“Everyone, please calm down!”
Then a single gunshot changed everything.
People in the crowd scrambled in all directions after a man near the front of the group attempted to shoot Barone. His shot missed and had struck a Marine behind Barone in the neck.
Another gunshot cracked from a different direction.
This shot hit Barone in the shoulder, went clean through, and struck a Marine standing behind him.
The crowd was heaving and shifting. Some people had fallen and were being trampled on. Total pandemonium had broken out.
Brownstein was still yelling for control and order but it was too late.
Barone clutched his left shoulder and stepped back behind the front row of Marines.
Things were happening quickly and chaotically but the Marines were maintaining strict discipline under the pressure. They had their rifles targeted on the crowd but none could get off a shot at the two shooters, so they had held their fire.
Barone had made it back to the ship while a corpsman looked at his shoulder.
“Holy shit, Colonel!” Simpson bellowed as he came up alongside him.
“My men are good people, right?” Barone asked Simpson.
Simpson looked at him oddly. “Sure, they’re good people, but they’re fine Marines.”
“They are fine Marines,” Barone stated as he watched the crowd slowly disperse as the people ran back into town.
No one had seen enough of the two shooters in the crowd to identify them, but Barone knew that someone would come forward. He had stifled a strong temptation to order his Marines to kill everyone in the crowd. Killing innocents would not serve him, he recognized, but he wasn’t opposed to selectively choosing his targets.
Marines carrying stretchers came rushing by him with those who had been shot.
Barone looked at the first, who was grimacing in pain at the bullet wound in his arm. A second stretcher went by, the Marine’s face obscured by a poncho.
“Stop!” Barone commanded. He lifted up the poncho to reveal a young lance corporal, his eyes still open.
“There’s one of our finest right there,” Simpson declared.
“Yes, he was,” Barone said.
The crowd had almost entirely dispersed. Some were limping off, others were helping those who had fallen. Signs, trash, and other debris littered the dock.
Barone watched Brownstein, who was still visible from where he stood. She appeared lost, as if she didn’t know how her plan had gone wrong. He snarled and ordered, “Top, have her arrested.”
“Roger that, sir,” Simpson said with a smile.
“What’s the charge?”
“Inciting a riot.” He paused for a moment. “And murder.”
First the snowstorm slowed them, and now the highway was packed with thousands of people heading west in the bitter winter cold. Foot traffic was not a problem that Sebastian expected to encounter on their journey. He could only imagine how desperate those people must be to be out in the harsh weather conditions, vulnerable to whatever would come their way. The one thing Sebastian didn’t want to do was drive in among them. Fortunately, the terrain north of the highway was flat and only covered in small shrubs, plants, and only a few inches of snow, making it easy to go overland.
On the map, Annaliese had located a small road that could eventually lead them back to the interstate. She also spotted a large base on the map to the south and commented, “I think these people might be heading to this Air Force base.”
“What base is that?” Sebastian asked.
“Mountain Home.”
“I hope they find what they’re looking for there,” Sebastian said.
“Why don’t we go there?” Luke asked.
“Because we have a place to go to in McCall and my brother will be there,” Sebastian answered.
They continued driving overland until they would hit that road. Driving overland was a slow and bumpy process, so when they intersected with the dirt road that Annaliese had noticed, he was happy to be moving a bit faster. However, they were only about a quarter mile or so along when they noticed that something seemed wrong with the truck.
“Oh, no,” Sebastian said.
“What is it?” Annaliese asked. She now could feel that the right rear of the truck was at an angle.
“I think we have a flat tire,” Sebastian said as he stopped the truck. “Shit. I hope there’s a spare.”
When he got out of the truck his prediction was correct; the right rear tire was flat. A branch from one of the shrubs was sticking out of the sidewalls.
“Damn it!” he barked. He looked around to gauge their location. The dirt road ran parallel to the highway. To the west, about a mile away, he could see a few gas stations, restaurants, and other commercial businesses off the highway.
“Let’s see if old Samuel gave me a spare,” Sebastian said as he lay on the ground and looked under the truck. “Awesome, there it is!” He had half-expected that Samuel would purposely leave one off. However, his euphoria was short-lived. “Shit, shit, shit!”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Annaliese asked. She was bundled up against the cold wind but was still shivering.
“We have a tire, just no jack.”
“Are you sure?”
The boys came out then. They both started going through the truck looking for the jack too, but there wasn’t one to be found.
“Shit. Well, we’re not far from what I guess are hundreds of abandoned cars over there. I’ll go there, get one, and come right back,” he said, pointing toward the gas stations and other buildings.
“You can’t go by yourself,” she urged.
“I won’t, I’ll take Luke with me.”
“Great, leave me with the devil,” she joked. He kissed her on the forehead.
Luke proved to be quick and responsive to everything Sebastian requested. They made it to the gas station in less than thirty minutes and found over a dozen cars sitting abandoned and ransacked. Sebastian went to the first truck, a Chevy Silverado, and in less than a minute had a jack. Thinking of the future, he took the spare tire from the truck too.
It was clear that Luke was feeling more and more confident. The pistol training and his natural marksmanship abilities had boosted his self-esteem. When Sebastian requested he join him on this adventure, he was excited and proved to be a good companion.
“Good job, Luke, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It was fun,” Luke responded with a smile.
They both laughed and shared small talk as they strode back. The terrain sloped up slightly and below that small hill was the road where Annaliese and Brandon were.
The laughs and smiles turned to shock when they reached the top of the small rise and saw another vehicle behind theirs.
Sebastian dropped the tire, pulled out his pistol, and sprinted for the truck. Neither Annaliese nor Brandon were anywhere in sight.
Just twelve feet from the truck, an older man lifted his head and laughed openly. He was followed by Annaliese, who was also laughing.
Sebastian called out, “Annaliese, what’s going on?” He pointed his pistol at the man.
“Sebastian, no, it’s fine. He’s helping,” Annaliese cried, waving Sebastian back.
Sebastian kept the gun pointed at the man, who stood frozen with his arms up.
“I’m just here to help. My name is Jed, Jedediah Walton. I live on a ranch about a mile north. This road you’re on is mine. You’re on my property.”
Jedediah was a native Idahoan and his family had been potato farmers and ranchers for three generations. His thick gray hair was cut short and the deep wrinkles on his face were earned over his seventy-two years of life.
“Why would you help us?” Sebastian asked, squinting his eyes.