Families First: A Post-Apocalyptic Next-World Series Volume 6 Battle Grounds Page 7

  “Your group?” asked Kate. “Do you have a name?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We are the Raton Pass Militia.”

  She paused, smiling slightly. “I think I will rename you the Raton Pass Westoners,” she said, calling over one of her new deputies.

  “Get them a booth number for next Saturday. I want them right next to James.”

  “I believe someone already has that number, ma’am,” her new deputy replied.

  “Then boot them. Put them on the end, or wherever. I don’t care.”

  “Yes, ma’am…I mean, Sheriff. I’ll get it done.”

  “It’s settled then. I’ll see you all next Saturday,” Kate said. “And James, thanks for the vote,” she added, waving as she walked off.

  “You didn’t really vote for her, did you?” asked Janice in a whisper to her husband.

  “I know the kid got at least two,” he replied, squeezing her shoulder lightly.

  “I warned you about the Sheriff and Judge,” said James to David.

  “That you did,” he replied. “That you did.”

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Baker’s Camp

  St. Vrain State Park ~ Colorado

  Mike had only one thing on his mind after the sirens turned off and he was back in his bunk, drifting into a hospital-cot sleep that differed in many ways from a sleeping-bag-next-to-your-girlfriend-and-son sort of sleep.

  “Get Baker’s book!”

  Sergio relayed that, before the day, when you watched a football game—college or pro—the coaches would put something in front of their mouth when they called plays out of their book. “Why, I bet they crapped, showered and shaved with it,” he added.

  Sergio continued: “Baker carries the key around his neck and it’s the only one I know of to the box containing a book so valuable that it could change the course of history—at least for your friends and family—but one could always just take the box and figure out how to open it later. The difference between the two could be a few hours’ head start vs. a few minutes, and only if Max doesn’t snap and try something first. There’s a lot at play here and the Col...I mean, Baker…already said he has big plans for you. None of it means anything, of course, if you can’t get around. I wish you had a few months to get better, but it’s more like a week if we are to pull this off and save the Valley.”

  “So, cut off the head of the snake, and the body will die?” asked Mike.

  “Yes, but ideas are harder to kill than snakes.”

  “Viva-Zapata! Right?—that Marlon Brando movie,” asked Mike.

  “That’s right, and don’t forget about Anthony Quinn. Most people wouldn’t know that. My dad showed me that movie a week before he died, just him and me. I held his hand the whole time, and he didn’t tell me not to. It was the last thing we ever did together, just him and me,” he said, tearing up.

  “Have you ever cried, Mike?”

  “Close, and only a few weeks back. Before that, never.”

  “Me too. We don’t—guys like us. We don’t care much about a lot, but what we do care about gets us here,” he said, pounding his chest over his heart. “Anyway, the missionaries had it on an actual film roll, and I’ve watched it once every year on the anniversary of his death. I’ve never missed one…not one.”

  “What’s the day?” asked Mike.

  “October 23rd,” replied Sergio. “Doesn’t matter anymore, I guess.”

  “They have a working TV and a VCR, or disc player, in our group, but I’m guessing they don’t have that title,” replied Mike.

  “Which is it—a VCR or DVD player?” asked Sergio, with genuine interest.

  “Well, it’s a DVD player, I’m pretty sure. They have maybe ten movies but not that one.”

  “I do!” said Sergio excitedly. “I have three copies of it in my pack. You get me two hours alone with the TV and I’ll help you win the war! I need to watch it this year; I’m sure my father won’t mind if it’s a few months too early, considering all of this,” he added, waving his arm around the camp.

  “Y’all look like you’re getting buddy-buddy,” said one of the other guards. “I thought you didn’t like him, Serg?”

  “I don’t, but the Colonel told me to keep a close eye on him, and I’m doing just that.”

  “Hmm,” is all the guard said, wandering off.

  “Don’t you just feel like Flavor Flav sometimes?” asked Mike. “Like you have a big clock on your chest, but this one is counting down the minutes to your demise?”

  “Every day, my brother…every single day… How about you?” asked Sergio. “Are you married to your group?”

  “I have a girlfriend I should properly marry before I lose her, like the last one, and a young boy we unofficially adopted. No paperwork, I mean. His mother may still be here, but I don’t know. As far as the group, I was committed to getting them here and defending an attack that could wipe them out. Beyond that, I don’t know what my family and I will do.”

  “I’m only asking because men like you and me are rare. I read once that only 11% of steak eaters order it rare. More like it medium rare and medium, while the highest percentage—a full 24%—eat it well done. Can you believe that?”

  “Probably with ketchup!” Mike joked.

  “Exactly. You see, we are one of a kind; and Baker, Ronna, and the real Colonel all know it. All I’m saying is if you get bored after defending the Valley, let me know. We have a lot of work to do, and most men want nothing to do with it,” added Sergio.

