Shortage (Best Laid Plans Book 2) (4 page)

The most important things to be aware of were that trout were cold-blooded and their metabolism slowed down in the cold. They still had to eat, but it could be harder to get them to take the bait and you had to search for the right conditions.

Trev followed all his uncle's advice today, waiting until the hottest part of the day, finding a place where the river ran slower and deeper so the fish didn't have to expend as much energy going after the bait, and moving his line very slowly to make an easy target they might go after.

Lucas had been a good teacher and Trev's listening seemed to pay off, because after only a few hours of patient effort, moving from one good spot to another but always aware of the highway on the other side of the river, he caught five trout that were quite a bit bigger than he was used to seeing in the summer. Maybe it was the extra months of growing and the fact that there was nobody around to fish them, but he almost never had success like this. After Lucas's warnings about cold weather fishing being more challenging he had to wonder if he was lucky, or if the high price of fuel before the Gulf refineries attack keeping tourists and regulars away all summer had more to do with it.

Either way he wasn't complaining as he gutted and scaled his catch and packed them in snow in the bucket to take back up to the hideout. Then, after cautiously looking around just to be safe, he picked his way up the treacherous bank to where the path began and started up. At this time of day it was warm enough that the exertion made him start to sweat, but removing his coat and carrying it would've just made the climb even more awkward so he kept on.

Trev had just made it to the cliffs and was doing his best to scale the gap one-handed when a sharp
crack
reached his ears. In that odd way in the mountains it echoed and reverberated confusingly, making it hard to trace exactly where it had come from, but Trev was pretty sure it was from above, near the hideout.

He immediately dropped his bucket of fish and unslung his .223, then wedged himself farther back into the gap facing outward and began panning the lower slope and the parts of the highway he could see with his scope, just to be safe. To his relief a few moments later he heard Lewis's famous piercing whistle, letting him know that not only was it his cousin who'd fired the shot but that it was safe to keep coming without getting his head blown off.

He retrieved his bucket and rushed the rest of the way up the gap to the gentle meadowy slope leading to their hideout. A year ago the exertion combined with the thinner air at this elevation would've left him heavily winded by the sprint, but in his current shape he just needed a few seconds to steady his breathing as he looked around warily.

Lewis was entering the clearing from the south when he arrived, to the left of the path Trev had taken and farther down the meadow to where it curved down past the cliffs in a gentler but still steep slope to the river below. His cousin looked like he was in a good mood, and from his forced nonchalance as he cut across the meadow to meet Trev he had a feeling it was big news.

“Hey, how'd the fishing go?”

Trev grinned at his own good news. “Five big ones,” he said, lifting the bucket.

Lewis grinned. “In this cold? That's awesome! We'll have to take advantage of the fact that the fish are biting like that with however many warm days we've got left.” He paused and significantly hefted his bulky .308 on his shoulder. “Of course first we should be thinking about big game.”

It was Trev's turn to be delighted. “That shot earlier?”

“An 8 point buck, pretty impressive size,” his cousin confirmed, finally letting his exuberance show. “Just standing there at the edge of the meadow a stone's throw away like he'd never even heard of humans. It was a clean shot but I still wanted to make sure he was out of his misery before coming back for my skinning knife and a tarp.” He waved impatiently. “I'm glad you got back when you did, I could really use your help.”

“Sure,” Trev said, trying to hide his sudden uncertainty. He'd gone with his dad and uncle on a few hunts when he was younger, but they usually hadn't brought down anything and the one year his uncle had he did the gutting and skinning himself. He'd kept Lewis there to observe as he instructed him, but Trev's dad had felt a bit squeamish about that and kept Trev away until the job was done.

The biggest thing he'd ever cleaned was a fish, and he'd never skinned anything. Still, there was literally no time like the present to learn so he tossed the bucket of fish in the icehouse to stay frozen and went to fetch his own knife, the one Razor's thug had left in his backpack down in Aspen Hill Canyon. He just hoped it was sharp enough: Lewis had spent some time last night while their food was cooking sharpening his own knife to a keen edge, but that was another skill Trev didn't have yet and after a brutal climb from the valley he hadn't been in the mood to learn.

He could honestly say it, he wasn't sure he could survive up here without his cousin. But it was as much a desire to share the load as any fear that he might end up alone that made him determined to learn everything he could. As much as he regretted not gaining these skills before the world ended, he didn't intend to put off learning them any longer.

So if he had to he was ready to get elbow deep in guts.

