Ray Gorham - Daunting Days of Winter

More militia members continued to arrive while Sean gave directions. David estimated that their numbers had grown to over thirty. “I need four to head south to the Shipley Ranch. I don’t anticipate any trouble there, but make sure Bryan and his boys are armed and ready, just in case. Who has the horse?”

A hand was raised, and Sean pointed at the man. “Is it fast?”

The man nodded. “She’s young, but she can move.”

“Good. I need you to stay close to the militia house. Be ready to run messages and respond to gunfire anywhere it’s not expected. Who’s a fast runner?”

No one responded, so David hesitantly stuck his hand up.

“David, I need you to take the back way to Clinton as quickly as you can. Let them know what’s going on over here. You can take one of the bikes, but with the snow, I don’t know that you’ll be able to ride the whole way. You may have to do some of it on foot. See if they can offer any help, then come back this way down the freeway if they get a group together. That’s a lot of distance to cover, but we need to get word out. Wait and talk to me before you take off.”

David nodded, feeling his heart already begin to race.

Sean counted heads. “You six, divide yourselves between the bunkers along the river. Two in each. Stay there unless instructed to reinforce somewhere else. Craig, you stay here. As more show up, I want you sending half of everyone to us at the bridge, then spread the rest out to reinforce.” The deep, steady rumble of the engines was increasing, as was the sense of dread that hung in the air.

“Alright!” Sean said, raising his voice. “This is what all our drills have been about. We get a chance to protect our homes. I don’t know what’s in store, hopefully it’s a false alarm, but remember, we don’t have unlimited ammo, so if it comes to shooting, shoot to kill. No pray and spray out there, and don’t waste bullets on someone who isn’t a threat. Stay where you’re assigned, unless you’re directed to leave or you can’t hold your position. I don’t know how big this group is that’s coming in. It might be just a couple of folks who are lost, but I doubt it.”

David looked around at the nervous faces. The group was mostly men in their thirties and forties, though there were a few women and several men whose hair was solid gray. His legs trembled, and the memories of the night on the mountain came rushing back, adding to his anxiety. At least this time I’m not the only one who knows they’re coming, he thought.

Sean continued speaking to the group. “We need to hurry and get into position. I know most of you have never shot a man before, and it will be really difficult if it comes to that. Remember, these people have come here, to our homes. We’re not doing anything more than defending ourselves, and we’ll do whatever we have to do to defend our families.” He scanned the group, noticing tension, fear, and nervous resolve in his men.

Someone in the group shouted out, “Try and imagine them with antlers, they’ll be easier to shoot that way.” Sean smiled and several let out a low chuckle.

“Are we ready?” Sean called out, his voice growing stronger. The group responded half-heartedly, so he repeated, as loudly as he could. “I said, are we ready?!” This time the response was surer, with men waving their rifles in the air, shouting, and cheering.

“Alright!” Sean rallied, his rifle held over his head. “Then get to your posts, and keep your heads down!”

The group broke up quickly, with men and women scrambling in different directions. They were all nervous, but there was a confidence as well, earned during the past weeks of training and drilling with the militia.

David went to Sean and tapped him on the shoulder. “What do I need to do?”

Sean grabbed David by the elbow. “Have you been the back way to Clinton before?”

David shook his head.

“There’s a wood bridge about five miles up that you can get across on. Get there fast and let them know that it looks like an armed group of men are heading through the valley. Have them gather their forces and at the very least prepare a defense. If you hear gunfire and there’s any way they can afford to send reinforcements, have them send men our way through the hills on the North side of the freeway. We’ll take any help we can get, and let them know that if these guys are bad news and head east, we’ll trail them and help push them past Clinton. Just don’t get south of the freeway, I don’t want any friendly fire issues.”

David made mental notes and nodded at each instruction. “Got it,” he said when Sean finished. As he turned to leave, David felt a tug on his jacket and turned back.

“Thanks for your help, David,” Sean said warmly. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know,” he said. “But we’re still a part of this community.”

Sean patted the young man on his shoulder, then motioned towards Clinton with his head. “You better get moving.”

Thursday, February 16 th

Deer Creek, MT

Ty joined the men assigned to the barricades by the bridge, found a place, and took cover. Over the past three months, the militia had worked hard to build two large fortifications on both sides of the road that led across the bridge. The barricades were set back about fifty feet from the river and angled at forty-five degrees to the road and consisted of long embankments that were flanked by ditches in the front and rear. The ditches were shallow but wide, and the dirt that had been excavated from them, along with a variety of other material, had been used to make the earthen berms that rose six feet above ground level and were capped with large tree trunks that lay horizontally along the top.

From where he knelt, Ty could see the dump truck and an old bus exiting the freeway and maneuvering around the dead cars the militia had placed in the roadway to slow and deter approaching vehicles. Tensions were high with his group, all of whom were watching the vehicles approach as they took cover behind the mammoth tree trunk.

On the far side of the river, the approaching vehicles came to a stop and shut down their engines, and a group of eighteen people, some dressed in military-style fatigues, exited the bus, joined by two men who climbed out of the dump truck’s cab. Sean had taken up a position a few feet away from Ty and let out a low whistle. “These boys mean business,” he said, loudly enough that everyone in their bunker heard. “But they don’t know who they’re dealing with, do they?” he continued, his voice rising.

One of the men from the bus retrieved a white flag and held it over his head, waving it back and forth for a few seconds, then began walking towards them across the bridge.

“Everyone hold your fire!” Sean called out, loud enough for the men at both berms to hear. “Let’s see what they have in mind before we do anything. I want everyone to stay down low so they can’t see what our forces are like, except for a couple people at each berm. You can stick your heads up, so they’ll see you. The rest of you stay out of sight.”

Ty stood up, volunteering to be visible, and saw the two oldest men at the far berm stand as well, one holding only a .22, the other a handgun. He nervously held his semi-automatic, wondering if it would look too staged if he dropped his rifle and held only his hunting knife. Peering through his riflescope, Ty saw the men on the far side of the river venturing off in groups of two and three to check the abandoned vehicles, but knowing they wouldn’t find anything, as he’d been on one of the teams that had salvaged everything of value and pushed the vehicles into their current positions. Even the fuel tanks at the freeway exit’s gas station had been drained with a siphon hose months ago. Nevertheless, the brazenness of the outsiders made Ty’s heart beat a little faster.