Greg has them continue west and across the interstate where it becomes obvious that vehicles have passed recently. Their passage has cleared a path on both sides of the freeway. The Stryker climbs and descends the small embankments of the highway. In a field on the far side, with the outskirts of the city in the distance to their right, Greg has two teammates disembark to erase the marks of their passage as best as they can. He covers them with the .50 cal, but they are able to complete their task unhindered.
They continue striking west and enter the barren landscape of the southern end of Fort Carson. Greg has slowed the vehicle to a crawl in order to minimize any dust trail. It’s evident there are survivors of some sort around and he doesn’t want to announce their arrival.
The area is covered with small ravines, ridgelines, and countless dirt tracks branching off the dirt road they are following. The trails they leave behind are easy to spot and follow but, from all indications, no one has made it out this way in some time.
The hills in the near distance to the west rise sharply off the plain, their sides dotted with evergreens and patches of green shrubs. Any natural greenery remains green and those plants that required water to be brought by humankind have browned for lack of nourishment. The land is returning to its natural state.
Passing by an isolated firing range, they come to a two-laned highway — The Vietnam Veterans Memorial Highway. This road runs along the base of the hills for a short distance before heading into the center of Colorado Springs. Greg follows this thoroughfare until they are immediately adjacent to Fort Carson. At this juncture, the hills and the highway say farewell to each other and Greg turns into several residential developments on the very fringe of the city. The houses themselves run right up to hills rising off the upper plateau of Colorado. It’s the best they can do without traversing into the mountains.
Working their way through the twists and turns of the neighborhoods, and sticking to the ones nearest the hills, they eventually clear the urban areas. At an intersection where Gold Camp Road and High Road come together, Greg halts the team to figure out their best route.
“Sir, I know this area,” one of the soldiers says. “Growing up here, I ran and hiked most of the trails in the area.”
He is the one whose family they are currently searching for.
“Okay. What do you recommend?” Greg asks, moving away from the map to make room.
“This road…Gold Camp Road…continues across the intersection. It intersects a trail that the Stryker can negotiate. I think the trail’s name is Lion Trail, but I can’t be positive about that. There’s a ridge that several trails parallel and we can follow that to the highway between the two springs,” the soldier answers. Greg looks on in confusion.
“That’s Colorado Springs and Manitou Springs,” the soldier clarifies.
“And that’ll keep us hidden?”
“Yes, sir. They’re dirt so we’d have to keep our speed down, but there’s no one there, especially if we take the west side. The ridge will block us from view to the east, and there are several other smaller ridges that will block us from the west. It’s the best way I know.”
“Alright, you stay here with me and guide the turns. Show me where we need to go and the best way to get there,” Greg says.
The soldier points to a small neighborhood that extends partway into a valley on the southwestern side of Manitou Springs.
Of course it would be on the other side of the town, Greg thinks.
As if reading his mind, the soldier replies, “Not to worry, sir. I can get us there easily enough.”
“Not to seem crass, but how many are we looking for? Greg asks.
It’s been one of the things on his mind since they began. If they do find loved ones intact, how are they going to transport them? Especially if they find very many of them. His plan was to find other vehicles which they can use, and he supposes that will have to do. It may not be easy finding ones they can get started, since the batteries will have drained long ago, but he’ll deal with that when he comes to it.
“Well, sir, there’s my younger sister and brother and my mom. My dad moved to New York a while ago,” the soldier answers.
“I’m sorry,” Greg says, referring to the fact that the young man’s dad is out of reach.
“Not to worry, sir. We didn’t exactly get along.”
Guided by the soldier, they find the trail and proceed up a series of switchbacks as they climb the lone, north-south ridge. Greg opts to travel on the western side as the soldier indicated it will allow for them to be better hidden. That of course means they won’t be able to see trouble coming either.
They cross over the long ridgeline and descend along more switchbacks. Meeting up with another trail which leads through a deep ravine, they continue their northbound travel to the freeway ahead. Small trail signs along the way indicate they are proceeding along the Red Rock Canyon Trail. The path is at the base of a steep hill. In places, Greg can see the rocky top of the larger ridge which the soldier identifies as Hogback Ridge. The path is narrow and the vehicle’s wheels roll on either side, flattening scrub brush that grows alongside. Looking behind, Greg is satisfied with their speed as dust rises no higher than the top of the Stryker.
The trail ends at an empty dirt parking lot. Ahead, Greg can make out the east-west line of the highway they’ve been striving to reach. So far, they have been lucky and haven’t encountered anyone. The hogback ridge ends abruptly at the edge of the freeway. He stops and pulls out his binoculars.
Across the road, he makes out the side of a large department store. Trees adjacent the highway block any further view of the area, but he gets the impression that a residential neighborhood lies beyond the foliage. The two cities have almost grown together.
He focuses his view on something on the highway itself. He can’t make it out from his vantage point, but it doesn’t look right — it’s not part of the road system. It gives the appearance of a road block with stakes pointing outward. It almost looks like triangular anti-armor stakes.
That doesn’t bode well, he thinks, trying to ascertain exactly what they truly are. If there are anti-armor stakes, that means there’s armor in the area. And, obstacles like that are meaningless without supporting arms to take advantage of the blockage.
He takes a long sweep of the surrounding terrain looking for any sign of dug-in emplacements or anything to indicate that someone is lying in wait. He doesn’t see or hear anything other than the whine of the Stryker idling and a few birds circling. He orders the Stryker to advance slowly. As he draws nearer, he sees that he was totally wrong about the items in the road.
It’s a series of crosses placed in a semi-circle next to the multi-lane freeway. They are constructed of heavy timber and driven into the ground. The shadows from each cross stretch long to the east. It’s taken them almost all day to reach this point. Greg removes the field glasses and rubs his eyes, trying to erase the tired and gritty feeling in them. He’s strained to focus on objects for most of the day and he’s beginning to tire. Looking again, he turns the knob to sharpen the focus. The scene that jumps into view is horrifying.
In the magnified view, Greg sees that someone is tied or otherwise attached to one of the crosses. The figure hangs limply with its head down, chin almost touching the chest. Long black hair drapes lifelessly down and obscures any features. A light-colored shirt over jeans appears heavily stained. The person isn’t moving and, to all appearances, doesn’t appear to be alive.