Aspen Hill hadn’t been an escape from his desperation. He’d stolen from them, too, when Ferris first occupied the town. He’d failed to protect them, abandoned them to Razor’s gang. Sam and Alice had nearly been raped because of him, something he didn’t think Matt and Rick should ever forgive him for.
So when he later left the raiders and surrendered to Aspen Hill, he’d almost hoped they’d execute him for his crimes. He deserved it. And when he saw how even now they hesitated to fully accept him into their community, to bring him in as they’d brought in refugees, crippled veterans, and mentally scarred former prisoners of the blockheads, he knew he deserved that too.
He didn’t blame them. They trusted him, but even if they couldn’t understand true desperation they knew that he did. They realized he could help them, and by helping them he redeemed himself in some small part for his crimes.
Those men down in that camp, they understood true desperation too. No possessions, no useful skills, no impulse control. The refugee camp, bad as it was, had been their last chance. When Rogers kicked them out and the place they’d hoped to resettle had turned them away, that was it. No family, no home, no country, no loyalty. Everyone viewed them as criminals and troublemakers, and they had nowhere to go and no way to survive.
Raul could see why they’d chosen to turn to banditry. But whatever their reason, their actions were still their own. They’d been pushed into this situation by circumstance, as well as the pettiness of one man, but there’d still been one choice for them. A choice Raul had failed to make as welclass="underline" to live honestly as best they could, even if they failed and it meant dying with clear consciences.
He’d been given a second chance, but he’d never gone as far as Ferris’s other raiders. He’d never gone beyond the point where he could forgive himself. He believed in second chances, because to believe otherwise would be selfish and hypocritical, but sometimes there were no second chances to be had.
These men had killed Brandon and the others. They’d tried to take Deb. That deprived them of a right to a second chance in Raul’s eyes. They’d crossed a line, and there was no justice system to force them back across.
It had been satisfying to shoot the ones who’d shot at Matt and the others. Since they’d been using the patrol’s weapons they were almost certainly some of the ones who’d killed them, and justice had been as swift as Raul could make it. But those that remained, thinking they had safety in numbers even though they only had a handful of firearms, had sealed their fate. He almost regretted that nobody had tried to leave and given him an opportunity to go after them.
Let them howl like animals in their ramshackle camp across the way, tearing into deer roasted whole over poorly maintained fires within a poorly guarded perimeter as they celebrated murder and whatever other crimes they’d committed. It would be easier to put down any who didn’t come willingly.
Raul understood. There was a reason Mary hummed nervously whenever he mustered the courage to talk to her. There was a reason his friends kept their distance, even as they did everything they could for him. They saw what he was because he didn’t try to hide it from them.
He was the shield, standing between Aspen Hill and the world so his town never had to feel the full depths of desperation like he had. The shield got tarnished. The shield got battered. The shield got covered with blood and gore. The shield held firm and kept the ugliness of war from its bearer.
The last of the men below had finally gone to sleep, the campfires slowly dying. Now would be the perfect time to attack, and in the confusion he could make sure none escaped. But he had his instructions.
So he waited in the cold and damp, as the stars crawled by overhead and the nearly full moon inched its way towards the horizon and approaching dawn. Matt would arrive with the others, they would think up a plan to properly intimidate the men below, and this camp would be dealt with.
And only hundreds more refugees out there doing the same, most in smaller groups and not leaving convenient tracks when they attacked their prey. Not for the first time Raul fantasized about making his way to the refugee camp and taking a potshot at Rogers for the trouble he’d caused. Deep down he knew he’d never do something like that, but it was a pleasant thought to entertain.
Instead he planned the morning attack. If Matt was smart, and he was, he’d bring a bullhorn. The best way to let the bandits know they were serious would be to surround the camp, have everyone take cover in case the men below didn’t want to go willingly, then fire short volleys from all directions at the ground around the camp. The bandits would realize they were surrounded, outnumbered, and outgunned by enemies they couldn’t even see to shoot back at, in a camp with no cover.
Then Matt could get on his bullhorn and tell them to all come out with their hands up and surrender. The defenders could move in and cover the bandits while restraining them, while watching the camp for anyone hiding. And those who tried to fight would be shot, giving their buddies an even better incentive to give up.
Easy. Simple.
Finally, after an eternity waiting in the darkness with his own thoughts, which wasn’t all that pleasant with the guilt that plagued him and was even worse considering the physical discomforts, his headset finally crackled. Trev, letting them know the rest of the Aspen Hill force had arrived.
Matt had stayed back home, arm immobilized enough from the bruising that he didn’t consider himself combat effective. He was waiting with Chauncey to deal with any fallout from the military over this.
Raul reported back that everything was quiet in camp and the night had been uneventful. But before he could start laying out his plan of attack Lewis cut in and offered his own plan. It was basically the same as what Raul had thought up, except his friend had spent the brief time before dark scouting the terrain around the camp so he could offer more specific details for placing their people.
That was fine. Raul had served under idiots, cowards, and jerks who made it easy to hate their guts. Ferris was a prime example. He was more than happy to take direction from someone competent and responsible, even if it was him who was technically in charge of the sentries.
He added a few tips to help firm up Lewis’s plan, and others added their own insights. It seemed pretty solid by the time the sun cracked the horizon and spilled golden light onto the camp.
Raul and his sentry team watched as the defenders Trev had brought with him took positions to their left and right, and farther along to circle the camp’s perimeter. They were being careful, and it actually took some effort to make out many of them as they settled behind cover.
Then came the interminable waiting with his rifle trained on the camp, looking through his scope as the sleeping bandits began to stir and wake up, and the sentries around the camp were relieved by groggy replacements.
Finally Trev’s voice came clear through his headset. “Go.”
Just for variety Raul aimed at a campfire, while around him his team picked unoccupied spots of ground or newly vacated cover. Within the space of ten seconds two hundred shots rang out from all sides, echoing from the mountain slopes surrounding the meadow like the rumble of a summer thunderstorm. It was an egregious waste of ammunition in his opinion, although he couldn’t argue that if it convinced the bandits to surrender it would use less bullets than gunning down everyone in the camp. Still, it galled him that they had to use a precious resource to clean up this trash.
Down below the bandits went nuts. Diving for cover that wasn’t there, screaming in fear, and a few going down clutching wounds accidentally made by careless bullets from less skilled Aspen Hill defenders.