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

“Well, I’m on the fence between burning it and taking out enough wires that would take them months to find replacements for. The burning option is more fun, for sure, but Ronna or the Colonel may want to save them for their own use down the road. I’ll get hold of Ronna in a few and see what he wants to do.”

“Do you need permission for everything?” asked Mike, not trying to sound disrespectful but not caring either way.

“No, not everything, or even most things, but with what we have coming up in the next year or so, we’re going to need all the transportation and firepower we can get our hands on. I’m guessing Ronna will feel the same; but then again, who knows? Let’s head over to Hanson’s place. I want to get there before dark.”

* * * *

There would be no sneaking onto Hanson’s property today, so they walked right up the driveway and were met by him and a few of his neighbors finishing up the damming.

The water in the year-round running river was backing up and filling in areas around it that were long ago carved out but always dry since Hanson could ever remember. It raised, visible to the naked eye, and climbed the steep embankment on either side.

“Eventually, this thing is going to blow,” said Hanson, reaching out to shake hands.

“Looks good,” called out Sergio, reaching out as well. “I think you already pissed a few of them off down in the valley. Any of them come poking around up here yet?”

“Nope, we haven’t seen anyone yet, but I’m sure all that is about to change.”

“You can be assured of that,” replied Sergio. “By this time tomorrow, they will be here, right here, and probably won’t be asking a lot of questions. Of course, even if it wasn’t dammed, the scouts would be here anyway, looking for supplies and females,” he said in a lower voice and nodding towards the house. “If I were in your shoes, I would pack up tonight and leave at first light—headed north at least 20 miles to be safe until this thing is over.”

“This is our home. I’m not just going to let them take it! No, sir, but I do see your point about my wife and daughter. We have some friends up north, Stove Prairie way. Maybe it’s far enough, and they can take the horses and make it in a day’s time. As for me, I’ve never run from anyone before, and I’m not about to start now, so let me know how I can help.”

His friends declined to volunteer themselves. They will no doubt hit the road themselves by morning or die on their own property by noon, thought Mike.

Hanson’s wife and daughter made a meal fit for a king for them, and his new friends, thinking it could possibly be the last. After dinner, Sergio drew a crude but accurate map, with Hanson’s help, of the valley and the last known location of the trucks carrying the game-changing cargo.

“We need to go tonight and see what we’re up against,” Sergio began, having just stepped back inside after a call with Ronna. “As I suspected, he wants everything intact but not operable, of course, right now. So, we pull wires, not cut but remove and save everything to be reinstalled later. If we do it right and those guys are bumbling, like the last crew they sent, we may get it done without even being noticed.”

Mike was anxious; some might call it antsy. He didn’t mind the mission and thought it was probably a better idea long-term than blowing everything to smithereens, but he needed some action. A good fight maybe, or a conflict only he could solve his way.

“There will be plenty of time for all that,” said Sergio, looking at Mike as if he had said something out loud.

“Yeah, I know,” Mike replied, with a slight smile, like he had been caught bluffing in a poker game.

* * * *

Sergio, Mike and Hanson slowly navigated the empty river, with the exception of standing water pools with not enough slope to run down.

“Follow the music,” said Sergio, recognizing the classic rock tunes blasting, nearly synonymous with the Baker group as a whole. He didn’t mind as he hummed along to a classic CCR tune called “Fortunate Son.”

The music speakers at Baker’s camp were always top-notch, and these were no exception, swirling sound off the valley walls and back to the source. Mike laughed, having seen this before on Raton Pass with more of Baker’s men.

“They are sure not trying to sneak in,” said Hanson, not even lowering his voice and getting a nod from the other two.

“It’s perfect,” said Sergio. “They can’t hear us, and they are likely to be drunk as skunks like before, since Baker isn’t here yet. It’s the last night to let loose, and they know it. They’re dumb, all right, but not dumb enough to rat each other out for some partying with the boss gone. It just makes our job easier, is all.”

A bonfire clearly showed the two dozen or so men all drinking and carrying on.

“The best thing about coming up on people around a fire at night is that they are easy to see, but they can’t see more than ten, twenty feet at the most. So a man, or three men, could stand completely in the open 30 feet away and be undetected,” added Hanson.

Sergio motioned for them to go around behind the old farmer’s now-occupied house and sneak up on the trailers for a closer look. He counted three men half guarding the trucks and talking together and asked Hanson to hang back.

“We won’t get another chance at this,” he told Mike. “I’m sure you won’t lose sleep helping me take these guys out.”