Lonnie, in the lead truck, was cautious not to go too fast. The Baker group had a few days on us and Ronna’s more than one day, but they would only be traveling as fast as the slowest walker.
This part of the Interstate was clear of vehicles, but every few hundred yards there was a body on the road.
“We’re going to have to weave a little here and there,” Lonnie called out on the radio. “Keep the formation slow and tight. The first town up ahead is Trinidad.”
I wondered to which group the bodies belonged and realized it was probably both. Fall out of line and you’re done, I thought.
Six miles later, at a steady 10 miles per hour, we hit the bottom of Raton Pass, with the only thing visible being the “Welcome to Colorful Colorado” road sign.
“Trinidad—15 miles” read the next sign.
“This going right up the Interstate makes me nervous,” said Jake.
“I get it,” I responded. “We’re open and vulnerable. I’m hoping we can just squeeze through the opening before the window closes, like in those sci-fi movies where they slide under the electric door moments before it closes.”
“Yeah, I remember those,” said Jake. “They always seem to make it at the very last second.”
“That’s what makes it good; nobody wants to see someone only make it halfway through, unless maybe it’s a horror flick,” I responded.
“You know, we could write our own movie script after this trip!” he added.
“Eyes open!” called Lonnie on the radio. “Something’s different,” he announced without elaborating.
I stood on my good leg, looking around the lead truck, expecting to see something big up ahead. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about until I saw the first one.
“What do you see?” asked Vlad.
“I see someone walking.”
“So, we saw that before, just the same,” Vlad replied.
“No. It’s different. There’s another one,” I pointed out, “and another.”
I raised my binoculars to scan the horizon and saw a dozen more people walking, others sitting on the ground, and some lying on the side of the road.
The only thing I didn’t see any more of was bodies every few hundred yards, like before.
I took a deep breath and sighed as the reality of what was ahead sank in.
“What is it?” asked Jake and Lonnie.
I held up the radio and called to Lonnie to stop for a quick meeting.
We gathered some of the adults. Mike came up, but left Jim on the back trailer as a guard.
“Okay, everyone. I need all able adults over here,” called Lonnie, “and all children inside the vehicles. If you are with children, please turn off your radios.”
“A few miles back, we were dodging bodies every few hundred yards,” Lonnie started. “Likely those who could not keep up with their captors and were shot. I don’t see any of those up the road, at least as far as I can see from here, but they are replaced with others alive and left behind. The captors are either saving bullets, or there is something else going on.”
I was nodding affirmatively, waiting nervously for him to deliver the boom.
“Do you want to take it from here, Lance?” he asked in a statement tone.
I didn’t really want to, but it had to be addressed now and couldn’t wait.
“Do you all remember when we started this journey? With the exception of our new travelers, of course. We spoke of doing the right thing whenever we could. We talked about fair trade and not taking advantage of others, even though we could. Do you all remember that?”
“Yes,” came the nods and affirmations.
I looked to Joy for encouragement for what I was about to say next.
“As those from the very start know, our motto is what?”
“Families First,” came back the reply in a quiet monotone.
“No. No! That won’t do!” I said louder.
“Now, one more time, what is our motto?”
“Families First!” everyone yelled out together.
I smiled at that, knowing our motto had kept us moving halfway across the country, still alive.
I took a breath, and my tone was sober once again.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Thirty
North of Raton Pass, New Mexico
“These people we are passing on the road need help. Not just one or a few of them, but every single one that we pass on our way north desperately needs help,” I said to the group.
“We, all of us here, have a mission and a goal for our families. Our quest is to get to Saddle Ranch together and as quickly as possible. We have enough supplies to do it, but not so much as to call ourselves humanitarians. Sure, we could help a few people, maybe even a dozen or more, before we would need to be concerned about our own well-being. But what about the rest? What about all the others who need help too? Where do we draw the line?”
I was waiting for an answer but none came.
I continued: “I propose we pick one person, and in exchange for information, we offer them enough food and water to last a few days. How does that sound, everyone?”
I was getting nods from Lonnie, Jake and Vlad. I couldn’t read Mike and hoped he didn’t have plans to end their suffering animal-style.
“Why can’t we help everybody we see just a little bit?” asked Lonnie’s wife.
“Because a little bit doesn’t do it,” replied Nancy. “A little bit spread out over a lot of people does next to nothing to help them, but it depletes our supplies so greatly as to risk our own survival.”
“I have an idea,” called out my young son Hudson, climbing up on the trailer.
“You’re supposed to be in the car,” I told him.
“Sorry, Daddy.”
