“Maybe some or all of the above.” Matt straightened, hand going to the 1911 at his hip. “Let’s get our people together to go out there and get to the bottom of this,” he said grimly. Then he reluctantly turned back to the murdered patrol. “But first let’s help Terry and Dr. Langstrom get these poor people prepared for burial, and call some people to help him take them back to town.”
The others nodded, equally grim. Matt called over the radio for someone from town to bring sheets to wrap the bodies in. Since Brandon had been killed almost immediately at the start of the fighting his body had largely been left alone, and might be made presentable for viewing with some work. But now that Robert was making caskets for the dead the funeral would certainly be closed casket for the other three.
It didn’t take long to do what they could to help, which wasn’t much. Matt left his sister and brother-in-law behind with the surgeon and a couple defenders while he took everyone else at a quick trot following after Gutierrez.
On the way Rick removed his helmet and held it out to Matt. “Here. I noticed you only brought a vest.”
Matt hesitated accepting it. “Look, I’m pissed off too, but we’re going out there to talk first and foremost. We need to figure out what happened before we just start shooting up the camp, and wearing a helmet doesn’t exactly scream peaceful negotiation.”
His friend shrugged. “I’m more worried about them shooting up my Mayor. Just put it on.”
It was hard to argue with that logic. Matt reluctantly put on the helmet as they jogged.
They were almost to the camp before they caught up with Gutierrez. The former soldier didn’t let them stay caught up, either; he ran ahead with his people to check for scouts around the camp and sweep its perimeter for potential threats. Since the man was in charge in Trev’s absence Matt didn’t protest. Instead he led the others behind a low hill overlooking the sprawl of tents to wait for the all-clear signal. Once Gutierrez gave it Matt led the way shimmying up to the top, peeking down at the camp a hundred yards away from behind the cover of a small stand of scrub oak.
The size and number of crude shelters confirmed about a hundred people. There weren’t many tents, and the spare cloth and other material the displaced refugees been able to find had been hung in sloped canopies around the fires to catch the warmth. There were a couple deer slung over those fires roasting, suggesting the men had more guns or bows and crossbows. There was no way the bandits who’d taken out the patrol could’ve returned in time to bring down game using the stolen rifles of their victims.
Either way it wouldn’t be enough meat to go around. The men he saw were as emaciated and ragged as their tents, obviously missing more than a few meals, and a couple deer weren’t going to help that. Of course, after butchering four Aspen Hill townspeople this scum of humanity had more to worry about than where their next meal was coming from.
“Cover me,” he said, directing the words both to Gutierrez over the radio and to the defenders with him. Then with one last check of his gear he rose and started down the far side of the hill.
To their credit the sentries the displaced refugees had set around their camp immediately spotted him and the others and scrambled to defend themselves, producing weapons and taking cover behind tents and anything else in camp that would offer at least some concealment.
Matt didn’t see any sign of the weapons or other gear from the patrol, which as best he knew was five rifles, four pistols, four sets of body armor, four packs, and whatever else Brandon and the others had been carrying on them. It was a surprise the bandits left their victims the clothes on their backs. The fact that none of the men below were showing any of that wasn’t proof of innocence, since Gutierrez had followed the bandits directly here.
He didn’t recognize any of the men he saw as those who’d tried to sneak into Aspen Hill, either, and especially there was no sign of any man with a bruise on his face. No surprise there, since even if these bandits were belligerent they weren’t going to flaunt their guilty friends in front of representatives of a group that significantly outnumbered and outgunned them. The displaced refugees probably still hoped they’d be able to plead innocence and send them packing.
Once Matt was a cautious distance from the camp he slowed to a stop, well aware that this was easy range for a rifle. There wasn’t much they could do about that but keep an eye out for anyone about to shoot him so he could duck and run to safety. Still, standing in the open like this made the hairs on his neck prickle and his muscles tense.
On the closest edge of the camp several men had gathered just outside the nearest tent. One, the leader or at least spokesman of the displaced refugees, raised his voice to address Matt. His tone was nearly beyond unfriendly to the point of being threatening. “What do you want?”
Matt took a deep breath. What he wanted was to raise his M16 and fire a few bursts into that group, then start picking out targets inside the camp. Hiding behind tents wouldn’t do jack to protect them; the men who’d attacked the patrol had lost more men than their victims, and they’d caught Brandon’s people by surprise and got in close fast.
Here, even with their stolen guns and what little else they had, the displaced refugees probably couldn’t even win against Matt and the seventeen people with him. It would be a one-sided massacre.
But there were right ways and wrong ways to do things. “We know four of our people were killed by men from your camp!” he shouted back, doing his best to make his voice iron. “We’re willing to give you one chance to prove the entire camp wasn’t complicit in the attack.”
“You don’t know anything!” another ruffian called, voice thick with contempt.
“Give up the murderers responsible for killing our people,” Matt continued, ignoring him, “and give your word you’ll keep the peace from now on, or face justice yourselves. If you don’t do both of these things, right now, we’ll hold you all guilty for the loss of our people and respond in kind.”
Matt wasn’t sure exactly what happened next. He was abruptly falling backwards, a pain in his chest like he’d been hit there with a hammer. He heard the distant crackcrackcrack of a three round burst from an M16 as he collapsed towards the ground, time seeming to slow down around him.
Then arms caught him beneath the shoulders, dragging him backwards up the hill and over the ridge. He looked up to see Rick, head tucked down protectively behind one shoulder as he watched his step behind him, moving as quickly as he could with Matt’s weight. He had a vague thought that in their current situation his friend should’ve kept his helmet since he needed it more.
Around them he heard the sound of more gunshots as the Aspen Hill group returned fire while also withdrawing to safety, with Gutierrez and his scouts covering them. From the way his friends winced and ducked, accompanied by the muted sound of gunfire from the camp, it was obvious the displaced refugees turned bandits were attacking them.
Matt was having trouble breathing, his flak jacket restrictive and the pain in his chest unbelievable. That body armor had just saved his life, and he was glad he’d taken the time to put it on.
“What happened?” he gasped as Rick set him down partway downhill from the ridge, safe from view of the camp on the other side.
“Snipers popped up from behind a tent,” his friend said grimly. “They went for you first, and at least one of them has decent aim.”