The Seeds of Man (17 page)

Both of the scouts said, “Got it,” in unison.

The conversation turned to tactics after that. The bandits were to shoot the leaders first, avoid shooting pack animals, and conserve their ammunition to whatever extent possible, all of which made sense to Tre, who was experiencing the first stirrings of fear. He’d been in scrapes—a number of them—but this was shaping up to be a full-fledged battle. How would he perform? And would he survive? He did the best he could to push such questions away.

The meeting broke up after that as everyone went off to get ready. Tre managed to intercept Bones. “Sorry to bother you . . . but I need some gear. Not to mention weapons. I lost my stuff in Afton.”

“No problem,” Bones said confidently. “I’ll take you to the storeroom. You’ll find whatever you need in there.”

Tre
didn’t
find everything he needed in there. The interior of the storeroom was an unorganized jumble of gear, weapons, and tools, and as far as he could tell, there was no inventory list or any rules regarding what people could take. So, as one would expect under such circumstances, all the good stuff was gone, leaving Tre to sort through what remained.

After pawing through all manner of junk, he found a Remington 700 Mountain rifle with a stainless steel barrel, similar to the Model 700 XCRII hidden just south of Jackson. But the weapon’s laminated stock was broken, which was why no one had taken it. Fortunately Tre came across a
second
700 a few minutes later. The trigger assembly was missing and the barrel was pitted with rust, but the stock was intact. So Tre put both weapons aside and continued to scavenge. After some effort, he was able to find a serviceable parka, a sleeping bag, and a light pack.

Having left everything else on his cot, Tre carried the Remington rifles to the work area, where he took them apart. Combining the parts into a single weapon turned out to be more difficult than he’d anticipated, especially when it came to seating the barrel properly, but he was well on his way to solving that problem when Knife materialized at his side. There was a solid thunk as he drove a blade into the workbench and dropped a leather sheath next to it. “You’re going to need a knife,” he said with his usual economy of words. “Try this one.”

“This one,” turned out to be a knife with a seven-inch blade. The back edge was serrated—just the thing for sawing through rope and such. And thanks to the extra weight in the guard, Tre could tell that the weapon was perfect for throwing. Tre turned to thank Knife, but he was gone.

After eating a big breakfast, they set out early the next morning. Tre was carrying a pack, and a two-hour hike was required to reach the mountain meadow where the group’s horses were kept, but he felt good nevertheless. The sun could be seen through broken clouds, the air was relatively warm, and there was very little snow at that altitude. The streams that tumbled down the hillsides ran full, and animals were in evidence; they saw deer tracks, piles of pellet-like elk scat, and the picked-over remains of a dog or wolf kill.

Unfortunately Tre had something to fear besides the raid, and that was the act of riding a horse. It was something he knew nothing about and wasn’t looking forward to. He couldn’t say that, however, or was unwilling to, so the sense of dread continued to build as Crow led his gang into a large meadow. There was plenty of grass, and a small lake occupied the center of it, which made the spot perfect for grazing horses.

A man named Patch had been stationed there along with a leathery-looking specimen named Slick. Thanks to advance notice from the scouts, the two men had been able to herd all the mounts into a crudely made corral and get them ready, so it wasn’t long before Tre was up in a saddle receiving a riding lesson from Bones. “Pull right to go right, pull left to go left, and pull back to stop. That’s all there is to it.”

Tre’s mount, a swaybacked nag named Willie, had stopped to munch on some likely-looking grass by then. “How do I make him go?”

“Nudge his sides with your heels,” Bones advised, and demonstrated by urging his animal up the trail. The advice worked—to some extent, anyway—although Tre’s journey was interrupted by frequent stops as Willie continued to enjoy the trailside buffet. And Tre’s often fruitless efforts to get the horse going were an unending source of amusement for the rest of the group.

That was bad enough—but after a couple of hours there was pain to cope with as well—pain in Tre’s back, butt, and knees—so that by the time Crow called a halt, Tre was thrilled to slide to the ground, remove the horse’s saddle, and surrender the beast to Patch.

The spot Crow had chosen was protected by a wedge of rock that looked as though it had been thrust up from the earth. The riders were higher now, so there was more snow on the ground and a definite chill in the air as Tre helped gather wood. Eventually the sun dipped beyond the western horizon and darkness fell. That was the signal to light a couple of campfires. Shadows danced on the rock wall as people took care of their chores.

