“Good news,” Nancy told the old man. “You will get a ride right up to the gates.”
We dropped maps along the way, picking up a small number of people, including some with small children and others with serious medical needs.
All would be dropped off, and they understood they would be separated from their families if they chose to go.
One, in particular, told me, “I’ll forgo seeing my family for however long it takes for things to go back to normal versus watching them starve out here right in front of me.”
I understood the logic, and initially was surprised nobody asked to stay on with us. I later realized they were tired and broken from the road. All they wanted was a routine to follow that they could count on. They will surely find that there, I thought.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Thirty-two
FEMA Camp
Trinidad, New Mexico
We parked single file at the gates. Lonnie called over the radio, telling everyone to stay inside the vehicles.
Several minutes passed without instructions, and I saw guards pointing towards us and walking back and forth through the gate. Finally, the call came over the megaphone.
“Mike and Lance, present at the gate!”
Had they seen me? Surely not on the trailer, and Mike was all the way in the back.
I waited for Mike to come forward and join me.
“Did they see us?” asked Mike.
“I don’t see how,” I responded.
Even with our names being called, we walked slowly up front, hands to our sides and weapons left behind.
“How did you know it was us?” I asked.
“We loaded this same truck on the Chinook before,” one of the guards replied.
“Ah,” I said to Mike. “That makes sense.”
“Are you asking to speak with the Colonel?” the soldier asked.
“Yes, sir,” I affirmed. “And we have about ten people to drop off—men, women and children. Is he here?”
“Wait here,” commanded the soldier, without answering my question.
Fifteen minutes went by without an answer, and I could hear the kids getting restless behind me.
* * * *
The soldier finally returned. “Follow this road,” he said, pointing towards the north, “for exactly ten miles and no more. We control the road, so you won’t have any problems.
“Have your drop-offs line up over there,” he commanded and pointed to the far wall closest to the next gate. They will be processed shortly, and Medical will be right out to attend to the sick.”
We made the quick drive to the middle of nowhere, exactly 10 miles out, according to the odometer.
Stopping once again in single file, there was nothing to be seen or heard once the engines were cut.
I hoped we hadn’t become so much of a pain in the butt for the Colonel that he would decide to just fire a rocket or two on us and be done with it.
I scanned the sky for the helicopter I hoped would come.
* * * *
Ten minutes turned to twenty, and then thirty, before I heard the trucks.
Three army jeeps, all in a row, took up both of the highway lanes, with two spilling on to the edges on each side. I couldn’t see anything behind them until the last minute.
I exited our vehicle with Mike and stood in front of Lonnie’s truck.
Slowly, a large black Harley Davidson motorcycle, with two riders, came around the jeeps.
Taking off his glasses and bandana, the Colonel greeted us with a handshake.
“You remember my lady friend?”
“How is your mouth doing, Lance?” she asked.
“Good so far, ma’am,” I replied. “Thanks for asking.”
“Where’s Vlad?” asked the Colonel.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!” Vlad called out, heading up on his crutches.
They shook hands, and it was clear they were friends.
He took the time to show Vlad his bike and the weapons on the jeeps.
“Okay, gentlemen,” the Colonel said. “Let’s talk.”
We followed him 30 feet or so away from our group and his men.
“I see you’re all on the road again and looks like you added a trailer or two,” began the Colonel.
“Yes, sir,” I responded.
Vlad took the lead and explained what we had learned from the old man. He asked me to explain about Saddle Ranch.
“It’s a four-mile stretch across a valley set into the mountains on the west side of Loveland, Colorado. It’s shared by two groups, one called Saddle Ranch and the others are known as...”
“The West,” the Colonel said, finishing my sentence.
Mike and I looked at Vlad.
“As I said before,” remarked the Colonel, “I don’t get my information from him.”
“Do you know Samuel?” he asked me.
“Yes, of course,” I replied. “He’s the leader of The West.”
“That’s right,” the Colonel continued. “Did you know that he was a good friend of President Reagan?”
“I hadn’t heard that,” I admitted.
“I served under him in his second term. He was one hell of a man and President.”
“So, how do you know Samuel, sir?” I asked.
“Well, I grew up in the Pacific Northwest and had gotten into some trouble as a kid. My parents signed me up for the Big Brother program, and I got paired up with him. He taught me to fish and later helped me to get accepted to West Point Academy. He’s also responsible for getting me hooked on bikes, like that one over there. He gave me my first Harley as a college graduation gift. So, the short answer is yes, I know about the Valley, and I’ve been there several times, although only on The West’s property.”
The next question was on the tip of my tongue and needed to be asked, but I wasn’t sure how it