Lewis led the way down the meadow to where the deer had been standing beside a small thicket, probably nibbling at the few remaining leaves among the undergrowth. It was a bit sad to see the majestic animal sprawled dead on the grass, shot clean through the neck, but at the same time that was a lot of meat sitting there. Trev's stomach grumbled at the memory of roasted venison from when his uncle had brought down the deer years ago.

His cousin paused to stand silently beside the deer for a moment, and Trev wondered if he was observing the old Native American tradition of thanking the deer for the gift of its meat. Trev was certainly thankful, although not in such a formal way. Then his cousin knelt down beside the deer and pulled on a pair of plastic gloves before looking up at him. “Step one is the trickiest,” he said with a grim attempt at a smile, “and lucky for us we get to do the most unpleasant thing first. Gutting.”

Trev made a face. “You know how?”

“I've seen plenty of videos and I watched my dad do it that one time. If everything goes right nothing is ruptured and we get the innards out clean in one piece and toss them off the cliff for any scavengers to find. If things go wrong . . .” he trailed off and shrugged. “Well, we salvage what we can. Watch this time, you'll get to do it next time.”

He watched his cousin make careful cuts to expose the innards enough to get everything out in one piece. Then, not looking quite as confident and definitely a bit squeamish, Lewis reached right deep inside to detach everything, working with both hands for what seemed like forever before reaching for his knife.

“Ugh.” Trev didn't so much say the word as it was forced from his gut as he watched his cousin carefully cut everything free and roll it out in one piece. In spite of himself he stumbled a few steps back.

Lewis grinned over at him as he removed the dirty gloves, that task at least complete. “Suck it up. This meat could mean the difference between life and death as it gets colder. Not to mention a good meal tonight.”

Trev reluctantly returned to keep watching. Even with the smell and the mess he wasn't really in the mood to complain. He knew how important this was as much as Lewis did: not only did it mean immediate food and a hide they'd be able to make use of, but it meant that if they could do it once they could do it again and learn to survive in these mountains even when the supplies they'd brought were gone.

His cousin left the innards where they were for the moment and got Trev's help in rigging a pair of ropes tied to the ends of a sturdy stick, to hang the deer from a nearby leaning tree by its back feet with the stick keeping them spread. With some effort they managed to get the job done, then Lewis retrieved his knife and frowned at the hanging carcass. “I've seen people skin and quarter a buck in under fifteen minutes. Let's see if I can do it in a half hour.”

That seemed impossible to Trev, but he watched in admiration as his cousin clumsily but with purpose cut the hide along the legs and then peeled it off in one piece, leaving the meat behind. He hung the skin from the tree, then had Trev spread the tarp as he began quartering the deer.

Trev had thought this part, at least, would be messy and difficult, but as he watched his cousin cut free the shoulders and joint the meat, then get to work on the back straps, tenderloins, and ribs, and finally cut free the hams and joint them as well, it all seemed to go smoothly.

“You got all that from watching videos?” he asked incredulously.

Lewis smiled as he set the last ham on the tarp. All that was left hanging was the ribs and hips with a few scraps of meat, sinew, and cartilage, and the intact neck and head. In a pile with the innards were the discarded lower legs and hooves. “It helps to have a sharp knife and know exactly what you're doing. Copying what I saw seemed to work pretty good.”

“Think you managed it in fifteen minutes?” Trev asked. He'd been so intent on the job that he hadn't really noticed the passage of time.

“How should I know?” His cousin chuckled and motioned to the meat piled on the tarp. “Come on, let's get this packed in snow in the icehouse. Then we can gather up the rest and toss it off the cliff.”

Trev glanced at the hanging carcass. “What about the meat on the neck?” There wasn't much, but there was some.

Lewis hesitated. “Not sure,” he admitted. “In the videos it's usually kept intact to mount, or just discarded.”

Fair enough. Trev grabbed one end of the tarp as his cousin grabbed the other, and together they carried it towards the icehouse.

* * * * *

Their first day on the mountain and they'd already bagged a buck and caught five fish. Trev wasn't sure whether to credit that to incredible good luck, divine providence, or the fact that with the lack of people able to get up here the fish and game were more plentiful. Maybe all three.

What he did know was that he couldn't believe all the refugees starving in the valleys to the east and west weren't coming up here to enjoy the same bounty. Then again most of them probably didn't have the equipment or shelter to make it work the way he and his cousin were.

