Nuclear Winter | Book 2 | First Spring Page 5

  Matt held up a hand. “Speaking of which . . .” He turned to Rick. “How long does it take to walk this route?”

  Rick shook his head slowly. “An hour, maybe. I didn't see anything last time I was by this way.” He hesitated. “But I might've missed it. This could've happened any time after dark. Maybe even before dark, if people were in out of the storm and nobody was around to notice it.”

  “Okay, then we should send some runners out to check the ways out of town in all directions. Lewis is right, if raiders had trouble carrying their stolen food away they might've dropped some, which would give us a trail to follow. Trev, round up-”

  “You're not listening, probably because you don't want to listen,” Lewis cut in, almost angrily. “It's not impossible this could've been an outside attack, but you're the one who mentioned Occam's razor.”

  Trev flinched. He didn't want to think of this possibility either. “You think it might've been someone in town?” he asked. “Someone in Aspen Hill who could butcher eleven people, old and young, in cold blood?”

  His cousin hesitated. “I can hardly believe it,” he admitted. “But it's the most likely. Everyone shares the same motivation, and after all the fighting we've survived plenty of people here have the training and mental mindset.”

  “The attackers didn't take all the food,” Rick argued. “Someone in town would've planned a better theft, wouldn't they?”

  Matt ground the heels of his hands into his temples with a tortured sound. “We have to think this through carefully,” he said, “but we also have to be quick. Trev, get defenders together and search out in all directions as fast as you can. If this was an outside attack then every minute counts.”

  “And if it was a neighbor then we might fool them into thinking we only suspect an outside attack, and they might let down their guard,” Jane pointed out.

  “Sometimes I really wish you two weren't so relentlessly pragmatic,” Matt snapped. He slowly lowered his hands, looking like a wreck. “Trev, go.” Trev started off at a run, already reaching for the toggle on his radio's mic, when his friend's voice called after him. “And have Gutierrez gather another team, people we trust, to start searching the nearby houses and scouring the town for telltale signs.”

  If Trev had wanted to be sick at the sight of the innocent family butchered in their beds, the thought that some of their neighbors, or even friends, could've done it was even worse.

  Chapter Three

  Not So Cozy

  A bit over an hour after Rick woke him up Trev, in a team with Deb and Jim, found three #10 cans of chili several hundred yards west of the Weavers' house.

  They'd obviously been dumped for weight, which was even more apparent considering one had been crudely cut open with a knife, the contents mostly gone. The attackers had obviously not wanted to waste any more food than they had to, so they'd stopped for a hasty meal in the middle of a heavy snowstorm before unloading what they couldn't carry.

  Eating half frozen chili couldn't have been enjoyable, but he supposed if they were starving and desperate they'd take what they could get.

  Trev was more than a bit relieved that the signs pointed to an outside attack, and none of their neighbors were behind it. At the same time it meant the slow return of a leaden weight, which he'd only just begun to feel before Lewis distracted him with the possibility of the attacker being an Aspen Hill resident.

  He was in charge of the town's defenses, but enemies had gotten past him and killed an innocent family, including children. He'd failed in his duty, pure and simple.

  That was something he was going to have to deal with after all this was done with, though. For the moment Trev called in to town and reported his findings. Matt, sounding just as relieved that the threat was external, immediately sent Gutierrez and his defenders out to join Trev, along with Lewis and the others who'd been going over the crime scene for clues.

  The group arrived at a fast walk, wading through the snow. Trev had planned out a new search pattern, for his own people's safety in the cold and dark as well as for speed, and he immediately sent out teams led by defenders with night vision. “Go fast, and report in every five minutes,” he concluded.

  He sent Jim home, following the already disappearing trail they'd made. That was a bit hopeful, since it meant if they could move fast enough they might find the attackers' trail before it disappeared as well, then follow it. The enemy would be exhausted from the hike here, a tense and sleepless night, and then trying to escape carrying their stolen supplies, and on top of that probably weak from hunger and cold. There was some hope of catching them.

  Lewis and Jane joined him and Deb along with a couple defenders, to make a larger team in case they encountered the enemy and came under fire. His cousin and Jane led the way going forward in the most likely direction the attackers had gone, farther west. They were two of the best he had at reading signs, and although they moved fast they kept their eyes peeled.

  “So I guess it was most likely some remaining group of displaced refugees after all,” Lewis said to Trev as they waded through the snow the rest of the way up the western slope of the valley. Once they got to the top they might have a vantage to look around, assuming the snow let up enough to give them a clearer view.

  “Better than if it was us,” Trev agreed grimly. “I'm glad you were willing to consider the possibility, though, even if it feels unthinkable.”

  Lewis didn't respond, and Trev saved his breath for the exhausting hike.

  The top of the ridge yielded no answers. The other teams of defenders were still in sight, spreading out in an organized fashion, and the going was a bit easier on the downward slope where the snow had partially been blown away by the winds. That would make the going easier for their quarry, as well, but none of them complained.

