Ray Gorham - Daunting Days of Winter

She skirted along the upper edges of the creek bank as she walked home, noticing that the water levels were climbing a little higher each day, slowly filling the small reservoir the community was in the process of creating. Under Craig Reider’s direction, a dam was being constructed across the creek with the hope of providing extra irrigation water in the summer when the creek flow slowed. Despite the fact it was being done with shovels and wheelbarrows, the work was proceeding quickly.

The base of the dam was twenty feet thick and built with salvaged concrete from sidewalks and driveways of vacant homes, then back-filled with gravel. A dirt and gravel mixture was being dumped on top of that, filling in the cracks and keeping the water backed up behind it. When completed, the dam would measure nine feet high and pinch off across a section of the creek that was no more than thirty-five feet across. Two sections of twelve-inch irrigation pipe ran through the base of the dam and would be used to allow water to flow through once the reservoir filled, but until then, they were blocked off in order to fill the lake.

Hurrying to get the milk back to Madison while it was still warm, Jennifer offered a curt smile as she passed two men with rifles slung over their shoulders, who were pushing wheelbarrows loaded with shovels and rakes towards the dam.

Jennifer had just reached home when she heard a ringing in the distance, like a church bell, a sound that at first she couldn’t place. Then, like a kick to the stomach, the realization hit her. Someone had shot the truck hood that hung from the tree outside the militia house, the one that David had had so much trouble hitting a few weeks before. Someone had sounded the alarm.

She bounded up the steps and burst through the door. Emma quickly looked up at her while rocking the baby. David raced up from the basement, a rifle in one hand, his boots in the other. “Here, make a bottle,” she said, handing the milk to Emma and grabbing David as he brushed past her. “Where are you going?” she demanded, her voice strained.

“You heard the alarm, Mom, I have to go.”

“No, David! I’ve already lost your father. I will not allow you to go. Just stay here and help me protect your brother and sisters.”

David looked at his mom, no fear in his eyes. “Mom. I can do this. My friends are out there. I need to go help.”

Jennifer squeezed his arm harder, looking him in the eyes, and felt her chin quiver. “But David, if something happens, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know if I can take it.”

“I’ll be careful, Mom. I promise. But I have to go. There aren’t very many of us, so everyone’s needed. Besides, it’s probably another false alarm. The guys on day shift are too jumpy.”

Jennifer’s grip loosened, and David pulled away, his face calm. He grabbed his jacket from the front closet and a backpack with three loaded magazines, pulled on his boots, and hurried to the font door. “I do know this isn’t a drill, Mom, so have your gun ready. Hopefully it is a false alarm, but if it’s not…,” he stammered. “Be ready, just in case.”

David flew out the front door and was gone before the sound of the slamming door quit echoing through Jennifer’s mind, her maternal fears imagining every conceivable threat her son was off to face.

Emma had the bottle filled and was back on the couch holding the baby close and watching her mother. “I’m scared, mom,” she whispered. “Is he going to be alright?”

Jennifer tried to fake a smile. “I hope so, Em. I really, really hope so.”

Thursday, February 16 th

Deer Creek, MT

David flew down the street, running as fast as he was able with his gun in one hand and his backpack thrown over his other shoulder. He spotted men coming from two other streets and was overtaken by a man on horseback who galloped past, shouting words of encouragement.

A garage a half-mile from the militia house, designated as the mustering point after the previous incident made it apparent that the militia house was too close to potential threats, was his destination. David, breathing heavily when he arrived, listened to the men already present as they speculated about the situation, though none of them really knew much of anything.

David was standing off to the side and trying to catch his breath when someone shouted to quiet the group. Voices quickly went silent, and everyone strained to hear, listening for anything out of place. David heard a low rumbling just as someone blurted out “engines!” Another man confirmed it. “I heard it too. It sounds like more than one.”

A nervous murmur rumbled through the twenty men who were gathered. Craig Reider, now standing at the front of the group, spoke. “Listen up! Sean has gone ahead to the militia house to find out what he can. He said the rest of us need to be ready for action as soon as he gets back.”

Craig spent the next few minutes confirming weapons were loaded and ready and everyone was primed to shift into action once Sean returned. David was focused on Craig’s instructions when someone alerted the men. “Here comes Sean, and he’s moving pretty fast.” David turned towards the militia house and saw Sean sprinting down the street. Sometimes the militia jogged around the area to get in shape, but never a full on sprint, and it scared him.

David felt a hand grab his shoulder, startling him. He jumped as he turned and saw Ty Lewis giving him a reassuring smile.

“How you doing, David?” Ty asked, his eyes on Sean sprinting towards them.

“Alright, I guess,” David answered, his attention re-focused on Sean as well. David tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry, like at the end of an August football practice. He licked his lips and waited for Sean to reach them.

Sean didn’t break stride or slow down, arriving at the mustering point less than two minutes after he was first spotted. The ragtag groups of soldiers watching in silence as Sean hurried towards them.

Sean slowed to a walk just in front of the garage, fighting to catch his breath as he stepped in front of the group. “Okay…I’m sorry, but this doesn’t look good… From the upstairs window…” he took a couple of deep breaths between each phrase, pushing himself to relay the information as quickly as he could. “I could see a…dump truck and maybe a tour bus…coming down the freeway from Missoula. …with the spotting scope, I could see damage to the vehicles … looked like bullet dings. We won’t know until they get here…but they don’t look friendly.”

The men shifted anxiously from foot to foot. David was nervous as well, though maybe less so than some of the others, he thought, since he was one of the few people in the group who had actually shot a weapon in combat. Most of the men had done nothing more violent than take down a deer in hunting season, and some of them not even that.

“This is what I need,” Sean said, finally able to talk without stopping for air. “I need four men to head to the barricade on the road from Missoula on this side of the river. I don’t expect anything to happen there, but we need to be ready just in case. You come and back us up if we get into trouble by the bridge.” Craig indicated a group he had formed before Sean’s arrival, and the men started to leave. Sean called them back, instructing them to wait until all assignments had been made.

“I want twelve men for the barricades by the bridge, six on each side. You’re our first line of defense. The crew from the militia house already has four men there, so that’ll give us sixteen, plus there are two more upstairs with bigger weapons.” Craig walked through the group, picking out people as Sean spoke, including Ty, who still stood beside David.