“Come on, then,” the refugee said, turning. “I suppose first I’ll introduce you to the rest of my family.”
Matt followed the delegation as they went from family to family, listening to their stories and sympathizing with their plight. As they went Kendall wasted no opportunity to guilt them about their decision to turn the refugees away. The older man really knew how to tug at the heartstrings, all without openly accusing them of being selfish jerks.
That was a restraint the other refugees didn’t share, as they spiced their stories of fear and suffering with bitter mentions of their hope of a refuge in Aspen Hill keeping them going. Anderson was the main target of their anger, and the Mayor looked more uncomfortable with each passing minute. Not that anyone else in the delegation was truly comfortable with the situation.
Matt wanted nothing more than to leave immediately, and the only thing that kept him around besides his responsibility to the group was that while mingling among the refugees he had plenty of opportunities of his own to talk to people.
In spite of their bitterness the refugees were eager to talk about what they’d suffered, and while listening he found opportunities to ask questions about Midvale and specifically his sister and her family in the vanishingly slim hope that someone, anyone, might have news. Nobody did, but nothing he heard on that walk through the camp reassured him that April’s family would be okay.
After about a half hour a call from the north end of camp warned them that more refugees were approaching down the highway. A small group of a dozen or so were visible at the moment, but who knew how many might be coming behind them. Anderson immediately made his goodbyes and ushered the delegation back out of camp and down the road leading into town.
Matt supposed he could understand why the Mayor wouldn’t want to be there when the group arrived, so he wouldn’t have to say the same things all over again. Maybe he even planned for the refugees themselves to give the bad news and send the group on south, in their hope that if their camp remained small eventually the town might take pity and let them in.
In a way it was the very sight of how Aspen Hill was by necessity treating these poor people that made up Matt’s mind. If Terry and April and their two young sons could expect the same sympathy and charity on their trip south, a trip he was more and more sure they’d have to make to escape the chaos in the cities, they were in for some bad times.
He had to go up there and help them, had to find them himself and personally make sure they made it back down to Aspen Hill safely. He’d never forgive himself if they vanished into a sea of human suffering and he never learned what happened to them, with only guilty nightmares fed with details from the refugees to hint at their fate.
He needed to make the trip north, but he wasn’t sure he could do it alone.
Trev was extra vigilant after encountering the three refugees the day before. The knowledge that there were people coming directly for Aspen Hill, and thanks to things like GPS could do it without even following the highway, made it all the more likely he might encounter more.
Not to mention that after turning refugees away there was a much greater chance people might try to sneak into the town, and under those circumstances it was unlikely their intentions would be honorable.
So far he hadn’t met anyone else off the road, though. The rest of his patrol yesterday had been uneventful, and this morning he also hadn’t seen anyone except people passing south on Highway 6. Rick Watson, who’d had the night patrol from 10 til 6, said he hadn’t seen anyone either, which made sense since not many people would be traveling off the road at night.
Turner had finally put more men on the patrol roster, three to be exact. Also kids, to be exact. Trev had to wonder if there’d been less volunteers for the job of walking 20 miles over a period of eight hours compared to six hours sitting behind a roadblock, and only the younger guys had the energy to try it out. Rick, his brother Wes, and Pete Childress were all still in high school, Rick a senior and Wes and Pete sophomores, with Pete about six months older than Wes.
All claimed to know how to shoot and had been given weapons to take on patrol from the stockpile Mr. Tillman had donated to the town storehouse, but Lewis had still insisted they avoid trouble entirely and just radio in if anyone approached the town, then abandon their patrol until Turner could send men to turn the interlopers back. The three kids hadn’t been happy at that, and Trev had a feeling if they did run into anyone while on patrol they’d try to handle it themselves.
Stupid, to assign those three. Even if there weren’t any other volunteers Trev didn’t like the thought of kids that young patrolling alone. Sure, Rick was only a few years younger than him so the sentiment was a bit absurd, but he still wished they’d been put on the roadblocks and Turner had sent older, more experienced men who could handle any difficult situations that might come up. And if nobody volunteered he should have gone the next step and assigned people anyway.
Trev also didn’t like them being armed, since it was anyone’s guess whether they might waste time and bullets taking potshots at shrubs to pass the time, or might panic in a tense situation and shoot first and ask questions later. From what he knew of the three they were good guys, at least, but he wasn’t sure they were up to the task.
He also had to admit that getting only three more people was kind of BS. That still meant taking every fifth patrol, which meant at best he’d be out here every other day. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
At the moment Trev was heading west towards the foothills, after spending a bit more time than usual on the eastern tip of the patrol hill overlooking Highway 6 watching what seemed like an endless trickle of refugees clumped in small groups passing by. He’d radioed their presence in, but judging by the apathy of the response he had a feeling people heading south on the highway weren’t exactly news anymore. He only hoped Anderson and Turner had thought of how they were going to deal with things when that trickle of humanity became a stream or even a river. Especially if they decided to take a detour into Aspen Hill.
The fact that they were there was another reason why Trev had to be more watchful, so even though he walked faster than usual to make up for lost time along the beginnings of a trail their constant walking back and forth had trampled, he also stopped more often to peer north over the top of the hill, and tried to do it behind cover.
When the highway was about a mile behind him he paused yet again to poke his head up behind a familiar shrub, using the scope of his Mini-14 to save time rather than taking the trouble of getting out his binoculars and putting them back. He didn’t see anything, and he was about to sling his rifle over his shoulder and duck back down to the trail to continue when he caught sight of a flash of blue disappearing behind a patch of tall bushes down below.
He paused and started to lift his rifle to check through the scope again, then thought better of basically muzzling a living target and finished putting it away, going for the binoculars instead. He lifted them just in time to see a woman wearing a bulging school backpack stumble into sight from behind the last bush in the patch, heading his way.
She was older than him, late 20s or early 30s probably, wearing short shorts and a snug sleeveless T-shirt. He doubted she’d intended to wear those clothes when she set out, or maybe she had. Either way she had to be regretting it now with her exposed skin fiery red with sunburn and her legs scratched from pushing through underbrush. She also had that dusty look of someone who’d been walking off the road for a while, and her steps were uneven and clumsy like she was having trouble putting one foot in front of the other.