The sun was sinking low over the horizon by the time he and the others reached Main Street with their wagons full of molotov cocktails, reeking slightly from the gasoline they’d handled. When they did they found the town a much changed place.
All the useless cars that had become almost fixtures, parked along the sides of roads or in driveways for months, were now pulled strategically across certain streets to block access. Tack strips made of nails and screws punched through lengths of rope had been tied tightly between street lamps along Main, and in the windows of almost every building he saw familiar faces holding rifles, many with scopes, ready to fire down on any attacker.
He found Matt in front of Tillman’s, organizing his main ambush there, and learned from his friend that every single person in each building had been instructed to find two escape routes taking them out on different sides that they could use if the soldiers they were firing at decided to storm their building after them.
“Want me to find a window, too?” he asked as Matt began handing out molotov cocktails and lighters to the young men of the town. Their job was to wait on the top stories or even the roofs of buildings until the firefight started, then lob the firebombs at Ferris’s vehicles. That would hopefully be a safer task than being part of the firefight itself, since the soldiers would be distracted by incoming fire. Matt had carefully instructed them about staying out of sight and only lighting the rags on their cocktails at the last second so the light wouldn’t draw attention to them until it was too late. After that their only other job was to flee to safety along their own established escape routes.
Matt shook his head. “I want you with me at Roadblock 1 in case Ferris tries anything right then and there. We’ll take some molotov cocktails to distribute to the positions up there.”
Trev waited as his friend finished organizing the few groups remaining outside the former storehouse, then followed him up the street pulling his wagon with the last of the cocktails. “Any word from Lewis?”
“Regularly,” his friend said. “Ferris’s convoy is parked about a mile up the road. All vehicles and raiders are accounted for, assuming a few didn’t sneak away before your cousin got in position, and they haven’t moved this entire time. They’re waiting for the deadline.”
“I guess we are too, with most of the preparations complete,” Trev said, looking around. “All the noncombatants safe in the canyon?”
Matt nodded, the frown he’d worn since Trev first saw him deepening slightly. His friend’s mom, wife, sister, and nephews were there, which was reason enough to worry. “The Mayor’s there keeping everyone organized, as well as for her own safety. We’ve got a dozen men watching the mouth, and I sent a few molotovs up there just in case. They’ve got tack strips they can drag across the road between trees if they see anyone coming, and Jane’s there with our only .50 cal rifle ready to try to shoot the engine block of any vehicle that approaches. It’ll have to be enough, but for now we hope their focus is on the town.”
“And our crops?” Trev asked.
His friend’s frown deepened again. “A half dozen snipers in spots nearby, where they can guard the south border of town and the gardens both. I’ve ordered everyone to stay clear of the area, and the snipers have orders to shoot anyone who comes within 50 feet of the gardens. I’ve also got a man farther out to give advance warning.”
Trev nodded and fell silent, the only sound the creak of the wagon behind him and the soft clink of bottles knocking together through their cloth wrappings. He glanced at the small group of people following close behind, armed and grim faced, ready to defend their homes and their lives. “Do you think we can win?”
Matt snorted. “Not a fan of that question. You know what we’re up against. We’ve planned a good defense but things can always go wrong, especially against a well equipped enemy that knows what they’re doing. We’ll just have to hope our people shoot good and the enemy isn’t ready for us.”
“At least we’ve got numbers and the ground advantage,” Trev said. But he had to fight down the nagging worry that they might lose a whole lot of friends tonight.
They reached the roadblock and Matt made a few last minute preparations organizing the defenses there. While he was doing that Trev hopped up onto the roof of a car and looked down the road, hoping for a glimpse of Ferris’s convoy even though he knew he wouldn’t get one. There was a fairly tall hill between the roadblock and where Lewis had said the trucks were parked.
He hoped his cousin was okay.
Then, aside from quiet voices on their turned down radios as people checked in, they waited in silence as the sun sank towards the horizon.
As the top of its fiery rim dropped below the mountains to the west Matt’s radio crackled and Catherine Tillman spoke. “That’s six hours, near enough. He was probably measuring it by sundown too. I wish I could be with you there, but little as I like it the arguments for me staying to organize the noncombatants were persuasive. I leave the town’s defense in your care, and pray everyone will be ready for—”
Her impromptu speech was abruptly interrupted by a trilling call from another radio. “There’s movement here,” Lewis whispered as the Mayor fell quiet. “Ferris has gotten into the lead truck with Turner on the .50 cal and they’re headed your way.”
Matt lifted his radio to respond.“The whole convoy?”
“No. Sorry, that was a bit vague. Just that one truck. Looks like Ferris is going to see the town’s response before doing anything else.” There was a brief pause. “I’m going to stick around here so I can give warning if the rest of the convoy unexpectedly moves.”
“I authorize you to speak on behalf of the town, Matt,” Catherine said once she was sure Lewis was done talking. “Aspen Hill’s defense is in your care.”
Matt nodded and pushed the talk button again. “Okay everyone, this is it. Do your jobs and be careful.”
Over the chorus of affirmatives he heard the deep rumble of the approaching truck. It sped into view not long afterwards, but braked suddenly with a squeal of tires far enough away to make even a shouted conversation impossible.
Ferris once again popped out behind the passenger side door with the megaphone. “I don’t see any goodies piled up outside the roadblock,” he said, and at that distance his words were hard to make out even with the electronic aid. “If you’re late to comply you’ve got ten seconds to let me know. Then we do this the hard way.”
There was no way Matt could shout a response from so far away, and anyway they had nothing to say that the bureaucrat-turned-raider wanted to hear. So while Ferris casually began counting down Matt lifted his rifle and sighted in on the truck.
He doubted he’d be able to get a good shot off on Ferris, hidden behind the door of a military vehicle, and anyway he didn’t really want to shoot the man during what could technically be considered a truce. Instead he moved his crosshairs to the center of the truck’s windshield, held his breath, and squeezed the trigger.
His shot ricocheted off the reinforced glass more or less where he’d aimed it, leaving a small spiderweb of cracks. Ferris abruptly stopped counting, turning to look at Matt’s reply. Then the megaphone boomed his voice once more. “So that’s your answer? I’m disappointed, Larson. You’ve made the wrong choice. The deaths of hundreds of people will be on your head.”