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

“If you don't mind me asking,” Matt said once the two men were gone, “what are we going to do about Razor?”

Ferris's eyes thinned. “
We
aren't doing anything, Mr. Larson. While I appreciate your civic mindedness in bringing these men to my attention, the last thing I need is some gung ho vigilante running around causing problems. Leave this so-called Razor to me.”

Matt wasn't satisfied with that answer. “He threatened my family. He threatened the town! Am I just supposed to twiddle my thumbs and hope he doesn't do anything?”

“It's my job to make sure he doesn't carry out those threats, which I'll do,” the administrator replied. “As for you, maybe you should spend less time taking the law into your own hands and more time worrying about surviving the winter.” He smiled condescendingly and gestured towards the door in an obvious signal for Matt to leave. “In case you haven't figured it out it's going to be a hard one, and FETF can't do everything for you.”

Or anything, it looks like
, Matt thought somewhat resentfully. But Ferris was at least right that the best thing he could do was go home and put his efforts to taking care of his own family, finding them the food they needed and defending their house.

He left without another word, more than ready to go back to bed.

Chapter One

Climbing Into Winter

It took them 6 days to get to the hideout.

Even with having to deal with the heavy wagons the length of time surprised Trev, considering the distance was around 15 miles as the crow flies. But then again he hadn't anticipated how the winding, switchbacking roads would require them to go more than half again the distance along steep mountainsides and over high passes.

But what he really hadn't anticipated was the weight. He'd thought towing it on wheels would help, but even that only did so much when he had to deal with well more than double his own weight. Lugging his heavy backpack Aspen Hill from his car had been brutal, and going over 250 miles to Antelope Island and back had been a long exhausting grind, but towing the cart was like weightlifting.

Except with weightlifting he'd do it for an hour or so, drink a protein shake, and watch a movie or do homework, while with the wagon they went as far as they could without exhausting themselves, then paused for nearly as long to rest and recover before starting again. And if he was lucky he'd be pulling the 400lb wagon, while half the time he had to manhandle Lewis's heavier 600lb one with the only consolation being that the wheels were larger and the entire thing was better designed and balanced.

Actually it was a tossup which wagon was worse to pull, since Trev's slapped together cart made from a moving dolly frequently got stuck on anything bigger than a pebble. And since the four wheels all turned in every direction it had a tendency to drift to one side or another as he pulled it, making it hard to control and increasing its chances of getting stuck on obstacles he was trying to avoid.

In fact, after the first day he was really starting to hate the thing.

Those difficulties were bad enough on the mild uphill slopes, but where the road got steeper in many places they had to double up to tow each wagon for as far as they could without losing sight of the other wagon, then hurry back to bring it up and just in sight past the first one in a sort of leapfrogging pattern. And downhill was nearly as bad because they both had to put their weight against the wagons and strain to keep them in control for every foot. At least there Lewis's wagon had a hand brake that they could ride, and Trev found himself constantly thankful that his cousin had taken the time and expense to get a quality wagon.

Leapfrogging slowed their pace to a crawl, but they weren't moving fast at the best of times; one mile an hour was a stretch when they were actually moving. Not only did they have to deal with exhaustion and the constant uphill or downhill climb with flat stretches few and far between, but every time a wagon got stuck on a rock, which was happened now and again even on gravel roads and was a regular hassle on dirt roads especially with Trev's wagon, they had to stop and take a moment to either back the wagon up and maneuver it around or manhandle it over. Individually the delays didn't take more than a few seconds, but over time they added up.

To add to that Lewis insisted that they stop at any suspicious bend in the road, moving ahead cautiously in his body armor while Trev took cover behind a wagon with his rifle ready. At those pauses they'd both pan the area thoroughly with their binoculars, but even while lugging the wagons they also did their best to keep their eye on their surroundings. The entire way they didn't see any sign of people, so either nobody was there or they weren't feeling sociable about approaching two armed men, but Trev didn't complain about the precautions after everything he'd been through. In truth he remained just as vigilant as his cousin.

