The Seeds of Man (12 page)

But beyond routine encounters with a few startled travelers, the scouts found nothing other than vast tracts of untouched snow, the bite of the relentless wind, and an empty horizon. Surely they would make contact soon. The suspense was nerve-wracking, but comforting too, because with each passing mile Voss became increasingly convinced that Charlie was right. Hashi’s attention was focused elsewhere.

That thought helped Voss endure the next eight hours as the column passed through Cokeville and turned east at the hamlet of Sage. It was flat country interrupted by low-lying ridges, perfect for cavalry. But it was a cold, heartless place, and Voss felt lost in it.

Finally, as the sky began to darken, they arrived in what was once the town of Kemmerer. It had been home to a couple thousand people sixty years earlier. But that was back before the nuclear exchange, sudden climate change, and the second civil war. There had been significant quantities of fuel back then, and a tank battle had been fought in Kemmerer. The hulks of burned-out machines stood as mute testimonials to a period when various states and combinations of states battled one another and ultimately reduced the United States of America to rubble. And now, more than fifty years later, people were fighting over the rubble.

As the animals were cared for and the tents went up, Voss made the rounds. The mercs weren’t likely to complain to his face, but Voss could tell that morale was still high, and he did what he could to keep it that way. Then he called the bosses into his tent, where he served up cigars and whiskey before getting down to business. A map had been spread out on a sheet of wood supported by two sawhorses. A cloud of blue-black smoke floated above their heads as Voss tapped the name Kemmerer with a grubby index finger. “We’re here, and Hashi’s headquarters are down here, in Evanston. So here’s the plan. Hawkins will take most of our men down Highway 189. At some point Hashi will be forced to respond. That’s when we kick her butt or, failing that, keep most of her people busy while I lead a company of men around to attack her left flank. If we can break through, we’ll turn in on her and attack from behind. Then, having hung her from one of her own windmills, we’ll take control of the power distribution grid. With that in our hands, it will be easy to capture individual wind turbines. If you have questions, speak up.”

The bosses had questions, but they were tactical rather than strategic. None of them were going to say something like, “Hey, Mr. Voss, why start a war?” Not while he could kill their families.

Once all the issues had been resolved and the mercenaries were gone, Voss could hit the sack. His bed was warm, but it was hard to fall asleep. Part of that was due to the aches and pains resulting from a long ride, but most if it had to do with a stomach-churning sense of dread. Was he right? Was he wrong? Nothing was certain. And the doubts followed Voss into dreams where armies clashed, men died, and blood stained the snow.

The mercs were up and working two hours before dawn in keeping with orders from Voss. That meant they were ready to ride at first light. After giving Hawkins some final orders, Voss led a hundred men west. It was cold but clear, conditions that Voss chose to perceive as a good omen. With scouts ranging ahead, the column snaked between snow-clad hills and eventually turned south.

When midmorning arrived, Voss hadn’t heard anything from Hawkins but hadn’t expected to. The radios they had weren’t much good beyond a few miles. So with a blue sky, and no news from the east, the sound of thunder took Voss by surprise. He turned to look at Boss Jones, a man with dark skin, high cheekbones, and a reputation for being tough. “What the hell was
that
?“

Jones frowned. “I don’t know, but it ain’t good. That’s for sure.”

The sound lasted for half a minute and stopped. Now Voss felt an emptiness where the pit of his stomach was supposed to be. But all he could do was keep going, execute his part of the plan, and trust that Hawkins would do likewise. Hopefully, no matter what had taken place on Highway 189, the sudden attack on Hashi’s flank would take her by surprise.

But fifteen minutes later Voss heard a high-pitched mosquito-like whine and looked up to see something in the sky. Although Voss had never seen an actual airplane, he had seen pictures of them and realized he was looking at a toy. No, not a toy, but a miniature plane. Why bother? Unless it could take pictures of his mercs! How many such devices did Hashi have? A dozen? No wonder her scouts had never been sighted . . . They could fly! A fact that had escaped Charlie. Or had she bought the traveling medicine man off? Voss felt a rising sense of anger but forced himself to push the thought off.
Focus,
he told himself.
Focus on the situation at hand. “
Shoot it down,” he ordered, and the mercs tried. A volley of shots rang out, but the drone was a moving target, none of the mercs were armed with machine guns, and the sun was in their eyes.