After they'd tossed the rest of the carcass and washed up it was still sunny and fairly warm outside, so while Lewis scraped the hide to prepare it for curing Trev got a fire going in the old pit they'd used when a stove hadn't been available. Once it was crackling merrily, not smoking much with the dry wood he used, he cut strips from one of the shoulders and seasoned them with a rub made from the spices Lewis had brought, then got out the skewers they used to use for marshmallow and hotdogs years ago. The skewers were beneath his cousin's cot with all the other stuff they'd had in the lean-to, and after sitting them in the fire to sterilize them he skewered the strips and got them cooking over the coals.

The smell was enough to lure his cousin away from his work and he came over, staring at the searing venison in anticipation. As soon as it looked done they were quick to pull off the skewers and dig in, tearing into the hot meat with their teeth and burning their mouths on the first few bites. Trev didn't think he'd ever had anything as delicious. Not in his entire life.

Lewis finished chewing the last bite on his skewer in record time and leaned back with a sigh of contentment, crossing his hands behind his head. “Savor these moments, Trev.”

“Okay, Mr. Greeting Card.”

His cousin glanced over at him and grinned for a moment, then his expression grew serious. “I mean it, though. I know it seems like it's just been a bad thing and then a worse thing and then outright disaster ever since the attack, but we can't just look at the evil in the world.” He pointed vaguely in the direction of the little icehouse they'd built, where the rest of the venison and Trev's trout waited packed in snow. “We can conquer our environment, same as our ancestors did, and not just survive but thrive. The future might be difficult but there's more good times than bad ahead.”

“If we can survive this winter,” Trev said, but after the exceptional day they'd had his heart wasn't in the dour words. And as he took another bite off his own skewer he paused for a moment to enjoy the taste, same as he had for every bite, and feel some satisfaction that this meat was about as fresh as it came and he'd cooked it. He'd be even more satisfied with the next deer, perhaps even one he brought down himself, knowing he'd be the one to do everything to prepare it the way his cousin had this time.

Lewis leaned over to clap him on the shoulder. “We'll survive it,” he promised. “And when we do we'll know we can survive anything.”

Chapter Two

Civility

The ration line Ferris had set up at the town storehouse allowed anyone who came through it to receive a day's worth of food once a day, no restrictions or reservations.

Assuming you were a refugee, of course. The residents of Aspen Hill had to be green-lighted to get on their own special list, and the only way to do that was to allow the FETF soldiers to “inspect” their house. Ferris's justification was that if they were hoarding in excess of two weeks' worth of food then they didn't need the ration line.

Considering that FETF was giving out the townspeople's own food that reasoning rang completely hollow to Sam, but incredibly enough there were plenty of Aspen Hill residents who accepted it. The Larsons hadn't, thankfully, and although Ed had hidden what food the family had he still refused to submit to an inspection, or for that matter try to get rations from the line. He wasn't about to give up their food, but he wouldn't lie and claim they didn't have any, either.

Sam admired their independence and integrity, but she couldn't join them in their silent boycott. For all of the family's insistence that she was one of them she couldn't shake the knowledge that she
was
a burden, so she used her refugee status to stand in line every day and receive her pound and a half of coarsely ground wheat flour. Between that, Mona's garden which they harvested the moment things in it became ripe enough, and whatever foraging of weeds or other edibles they managed in town, they'd managed to keep the hidden food in reserve.

As for Trev's cache up on Highway 6, one of their main topics of conversation was finding a way to get it down to Aspen Hill. That was hundreds of pounds of food they had to move, not only having to worry about actually transporting that much but also avoiding those who'd want to steal it from them.

Since Matt's father had lost his hunting rifle at the roadblock and Matt's pistol had been confiscated in Spanish Fork they had nothing but the bear spray to defend themselves. Even more worrisome was the knowledge that Razor and his goons were waiting out beyond the town's limits. Even though there'd been no reports of attacks by them in the last week Sam had no doubt that they were still there, working their villainy quietly and in ways that avoided notice.

Mona, April, and Terry argued that between their garden, what they could forage, and the little remaining in their pantry they could last a bit longer, and maybe wait until there was a better opportunity to go retrieve the cache. Their main argument was that when it got colder the flow of refugees along the highway would slow to a trickle. Matt had argued that that might not even be a good thing, since it would just make them more noticeable. Ed wanted to try finding backroads through the foothills and mountains to bring the food down, a position Matt had ended up leaning towards. As for Sam, she was willing to go with whatever the family decided and had offered to help with whatever they ended up doing.