Between the pauses to scout, the rest breaks, and the slow pace they were lucky to make five miles on a good day. They also spent nearly as much time resting or scouting as moving, and each night found the best spot they could find that was sheltered from outside observers and collapsed into their tents, sleeping til dawn and nearly too sore to move when they got up. Lewis had them drink protein powder three times a day, along with enough other food to nearly double the calorie intake he'd kept them on in Aspen Hill, but he spaced the meals out throughout the day and had them wait for a while after eating so their stomachs were never full to the point that digestion would get in the way of the hard work.

The first night Trev actually had trouble sleeping because his muscles were so sore, but after the second day he was so exhausted that he practically passed out as soon as he slipped into his sleeping bag, not even the plummeting temperature enough to bother him in there while wearing his balaclava.

And the temperatures did plummet the higher they went. Down in Aspen Hill the first snowfall was a month away at the earliest, and he'd be surprised if it got in the 30s on the coldest nights. Yet up several thousand vertical feet among the mountaintops the temperature variance with Carbon county below was anywhere from 10 to 15 degrees during the daytime, and even more extreme at night.

Snow was already beginning to accumulate in shaded areas on the higher mountainsides, among the trees or on north facing slopes. In some places the drifts were already several feet deep, and they even encountered a couple across the road that they had to navigate around. And while in the afternoon the air was bearable with a light jacket, or even shirtsleeves while they were exerting themselves pulling the wagons, at night the temperatures plummeted below freezing and gave them a taste of the coming winter.

Trev had the gear to comfortably handle sleeping out in those temperatures, but even with that gear it required some getting used to while getting ready for bed and especially waking up in the morning. And every time he found himself shivering as he got dressed laying on his back in his low one-man tent he couldn't help but wonder if they weren't making a huge mistake coming up here.

He hoped his cousin was right about the wood stove in the hideout and the “minor” weatherproofing required to make it livable when the temperatures plummeted far below zero and ten foot snowdrifts piled up around them. He also had to hope they'd have enough food to last until spring, because going hungry in that sort of extreme cold would make it even harder on the body.

As they got higher into the mountains the vegetation changed from scrub oak and meadows in the foothills to an about even split of aspen and evergreens in the lower mountains, still with long stretches of meadows covered by sage. Higher up on the highest mountains that changed to a dense blanket of primarily blue spruce and douglas fir covering the steep slopes, broken by denser thickets of aspen struggling to hold their territory, usually around small meadows. Only at the tops of those highest mountains did the trees give way to sage-covered meadows again.

That was the area they'd built their hideout in, on one of the highest mountains along Highway 31 with Huntington River running at its base.

On the sixth day they reached 31 and followed it the rest of the short distance to their hideout. Thankfully it was on a lower slope of that tall mountain, only a few hundred feet above Huntington River on a 10-acre plot of land Lewis's parents owned. There was no real road to get there, which in a way was nice since it guaranteed their privacy but in another way was a pain when they had a thousand pounds of stuff to lug up to the lean-to.

Most of the time when they came up here they crossed the Huntington at a narrow spot using a few large stones they'd long ago firmly embedded in the riverbed, then climbed the steep slope, densely treed and choked with deadfall, up to 10 to 20 foot overhanging cliffs with only a few ways to climb past them to the gentler slope above. A hundred or so yards across that gentler slope, at the far end where the hillside grew steep again, they'd built their hideout. Although that had been years ago when they were still kids.

It was an excellent spot for looking out at the surrounding mountainsides from the hideout's front door, and only a relatively short walk to the tops of the cliffs, which they could follow to look down at the entire stretch of Highway 31 in the valley below and the river running alongside it. Getting down to the river through all the slippery mulch beneath the dense deadfall, or up from the river to the hideout, was so tricky that even though they'd cleared a path and did their best to maintain it the climb was rough.

Getting supplies up it would be daunting, even with ropes.

Luckily there was another option. Old logging roads spidered the mountainsides up here, and one of them came within a few hundred yards of the hideout on the mountainside above. It meant they had to follow 31 north past the hideout for a few more miles to get to a bridge across the river, then follow that dirt road to where it branched off to their logging trail.