  For the next hour they pushed out west, squinting through the snow while Lewis and his wife used their night vision searching for clues. They had no luck, and Trev was starting to get worried. He radioed back to the second wave of defenders Matt had gathered, who were moving slower behind them scouring all the possible hiding places, in case the attackers had gone to ground and the snow had covered signs of them.

  That was a lot of hiding spots to cover, and the number increased exponentially with every hundred yards farther from town.

  An hour more and Trev's worry turned to despair. It looked as if they hadn't been fast enough, and now they were blindly lunging through the snow after an enemy who'd vanished in the wind. To make matters worse the storm was worsening, and there was the very real danger that if he kept up the hunt his defenders might end up trapped in it and more people would die.

  “Break,” he called raggedly, slumping to his knees and fumbling for his daypack's drinking tube. Thankfully it wasn't frozen, and even though the water was icy it tasted glorious. Almost as good was the feeling as his exhausted muscles slowly stopped screaming at him.

  Deb and the other defenders had stopped near him, although Jane was a few yards ahead. For a moment he thought Lewis, still stubbornly wading through the snow, wouldn't stop at all, but then his cousin slumped down where he was. He knelt there in the snow motionless, not even reaching for his water.

  With a groan Trev pushed to his feet, putting a reassuring hand on Deb's shoulder as he moved to catch up to that lone figure in the snow. Jane nodded to him and retreated back to the rest of the group, leaving Trev to drop to his knees beside his cousin.

  “We won't find them now,” Lewis said hollowly.

  Trev was afraid he was right. “They might be hiding. Our people behind could still flush them out.”

  His cousin shook his head. “I'm guessing Rick's right, and the attack happened hours before he even discovered it. I was afraid of that when I saw how much snow was covering those cans, and that the chili in the open one was frozen solid.”

  Hollow despair settled in Trev's gut. So now he'd failed the Weavers twice. First in protecting them, and then in chasing down their killers.
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  “Chauncey's radioing all the nearby settlements to alert them,” he offered. “If these guys are going west, to the refugee camp, the soldiers there will know to look for a group coming in with food from this direction.” His cousin grunted but didn't answer. “Are you going to have some water?”

  Lewis gave a small start and slowly fumbled for his drinking tube, taking an absentminded sip. In the dark Trev couldn't read his expression, especially under the night vision goggles, but it was pretty obvious something was wrong. “What is it?”

  His cousin took so long answering Trev almost thought he wouldn't. Then Lewis shivered violently, probably not from the cold. “The Weavers,” he said, voice sounding haunted. “Their throats were cut in their sleep.”

  Trev nodded. His cousin had been going over the crime scene. “It's an awful way to die. It had to be terrible seeing it in detail.”

  His cousin flinched. “That's how I killed those blockheads at the shelter.”

  “Oh.” Trev wasn't sure what he was getting at. “Well obviously you were never a suspect in tonight's murders, or any of the others who raided the blockheads with you.”

  Lewis shook his head, almost angrily. “Back then we killed the Gold Bloc soldiers and then left. We didn't have to deal with the aftermath of what we'd done. Tonight I looked at those poor people in their bloody beds and saw what it looks like from the other side. And I tried to pin that atrocity on some of our neighbors.”

  Trev remembered Lewis having this same sort of inner turmoil over shooting Ferris and Turner, when the raiders first attacked the town. Matt may think his cousin was unfeeling in his pragmatism, but Trev knew he just buried it deep so he could do what needed doing.

  He rested a hand on Lewis's shoulder. “They were enemies attacking us. We were justified in defending ourselves.”

  After a long moment his cousin shuddered and looked up, expression unreadable under the goggles. “I know. I did what I had to. But now I've got those memories and they'll never go away.”

  It wasn't hard to get pulled into his own memories from his time fighting the blockheads, or every other time he'd had to kill someone who threatened his life. “They're something we'll have to live with,” Trev agreed quietly. He tightened his grip on the tense shoulder under his hand. “And we will, because we're alive. Us and our loved ones.”

  The reassurance rang hollow in his ears. Not what he was telling Lewis, but for himself. Because the Weavers weren't alive, and Trev had failed them. And now dozens of people were out in this storm risking their own lives.

  He wearily stood and toggled his headset's mic. “All teams, report in.” He waited as his defenders spoke up or, for those too far away to reach him in the storm, relayed their status through nearby teams. Once he'd reassured himself that everyone was still accounted for he reluctantly gave the order. “Forward teams, start for home. Join the other teams in scouring any potential hiding places as you go, but don't take too long. Report in immediately if you need assistance.”

  Rick, who'd been leading another team going in a more southwest direction, spoke up. “So that's it? We're going to just give up?”

  Trev squinted through the flurries of snow at the seemingly pristine world around him. “We don't have a trail, and their lead is good enough we won't catch them by just blindly wandering in all directions through a snowstorm.”

  His friend sounded angry. “If we give up now they get away.”

  The words cut deep. “They already have, unless they've gone to ground somewhere behind us.” Trev sucked in an unsteady breath. “We did our best, but it's over.”

  * * * * *

  In spite of the storm there were a lot of worried people packed into the town hall tent, which Matt was using as a temporary command post for the ongoing manhunt.