So the tiny aircraft completed a circle unscathed, waggled its wings as if to taunt him, and banked toward the south. At that point Voss faced a real dilemma. The element of surprise had been lost. Should he keep going or turn back? Much as it galled Voss to do so, the obvious choice was to go back, because if he continued, Hashi’s forces would be waiting to crush him. It was humiliating, but Voss had no choice. He looked at Jones. “Turn the column around. We’re going back.”

Jones shouted orders, the back of the column became the front, and the detachment was soon headed east. They rode hard, so that clods of snow flew away from the horses’ hooves, and jets of what looked like steam shot out of their nostrils. As they ran, Voss was gripped by a sense of dread. The thunder . . .
What had caused the thunder?

It took a full hour of hard riding to learn the answer. As Voss and his men rounded a hill, he could see his riders—hundreds of them—and that made him feel better. Then, as a section of Highway 189 came into view, a scene of incredible carnage was revealed. Dozens of craters could be seen, along with patches of blood-soaked snow and large chunks of raw meat.
Horses?
Yes, but as Voss drew closer, he saw that human body parts lay about as well. Boss Howard galloped out to meet him. Both men pulled back on the reins. Voss spoke first. “Hawkins?”

“Dead.”

“What the hell happened?”

“The road was mined. There must have been fifty or sixty of them. We lost all of Company A and half of B. More than a hundred and fifty men altogether. There are wounded too. Some won’t make it.”

Voss felt light-headed. Sara had been right. Damn, damn, damn. “
But how?”
Voss demanded. “Surely we weren’t the first people to use the highway since the mines were planted.”

“They were command detonated,” Howard replied grimly. “Munitions like that were widely available back during the second civil war—and it looks like Hashi found a supply.”

No wonder the bitch felt free to raise her prices,
Voss thought.
She was ready for war. “
Okay, so she had someone stationed here. Did we get him?”

Howard said, “Nope,” and pointed upward. And there, flying lazy circles in the sky, was a miniature plane. Having spotted the column, all Hashi had to do was push a button.

Voss swore. “We ran into one of those as well. That’s why we turned back.”

“Yes, sir,” Howard acknowledged, “and I’m glad you did. Truth is I wasn’t sure what to do. Who knows? Maybe there are
more
mines up ahead. We could ride parallel to the highway, but Hashi would be able to see that and respond.”

“There isn’t much we can do other than bury the dead and get the wounded back to Afton,” Voss said. “Then, next time we come down here, we’ll make Hashi pay.”

That was what Howard wanted. Clarity, confidence, and orders to follow. Voss eyed the man as he rode away. If only there had been someone to tell
him
what to do. But there wasn’t, so all he could do was watch as the graves were dug and say some awkward words as the bodies were lowered into them. It took a long time to bury that many people, so it was midafternoon by the time the column rode north.

Voss was lost in thought as Odin carried him north. What would Hashi do? Send drones to track him? No, they didn’t have enough range. Had it been otherwise, the miniature planes would have been spotted up in the Star Valley.

His thoughts circled back. What would Hashi do? What would
he
do? After giving the matter some thought, Voss came up with what he hoped was the correct answer. Hashi would send scouts to make sure that the column was no longer in her territory. That suggested an opportunity of sorts, a chance to gain something and to salve his wounded pride as well.

So Voss brought the column to a halt, told Howard what he had in mind, and went looking for Boss Jones. The merc was about halfway back and busy examining his mount’s right rear hoof when Voss arrived. Jones looked up as Voss spoke. “I need you, plus twenty-five men, and enough supplies for seven days.”

Jones touched the brim of his hat, swung up into the saddle, and began to bawl orders. It took fifteen minutes to get ready. Then, as the column pulled away, Voss spoke to Jones. “I figure Hashi will send scouts to make sure we’re gone. If we could capture them we would learn a lot. The kind of stuff that would help us even the score.”

Jones nodded. “Sounds good. What’s the plan?”

