he was sweating profusely from the strain and discomfort by the time he panned the road to the west with his rifle’s scope. He could see small black specks approaching on the highway, getting closer by the second.
There were trucks coming, all right. A whole convoy of them. But more importantly, they looked American.
Pete felt a surge of elation. So the blockheads were running, and even better his side was in pursuit! Now if he could only get down to the road, he might not die from his own carelessness up in these mountains.
He awkwardly slung his rifle back over his shoulder, then hurried back to his camp as fast as his wounded leg would allow. He knew he shouldn’t be on it, but if he could get help it would be worth it.
Back in his camp he dumped the pot of water, now cooled, over the last coals of the fire, then began stuffing things into his pack as quickly as he could. He was glad he’d packed away his tent now, and all he had to do was rip the stake and tent line free and stuff them in too.