  “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” replied Mike.

  “Now, I’m going to get out of here,” said Sergio, “before someone gets the wrong idea—or maybe the right one.”

  * * * *

  Max took Sergio’s words at face value and still ended up sharing a bunk this night with Dr. Baker.

  “Don’t worry, New Max,” said Dr. Baker. “I won’t tell Mr. Baker about us,” she whispered.

  “You mean Colonel Baker,” he corrected her.

  “He’s no Colonel; everyone knows that,” she whispered. “He had a small church in our hometown of Topeka for years. I don’t think I ever saw more than thirty people in the congregation at once, and that was Easter Sunday. Now he has hundreds, or maybe even thousands, of followers and it only took a month of the power being out. I’m not saying he’s a bad man; after all, he is my grandfather. But a Colonel he is not. So, I hope you stick around for a while, New Max.”

  “We will see,” he replied, falling for her just a bit but not enough to derail his father’s revenge.

  * * * *

  Baker was growing agitated, and everyone close to him knew it. He was stuck short of his goal, and no amount of preaching at 10 a.m. would move him closer. Daily radio calls with base operations at Horsetooth Lake remained stagnant.

  “Call a meeting!” he commanded. “I want everyone in the circle here in one hour!”

  The alarm was sounded—not the same as the drill last night but a different one that only a few had heard before. The circle meant his personal guards and the camp guards designated by the brand needed to attend. Sergio had one, as did the rest of the 15 men’s inner circle. Only two women bore it, and they were both tougher than any man at the ceremony. They didn’t make a sound as the crude brand TPKP was burned into the left upper arm. The crude ritual started with five the first time and Baker added one or two at each ceremony. The brand was mandatory for anyone who got close to Baker on a regular schedule. Sergio had one nobody outside the circle knew about, and Mike was next.

  The regulars gathered an hour later, with only Mike as the new guy. “I have an announcement,” said Baker. “There will be no discussion, and I expect my wishes to be carried out in a timely and orderly fashion. You here have all proven your loyalty to me and to this group—all of you, minus one. Mike, come forward!” he commanded.

  Mike made his way to the front as best he could, refusing help from anyone.

  “Can I trust you,” asked Baker,
“with my life?”

  “I’m here to do whatever you need,” Mike responded.

  Looking around, Baker said, “These people were all asked the same question, and there are only two answers—yes or no. Which is it?”

  “Yes,” replied Mike, not overly concerned with telling a lie at this point, or maybe ever if it suited his plan.

  “Good. Remove your shirt,” Baker instructed.

  Mike did as asked, and he looked to his left at the branding iron, glowing bright red with the initials TPKP.

  Two men held him tight, as a third—without expression of any kind or even a word of caution—put the red-hot metal to his upper left arm. The sound was a sizzle, like waiting until the cast iron pan was searing hot before putting the steak on—ironically, a secret of fine steakhouses everywhere. The smell wasn’t far off from a rare ribeye. There is a point in every man’s life where he wonders what his flesh would smell like on a grill if he left his hand on too long. Mike already had his answer, but it wasn’t his, never his. He first saw it in a movie where Denzel Washington was a bodyguard for a little girl, maybe called Man on...something he couldn’t recall. He remembered the part where the main character, John Creasy, cuts the man’s fingers off one by one, only to cauterize them with a cigarette lighter immediately.

  Mike didn’t scream, couldn’t scream, wouldn’t scream, or even call out in pain. He looked across at his very first tattoo and vowed to make Baker pay.

  “You’re number 16, Mike, with the brand,” said Baker. “Topeka Kansas Prophets and only the second man not to scream. It seems you and Sergio have more in common than you think. Now the reason I have called you all here is simple and straightforward, at least to start. I received a message from God Himself, like a lightning bolt piercing my chest, only an hour ago. He told me to pack up like Noah and prepare for a great flood.

  “I don’t believe He meant the water kind, but likely the flood of his followers, my followers, spilling across the countryside, purifying the wicked step-by-step and mile-by-mile. I’ve prayed on it day and night, and I’m being told to forego our pre-set location of Horsetooth Reservoir and head straight for the Valley. We leave the day after tomorrow. Pack the vehicles, horses, and any other transportation we may have. Get my people ready to travel. Sergio, you and Mike will accompany me, along with four or five other soldiers, and we will head due east fifty or so miles and check on our fleet. We leave in fifteen.”

  “What fleet?” Mike asked Sergio, still smelling the bacon scent his arm gave off.

  Sergio waved his head back and forth and answered, “The air fleet.”

  Mike’s stomach would have dropped right then and there, if he felt that sort of thing. Of course, he didn’t but saw the opportunity to gain intel that could harm his family and friends.

