Peter looked down on the campers, shaking his head. “Most of these people are untrained and unpracticed, and their fantasies of wilderness survival will become nightmares within days. It won’t end well for them. But, some of the people we might run into are militia types and hard-core survivalists. These families here do not look wise or well trained at all. The other kinds—the woodsmen and real survivalists—they will have sentries and possibly scouts. We wouldn’t have been able to walk up on this ridge like this without alerting them. They’ll be better trained. Some groups might be benevolent, but others will be violent or criminally-minded. Many will be looking for trouble, for a fight. We’re better off avoiding all of them.”
Natasha chewed on the end of her glove, her eyes searching the scene in front of them. “Maybe they can help us?” she said, her voice betraying hope as well as innocence.
“No, Natasha, we mustn’t think that way,” Lang said, whispering softly. “One mistake and we could be done for. One individual or group that suspects us or is wary of us, or perhaps is just looking to steal and loot their way to survival, and we could all be killed. You heard the radio back at the plant before the EMP. Our world has changed, buttheir world,” he indicated with his hand the group in the clearing below and beyond that the wider countryside, “their world has changed even more. We have to be smart, like Peter says.”
Lang reached over and touched Natasha lightly on her arm, and let his hand rest there a minute until she looked at him with understanding. He sympathized with her fears and even her natural tendency to trust and hope for the best, but that type of naiveté would have to be one of the first casualties of this conflict. “I agree with Peter. We need to avoid people at all costs. I’m already worried because we’re walking out in the snow, leaving a trail behind us. There’s nothing we can do about that, except try to track close to the trees and rocks. When we can get up on those rocks or exposed land, we do so. We stay midway up the hills and the mountains. Not in the valley, where we can be seen from above, and not on the peaks where we can be seen from below, but halfway up, as much as we are able, all of the time.
“But we don’t want to invite trouble by interacting with people,” Lang emphasized, looking Natasha in the eyes. “What if they know that the Russians are the ones that attacked? What if one of us slips up and speaks Russian?” He paused and let the questions answer themselves. “Even if we’ve had nothing to do with the attacks, we would be guilty in their eyes. No. Peter is right. Let’s just avoid people and look for a route that avoids contact as much as possible.”
“But we’re Americans,” Natasha whimpered.
“No, we’re not, Natasha. At least not to these people. We have no country,” Lang replied.
“Lang’s right,” Peter said, “we need to go over this rise and stay hidden from them or anyone else like them.” He looked into the bright blue sky and judged the time. “We’ll keep our eyes open and stop every fifty yards or so to look out and around us. Each of us should be watching and aware of our surroundings all of the time. Listen and look. Remember all of the training we did back in the shed at the water plant. Remember what you learned when you were in school. Keep moving and constantly be aware. We’ll stop regularly and check our surroundings so that we don’t walk into a trap.”
Natasha looked back down over the impromptu camp and she wondered what would happen to these people. Whatever it was, she feared that it wouldn’t be good. The campers seemed to be heedless of any real danger. They acted as if they were just on a day trip; as if things were going to get better in a few days; as if they could all go home soon. Perhaps if they’d seen their homes, families, and friends wiped off the map by a handful of drones, as the Warwickians had, or if they knew that there was no home to go back to, they’d have a little different perspective. As it was, the children ran and sang and shouted and threw snowballs, and the parents just sat looking dead-eyed into the fire — all except, that is, for the one couple that screamed and shouted at one another, each unsatisfied with their situation and blaming the other, each hoping that the other would somehow make it all better.
The walk proceeded, and the trio made good time, keeping to their plan. Not too long after they passed the last group of campers, they spied another man walking along the crest of a ridge. He was silhouetted against the sky and was scampering over the rocks heading who knows where. They watched as the man leapt over something in his path and came down on a branch at the top of the ridge that sent a crackling echo down the mountain. He sank down in the snow as the branch gave way beneath his feet.
They stopped, well hidden in the trees, as they watched the man disappear over the ridge. Peter pulled out his map and partially unfolded it across his knee as he knelt in the snow. He compared the map to the compass, and he nodded his head in the direction that they should go.
“We need to head towards Carbondale. That ought to let us avoid the worst of the towns and highways, although we’ll inevitably have to deal with some of it. On the track we’re following, hopefully we’ll cross Highway 17 sometime this evening. We need to be across that highway and have it far behind us by dark fall. We don’t want to stop or camp anywhere near roads or people.” Peter traced the intended route with his finger on the map so his two companions could follow.
On their way again, they benefited by not having to cross fence lines or private property. Being in the Forest Preserve had its advantages. As they walked, they noticed in the distance the occasional plume of smoke, heard the random blast of gunfire, but they stayed well clear of any sign of humans, and, in time, they found themselves walking with a single-mindedness that comes from being alone in the wide open spaces.
CHAPTER 19
Mistakes are part of the learning curve, and often they are fatal. Sometimes, for some unknown reason, they could very well have been fatal, but are not. Rounding the corner of a stand of trees almost too thick to walk through, Lang saw him first. Looking up to watch a flock of birds shoot out into the wide blue sky, Lang caught a glimpse of a black coat behind the thick brown branches.
Seated in the trees, with a scoped deer rifle pointed directly at the three refugees from Warwick, a young man sat accompanied by a woman who was huddled next to him in the cold. The two, perilously balanced in the crook of a branch, cowered behind a second limb.
Lang could see that the gunman’s hands shook as he pointed the gun first at Lang, then at Peter, then back at Lang again. Despite his superior position, the man was afraid and his fear caused his hands—and therefore the gun—to shake uncontrollably. Peter and Natasha did not see the man at first, as they fought through the branches, and Lang had to alert them, tapping Peter on the arm and indicating toward the gunman in the trees.