Nathan Jones - Shortage

He paused for several long moments to look around in all directions and listen carefully for any sign of hidden watchers, then unslung his gun and loped up onto the road, crossing it to the other side to climb the slope there and get to a game trail they’d found that ran parallel to it about a hundred feet above. Once on the trail he moved quickly but cautiously, still looking and listening as he hurried to catch up to the men below.

The trees were thick enough on this slope that there was little danger of him being seen, especially in his tan coat and brown pants, and he could barely catch glimpses of the road downslope through the branches. He once again heard them before he saw them, and as he quickened his pace he was relieved to see Lewis crouched on the game trail ahead staring down at the road. His cousin had his HK G3 out and balanced in a firing position with his elbows on his knees. Before Trev could get too close Lewis must have heard him coming, because he abruptly stiffened and began to pivot his way, bringing the larger caliber rifle to bear.

Trev froze, hoping his cousin wasn’t trigger happy. Luckily Lewis looked before he aimed, and recognizing him he immediately lowered his weapon. His cousin gave him a relieved smile and motioned, and as Trev caught up he led the way along the trail, ghosting after the interlopers.

They tailed the group for over a half hour, well past the hideout, and then once he was satisfied the men below planned to continue following the logging road Lewis found a spot where they could see the road for a ways from behind cover and posted up there. Trev settled in beside him, taking out his binoculars to follow their progress.

What he saw didn’t please him. His earlier suspicion that the men were tailing the refugees was correct, since although they were moving faster than the huddled group on the highway below they were constantly passing a few pairs of binoculars between them and looking through the single scoped rifle they possessed. Their eyes were always either on the refugees or on the road farther south, and from the way they kept pointing that way as they talked Trev had the unsettled feeling they were planning something.

And soon.

When he expressed these fears to Lewis his cousin frowned. “Maybe they’re guarding the refugee caravan and they were using their binoculars to make sure their friends are all right.” But as he said it he lifted his rifle to look at them through the scope and see for himself.

Trev shook his head. “They didn’t look like guards. Believe me, they’ve got nothing good planned for those people down there. I think they’re planning on setting up an ambush where the valley narrows a few miles south of here. They could position themselves on the slope directly above the road and the people below would be sitting ducks.”

After a moment Lewis sighed and lowered his rifle. “Maybe you’re right. If so what do you plan to do about it, go down and warn the refugees? By the time you got there it could be too late, or you could end up getting ambushed along with them.”

Trev couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What are you saying, that we should just head back to the hideout like it’s not our problem?”

“It isn’t our problem,” his cousin said patiently. “And that’s lucky for us, because if it was it’d be two of us against seven of them. Your aim may be a bit better after some practicing this last week but you’ve never been in a gunfight. Neither have I for that matter. What if those guys down there are retired soldiers or deserters from the Armed Forces? 99 times out of 100 we’d be committing suicide.”

“They aren’t wearing fatigues or anything,” Trev pointed out. “And their weapons didn’t look standard issue either. I think they’re just a bunch of hoodlums searching for easy pickings. Maybe rioters down from the cities to the north now that they’ve been picked clean.”

“It’s still seven against two and we don’t know what we’re doing in a fight. Those sorts of numbers will get us killed.” Lewis looked at his face and made an annoyed sound. “Look, I can guarantee you they’re not staying in the mountains, and once they get through to the other side we’ll probably never see them again. Let’s just head back to the hideout and let them do their thing.”

His cousin had a point, but at the same time Trev didn’t think he’d ever be able to forgive himself if he let those refugees get attacked without doing anything about it. “Can you just really walk away from a bunch of innocent people who are about to die?” he asked quietly.

“Do you really want to die trying to stop them?” Lewis shot back, although the question had clearly gotten to him.

Trev shook his head. “Of course not. But maybe it’s not as bad as you think. If they’re following the road looking for an ambush spot then once they arrive their eyes will be on their victims. If we can get behind them then they’ll be the ones who’re sitting ducks.”

“What if their ambush spot is a copse of trees that covers them from all sides?” Lewis argued. But his cousin was wavering.

A surge of relief filled Trev. He knew Lewis took responsibility for keeping them both alive, but he hadn’t believed his cousin would just walk away from innocents in danger. “We can at least go and check, right? We know this area better than them and we’ve got more practice making our way quietly through this terrain. They’ll never see us coming.”

“If they do we’re dead,” Lewis predicted gloomily. But he motioned in the direction of the slope above the logging road. The game trail had long since petered out, but they’d found a narrow strip of relatively flat land they could follow.

Grinning with relief, Trev took the lead and hurried to catch up to the men below.

They caught up to the group and trailed them for about an hour to a spot where the mountainside sloped down steeply to the river below, which flowed swift and narrow right next to the highway. The seven men had left the logging road behind and descended most of the way down the slope to a flat clearing. It had a large log at one end overlooking the road less than 50 yards away, and as Trev and Lewis watched the bandits positioned themselves behind the log, readying their weapons.

Along with the two rifles and a shotgun one of the bandits produced a massive revolver that had to be a .44, while the other one he hadn’t seen with a weapon pulled out a heavy knife that looked like a small machete and prepared himself to rush down and corner any refugees who tried to flee. There was a narrow wooden footbridge across the river below, available for the use of fishermen to reach good spots farther up and down the river, and it was obvious they planned to use it.

While the slope down to the road was fairly barren, making it ideal for an ambush, the slope above the clearing was just as thickly wooded as anywhere. With the seven men lined up behind the log Trev couldn’t think of a more ideal situation for them.

He glanced back at Lewis, and his cousin gave him a resigned look and nodded as he spoke some last advice. “Remember, even if you hit the thoracic cavity your .223 might need two or three shots to bring an enemy down.” He reached out to grip Trev’s shoulder. “Don’t die.”

Trev nodded and started picking his way carefully down the slope, keeping behind cover, as Lewis did the same about twenty feet farther on.

About halfway down he found a fairly good spot behind an uprooted tree, where he settled in with his rifle clutched to his chest while he waited for his cousin to get into position. The longer he waited the more he felt his heart pounding in his chest and his extremities starting to go numb as the reality of the situation washed over him. It didn’t help that he could hear the bandits talking, and he poked his head around just enough to see the men behind the log. Their eyes were on the road below, where the refugees were just trailing into view.