Nathan Jones - Fuel

Trev opened his mouth to protest further, but before he could the FETF administrator shot him a dark look and raised one fist in a silent command. The six soldiers with him lifted their weapons to the firing position, and for the third time in his life Trev found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. Unlike Nelson, though, he doubted these guys had forgotten to chamber a round. They were as ready to use their weapons as the law enforcement at the Spanish Fork roadblock had been. He very slowly lifted his hands in surrender.

Lewis’s shoulders sagged in defeat and he also lifted his hands in surrender. “I guess there’s not much we can do about it,” he said. “Can we at least cart out the bare minimum necessities? Winter clothes, blankets, camping equipment, 2 weeks’ worth of food, and personal items?”

Maybe Ferris was feeling generous after his huge score, or maybe there was a shred of decency left in the man, but he nodded slightly. “We’ll keep an eye on what you load up.”

Trev almost laughed in relief. The necessities would be vital, of course, especially the winter gear and camping equipment, but the most important thing on that list wasn’t anything his cousin had mentioned but what they’d be using to carry everything else.

They had two wagons. One was a sturdy cart Lewis with his typical forward thinking had purchased while they were still building the shelter, capable of hauling eight hundred pounds and big enough to haul a decent volume, with either a pushbar or a belt harness for pulling it. In truth its weight capacity was far better than one person could manage, and Trev had never seen his cousin tow more than three or four hundred pounds on it.

The other wasn’t nearly as impressive, just a 4-wheeled moving dolly Trev had talked his parents into letting him keep after they moved to Michigan, which he’d screwed a sheet of plywood cut to size over a frame of 2x4s onto and used a basic rope tied in the front two corners to pull it. It wasn’t nearly as reliable and couldn’t hold even half the weight of the other one, but it was just as important they have it. As long as they stuck to roads of some kind, even dirt, they would be able to haul their stuff if need be.

Trev hadn’t even considered the wagons sitting beside the shed behind them as a necessary resource until Lewis mentioned them, but there was no way they could’ve walked away with two empty wagons while leaving everything else behind without drawing immediate suspicion about what they were planning to haul. Now, thanks to Lewis’s quick thinking, that problem was solved.

Lewis reluctantly turned and started for the front of the shelter as everyone followed behind. Trev could see his cousin’s reluctance to unlock the heavy metal-sheathed door and lead the way inside, but Lewis did it.

Turner whistled as he stepped inside, and as Ferris followed he looked on the verge of soiling himself in delight. The soldiers all cursed in disbelief as they filed in, while at the back of the group Mandy tugged on the FETF administrator’s arm and gave him a smug “I told you.”

“Make yourselves at home,” Lewis said, very nearly not sounding sarcastic. “We’ll start gathering up our necessities.” He motioned to Trev and hurried over to the living area, pulling an already prepared backpack out from beside his trunk and setting it on his bed. He opened the trunk next and began emptying it of winter gear and other useful items.

Trev started for Mandy to confront her about her role in all this, but before he’d gone more than a step a FETF soldier gave him a warning glare from behind his face protector. “Don’t even think of it.”

He stopped. “I just wanted to—”

The man stepped between him and Mandy. “Don’t touch her, don’t talk to her, don’t even look at her.”

Trev nodded and turned away to begin his own packing. As he went Mandy sauntered over to a beanbag in the living area and plopped down onto it, calling at his back. “You know I’m getting a reward for this. Two weeks’ worth of ration vouchers.” He ignored her as he hurried to his bed and began piling things up, although he couldn’t help but notice that the soldier seemed to have no problem with her talking to him .

He didn’t have nearly the store of useful supplies his cousin had, but he gathered up everything he thought his wagon could hold and began moving the stuff out to the wagons by the shed as Lewis followed suit.

Meanwhile Ferris had taken out a clipboard and was already tallying the food stores and other items as the soldiers began shifting things around as if searching for hidden loot. Trev interrupted them just long enough to gather up two weeks’ worth of canned food for himself and Lewis.

By the time they’d finished loading up the wagons with everything they could manage from the shelter Trev had begun to feel like a trespasser in the comfortable, snug underground home they’d created. Ferris was already acting like he owned the place, barking orders and cataloguing everything. Lewis seemed to feel it too, because he was in a hurry to tell the FETF administrator that they were ready to leave.

Before anything else Ferris forced them to go through the indignity of being frisked, then the short, thin bureaucrat personally inspected their wagons for contraband or whatever else he thought he’d find. Trev couldn’t help but feel a little tense as the man poked through his possessions, worried that some arbitrary whim on the man’s part would get him in trouble, but thankfully Ferris didn’t raise any alarms as he moved on to Lewis’s larger and better filled wagon.

Once the administrator had rummaged through their stuff to his heart’s content, withholding a few small but valuable items for what seemed purely greed or spite, he stepped back and waved them on their way. Lewis wasted no time in pulling his wagon down the dirt driveway from the shelter to the dirt road, where he turned west towards the foothills leading up to the Manti-La Sal range.

Trev hurried to follow, doing his best to ignore the itchy feeling between his shoulder blades that the FETF soldiers had their guns pointed at his back. He didn’t turn to check.

With his cousin leading the way they pulled their wagons up the road to where it ran behind the hill out of sight of the shelter.

Two wagons loaded with a few pitiful possessions. Everything they had left in the world aside from what was in the cache. Trev knew he should feel angry but instead he just felt numb, like he’d been hit in the same place too many times and it didn’t hurt anymore. It seemed like ever since the Gulf refineries attack people had been robbing him, more often successful than not. It was BS, and within him was building the sort of dull, grinding frustration that threatened to overflow into a boil.

Once they were well behind the hill and out of sight Lewis cut across the sparse grass and around a few scrubby sage plants to the woodpile, dragging his wagon behind it in case Ferris or one of his soldiers climbed to the top of the hill searching for them. Trev followed, glad the wood was stacked high enough to block them from sight. He hoped the soldiers didn’t come sniffing around, but he had a feeling they were too busy looting the shelter and celebrating their find.

While Trev busied himself digging down to the cache so they could start pulling out enough food to fill the wagons he couldn’t help but notice with some uneasiness that his cousin had retrieved his rifle and pistol. With almost chilling methodicalness Lewis put down a spare winter coat and began field stripping both weapons to make sure they were ready for use.

He did it quickly, showing the familiarity of long practice, and once he was done he did several magazine and chamber checks with each, then began doing carry and aiming drills starting with his G3.