When Sam started going through the ration line April and Terry had tried to go through as well, but even though they were technically just as much refugees as her they'd been refused with the explanation that they were living in the home of family members, and so the same conditions applied for them as for the Larsons. To solve that problem they'd talked to Mayor Anderson and got his permission to move into the house abandoned by Councilman Watts. They'd been happy to let FETF inspect their new home to their hearts' content, at which point there was no more trouble with them and the ration line.

Sam had been standing in that line every day for a week now, and had recently received her day's rations. Mrs. Harris had been waiting in line not far ahead of her, and even though the Larsons' house was just a block away she felt like it was only kind to volunteer to help the elderly widow back home. Especially since Mrs. Harris had been so generous in letting her help harvest her root crops and earn some badly needed food storage.

So they'd gone arm in arm west along the streets with Sam carrying both sacks of flour, towards the outskirts of town. The chat along the way was pleasant, and although Sam asked at the old woman's front door if there was anything she needed Mrs. Harris staunchly insisted she had things under control, thanked Sam, and pecked her on the cheek before sending her on her way.

Once back on the street Sam paused to collect a few dandelions beside the road, not looking forward to the bitter taste but definitely looking forward to the added nutrients. Yesterday they'd managed to collect enough that they could save some of her wheat, although that had mostly been a fluke thanks to Matt finding a Potawatomi plum tree growing along the banks of the stream that flowed down out of Aspen Hill Canyon and curved south to follow the town's southern border.

The little fruits were sour enough to make her mouth pucker, but she'd eagerly eaten her portion along with everyone else. Even April's boys had seemed to enjoy the unexpected treat, and the expressions on their little faces on the first bite was just too adorable for words. Matt was back there today searching for more, and she fervently hoped he'd have some luck.

Sam frowned, thinking of the tall young man as she searched around for more dandelions. She definitely liked him, no questions there, and she was almost certain he liked her too. But first he'd left for weeks to bring back April's family, which she certainly understood, and since then he kept taking a slow, cautious approach to things that made her want to grab him by the ears and scream in his face to hurry up and
do
something already.

She supposed she couldn't blame him when they had so many more pressing things to worry about, and it was hard to think of a romantic future with someone while worrying about whether you were going to starve to death within the month. But with how chaotic and uncertain everything had become Matt was one of the few calm and certain things in her life, and she just knew that it would be much easier to deal with whatever problems they faced if they were well and truly together. Couldn't he see that?

“Well aren't you a cute little thing?”

Sam jerked her eyes up from the ground and around to look down the street she was on, freezing in pure panic when she saw three men approaching. Her instincts told her to run but the only way she could go was west, away from the Larsons' house, and she was already at the outskirts of town.

Her panic only increased when she saw that the small, nondescript man who'd spoken had his hands thrust deep into his front pockets. That was enough to recognize Razor, the same man who'd robbed Matt and April's family and had hurt Terry.

While she'd stood frozen the man and his two friends had continued to saunter her way, the bigger goons circling around to either side of her in case she suddenly tried to bolt. Sam regretted her decision to not run when she had the chance, but she'd never been a very fast runner and she was certain if she tried now she'd be quickly caught by the longer-legged men.

Besides, she had the bear spray Matt had given her in her pocket. Maybe she could brave it out and get past them and just go home. Razor hadn't seemed to want to hurt the others when he'd robbed them and had only sprayed Terry when he talked back. Not to mention it was broad daylight, and even if she was close to the outskirts she was
still
in town, with houses visible in every direction.

“Are you lost, miss?” the nondescript man said. “Or maybe you need a place to stay?”

“I'm fine,” she said politely, starting forward past him. “Excuse me, I need to get home.”

A hand that wasn't much larger than hers closed around the forearm of her hand holding her daily ration, stopping Sam's forward progress, and she felt her flesh crawl under his unexpectedly iron grip. “Got your day's worth of gritty flour, eh?” he said, still in that same pleasant tone. “Bet you're sick of just eating that for every meal, and it hurts my soul to see an unhappy woman. Wouldn't you like a proper meal?”

Sam's heart was beating out of her chest, but she did her best to keep from shaking as she pulled her other hand out of the sleeve of her coat and pointed the bear spray at him. “Let me go.”

Razor threw back his head and laughed, but at least he let her go. “No need to get scared and start threatening people, sweetie. I just wanted to know if you'd like to work for me out in the camp. I guarantee you'd eat better than anyone in town, and the work's so easy you can practically do it lying down.” He winked lewdly. “Or literally.”

