Nathan Jones - First Winter

There’d be no hiding this from grieving loved ones. Brandon’s patrol hadn’t been killed by firearms but by blunt objects and blades, their murderers rushing them en masse and falling on the group with shocking brutality. And there were even hints they might have kept going after their victims were dead. Not even the goriest movie Matt had ever seen could prepare him for the horrific sight.

He’d seen plenty of fighting, plenty of death. He turned away and puked his guts out after only half a minute of taking in the scene in front of him.

He wasn’t the only one. None of those with him looked in any better shape, and even those who weren’t vomiting were pale from grief and disgust. This wasn’t the sort of sight you could get used to, or for that matter should. Langstrom and Terry, who’d both worked with their share of serious injuries, were visibly shaking as they checked the bodies.

“Looks like they gave as good as they got, at least,” Jane said. Her face was pale, but she didn’t look as bothered as the others. Matt had always admired her ability to detach herself from a situation until she had time to process it.

It may not’ve been the best time to make that observation, with the doctors still looking over the bodies and everyone silently grieving. She wasn’t wrong, though. When they fled the bandits left five of their companions behind where they fell, and spots of blood indicated at least one more had been wounded but made it away.

Once Matt finally got his stomach under control he wiped his mouth with a shaky hand and stumbled over to where Lewis and the others waited. “According to Deb and Trev one of the men who ambushed her was the same guy who attacked Trev four days ago. Our defenders followed that group back to the camp northwest of here. I think it’s reasonable to assume this was them?”

“Some of them, at least,” Lewis agreed. “It may be hasty to blame the whole camp.”

That seemed like just the sort of advice Gutierrez could use right now. Speaking of which… Matt toggled his radio. “Raul, what’ve you got?”

Gutierrez and half a dozen defenders had followed the bandits’ trail, going slow and cautious in case of further ambush. “We’re still tracking them, but I’m willing to bet money it’s that camp a few miles northwest of here,” the former soldier replied, tone oddly flat. “The trail leads straight back to it.”

That confirmed their suspicions, although honestly if dozens of men had attacked Brandon’s patrol there weren’t really all that many other options, especially in that direction. Most of the displaced refugees sent by Rogers had split into smaller groups or moved out of the area, searching for some refugee camp or community that would take them in. The largest group by far was in that camp.

From observing the hundred or so men in there they didn’t seem to be doing much in the way of providing for themselves, and there’d been more than a few suggestions that men from there were attacking and robbing people farther north of them, not just south towards Aspen Hill.

“All right, so we think we know who they are,” he replied over the radio and to the people around him both. “Now the question is: Are they insane? They’ve got what, a crossbow, some clubs and knives, and a few guns they looted from the patrol?”

“As far as we know,” Lucas agreed quietly.

Matt grit his teeth in frustration. “And they thought they could get away with this. Didn’t they get the message when we lined up hundreds of armed townspeople as a warning not to screw with us? Or when we sent their guys who tried to sneak into town slinking back with their tails between their legs?”

Lewis shook his head. “Maybe they don’t think we’ll be able to track them. Maybe they think our shows of force was a bluff, so they’re trying to lure us into a fight because they think they can take us and want to steal more of our stuff. Maybe they’re desperate and plan to flee now that they’ve pissed us off. Maybe they think a town will be bogged down by procedure and bureaucracy and won’t come after them in force. Or maybe, like I said earlier, this was just a portion of the camp acting without the knowledge or approval of the others.”

“Maybe some or all of the above.” Matt straightened, hand going to the 1911 at his hip. “Let’s get our people together to go out there and get to the bottom of this,” he said grimly. Then he reluctantly turned back to the murdered patrol. “But first let’s help Terry and Dr. Langstrom get these poor people prepared for burial, and call some people to help him take them back to town.”

The others nodded, equally grim. Matt called over the radio for someone from town to bring sheets to wrap the bodies in. Since Brandon had been killed almost immediately at the start of the fighting his body had largely been left alone, and might be made presentable for viewing with some work. But now that Robert was making caskets for the dead the funeral would certainly be closed casket for the other three.

It didn’t take long to do what they could to help, which wasn’t much. Matt left his sister and brother-in-law behind with the surgeon and a couple defenders while he took everyone else at a quick trot following after Gutierrez.

On the way Rick removed his helmet and held it out to Matt. “Here. I noticed you only brought a vest.”

Matt hesitated accepting it. “Look, I’m pissed off too, but we’re going out there to talk first and foremost. We need to figure out what happened before we just start shooting up the camp, and wearing a helmet doesn’t exactly scream peaceful negotiation.”

His friend shrugged. “I’m more worried about them shooting up my Mayor. Just put it on.”

It was hard to argue with that logic. Matt reluctantly put on the helmet as they jogged.

They were almost to the camp before they caught up with Gutierrez. The former soldier didn’t let them stay caught up, either; he ran ahead with his people to check for scouts around the camp and sweep its perimeter for potential threats. Since the man was in charge in Trev’s absence Matt didn’t protest. Instead he led the others behind a low hill overlooking the sprawl of tents to wait for the all-clear signal. Once Gutierrez gave it Matt led the way shimmying up to the top, peeking down at the camp a hundred yards away from behind the cover of a small stand of scrub oak.

The size and number of crude shelters confirmed about a hundred people. There weren’t many tents, and the spare cloth and other material the displaced refugees been able to find had been hung in sloped canopies around the fires to catch the warmth. There were a couple deer slung over those fires roasting, suggesting the men had more guns or bows and crossbows. There was no way the bandits who’d taken out the patrol could’ve returned in time to bring down game using the stolen rifles of their victims.

Either way it wouldn’t be enough meat to go around. The men he saw were as emaciated and ragged as their tents, obviously missing more than a few meals, and a couple deer weren’t going to help that. Of course, after butchering four Aspen Hill townspeople this scum of humanity had more to worry about than where their next meal was coming from.

“Cover me,” he said, directing the words both to Gutierrez over the radio and to the defenders with him. Then with one last check of his gear he rose and started down the far side of the hill.

To their credit the sentries the displaced refugees had set around their camp immediately spotted him and the others and scrambled to defend themselves, producing weapons and taking cover behind tents and anything else in camp that would offer at least some concealment.

Matt didn’t see any sign of the weapons or other gear from the patrol, which as best he knew was five rifles, four pistols, four sets of body armor, four packs, and whatever else Brandon and the others had been carrying on them. It was a surprise the bandits left their victims the clothes on their backs. The fact that none of the men below were showing any of that wasn’t proof of innocence, since Gutierrez had followed the bandits directly here.