So even though they came within a few hundred yards of the hideout before noon, it was late afternoon before they managed to reach the spot on the logging road above it where they could tie ropes to their wagons and slowly ease them down the slope using a small pulley rig his cousin had brought tied to a nearby tree.

“We're going to have to keep a watch on this road,” Lewis said idly as they worked, looking down it both ways. “Shame it isn't below the hideout. As it is we won't be able to see anyone coming unless we're standing right on it looking.”

“At least they can't see the hideout from here, either,” Trev replied wearily, unable to work up too much interest in the conversation even though he knew it was important. He was beyond exhausted and more than ready to give his overworked muscles a break after six days of heavy exercise. Even so, as they climbed down the slope after their wagons he couldn't help but notice how much that work had built up their muscles. He only hoped they'd have enough food over the coming months to keep up that muscle mass.

Once they reached the gentler slope below they left their wagons behind for the moment to walk the last fifty or so feet to inspect the hideout.

It wasn't anything like Trev remembered. The old structure made of crooked logs, piled sticks, and used particle board hammered here and there had been completely torn down and replaced by a small but sturdy south-facing log frame snugly covered by plywood, which had plastic and then tarps nailed over it for waterproofing and protection. Finally his cousin had used a shovel to bury the entire thing in dirt as completely as possible. A small stovepipe stuck out from the roof near the back, covered by a cone of odd mesh that his cousin explained helped break up the smoke so it wasn't as visible.

When they went inside he saw the small wood stove in the corner that the pipe belonged to, along with a cot along the left wall, a card table and a few folding chairs on the back wall in front of the stove, and a kerosene lantern hanging from a hook on the ceiling. Another cot was leaning against the wall behind the first one and it looked like there was just enough room for it along the right wall. The floor was also made of plywood, and Lewis confirmed that he'd covered the bottom with plastic and tarp as well. Not only that but he'd dug a French drain below the structure to help channel any groundwater away.

Trev finished looking around the rebuilt lean-to and turned to give his cousin a rueful smile. “You wanted to spring this on me, didn't you? Here all this time I thought we'd be huddled in a tiny dirt-floored hovel covered by sticks.”

Lewis grinned back. “I told you I'd improved it.”

“Was this another part of your preparations for the end of the world as we know it?”

His cousin hesitated, then shrugged. “Yes and no. I've been spending enough time up here cutting firewood that it was worth building a decent place to stay, but at the same time I suppose I did have a scenario like this floating in the back of my head.”

The interior was a bit chilly from disuse, although mitigated by the sun shining on the front, but even so Trev didn't feel any drafts. The small stove would be enough to heat the space even during the coldest months, and as long as he didn't mind the cramped conditions this was the kind of place he could picture himself spending a harsh winter.

He turned back to Lewis. “Have I mentioned before how lucky I am that you're letting me enjoy the benefits of all your hard work?”

“Plenty of times, although hearing it never gets old.” His cousin clapped him on the back. “Come on, let's get everything packed inside. Then we should think about building a sturdy icehouse a bit away where we can store any meat we might hunt or fish, or anything else that needs preserving or might attract predators. I've got some leftover plywood and nails that should be enough.”

Trev did his best not to groan at the thought of all that work, tired as he was, and Lewis laughed at his expression and as he finished. “Starting tomorrow. For now let's just get our supplies inside and get this place ready to live in. I for one wouldn't mind turning in early after a big meal.”

The first thing they did after unloading their supplies and doing a few small tasks to make the hideout more comfortable was fire up the stove, just in time as it started to really get colder with the sun set. Lewis had it lit in no time at all, and as the small wood fire inside started to blaze and the small metal box began radiating heat they took the opportunity to cook their first hot meal in a week: more canned chili.

It was a surprising luxury for Trev to strip off his winter clothes and relax in one of the chairs in pants and shirtsleeves, enjoying the feel of warm air radiating against him as the chili heated. Although when Lewis joined him Trev couldn't help but be reminded that their clothes could do with some serious washing and so could they.