Nathan Jones - Shortage

“I think I can help us there,” Lewis said with a smile. “And give us a bit of firepower too.”

Matt couldn’t help but smile back. “What, something else you’ve got prepared?”

“You could say that. And you know exactly what it is since you helped me move it just a few hours ago.” Lewis turned to the rest of the group. “I’ve got 25 gallons of gasoline.” He ignored the shouts of surprise at that. “It won’t run vehicles but it should be great for molotov cocktails.”

The Mayor smiled. “You really are a lifesaver, Lewis.” She straightened and raised her voice. “All right then. We evacuate the civilians to Aspen Hill Canyon and turn Main Street into a shooting gallery. As for the rest of the town, just in case they try a side street or backroad instead of going through the roadblocks we’ll prepare ambush positions to keep them too busy to do much damage to our houses, and when we fall back it’ll be towards Main Street. Hopefully we can lure them in that direction to where we can really hit at them.”

Matt nodded. “Ferris knows the storehouse is where we keep everything, so that’ll probably be his target. We can finish emptying it out and set up a nasty surprise for him there.” He turned to the cousins. “Can you get started on those molotov cocktails?”

Trev started to nod, but Lewis spoke up quickly. “I’d like to do some recon on wherever Ferris has his convoy parked, see where they’ve set up and maybe try to figure out what they’re planning from their behavior.”

“Good idea. Trev?”

“Got it.” Trev said. “Maybe I can borrow some of the people who were going to be heading up the canyon? Also we’re going to need those canning jars everyone’s been gathering.” There were some protests at that and he nodded. “I know we need them for harvest, but we need them for this more.”

A sudden thought occurred to Matt, and he took his friend aside a short ways. “You were about to leave.”

Trev looked at him like he was crazy. “I’m not leaving while the town’s under attack! I have as much to defend here as anyone.” His friend clapped him on the shoulder and started past him. “I’ll go get started on the cocktails.”

Matt nodded, turning to everyone. “All right then. Let’s get ready to defend our home.”

They could probably have mounted the gasoline tank on a wagon and pulled it into town to make the cocktails, but since they already had the bottles and wagons they needed there was no reason not to do it at the shelter, with a radio handy to warn of any approaching danger.

Trev had April, in the process of packing up her family and as many belongings as they could manage in their wagon, pause for a moment to run in and grab one of the sheets. In the meantime he got to work pouring gasoline into one jar after another from the nozzle at the base of the tank, which was stood up about two feet off the ground on four sturdy interconnected legs for just that purpose. They were using pickle, peanut butter, and other assorted lower quality jars in lieu of the precious canning jars, although it had been difficult to find as many as they needed.

As he worked he passed the jars to the few volunteers who’d come with him, mostly the more halfhearted people who’d manned the roadblocks. The people who considered themselves defenders of the town and wanted to help out, but weren’t very good with weapons or eager to join the fighting. Alice was with them, looking sad and subdued but much healthier than she had when he first saw her weeks ago.

He wasn’t sure exactly how to make a molotov, but he figured cutting a hole in the lid of each jar and stuffing a cut off strip of cloth from the sheet down into it would do the job. It wasn’t exactly rocket science.

It took them a bit of time to get over a hundred of the firebombs made with the gas they had, and longer still to get them loaded into the wagons safely wrapped in cloth cut from more sheets out of the shelter. Trev hoped there’d be replacements or Lewis and the Larson clan were going to be pretty irritated at him. Between all that, how long it took them to get everything organized and get out to the shelter in the first place, and the even longer time to cart the cocktails back to town moving slowly to avoid even the chance of breaking the jars, he figured they’d been gone about four hours.

The sun was sinking low over the horizon by the time he and the others reached Main Street with their wagons full of molotov cocktails, reeking slightly from the gasoline they’d handled. When they did they found the town a much changed place.

All the useless cars that had become almost fixtures, parked along the sides of roads or in driveways for months, were now pulled strategically across certain streets to block access. Tack strips made of nails and screws punched through lengths of rope had been tied tightly between street lamps along Main, and in the windows of almost every building he saw familiar faces holding rifles, many with scopes, ready to fire down on any attacker.

He found Matt in front of Tillman’s, organizing his main ambush there, and learned from his friend that every single person in each building had been instructed to find two escape routes taking them out on different sides that they could use if the soldiers they were firing at decided to storm their building after them.

“Want me to find a window, too?” he asked as Matt began handing out molotov cocktails and lighters to the young men of the town. Their job was to wait on the top stories or even the roofs of buildings until the firefight started, then lob the firebombs at Ferris’s vehicles. That would hopefully be a safer task than being part of the firefight itself, since the soldiers would be distracted by incoming fire. Matt had carefully instructed them about staying out of sight and only lighting the rags on their cocktails at the last second so the light wouldn’t draw attention to them until it was too late. After that their only other job was to flee to safety along their own established escape routes.

Matt shook his head. “I want you with me at Roadblock 1 in case Ferris tries anything right then and there. We’ll take some molotov cocktails to distribute to the positions up there.”

Trev waited as his friend finished organizing the few groups remaining outside the former storehouse, then followed him up the street pulling his wagon with the last of the cocktails. “Any word from Lewis?”

“Regularly,” his friend said. “Ferris’s convoy is parked about a mile up the road. All vehicles and raiders are accounted for, assuming a few didn’t sneak away before your cousin got in position, and they haven’t moved this entire time. They’re waiting for the deadline.”

“I guess we are too, with most of the preparations complete,” Trev said, looking around. “All the noncombatants safe in the canyon?”

Matt nodded, the frown he’d worn since Trev first saw him deepening slightly. His friend’s mom, wife, sister, and nephews were there, which was reason enough to worry. “The Mayor’s there keeping everyone organized, as well as for her own safety. We’ve got a dozen men watching the mouth, and I sent a few molotovs up there just in case. They’ve got tack strips they can drag across the road between trees if they see anyone coming, and Jane’s there with our only .50 cal rifle ready to try to shoot the engine block of any vehicle that approaches. It’ll have to be enough, but for now we hope their focus is on the town.”

“And our crops?” Trev asked.

His friend’s frown deepened again. “A half dozen snipers in spots nearby, where they can guard the south border of town and the gardens both. I’ve ordered everyone to stay clear of the area, and the snipers have orders to shoot anyone who comes within 50 feet of the gardens. I’ve also got a man farther out to give advance warning.”