  “Do you want to see the medic?” Baker asked, “or are you good to come along, Mike?”

  “I’m good for now,” he replied. “In fact, I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

  * * * *

  They headed east, eight men total, through the wheat fields, looking more like Nebraska than Colorado.

  “What’s out there?” Mike asked Baker, who did not respond.

  “Don’t speak to him unless spoken to first,” said one of his closest guards. “But I can tell you, it’s our ace in the hole, our guarantee of a swift and total victory over our enemy.”

  “Who’s that?” Mike asked.

  “The occupiers of the Valley, of course.”

  “How are they the enemy if you don’t know anything about them?” asked Mike, getting a look from Sergio.

  “We know all about the group. It pays to have someone on the inside, don’t you think, Mike?”

  “Sure, I guess you’re right.”

  * * * *

  “What’s this?” asked Mike, as they headed towards large buildings with planes and helicopters flying and landing, only to do it again.

  They pulled up to what looked like an old airport but full of men running around like they had seen a ghost.

  “They are like dogs when their owner returns from work,” Baker said, uttering this trip’s only words. “They will greet you at the door, wagging their tail, while at the same time waiting for punishment for diddling on the carpet.”

  Mike saw two black helicopters, not the Blackhawks the real Colonel had shown up in the first time they met, but older clunkier versions that could still fly at the end of the day and were more than Saddle Ranch had.

  He counted four planes in all, practicing the takeoffs and landings.

  “What are all these for?” he asked Sergio quietly.

  “The Great Battle,” he responded, “and the air power to keep it.”

  “How can we defend against that with only rifles?” Mike asked.

  “You can’t,” replied Sergio.

  “If we have any chance, I need to get that book,” said Mike.

  “Tonight,” replied Sergio. “There will surely be a test alarm before heading out again. You will have exactly five minutes and no more. If you are caught, you will be shot on sight and will be of no help to your friends.”

  Mike considered his options of finding out the battle plans and risking everything, or taking what he already knew and striking out on his own to warn them.

  “It’s impossible,” said Mike. “He has the key around his neck at all times, and I can’t just take the box without him noticing.”

  “There is one more key,” said Sergio, rubbing his stubbled chin.

  “Where?” asked Mike.

  “Dr. Baker, his granddaughter, has it. But whenever anyone tried to get close to her before, they failed, disappearing without a trace.”

  “Max—he’s been close to her, really close,” said Mike. “I bet he can borrow it, so to speak, and have it back ten minutes later.”

  “I’m not sure it’s even possible, but if it can be done, it has to be tonight,” replied Sergio.

  * * * *

  The airport check took an hour, with every man saluting Baker as the real deal. Planes and helicopters were to be loaded on truck trailers, saving precious jet fuel.

  Mike overheard Baker on his ham radio, instructing the men and women already at the Horsetooth Lake location to be ready to move tomorrow morning and settle in the next valley over from Saddle Ranch, just behind the Rimrock.

  “Make an airstrip 2,000 feet long, cut into the field,” he said. “Secure both entrances as much as you can and then await further instructions.”

  “I thought we had more time,” Mike told Sergio—“at least two or three weeks; now we’re lucky if it’s half that.”

  * * * *

  Rumors flew around the Baker camp faster than the two months prior to a presidential election before the day. Everyone knew there was to be a big announcement tomorrow, and most in the camp were nervous about it. They had been promised safety in a fertile valley but knew they would have to fight for it. There’s always some truth to a “in the hand” saying, and most residents, if ever asked, would say they would rather stay right here. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough and directly in front of them.

  Mike found Max working in the infirmary and pulled him aside.

  “How’s everything?” he asked, getting a sheepish smile in return. “You and Dr. Baker look pretty close lately.”

  “I like her, kind of. She is nothing like her grandfather, if that’s what you’re asking next. They share a last name, and that is all.”

  “That they do,” replied Mike. “The name, that is, but they share something else even more important. A key—not just any key but the key to the locked box containing the book he told us about. The one that holds the fate of my family and friends.”

  “I thought he had the only one…but oh, wait a minute,” Max replied. “She wears one on a necklace, and she only takes it off when showering or…well, you know. I’m not one to kiss and tell, and I never made the connection, but last night it lay on the nightstand until morning.”


  “I need that key,” said Mike, “for at least 30 minutes tonight. There will be an alarm test at some point, and I need to get the book.”

  “Even if you get it, how can you read it quickly enough to have it back in five minutes?”

  “I don’t. I keep the book, and if nothing seems out of the ordinary he may not open the box for another day—or even more if I’m lucky. Either way, I’ll be down the road when it happens.”

  “What about me?” asked Max. “He will think I did it, and she will know for sure.”