  His focus wasn't all on Trev and the defenders searching out in the snow, though. He was also doing his best to contact everyone in town and make sure it was only the Weavers who'd been hit. They probably should've done that first thing, but in the panic of the moment, the sight of the carnage inside that cabin, everyone's blood had been boiling and demanding a quick response.

  Thankfully it seemed like an isolated attack. Matt had started with the nearby houses and moved on to the ones all around the perimeter of town, and even though there were still a few families unaccounted for he was confident the Weavers were the only victims. Still too many, and tomorrow's funeral would be heartbreaking, but it could've been worse.

  It could've been worse. Seemed like that was becoming Matt's mantra, these days.

  Another task was easing people's fears. The residents of Aspen Hill were understandably horrified by the attack, and terrified that they'd face the same fate. Along with the grief and fear came plenty of anger, accusations and recriminations. Especially over the false alarm that the attack might've come from within the town, and the fact that the defenders who were supposed to be protecting them hadn't even discovered it until the murderers were long gone.

  More than a few people wanted Trev held to account. He'd failed in his duty and that couldn't go unpunished. A few remarked that he hadn't been doing a good job anyway.

  The attacks on his friend made Matt's temper flare. Nobody expected bandits to try a raid during a near blizzard, but even so Trev's defenders had been out there just in case. The man was doing his best with limited manpower, working with volunteers who weren't being properly compensated for their time. And even if he'd had ten times as many people out there on patrol it was still possible the raiders could've gotten in and out undiscovered in the blinding snow.

  It was good to hold people accountable, but some things were just outside anyone's control. Trev had risked his life and sacrificed an incredible amount of time and energy for the town, and the fact that people were turning on him when something went wrong was-

  Was perfectly human, as Catherine pointed out to him when he pulled her aside to ask her advice on the matter, as well as vent about the unfair accusations.

  Of course more than a few accusations were directed Matt's way as well. As Mayor defending the town was ultimately his responsibility, and he faced his share of the blame when his subordinates failed. Matt could handle the heat that came his way, he'd gotten used to it, but it pained him to see Trev getting the same treatment.

  What enraged him even more were those, there were always a few, who asked after the Weavers' supplies and living space and what would be done with them now that they were available. Matt still had people preparing the bodies for burial and doing their best to clean up the cabin, a grisly task he didn't envy them, and there were already ghouls out there slavering to claim what the dead had left behind.

  Matt sent those people packing curtly, impressed with his self-restraint for not cussing them out in the process. Surprisingly even those who criticized his failings as Mayor seemed to support him giving the ghouls the boot, and those who didn't have the mantle of leadership weighing them down had no compunction about doing some cursing of their own. It almost came to blows with a few people.

  When Trev reported in that his people were returning home Matt didn't argue, although he was disappointed. He'd really wanted his friend to catch the murderers. Not just to bring justice for the victims and to prevent the perpetrators from trying further attacks, but because it would've gone a long way towards easing everyone's fears.

  As it was, with the murders unresolved and the possibility that the town could be attacked even in the worst weather, nobody would be resting easy anytime soon. Their homes wouldn't feel nearly as warm and cozy, and the outside world would be a bit scarier.

  In a way, Matt could see this being even more alarming than the fight against the blockheads: although the danger for everyone had been much greater then, and the enemy had tried to attack Aspen Hill on multiple occasions and claimed the lives of defenders, the Gold Bloc soldiers had never actually succeeded in attacking the town itself or its residents. The closest they'd come had been that single helicopter at
tack where they'd destroyed all but one of the trucks Lewis had captured from them.

  Horrible as that isolated event had been, for most of the townspeople the war had been remote. They hadn't seen the fighting, the suffering, firsthand. That was a far cry from learning their neighbors a stone's throw away had been murdered in their sleep, and there was nothing the average townsperson could do about it but sleep poorly themselves hoping they weren't next.

  Or at least not much they could do. Matt predicted there'd be a flurry of people installing bars on their doors over the next few days, as well as other measures to secure their homes. And he fully intended to have Trev double the amount of defenders on watch. Triple for the next week or so, just in case the attackers came back.

  He almost hoped they would, as long as Trev was ready for them. The Weavers deserved justice.

  When the defenders came in they were exhausted and dispirited. Matt listened over the radio as Trev sent them straight home to get whatever rest they could, although his friend also sent out a call to round up a fair number of those who hadn't gone out, planning an almost overkill force of sentries and patrols.

  Then, instead of seeking his own bed, Matt was surprised when Trev entered the town hall tent alone to report in and see to things moving forward.

  At which point his friend, just as exhausted as everyone else who'd joined the hunt, just as dispirited, and likely guilt-ridden over his failure to prevent this attack, was then dog-piled by over a dozen fearful, irate townspeople hurling accusations and demanding answers.

  For a moment Trev stood stunned as the barrage washed over him, blinking in the light and comparative heat of the tent. His hair and face were dripping with sweat and melted snow, he was visibly shivering from cold, and he looked half dead on his feet from exhaustion and despondency over his failure to catch the people who'd murdered those he was charged to protect. The verbal assault seemed to crush him, and he sank into himself with his shoulders hunched.