Families First: A Post-Apocalyptic Next-World Series Volume 6 Battle Grounds by Lance Ewing (ereader for comics .txt) 📕

“The answer to both is no,” John said.

“All able-bodied men and women will have key roles in defending this Valley. Our seniors and children will be safely hidden and cared for until it is over. Don’t forget—we have the word of Samuel’s friend, the high-ranking Colonel who has already once come to the rescue of Lance and his group on Raton Pass, on the Colorado/New Mexico border. He and his soldiers will be key in our fight for victory. It is, however, win or die,” he added soberly. “Anything less than a total victory will put us in grave danger in the foreseeable future.”

More questions followed, one after another, like a White House Press briefing, with John staying a full two hours more, until there were no more.

He finished with the same speech as before, about those who may want to leave the Valley, but again stating it was a one-way ticket. Several families, and maybe ten more single men and women, lined up an hour later to say good-bye.

I was not surprised to see every member of our group staying. We had already seen what was beyond the Valley walls, and the difference was that inside there are occasional skirmishes and even a battle or two; and outside was no-man’s-land, where the first night in a new spot could seem easy, but the second, third, or even fifth, night could be your last. I answered questions as best I could from those choosing to leave, wondering which way to go. The fire to the west was obvious to everyone, seeing the smoke over Green Mountain.

“There are people—the exact ones we are preparing to fight—to the southeast,” I told them. “If it were my family and I was dead set on leaving, I would head north. Keep in mind, you have about 30 miles north before the terrain changes drastically and you no longer have the protection of the mountains.”

They were in for a hard road, but I understood their fear of what was coming.

“We can’t save everyone,” I told Jake, who was giving the same type of advice, except to head straight south towards Boulder.

* * * * * * *

Chapter Twelve

Baker’s Camp ~ Colorado

Baker was furious at being deceived by Sergio and Mike, and out of his mind over losing his granddaughter, who he told everyone had been kidnapped. The man in charge put the blame on his top two men, citing conspiracy and collusion to undermine his authority. The penalty would be death by walking. Each man was fitted with a 100-pound pack and twenty-pound ankle weights. They walked behind the last truck, chained to its bumper. “Only release the chains when they fall and make sure they don’t see another day,” he instructed his guards.

While he would never admit it to his followers, or even close confidantes, he questioned his authority to lead a group this large and decide the ultimate fate of his closest soldiers without being challenged man-to-man. The last two men who tried to take his Sally and run were dealt with swiftly, not by him personally but he did give the orders. This time he missed the heads-up with that Max guy and offered a more-than-handsome price for his head.

“Sergio will be up close and personal,” he told his men. “I want to look that traitor in his eyes before you do it,” he told his meanest soldier and now number one guy, who he called The Eraser. “Nobody touches him but you!” he screamed.

“Yes, Colonel. Whatever you need. I never liked him anyway.”

Baker walked the camp as they packed up efficiently, like a 20-year-old circus heading for a new gig every few weeks. He wanted to be seen, needed to be, and barked orders to his men while waving his arms in the air. To an outsider, it may have looked random, or even foolish, but this man ran his crew and all those inside the camp walls with an iron fist and demanded complete loyalty, with the exception of a few gone rogue.

“There are a few in every lot,” he told his closest men. “I trust the rats have all been chased from the gutters,” he added.

The camp was divided, with half wanting to stay and not get back on the road, and the other half eager to be finished, once and for all, with a final trek.

“We head out at first light,” Baker said. He told his soldiers to let the people know the sermon would be held on the road tomorrow.

* * * *

All were packed up an hour after first light, with forward observers already en route. They were instructed to secure a small plot of land one valley over from The West and Saddle Ranch properties.

Baker rode on his chariot, known as a palanquin, or a covered litter used by ancient Indian and Chinese Royalty, carried by two to four men, and up to a dozen, depending on the miles ahead. He traveled in the middle of his large caravan, including thousands of men, women and children. The self-proclaimed Colonel had no interest in being the first or last in the migration and vulnerable to an attack.

An epic journey across the plains of Northern Colorado to Saddle Ranch was only 50 miles, and that included detours, taking a few days to reach the valley adjacent to the goal. Forward scouts gave the all-clear, eliminating the few ranchers they encountered occupying the valley for the past fifty years.

Two nights and three days were enough to make the journey to the smoke-filled valley. Baker ordered a week-long camp setup, complete with a compact dirt runway and a helicopter pad. High altitude drones surveyed the area of interest and confirmed to Baker that he had made