He hurriedly rounded up a handful of the defenders there, who’d been hanging out making themselves available in case of trouble. They were technically taking a break from the day’s work to eat dinner, but the way things had been going most of his people took their breaks at the tent in case they were called to an emergency.
Everyone there already had their gear ready, and it didn’t take more than a couple minutes to get them all moving north up the canyon at a jog.
In the last four days the situation with the displaced refugees had steadily worsened, and these attempts to sneak into town were only a part of it. Just as Trev and the town leaders had feared, many of the scattered groups turned to banditry within days, attacking travelers or isolated residents of local towns and camps. The attacks started off minor, but over time they grew bolder and more brutal, especially once the newly formed bandit groups realized the military wasn’t doing anything to stop them.
This was the latest of a dozen times someone or someones had tried to make their way into town, usually by stealth. Trev wasn’t sure why they thought they’d get away with it even if they had managed to slip past his sentries, which none had. Aspen Hill was a tight-knit community, and even though several hundred people lived there most were at least familiar with the faces of their neighbors. There was no chance strangers skulking around wouldn’t be immediately seen and challenged.
At which point a good portion of the town was armed, so the intruders wouldn’t have much choice but to give up and let themselves be arrested.
Usually the would-be infiltrators were simply escorted three miles out of town in a direction of their choice, to the perimeter Trev had set up, with a warning that further attempts to enter town would be met with harsher treatment. While most reluctantly put their backs to Aspen Hill, and thankfully none had turned violent, a few had tried to rush past the defenders and flee into town, hoping they wouldn’t be stopped.
They were wrong. The patrols assigned to turn them back had been issued pepper spray and batons and even a few stun guns to be used if needed, and they were. Trev supposed that wasn’t winning the town any friends among the displaced refugees, and in fact it seemed like the attacks were escalating over time. Although that was just as likely due to the scattered groups of men growing increasingly desperate because of cold and hunger.
Either way the military was keeping dead silent on the matter, and the people of Aspen Hill weren’t the only ones in the area getting more and more angry about that. Trev didn’t know if it was incompetence or malicious intent, but if Rogers or his superiors didn’t step in soon people were going to end up dead. If some hadn’t already without him knowing.
But none of them would be the townspeople under his protection, if Trev had anything to say about it.
His group traveled for roughly a half hour up the canyon, traversing the steep, treacherous terrain alongside the stream, before they caught sight of the intruders. When they did Trev groaned. “These guys again?”
It was a group that Trev had already turned back, one of the ones that’d tried to rush past into town instead of leaving. He would’ve thought the faceful of pepper spray he and his patrol had dished out a couple days ago would’ve kept them from coming back, but apparently they were too stubborn or desperate to get the hint.
Two were carrying crude spears, one just a stick with a sharpened end and the other with a small knife ludicrously tied to the end of a long haft. Another carried a hatchet, while the other three made do with thick sticks for clubs and stones large enough he wouldn’t want one chucked at his head.
In other words, enough to be a threat but not enough to be a real one, with his people all wearing body armor and carrying AK-47s. “Form up,” he said quietly, taking out his pepper spray. Weapons or not, he’d try nonlethal first.
His group fanned out as best they could on the awkward slope, clearing firing lines and pulling out their own pepper spray. The interlopers caught sight of them and their steps turned more wary, but they didn’t stop.
“Didn’t we already do this?” Trev called. The refugees kept coming. Trev judged they could go a couple dozen more feet before he’d consider them close enough to pose a danger if they charged, but also close enough to be shot with pepper spray. “Stop now,” he said more sharply.
They didn’t. “You’ve got food, we need it,” the closest one snapped, hefting his spear. “You think blinding us for a few minutes is going to stop us?”
Trev reluctantly put his pepper spray away and unslung his rifle, although he motioned for the rest of his group to keep their deterrents out as he raised his weapon to point at the man. “It had better. The alternative is less pleasant.”
“You don’t have the stones,” the refugee snapped. He broke into a charge, lifting his spear and throwing it as he came.
It would’ve hit Trev if he didn’t leap aside, and other members of his group cursed as rocks fell among them, a few connecting. The lead refugee had pulled out a knife and was moving low and fast to close on Trev so he could use it.
Then streams of spray flew out from the defenders to converge on the charging men. Most were on point, hitting faces or narrowly missing, and three went down coughing. The leader was one still coming, and Trev reluctantly aimed for his legs and fired off a few shots.
He missed every one. By the time he swapped up to aim for his assailant’s chest the man was nearly on top of him, and he also missed that hasty shot before being forced to brace to deflect the incoming knife with his weapon.
In the brief flurry that followed Trev was nearly tackled off his feet. If he hadn’t spent so long practicing grappling and boxing with Lewis last winter, and infrequently since then, he probably would’ve been. Instead he managed to sidestep and brace his feet, throw the man’s knife wide, and slam his helmeted forehead into his assailant’s face.
The interloper went down hard and stayed down, cursing, as Trev covered him with his rifle. He was also pretty ticked, but more at himself than at his attacker.
There was a reason that, as far as he knew, every military and law enforcement had a policy of aiming center mass at credible threats. Moving targets were hard enough to hit as it was, and a determined enemy could close on you fast and shrug off minor injuries. Then once they were close enough they could knock your gun aside or get around it, and then you lost the advantage of having it and were fighting for your life close quarters against whatever weapon the enemy had.
He didn’t want to hurt anyone he didn’t have to, but it was stupid to go any easier on this displaced refugee with a knife than he would’ve on a blockhead in the same situation. He could’ve wound up dead for his troubles.
A brief look around showed that a couple of his defenders had pinned the other two who hadn’t been hit with spray and were getting out zip ties to bind them, while the rest of his group cautiously approached the coughing, red-eyed displaced refugees farther back to disarm and take into custody.
Trev slung his rifle and rolled the man over onto his stomach, driving a knee into the small of his back to hold him down as he pulled out his own zip ties. “You seriously shouldn’t have come back.”
The leader cursed as his hands were yanked together to be bound. “What’re you going to do, spank us and send us off like naughty boys? You’re not going to kill us just for trying to get into your town, and if you put us in jail at least we can expect three square meals a day.”
That was unfortunately a good question. Trev wasn’t about to let people who violently attacked his defenders go free to do it again, maybe with more success next time. And now that the military was sticking their noses in Aspen Hill’s business the town’s policy for dealing with violent attackers would probably get them in even more trouble, assuming the town’s judges found this attack to be enough justification to execute the prisoners.