Standing up under the weight of his pack was almost beyond him, and he nearly lost his balance on the crutch and toppled onto his face. But somehow he stayed on his feet, and with one plodding step after another he limped the other way down the steep trail to where it wound down to the road.
It wouldn’t be the end of the world if this convoy was gone before he got down. He’d watched a dozen blockhead convoys pass during their retreat, and if the military was hot in pursuit then these trucks would only be advance scouts. Even so, he went as fast as he could just in case he was wrong.
By pure willpower and a bit of luck he managed to burst out into sight of the road just as the last vehicle passed by. For a horrible few seconds he thought he hadn’t been seen, and he struggled to wave with his free hand as he kept hobbling towards the road, hoping to maybe catch the eyes of someone looking through a driver’s or passenger’s side mirror.
Then the last truck screeched to a halt and soldiers in familiar uniforms poured out the back and from the passenger’s side, rifles trained on him.
“I’m American!” he called, keeping his free hand well away from the rifle slung on his shoulder. That was no guarantee the soldiers wouldn’t shoot him, and a part of him wouldn’t have blamed them if they had. He’d faced that dilemma before, the struggle to make sure caution didn’t overpower his desire to not kill an ally by accident.
The soldiers didn’t relax. “What are you doing alone in the Colorado Rockies, kid?” their officer demanded. A lieutenant, he thought.
“Fighting blockheads, same as you.” Pete waved vaguely to the southwest. “I started out down in Emery County. I was part of a group of volunteers fighting along Highway 31.”
The man paused, looking skeptical. “Serving under Sergeant Ethan Davis?” he called doubtfully.
Pete blinked in surprise. He supposed the guy would have a reason to know who was where if he’d been in the loop, but that group along the highway had only been a few dozen soldiers. Hardly enough to be general knowledge. “Yeah, and Corporal Williams in 2nd Squad.”
Against his best efforts his strength finally gave out, and Pete barely had time to shove his crutch out of the way as he slumped to the ground, groaning in pain. The lieutenant looked suspicious rather than sympathetic, but at least he motioned for his men to lower their weapons.
“I have bad news for you then, kid. The blockheads wiped out most of 2nd Squad and executed Corporal Williams and two of his Marines about three weeks ago.”
Pete didn’t think he’d cared about any of the people he’d fought beside, so it surprised him to feel a sense of loss at that. And fear. “What about a group of volunteers from a town called Aspen Hill, led by Trevor Smith and Matthew Larson?”
The soldier’s eyes brightened. “Are you from there? Do you know Lewis Halsson?”
“Know him?” Pete grinned in spite of the pain throbbing up his leg. “He’s one of my best friends.”
The lieutenant motioned to one of his men and the two started forward, slinging their rifles over their shoulders. “The legend himself. Did you know he wiped out hundreds of blockheads in a landslide during the last battle?”
“I didn’t, but I can imagine. I’d hate to be that guy’s enemy.” Pete stretched to retrieve his crutch and struggled back to his feet, barely managing it before the soldiers reached him.
The officer offered him a shoulder, as well as his hand. “Lieutenant Faraday.”
Pete gratefully accepted both. “Pete Childress.”
Faraday’s grip was firm. “What’re you doing all the way out here, Childress?”
“Taking the fight to the enemy. Things were going too slow back along 31.”
The lieutenant exchanged amused, slightly incredulous looks with his subordinate. “Most of us who saw fighting thought things were exciting enough.” He pointed down the road. “We passed two dead blockheads a few hundred yards back. Your handiwork?”
“Yeah.” Pete grimaced. “They were stupid enough to think it was safe to relieve themselves out in the middle of nowhere.” He gestured to his leg. “I was stupid enough to think it was safe to shoot at them while they did it.”
“I wouldn’t feel too bad about it. Those commandos in camo bandannas are nasty pieces of work. I’ve had more than a few run ins with them.” Faraday motioned towards the truck. “What do you say, kid? Let’s get that wound looked at and get you a meal, clean clothes, and a chance to wash up.”
A surge of relief swept through him. He’d expected the offer after the lieutenant’s friendly attitude, but in the last few months he’d learned not to hope for anything. “Sure. Will you let me join you?”
The officer motioned, and the other soldier came around to Pete’s bad side and took his crutch, then got a shoulder under his arm. The two men began half-carrying him towards the truck as Faraday answered. “The war’s not even close to over. If you want to sign up the more the merrier.”
Pete nodded his thanks, and with the help of the soldiers was lifted up into the back of the truck. They laid him down on a bench, and a medic peeled away his freshly applied bandage and checked out his wound. Another soldier offered him a flask of something stronger than water for the pain, and Pete gratefully gulped down a few mouthfuls before breaking into a coughing fit. A few of the men chuckled, although not in an unfriendly way.
A minute later the truck’s engine rumbled to life, and the vehicle lurched into motion beneath him.
Afterword
It’s with a bit of a pang that I write these final words, to sum up the wonderful experience that has been writing this series. A story that began with a simple concept, with a goal of hopefully giving readers some insight into the precarious nature of modern existence, and how easily it could all fall apart. And maybe inspiring them to make whatever preparations they felt prudent. I’ve enjoyed exploring interesting ideas, and looking into the reality of situations I’ve barely considered before now. And I’ve grown to love the characters in these books.
It’s been a major project, and I’ve benefitted greatly from the support of family and friends whose love and encouragement has kept me going. They’ve all been wonderful, and I consider myself blessed to have each and every one of them. I would like to thank in particular a certain few for specific help with this project:
My brother David, whose research into preparedness and related issues makes anything I’ve done look like a walk in the park, and whose own efforts have provided the inspiration for many of my ideas.
My brother Seth, who was willing to tackle technical issues I simply don’t have the head for; thanks to his efforts the formatting looks fantastic, and other worries were solved with ease so I could focus on my writing.
My dad, who encouraged me to clean up my initial draft of Fuel in a way I’m more comfortable with, and with whom I’ve had many insightful conversations about society and potential ways it could collapse.
My mom, who always took the time to ask me about the progress of my writing. It inspired me to keep going, without ever making me feel any pressure to do more than I was doing.
My sister Shellie, who’s always been happy to have long conversations about the intricacies of storytelling and the joy of creating fictional worlds. We’ve bounced a lot of ideas off each other, and discussed plot lines and story elements ranging from the awesome to the silly.
My aunt Edie, who’s taken the time to read all of my books and has encouraged me from the beginning. She’s always been an example of the strength of family ties, and of their precious value.