Nathan Jones - First Winter

His wife leaned against him as they started for their bicycles, his still with the trailer hitched up ready to go. “Believe me, I understand the idea of taking useless trash people are literally walking all over and turning it into one of the most valuable commodities around. If you can manage it… you may have the best instructive books and audio guides in the world, but you’ve never done this before.”

True. But he hadn’t let that stop him from doing anything else he’d needed to learn to do. “Even if we can’t get the equipment or I turn out to be completely inept, if we sit on these for a while people will eventually realize their value, and then we can sell what we gathered to people who actually can do it.”

It would be a shame to do that, giving others profit he could’ve been making himself. But it was comforting to know today wouldn’t be a complete waste of time even if things didn’t pan out.

They stopped for a second at the family’s cabin to let their parents know they were heading out, and while Jane waited Lewis popped into the large tent they were using as a temporary town hall to remind Matt, Trev, and Chauncey of his plans.

“I can’t tell if it’s a genius idea or a complete waste of time,” Matt said. “But either way be safe. The military’s doing a good job securing the road for travelers, but you can never be too careful.”

Trev looked a bit glum as he clapped Lewis on the back. “Wish I could come along, but I can’t justify taking a whole day twice in less than a week. Guess I have to be satisfied with a steady job that sometimes gives me a meal, while you’re off chasing get rich quick schemes.”

Lewis grinned. “Get rich quick schemes that’ll help the whole town, if things go well. But don’t worry, this is just the first step. There’ll be plenty of chances for you to join in if you want to be a partner.”

His cousin finally grinned back. “Have fun picking up litter on the highway, then.”

“I can’t wait.” Lewis went over to shake hands with Chauncey, confirming that the retired teacher hadn’t heard anything back yet on the needed equipment, then rejoined Jane and hopped on his bike.

They went east rather than west this time, making the mostly downhill trip to Aspen Hill Canyon, then down through it to the old town. It was a fast trip and they made good speed, although picking their way over the hill of loose boulders and scree where they’d dropped the cliff onto the road slowed them down as much as usual. The delay was even more depressing when he considered that every mile going downhill now would be agony coming back uphill. Thanks to that time constraint they didn’t stop at their former town or the shelter and continued on to Highway 6, traveling north.

Since they’d gone after the bike trailer they already had some idea of what the former blockhead territory looked like now. Even so it was sad to see Helper burned to the ground the same way Aspen Hill was.

From the scattering of tents outside the charred area it looked as if some of the residents of the town who’d fled the blockheads were trickling back to their land, if not their homes. Lewis hoped they managed to find some way to eke out an existence and survive the winter after they’d lost so much, but he didn’t risk stopping to talk to them and continued on.

It was a long trip, even on a bicycle, but eventually they reached their destination. And it was pretty immediately apparent when they’d done so; the spot where Colonel Grimes had held Highway 6 against almost constant blockhead attacks was literally a war zone.

Even with both sides now gone the evidence of it remained everywhere. There were abandoned sandbag fortifications lining the highway for miles, or at least piles of dirt where sand had been poured out so the bags could be reused elsewhere, all facing each other across a no man’s land.

Debris was piled up to create obstacles on the hillsides to either side, along with more dug out emplacements with sandbags or piles of sand. There was also evidence of crude booby traps neither side had bothered to take down for the garbage that made up their parts; strings of cans designed to rattle if disturbed, pitfalls covered by sticks and leaves over sagging frames, things like that.

It was almost creepy in a way, to see an area that had been of vital strategic importance not long ago now completely abandoned. He and Jane had passed the blockhead graveyards on the way here. Endless rows of poorly marked graves, or even filled in trenches for mass graves when the dead became too numerous to give them proper burials. Lewis had no doubt they’d find something similar for US casualties if they kept going up the road.

But now only the dead remained to indicate the massive bloodshed that had taken place in this area over the course of the blockhead siege. This had been one of the bloodier locations for the fighting, where the military had fought tooth and nail to prevent the enemy from getting a road that would’ve vivisected and isolated the US forces to the north and south, making reinforcements or other aid coming from either side impossible.

A loss here probably would’ve meant losing the entire war, and both sides knew it. Thousands upon thousands of Gold Bloc and US soldiers had died along a stretch of road only a few miles long.

And now there wasn’t even a roadblock here. With the Gold Bloc forces gone the military had expanded their sphere of influence and protection for hundreds of miles along the roads in the area, especially to the north and to the east where the blockheads had retreated. But before they left a battlefield like this one, quartermasters in the military looking to retrieve anything useful for their continued engagements as they pursued the enemy had to have thoroughly picked it over. And once the military was gone scavengers would’ve moved in, looking for any scrap of value.

But maybe even scavengers didn’t know value when they saw it.

Lewis braked near one of the blockhead sandbag fortifications and walked his bicycle to where it left the road and continued on down the dirt shoulder. Then he crouched, fingers sifting through the dirt. They came up with a handful of dull metal objects that had been swept off the pavement onto the roadside.

He held them up and grinned at Jane. “Told you. Most militaries consider brass completely disposable.”

It had come to him after that last fight defending Highway 31’s canyon with Davis, while he was walking around in the aftermath of the battle. There’d been hundreds, maybe even thousands, of shell casings on the ground that everyone completely ignored as they focused on stripping the bodies of anything useful and seeing to their burial.

Lewis had realized that a man with reloading equipment and knowhow could literally pick up thousands of potential bullets from the ground of these sites of battle, and he might be the only one who’d thought of it.

Jane crouched to pick up a few casings herself, rattling them around in her hand. “I never said they didn’t.” She pulled out a garbage bag and shook it open, then started to crouch again. “Let’s get to work.”

Lewis gave a low whistle to get her attention, then shook his head. “Not here.” He retrieved his bike and started up the road towards the US fortifications.

His wife followed. “Oh, right. I guess 5.56 ammo is going to be more valuable for reloading than 7.62x39.”

“Not to mention the Gold Bloc tends to use steel casings,” he added. “Those might have their use on the battlefield, like being a bit lighter than brass, but they’re terrible for reloading.”

The US side of the conflict had just as many spent casings as the blockhead side had, more than enough to fill the bike trailer to overflowing. That represented thousands of shell casings, mostly 5.56 but with some .45 and 9mm in the mix, along with a few rare spots blanketed with .50 cal from machine gun emplacements.