Nathan Jones - Fuel

“Do you think what remains of our government would actually launch the nukes?” she asked quietly.

“Why not?” Chauncey said with a weary sigh. “Our people are dying by the millions to the chaos alone, and we’ve just reached the point where people with no food after the Gulf refineries attack will be starving to death so the casualty numbers will soon skyrocket. Our government is in tatters and our hope of finding a way out of this mess is getting smaller and smaller. We’re already sinking, and in that position it’s a lot more tempting to throw a noose around your enemy’s neck and pull them in with you, so nuclear war will definitely be on the table. We’ve got nothing to lose and Russia knows it, which is the only thing that’s held them off until now. But if Canada invites them in and asks for their help booting out US soldiers sitting on their oil the Gold Bloc might just take that chance. If they do who knows what happens then?”

It was almost unbelievable. Here Sam and the community were fighting tooth and nail just to survive the upcoming winter, and somehow even in this situation the threat of war still loomed over them. Then again, when a country was at its weakest was just the time when its enemies were most likely to attack, so maybe it wasn’t so unbelievable.

Turner cursed. “Well all this is plenty grim, but we should be worrying more about what’s closer to home.” Oddly when he said that he didn’t turn to look north at the refugee camp, but south.

Sam’s frown deepened. “What do you mean? More news?”

Lewis nodded. “You could say that. FETF sent a major supply convoy to Price to aid with their growing refugee camp. Word is the refugees there number in the tens of thousands now, with more arriving every day.”

“More importantly,” Chauncey cut in irritably, “they’re very aware of Aspen Hill. A FETF administrator was on the radio talking to me this morning. Chewed me up and spit me out every way you can imagine, grilling me for information on the town and our own refugee camp and demanding answers I couldn’t give. I was tempted to just sign off but I was afraid if I did I’d end up on some Federal naughty list and wind up paying for it the moment they get here.”

Sam started in surprise. “You think they’re going to come here?”

“We’re not standing around at this roadblock for the pleasant conversation,” Turner growled. “From their questioning Chauncey seems to think they’ll be sending someone our way, probably soon. We’re here in case that “soon” is now.”

“But wouldn’t they come to Roadblock 3 to the south?” she asked.

“Maybe. But they know the refugee camp is outside this roadblock and that seems to be what they’re interested in.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Lewis said with a shake of his head. “They’ll stick their noses in Aspen Hill’s business. It’s what they do best.”

The conversation turned to other things as they waited. Sam soon cemented an impression of Lewis as polite and knowledgeable, but also reserved and even a bit on the doom and gloom side. It was obvious he expected the worst from the FETF visit and was sticking around to see just how bad it was going to be. That made Sam nervous, although she didn’t necessarily agree herself.

After all, it was the Task Force’s job to send aid and that’s what they were doing. What trouble could come from that? If anything they’d make things much better for the refugee camp outside of town, which would in turn make things better for Aspen Hill. They might even have aid for those in town who didn’t have enough and were forced to draw from the town storehouse.

About a half hour later Chauncey’s prediction came true, as a whistle from the man standing atop one of the cars keeping watch with binoculars drew their attention. Sam followed the others as they climbed up onto the vehicles or dressers that made up the roadblock, and even without binoculars she could see the two vehicles bearing FETF markings parked in the refugee camp. One looked like a troop transport, bristling with soldiers looking warily out at the refugees, while the other was obviously a supply truck.

“If that’s full of food that could solve a lot of problems,” Chauncey said eagerly.

At his side Lewis shook his head. “Divide it between the five hundred or so people in the refugee camp, along with however much they want to share with the town, and you’ll be surprised how fast it empties. Not to mention the presence of food will encourage more refugees to stick around when they might’ve otherwise kept going down to Price. That aid truck could end up a net loss for us.”

“Well I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.” Turner unsnapped the radio from his belt. “Roadblock 1 to Town Hall. Get Anderson and anyone you can find from the City Council out here. FETF is out in the refugee camp and will probably be here soon.”

From what Sam could see the FETF convoy seemed to consist of 12 soldiers in the troop transport and the driver of the supply truck, who also seemed to be in charge: a short, slender bureaucratic looking man in a suit.

At the moment the two trucks were still parked on the road in the middle of the camp, the soldiers deployed in a perimeter around them while the man in the suit spoke with a handful of refugees. The refugees were led by a man who was nearly as short as the bureaucrat and looked fairly nondescript. Considering some of the burly goons in the refugee group Sam wouldn’t have pegged this guy as the leader, but he was definitely the one talking to the FETF agent.

“Not sure I like that,” Anderson fretted, peering anxiously out at the trucks. “Talking to the refugees first is going to bias them, especially since the refugees aren’t going to have anything good to say about us.”

Behind the Mayor stood Catherine Tillman, Mitch Marsh, Bert Peterson, and Charles Mercer of the City Council. That was all of them now that the fifth council member, Tom Watts, had taken his family up to their cabin in the Manti-La Sal mountains earlier in the week. That had caused quite a stir in town, since they’d left quietly and no one knew about it until they were gone. Sam heard the councilman had left a note on his front door inviting the town to give his house to anyone who needed it, and that was that.

“Don’t be so paranoid,” Councilwoman Tillman said mildly. “FETF are professionals, I’m sure they’ll take an unbiased stance.”

“I hope,” Lewis muttered from his place beside Sam, for her ears only. “But professionals or not they’re still human, and whatever the situation the plight of those refugees is going to tug at the heartstrings. Not to mention our government has a habit of taking from one group to redistribute to another.”

Sam glanced at him in disapproval, then at the Stars and Stripes hanging from the building to the left of the roadblock. Anderson had put it up as part of the welcome to FETF to show that they were still fervent US citizens, and its raising had inspired an impromptu Pledge of Allegiance from the assembled townspeople. Sam had been one of the first to join in, and she noticed Lewis had as well, so his comment seemed a bit out of place. “That doesn’t seem like a very patriotic thing to say.”

Lewis tore his gaze from the trucks to look at her. “Don’t get me wrong. I love my country, I love the people in it, and I love the community I live in. But the current government, or what’s left of it after everything that’s happened, has done a lot deserving of criticism. The first patriots had plenty to say about when any form of government becomes destructive to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

Before Sam could respond, assuming she could think of anything to say to that, a shout went up from the crowd gathered behind the roadblock as the distinctive noise of engines roaring to life drew everyone’s attention back to the FETF trucks. Aside from the drivers the soldiers had fanned out in front and behind the trucks and were escorting them toward the roadblock at a slow pace, weapons held at the ready.