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

the right decision to secure the pristine Valley for his followers. His tent flanked the very river Lance and his friends snuck down to fish many years ago and were greeted with rock salt from a shotgun by the same farmers who were buried one day ago, only two feet deep.

* * * * * * *

Chapter Thirteen

Saddle Ranch

Loveland, Colorado

“We’ve got company,” announced Mac at the usual morning meeting.

“I rode the Rimrock with Cory last night and saw the first wave of them, maybe twenty in all, invade the adjacent valley. A trip over this morning confirmed they had secured the land, and our neighbors to the east are no more. We can only assume that valley will be overrun with hundreds, or possibly thousands, of refugees under Baker’s command over the next days.

“Our efforts on this side need to be stepped up indefinitely until the Battle for the Valley is upon us. I am designating a twenty-four-hour detail to secure our Valley, starting right now. You, you, and the guy over there,” he pointed. “You’re all in advanced security notification. Drake is your lead. I’m going to catch hell from my girlfriend on this, but it’s for the best.”

Drake, up and about for only an afternoon, was up for the task. “Let me get my dogs put up, and you have me for the night,” he pledged.

Leading the three-person team, consisting of two men, plus a woman who had a stare that could stop others in their tracks, he got them into position on top of the Rimrock.

“You all will be supported with food, shelter, weapons, and contact radios for the coming days,” he told his new crew. “There are only two rules from Mac: don’t light a fire and don’t be seen.”

* * * *

“It won’t be long,” I told Mac and his crew of would-be soldiers in the crusade. “The forward observers are here, and that means the rest will be along soon.”

Everyone, old and new, stepped up, vowing to give the fight of a lifetime.

“It’s time,” said Sergio to Mike, pulling him aside.

“What time?” he asked.

“Time to start the countdown to victory. We have a day, maybe two or three, to take out their first line of communication. We both heard about the occupiers in the next valley, am I right?”

“Sure,” replied Mike, “with more to come.”

“Exactly,” continued Sergio. “They are the front line, and we need to take them out.”

“I remember,” continued Mike, “hearing Lance and his buddies followed the river down to fish and were only spotted after securing their catch. We should be able to do the same. If a few kids tromping around farmers’ fields with fishing rods and tackle can do it, we should have no problem with the forward guys; I dealt with some of them already, back on Raton Pass. There is no alcohol allowed at the Baker camp, but send a few guys ahead and they can’t stop drinking.”

“This should be fun,” said Sergio.

“Should we ask Mac if it’s okay?” Mike said, joking.

“I never do!” replied Sergio.

They made a plan and wouldn’t have to wait long. Mike told Vlad and me that he would be gone for a few days with Sergio but didn’t elaborate, and I knew better than to ask. Nobody else did either, and somehow, in the uncertainty of it all, even Mac lost track of them.

* * * * * * *

Chapter Fourteen

Saddle Ranch

Loveland, Colorado

“The Rimrock Three,” as they were now called, led by Drake, camped inside a small cave near the top of the Rimrock, with the opening pointing back towards Saddle Ranch. Even with the protected vantage point, they didn’t dare make a fire. The top of the cave was covered in red dirt and tightly woven branches of native bushes. Using knives and a hatchet, they carved out the inside with enough room for three adults to sit, lay down, or move about comfortably while still having an open view and protection from being spotted from the next valley over.

Drake was reminded of all the times he sat atop the cliff at the MacDonalds’ place, waiting for Whitney to return by some miracle or happenstance.

* * * *

Mike and Sergio followed the paved road up towards Masonville, stopping less than a mile before the General Store that had been there for more than one hundred years and was a staple for Saddle Ranch kids to trek over to on bicycles and unlicensed dirt bikes.

There they cut south, following the river downstream through dense trees and brush.

“Now I know why the kids here liked this river so much,” said Mike to Sergio as they passed one pool after another, so clear one could see ten feet down to the bottom and count the Cutthroat, Brown, and Rainbow Trout.

“That’s about good right there, fellas,” came the voice just before the shotgun sound every burglar and kid caught on this side of the fence feared. It wasn’t a shot, but the chamber was loaded, and that was as good as the real deal.

Mike and Sergio paused, with Mike taking the lead.

“I hear you guys around here shoot rock salt out of your shotguns.”

“Nope, that’s only for the kids. Those boys have been up to it for…I don’t know…thirty, maybe forty years now. It seems like the idea gets passed down with each generation, like a fraternity stunt. Before you boys go thinking this is going to go your way—I may be retired but I’m not some old farmer you can roll over on. I’ve done my tours, three in all.”

“Me too,” replied Sergio, “and I still am.”

“This guy here is just a cop, though,” he said, laughing.

“Hey, now,” replied Mike, joking back like they were watching a ball game and there wasn’t a man