She knew exactly what he was talking about and the thought filled her with disgust. Especially after he'd put his hand on her. “No thanks, I'm doing fine.” She lifted the bear spray a bit higher and took a step back, opening her mouth to tell him to leave her alone.

That step slammed her right into the chest of one of Razor's thugs, who'd moved to stand directly behind her, and Sam barely had time to squeak before the large man plucked the bear spray from her hand. “There, that's more like it,” Razor said. “A sensible girl like you should really know better than to threaten someone, especially these days. I'm perfectly within my rights to defend myself if I'm threatened, although I'd rather not hurt a woman.”

Was he seriously trying to pretend that
she
was threatening
him
? Sam tried to step away from the thug, only to feel his heavy hands on her shoulders pinning her in place. “I'll scream,” she warned.

Razor grinned and put his hands in his pockets, and Sam felt a sudden surge of dread. While describing their encounter with the bandits on the way home Matt had told her why the nondescript man liked to have his hands in his pockets, and what he kept there. Her dread turned to alarm when he started to pull one hand out again, obviously holding something.

Before he could complete the motion a taller figure slammed into him from the side, seemingly out of nowhere, and bore the bandit leader to the ground. Sam felt an overwhelming sense of relief when she realized it was Matt, positioning himself atop the smaller man and making sure to use his knees to pin Razor's hands in his pockets. The entire time his fists flew, slamming into the bandit leader's face over and over again.

Sam immediately turned and yanked the can of bear spray out of the hand of the surprised thug standing behind her, stumbling backwards even as she aimed it up at his face and pulled the trigger. He staggered away cursing and screaming before his breath faded away to choking coughs, and Sam turned to help Matt.

Razor was still caught completely unprepared by the tall, wiry man's attack, but the other thug reacted quickly to lumber forward and direct a brutal kick right at Matt's face. He saw it coming in time to duck away, but the kick still caught him in the shoulder hard enough to throw him off the bandit leader.

Sam hurriedly raised the bear spray and aimed it at the large thug's face, but unfortunately he saw her and ducked aside in time. She had to keep spraying as she readjusted her aim to hit him, and only managed to connect with a short blast before the can emptied and the spray petered down to a fizzing mist that barely shot a foot. The man still fell back coughing and swearing, but she didn't think it would distract him for long.

In the meantime Matt had managed to roll over and come to his feet, backing away defensively as Razor also sprang to his feet and yanked his namesake weapon out of his pocket, swiping at his bloody mouth with his other hand. The nondescript man had looked furious as he stood, but now he was smiling broadly.

Sam screamed at the sight of the sharp blade, helpless to do anything as Razor lunged towards the man she was quickly coming to love. Guided by pure desperation she turned the bear spray upside down to try to get anything that was left, but it barely released a dribble that just dripped down to the ground. She could only watch in horror as events unfolded.

The bandit leader swung his razor at Matt's face with blinding speed, and Matt barely managed to yank his head back in time. He tried to reach out and catch Razor's arm, but the bandit leader yanked his weapon back towards his chest and without hesitation slashed at the back of Matt's hand.

Again Matt barely managed to avoid being cut, but while he was focused on defending himself from the weapon the thug who'd taken a short blast of pepper spray lumbered in blindly and backhanded him with a heavy fist to the face. The blow knocked Matt to the street with a jarring impact, and Sam screamed again.

Smile widening to a snarl, Razor dropped to his knees straddling Matt and pinning his arms out to the sides, then brought his straight razor around for a precise cut.

Before it could land a deafening gunshot from behind Sam froze everyone where they were, even the thug she'd sprayed first who'd been rolling on the ground. Sam slowly turned her head to see a FETF soldier approaching with deliberate steps, M16 pointed at Razor's chest. “Drop it and back away, now!” he barked.

The bandit leader reluctantly complied, tossing aside his weapon and stumbling to his feet as he swiped his hand across his bloody face again. His noise was bleeding like a faucet from one or more of Matt's punches. “Did you see what these two did to us?” he demanded.

“Are you kidding?” Sam shouted incredulously as Matt stumbled to his feet and hurried over to put an arm around her shoulders. It was part comfort, part protective, and for Sam completely welcome.

The soldier shot her a warning glare before turning his eyes back to the three refugees. “I'm not stupid, man,” he said with just the slightest Spanish accent, which fit his classically handsome Latin features and dark hair and eyes. “I didn't think you were stupid either. At least not stupid enough to come into town when everyone knows who you are.”