Mac, with a mask of his own, did a quick sweep of the house, finding a door in the middle of the pantry open. A staircase led underground. He emerged and nodded to Cory that the house was clear.
The children had found their way back to the main house, and most of the adults were now sitting up.
Mac laid out the ground rules, asking if any of them felt like they were in charge. When no one raised their hand, he continued.
“I don’t know what you were all up to before, but I’m guessing you were just typical moms and dads. Whatever it is you were doing each day while the children were outside is your business, but now is your time if you need to head out on your own. Ralph is gone once again, and if you see him, let him know that if I or anyone from our Valley sees him again, he will be shot on sight. No questions or warnings.
“As for the rest of you, here is our offer. If you take it, the offer is absolute, with no revisions allowed. If you do not, you are on your own. Either way, we expect you to leave this property in the next half hour, never to return to it or any part of the Valley below. Any breach of this agreement will result in punishment that you don’t want to deal with, I can assure you. As for your children, they didn’t ask for this to happen. We are giving you a new start, like a poor family winning the lottery in the last world. Raise them right and treat them well.”
He went over the official rules, with a review of the items from both the Ranch and West properties heading up now on a trailer truck with enough gunny sacks to transport the generous offer. There was also a detailed map to the property they would soon call home. He distributed their weapons with all the ammo in a separate bag. He gave those bags to the moms.
“No loading the rifles until you are at least a mile up the road,” called out Cory. “Then, you will need every round you can spare for hunting game.”
A few were grateful, and most were just along for the ride. Only a handful refused to leave, but they became convinced when Mac repeated his earlier statements about Ralph.
Slowly they packed up their meager belongings and headed up into the mountains towards the place they would call home.
“I hope they find salvation up there. I really do,” said Mac.
“Me too,” replied Cory. “Me too.”
“All clear,” called Mac over the radio, “and great job, everyone!”
He left a few of his crew on cleanup before heading to the hospital to check up on Drake.
Each window in the MacDonald house was opened fully, and it would take 12 hours to open-air it before it would be inhabitable.
It was going to need a cleanout and disinfecting over the next couple of days, and the broken window would be replaced.
Three men were tasked with guarding the property against anyone trying to head back to this familiar place.
* * * *
Drake was semi-conscious as they pulled into the West hospital parking lot. He mumbled incoherently.
Dr. Melton called out instructions to the other doctors rushing him back into the same room both John and Jimmy had stayed in not long ago.
“He has two gunshot wounds—left elbow and right upper thigh, as well as a head contusion,” she called out. “Everyone else outside,” she added, clearing the lobby of anyone not officially on duty.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Thirty-eight
South of Pueblo, Colorado
Lonnie pulled the lead truck off the highway for a quick meeting.
“Take a look at the map,” he called over the radio.
Jake, Vlad and I all pulled out ours.
“Look just up and to the west but still south of Pueblo. Do you see it?” asked Lonnie.
“The airpark?” I asked. “Simonson?”
“Yes, that’s it. If we follow Burnt Mill Road south to Little Burnt Mill Road north, it will put us right at the airpark,” continued Lonnie.
“What do you bet there’s a burned-out mill somewhere on the way?” I joked.
“It’s a little off the beaten path,” Lonnie continued, “but still heading in our general direction, and we might just get lucky and get another good night’s sleep. It looks like about an hour or two out, and we still have a day to kill anyway. All in?”
“Sounds good.” “Yes, sir.” “Sure!” came from all with radios.
Lonnie’s wife kept a close eye on the map, not wanting to miss the first turnoff. “It used to be so easy before, and I guess we got spoiled,” she remarked.
“What do you mean?” he asked his wife.
“Maps and directions,” she replied. “I remember using one of these before vehicle navigation and cell phones. We got spoiled with the map narrator calling out the next turn—‘Take a left at Burnt Mill Road in one mile. Turn left in 1,000 feet…200 feet. Oh, you missed it! No worries. Make a U-turn’ it would scream obnoxiously until the driver finally complied or got far enough away to hear the familiar chant, ‘Re-routing…Re-routing.’ Now it’s old school again, and we have no choice but to go slow and look for the street signs that were always there.”
“Yeah, we were spoiled all right,” Lonnie agreed, laughing at the absurd accuracy of her statement. “A tire change or a tow was only a phone call away. Now the calendar has been dialed back, whether we like it or not, and we are back to working hard with our own hands, and bartering.”
“There,” she pointed up ahead. “That’s the turn.”
“Simonson Field—6 miles,” the sign read.
“Let’s take