After washing up in the nearby stream, Tre got in line for a serving of Hog’s navy bean soup. There were chunks of pork in it, and when combined with a hunk of bread, it made for a good meal. And that, Tre was beginning to understand, was one of the ways Crow had been able to recruit and keep his people. But would they continue to stand by him if there was less to eat?

The night was long and cold, and it was difficult to sleep because Tre’s sleeping bag was only half as warm as the one he’d lost. But the fact that he was scared had a lot to do with it too, as did a host of doubts that plagued his mind. It had been stupid to join the gang. He could see that now and longed to be back in the Tangle. How was Ninja doing? And what about the hydroelectric project? He couldn’t proceed without the magnets, however, and would have to buy more.

Such were Tre’s thoughts as he finally drifted off to sleep. He woke when Bones spoke his name. “Hey, Sticks . . . Time to rise and shine.”

Tre sat up and stretched. “Sticks?”

“Yeah, as in the fighting sticks you used to kick that guy’s butt. Brute called you that and it stuck.”

It was silly—Tre knew that—but the name gave him a sense of pride, of belonging. And that, he realized, was the reason he had joined. That and the possibility that Crow would keep his promise. The thought made Tre feel better as he got up, packed his gear, and went to breakfast, which consisted of two pancakes and a single strip of Hog’s beloved bacon. Since Tre had been spared sentry duty during the night, he was assigned to help saddle the horses. It was hard work, but a chance to learn more about how to handle the animals.

Then it was time to mount up, take his place near the tail end of the column, and kick Willie into reluctant motion. The trail wound around the side of a mountain and passed through a meadow before following an old logging road south. They were passing through some second-growth timber when Fade came out to greet them.

Tre was too far back to hear what transpired between the scout and Crow, but it wasn’t long before the order came to dismount and proceed on foot. Patch and Slick were detailed to remain behind and guard the horses. Tre envied them in a way but didn’t want to be left behind either, so he felt mixed emotions as he followed the others through a screen of trees to the top of a sloped embankment. What had been a road lay below. It was still flat, and mostly clear, but the surrounding forest was in the process of reclaiming it. Crow called them together.

“Okay, here’s the situation. Smoke is stationed three miles west of here. She’ll let us know when the caravan passes her position. In the meantime we need to drop a couple of trees across the road. That won’t stop the caravan, but it will slow it down and give us the chance we need. Brute and Sticks can handle that.

“Meanwhile, I want Snake to find a tree about a thousand yards west of here and cut it partway through. Then, once the caravan has passed, you’ll dump it onto the road. Once that job is done, fire at the tail end of their column. Got it?”

Snake nodded.

“Right, let’s get to work.”

Having been issued an ax and a couple of steel wedges, Tre followed Brute over to a couple of very tall trees. The height was good, since tall trees would be required to block the road, but they were thick as well, and Tre had no idea how to proceed.

Fortunately, Brute did. He was carrying a two-man crosscut saw, and even though he was more than two feet shorter than Tre, his arms were thicker. “Grab on, lad,” Brute said. “Let’s cut some wood.”

The blade bit into wood, and Tre soon got the hang of the push-pull process, but what seemed easy at first soon became much more difficult. Brute was tireless, but it wasn’t long before Tre’s arms and shoulders were on fire. He didn’t want to ask for a break, though, and managed to hang on until Brute called for a wedge. It was Tre’s job to drive the steel into the cut with the flat side of the ax. That kept the saw blade from binding up and allowed them to continue.

Tre felt better after the momentary rest, for a while anyway. But it wasn’t long before the pain came back. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of physical effort, Brute ordered Tre to stand clear. Shortly thereafter a cracking sound was heard. When the tree fell, it was as if it was in slow motion. There was a loud snap as the top hit the opposite embankment and the top of the trunk broke off. That was followed by a heavy thump and the crackle of breaking branches as the rest of the tree hit the ground. “One down and one to go,” Brute said cheerfully. “Good work.”

