Nathan Jones - First Winter

Interesting. Either the man hadn’t gotten six months from the military or he was responsible for providing for more than just himself. Either way Lewis could empathize with the food woes; losing three months from his stores would put a tremendous amount of pressure on him to provide for Jane, Mary, and his parents, even with the military’s windfall. But he thought he could manage it, and he’d endure a temporary crunch for the chance at future prosperity.

This opportunity was too good to pass up.

The man was a talker, or maybe he was just keeping his mouth going to ease the sting of losing what had obviously been prized tools of a beloved hobby. “Not that it affects the deal one way or another, but I’d be interested to know if you’ve managed to solve that problem for yourself.”

“No,” Lewis admitted. “I’m drawing a blank on those things too. But I figure it’s better to have some of what I need rather than none.”

“If you say so,” Gallagher said, scratching at his gray fringe of hair. “Without it all you might as well have nothing. Believe me, I know.”

Lewis just shrugged and led the man over to his bike trailer, giving him a chance to look over the food he’d be getting. He’d thought of bringing more than three months, in case Gallagher decided he didn’t like some specific item and demanded a replacement. But on the other hand there was the risk the man would up his price and ask for everything, which outweighed the chance he might walk away from the deal because he’d turned his nose up at something.

It sounded a bit heartless, but Lewis wouldn’t be overly concerned if the other party was slightly unsatisfied by what he’d gotten. He’d carefully counted calories to make sure this was exactly three months, so he’d kept his end of the deal. And he hadn’t used it as an opportunity to fob off all the unhealthy processed junk they’d gotten from the military, either; it was a decent variety, even some of his preserved venison jerky.

That worry proved groundless, however. Gallagher seemed content with the items on offer, and after a handshake to seal the deal they all got to work swapping the trade goods. In fact, the man proved a decent sort and seemed happy to share a lifetime of knowledge from his reloading hobby. Lewis listened intently, and although they were looking at a long ride home he even prevailed on the man to join him, Jane, and Gutierrez for dinner to continue the instruction.

In a way it was a shame they couldn’t offer the man a place in Aspen Hill the way they’d invited in other skilled experts. Even though it had meant he’d be facing competition to his own planned business Lewis had actually included a reloading expert on his list of recommended people. The town had ultimately turned the suggestion down as not necessary for immediate survival, not to mention they hadn’t found Gallagher at that point and no one else really fit the bill.

Still, he felt good about the day’s efforts as the three of them offered the older man a final round of handshakes, then rode away with a trailer full of tools and reloading supplies and heads full of imparted wisdom.

He just hoped whatever happened with Rogers wouldn’t make today’s work pointless. They’d see in six days, or closer to five since today was nearly over. It was hard to say whether that was not nearly long enough or an eternity.

It wasn’t a pleasant week for Matt.

Chauncey had no good news for him about Rogers. The man had apparently spent most of his career running logistics in military bases on US soil, with very little combat experience. Even during the recent fight against the blockheads his role had been managing refugees, not leading troops against the enemy. A pencil pusher.

As Catherine put it, a bureaucrat was a bureaucrat no matter which organization they worked for. Generally by the book to the point of being anal retentive, puffing themselves up with petty authority, and often their main source of influence was their ability to put stumbling blocks in the way of people trying to get things done until they got their way on an issue.

From the sound of things Rogers talked a good game and had a decent reputation, but the state of his camp told a different story. The refugees Aspen Hill had taken in had stories to tell of worsening conditions there, and Chauncey provided more scuttlebutt from other sources. Even a few of the veterans who’d joined the town had heard of him, and most of what they’d heard wasn’t great.

Of course it was possible the refugee camp was going to pot for reasons outside of the major’s control, but other camps facing similar issues seemed to be handling them better. Either Rogers had somehow had extraordinarily bad luck and attracted all the troublemakers and malcontents to his camp, as well as every supply and coordination problem imaginable, or more likely the career bureaucrat wasn’t all that good at his job.

None of that information did much for Aspen Hill, though. Especially now that they were apparently on his bad side. Even worse, all of Chauncey’s communications to anyone he could get in contact with confirmed that Rogers could in fact probably do as he threatened; unless they were willing to go up the military chain of command on the issue they’d have to deal with the refugee camp coordinator, and he didn’t seem likely to make that easy.

What was worse, Scott and Ben had worked together to confirm something Matt already knew; that there was no way Aspen Hill could hope to take in a couple hundred mouths to feed without causing immense suffering for the town. Last winter had been crushing, losing them hundreds of people, and while the food situation was looking slightly better now they faced a nuclear winter that would last longer and be far more brutal. If Rogers did force them to take in refugees they’d be looking at a similar death toll in spite of their best efforts.

The major could talk about charity all he liked, but maybe he should spend more time considering reality.

Either way, as the leaders nervously gathered to await his arrival a week after his first visit the mood was grim. Sam had wanted to be there to give Matt her support, but with the chance things might turn violent he’d insisted she stay safe at home. Lewis, Jane, and Gutierrez were there, though, with enough of the returned volunteers mingled in with the crowd to defend everyone if the situation got nasty. He seriously hoped it wouldn’t, but they’d prepared just in case.

Which was why Trev and the defenders were elsewhere.

The mood only got grimmer when the military arrived, about the same time in the morning as last week, in a convoy of half a dozen trucks. Not enough to be bringing in 220 refugees, unless they’d seriously crammed them in, but Matt doubted they were bringing more food, either. Whatever that many vehicles meant was probably bad news.

Rogers hopped out of the lead vehicle to meet the assembled crowd, and several soldiers swarmed out to cover him as if he was expecting trouble. Once again Matt stepped forward alone to meet the man, staring over his shoulder at the trucks.

“What is this, Major?” he asked warily.

The camp coordinator gave him a triumphant look. “Correcting an error. And a legitimate one, in case you were going to accuse me of being vindictive. Our records show that as of the last census your town had 803 people. However, you were given rations for 900. I’ve come to reclaim the surplus for those who truly need it.”

So that was the angle the man planned to take. Matt grit his teeth. Losing that food wouldn’t be as disastrous as taking in the refugees, but it would still mean a lot of suffering and death. “The town currently has 866 residents.”

“As you claim,” Rogers shot back. “I prefer to go by the census.”