“We look for the right spot, set up a round-the-clock watch, and grab the bastards.”

Jones looked thoughtful. “There isn’t much cover out here. Remember the last bridge? The one over the dry riverbed? We could hide the horses and the wagon underneath it.”

Voss nodded. “Good idea . . . Let’s get to work.”

It was dark by the time they returned to the bridge, found a path down to the riverbed, and began the process of establishing a camp. Voss toyed with the idea of setting up a roadblock on the chance that Hashi’s scouts would travel at night but decided against it. It would be difficult to see who they were dealing with, for one thing, plus his men were exhausted and likely to make mistakes. So he had Jones post guards, gave orders for them to be relieved every two hours, and volunteered to take part in the rotation.

Since a fire couldn’t be seen from anyplace but down in the riverbed, Voss allowed the mercs to build one, knowing it would provide warmth and help lift their spirits. Then he stood two hours of guard duty before slipping into his sleeping bag and falling asleep.

Dawn came quickly and with it the need to establish lookouts. Once the men had some breakfast in their bellies, Voss detailed seven of them to go south and establish hides on the north side of the first rise they came to. “Don’t break the skyline, and leave those hats here,” Voss instructed as the party got ready to depart. “Wear knit caps if you have them—or wrap strips of cloth around your heads. They’ll spot you if you don’t.”

Having shed their hats in favor of other coverings, the squad left. They had strict instructions to stay on the highway, where their boot prints would be lost among the tracks the column had left the day before.

With that accomplished, all Voss could do was wait. The fire had been extinguished so that the smoke wouldn’t give their presence away. All the mercs could do was tend to their horses and work on their gear as time dragged by.

Finally, after a couple of hours had passed, the radio Voss was carrying burped static. “Laraby here . . . Two people are coming our way.”

Voss frowned. Two didn’t sound right. He was expecting four or five. “Are they on horses?”

“No, sir.”

“Okay, keep an eye on them and give me another report when they get closer.”

The better part of fifteen minutes passed before Laraby called again. “They’re pretty close now. A man and a woman. Both armed.”

The couple sounded like everyday travelers to Voss. He could be wrong, though. Either way it would be a good idea to talk to them. “Wait until they pass over the rise and can’t be seen from the south. Then reveal yourself, tell them I’d like to speak to them, and will pay to do so.”

“And if they refuse?”

Voss thought about that. Gunshots could be heard a long way off, and if Hashi’s scouts were close enough to hear, that could ruin the plan. “If they refuse to speak with me, let them go,” Voss said. “I don’t want any gunfire.”

Fifteen minutes later Laraby and two others brought the couple down into the riverbed. Hot water was available thanks to a can of Sterno, so Voss was able to offer both visitors a mug of tea. They were understandably cautious at first but began to loosen up after a while as Voss encouraged them to talk. The man’s name was Joe, his wife’s name was Clair, and they were on their way to Afton. They didn’t say why and Voss didn’t ask.

Could they be spies sent by Hashi? Yes, but Voss didn’t think so. Still, it would pay to take whatever they said with a grain of salt, and he did. When asked to describe conditions to the southwest, they said that the only people who had electricity were the mercenaries that Hashi called the Ronin. And they could be vicious. On the other hand, Joe said that while food was in short supply, rumor had it that shipments of produce were arriving from the south, so maybe things would improve.

That bit of news was of particular interest to Voss since it meant that Hashi had secured a secondary source of food prior to raising prices on him—a wise move and one that would force him to compete or try to market his food elsewhere.

Voss sent the couple north with six rounds of .45 ammo to speed them on their way. Then the waiting began anew. Voss figured the Ronin would come that day or not at all, and he was right. The lookouts had been rotated numerous times by the time the radio call came in from a merc named Obey. “There’s five riders coming our way, Mr. Voss, and they look like Ronin.”

Voss had been eating his lunch, but he put the plate aside to grab his rifle. “I’m on the way.”

After telling Jones to stand by, Voss scrambled up onto the road and began to run. He was out of breath by the time he plopped down next to Obey. The merc handed him a pair of glasses. “They’re straight ahead,” the merc said. “You can’t miss ‘em.” And he was right.