Fortunately, the second tree wasn’t quite as thick. Even so, Tre was tired by the time it made a creaking sound, fell, and landed next to the first one. Crow was there to congratulate them. “Nice job . . . The caravan passed Smoke ten minutes ago, so grab your rifles and take cover. Remember . . . pick off the leaders, spare the pack animals, and make every bullet count.”

Tre took the final instruction seriously, and for good reason. Like the rest of them, he had only twenty-five rounds of ammo, not enough for a serious firefight. Making the situation worse was the fact that only ten members of the gang were going to participate in the actual ambush.
Ten against how many,
Tre wondered as he sought a position in the rocks. Crow hadn’t said. Was that an oversight or a way to boost morale? Tre hoped for the first but feared the second.

He did have one thing going for him, however. All the rounds he had were preloaded into detachable magazines, which would help him to reload faster.

Once all the gang members were in position, the wait began. Each minute seemed like an hour and, worse yet, gave Tre an opportunity to think about all the things that could go wrong. So he felt something akin to relief when the caravan’s scout finally appeared. He was wearing a Stetson and a brown duster and was mounted on a big chestnut. Tre could see the stock of what he assumed was a rifle protruding from the scabbard beneath the man’s leg, but the cowboy was carrying a double-barreled shotgun muzzle up as he rode. Just the thing for dealing with an ambush. And were he to fire the weapon, it would warn those behind him as well.

None of them moved as the scout approached the trees and pulled his horse to a stop. Then, having eyed the barrier for a moment, he took a long, slow look around. The rider hadn’t seen anything suspicious up to that point, so he turned his horse to the left and began to follow the tree trunks back to their raw stumps. Tre felt a rising sense of concern. All it would take was one look at the freshly cut wood and the cowboy would know the truth.

Tre swore silently as the scout made a clucking sound and urged his mount up the slope. He would see the stumps any moment now. Then he would fire the shotgun or get on a radio, and the—

Tre’s thoughts were interrupted as Freak rose from hiding and released an arrow from her compound bow. It flew straight and true, and the cowboy jerked convulsively and let go of the shotgun in order to grab the shaft that was sticking out of his throat. Then he made a horrible gurgling sound as he fell out of the saddle and hit the ground.

The horse shied away, but Brute was there to grab the reins and lead the animal up into the trees. Meanwhile, Freak went down to finish the scout with a wicked-looking knife and Crow appeared to tow the body upslope.

It had all occurred so quickly and been carried out with such efficiency that Tre felt a sudden sense of optimism. Given how professional the group was, they stood a good chance of success.

Then the waiting began anew, but it was shorter this time. Scarcely five minutes passed before three riders appeared, followed by a horse-drawn wagon and a long column of heavily loaded mules. There were more guards too, at least ten of them, and Tre couldn’t see the far end of the caravan. That spelled trouble.

Orders were to hold their fire until Crow took the first shot. Tre wished he had a telescopic sight as he tracked one of the cowboys.
Lead him,
Tre told himself,
and go for a body shot.
He felt tense but wasn’t scared, and marveled at that.

Even though Tre was expecting the gunshot, it still came as a surprise. The lead rider fell out of the saddle, the others jerked their mounts around so they could face their attackers, and Tre squeezed the trigger. The 700 thumped his shoulder, produced a loud report, and sent a slug spinning through the air. It hit a cowboy dead center and threw him back. The horse bolted out from under him and the body hit hard. Others were firing by then, and Tre heard a cracking sound as Snake completed his cut and the third tree came crashing down. The caravan was trapped. But even as that thought registered in Tre’s mind, things took a turn for the worse.

Suddenly the cowboys produced military-style assault rifles and began to fire three-round bursts into the rocks. Tre fired, missed, and was forced to duck as bullets struck all around him. Then bad turned to worse as one of the guards began to lob grenades upslope. Tre saw a flash, followed by a loud boom, and saw Brute’s partially dismembered body fly through the air.

“Shoot that bastard!” Crow shouted, and Knife did. But even as the bomb thrower fell, two mercenaries whipped the canvas off a pintle-mounted M249 light machine gun and one of them opened fire. A hail of slugs threw up geysers of dirt all along the embankment and tore into the scrub where Snake was hiding. His bullet-ridden body fell into view and rolled downslope. “Pull back!” Crow ordered. “Into the trees!”