Nathan Jones - Determination

Even after Vernon’s save tonight, the last thing Trev had expected from the man was an apology. He couldn’t help but push it. “You didn’t think it was a bad… call after it happened.”

The former sheriff risked looking over at him, anger briefly flashing across his face. “The bad call wasn’t disagreeing with your plan, Smith. I still think it was reckless, it went against our mission there, and you tried to force me into it even after I objected. But in spite of that I still should’ve helped, since the alternative was leaving good people in a bad spot.”

Trev backed off. That wasn’t where he wanted this to go. So he moderated his tone. “If you’re willing to admit you… made a bad call then I can, too. I should’ve made sure you… were on board before trying a plan that might… rely on your help. It wasn’t my only mistake… that night, but it’s the one I blamed you for.”

Vernon hesitated for a second, then grunted. “We can’t pretend there’s not bad blood between us, Smith, and I wouldn’t recommend any joint missions going forward. But it can’t hurt to remember we’re on the same side.”

“Fair enough. Thank you, again.” Trev broke away from the former sheriff to join Lewis, Jane, and Rick, who were running just ahead of the rearguard looking ready to join the fighting if they had to. He was still out of breath, but now that he was no longer carrying the wounded man, and everyone was moving slower to accommodate the exhausted prisoners, he was starting to get it back.

“Mending fences?” Rick asked, a slight edge to his voice as he jerked his head Vernon’s way.

Trev nodded. “Within reason.”

His friend swore. “Does he honestly think we’ll trust him after everything that’s happened? I don’t care if he personally carried me out in his arms, tonight doesn’t change anything.”

Although he couldn’t blame Rick for feeling that way, Trev couldn’t let that slide. They still had to get back to the safety of the mountains with Vernon’s people, a long distance to go. They couldn’t afford to be snapping at each other like chained dogs the entire way. “The world isn’t black and white,” he tried.

“Don’t give me that.” Rick tore his eyes away from Vernon’s back to glare at him. “He got our friends killed. He got Alice shot! As far as I’m concerned he—”

Trev grabbed his friend’s arm, quieting him. “I’m as much to blame as Vernon,” he said fiercely. “I made the call to go ahead with the attack even when I wasn’t sure he’d join us. I thought we could handle it and I was wrong, and our friends got killed because of it.”

The younger man flinched slightly. “Don’t—” he started, then cut off. “You know I don’t blame you. None of us saw the blockheads hiding out there.”

“It was a bad night. There’s plenty of blame we can throw out, as much on the enemy doing things right as on us doing things wrong. Not to mention plain old bad luck.” He tightened his grip on his friend’s arm. “But whatever happened, happened. Our focus has to be on tonight, not something that took place weeks ago. And tonight Vernon’s people risked their lives to save us, and some of them might’ve died in the process. Tonight we have to get back to safety alongside them. So we will.”

After an eternal pause his friend nodded reluctantly, although his eyes strayed back to Vernon and his expression remained dark. He lowered his voice for Trev’s ears only. “I’ll go along, but I can’t forgive him for what happened. Even after tonight I’m not about to trust him, no matter what you say.”

He supposed that was only fair. “We’ll take precautions, and once we’re back in the mountains we can go back to avoiding each other. But until then we do the right thing, and hope they do the same.”

“You really think they’ll stick with us if we get attacked and they can break away clean?” Rick asked.

Trev hesitated. “They did at the camp.”

Vernon abruptly whistled piercingly from ahead. He wasn’t the only one giving warning, either. Prisoners were shouting and pointing, and the Aspen Hill volunteers were gathering up on the right side of the line of fleeing people, holding their weapons ready as they faced north. Trev looked that way and groaned, putting on a burst of speed to catch up to his friends.

Half a dozen trucks were headed their way, headlights on and engines roaring. It looked like Faraday’s distraction to the north hadn’t been enough to pull all the vehicles from Huntington, which was hardly a surprise.

“Grenades!” Lewis shouted. “Anyone who’s still got one, now’s the time!”

In spite of his confident tone sick dread was churning in his gut. The camp had been horrific, but at least there they’d had confusion, distraction, and a few squads’ worth of cover fire going for them. If even one of those trucks had a mounted heavy machine gun or missile launcher, they’d mow down the straggling line of fleeing people without difficulty.

Even if each vehicle only carried a full load of troops they’d outnumber the fleeing fighters and armed prisoners two to one, with the mobility to surround them and set up in the most advantageous positions. There’d be no running away, and Lewis and his people would have to worry about protecting more than three times their number of helpless civilians.

This was going to get ugly fast.

He pulled out his last grenade, yanked the pin, and hurled it towards the headlights, trying to time it so the explosion coincided with a vehicle driving over it. That the trucks were already in throwing range was a bad thing. Or maybe not quite, since his grenade went off a good ten feet ahead of the vehicles, who swerved to avoid the explosion.

Other people wound back to throw, while his and Vernon’s fighters all raised their weapons and began firing at the headlights, or above them at the windshields. Behind the blinding light slightly dimmer twinkles appeared in burst patterns as the enemy returned fire, and around him people cried out and fell. The exploding grenades rocked the trucks but none scored a direct hit, and they continued forward.

“Halsson, Vernon, order your people to get down, NOW!” Davis’s voice abruptly roared in Lewis’s headset.

He dropped like a rag doll, as ordered, while at the same time shouting for everyone else to get down, too. Vernon was also shouting, as were members of their squads. The prisoners seemed only too happy to drop to the ground, especially as the gunfire from the approaching trucks continued.

Then twin streaks of fire lit the night from the slope to the southwest, making a burning line to the blockhead vehicles. One of the trucks exploded, while behind it two more were flipped sideways like kicked toys and fell into wild tumbling rolls. The final two vehicles screeched to a halt, then whipped around and headed back the way they’d come in a squeal of tires.

“That’s the last of our missiles, Halsson. And from the looks of it the last of their pursuit, too. Hurry up and get those poor people to safety.”

Lewis lurched back to his feet, reaching down to haul up one of Vernon’s fighters. It turned out the man was wounded, blood soaking his shoulder, and he yelled bloody murder as his wounded arm was yanked around. Lewis awkwardly hauled the fighter up into a fireman’s carry while keeping hold of his G3, then lurched into motion again. “We’re in the clear, people! Let’s get out of here while it stays that way!”

A ragged cheer went up around him, and other figures popped up and began running again. Lewis looked around and spotted Gutierrez with most of their volunteers, weapons trained on the crashed vehicles. “Good thinking, Raul. Make sure none of the blockheads get out of that mess and start shooting us.” The former soldier nodded.