“This is the most valuable possession I own,” he said, looking straight into my eyes.
“I will guard it with my life,” I told him.
“We got sidetracked with Lucy,” he continued, “so I don’t have an exact date but I remember the last full moon being about two weeks ago. So, in another couple of weeks, when the moon is full, I’ll meet you guys at midnight on the Valley’s northern border for an update. After that, I’ll either stay or return to them and fight from the inside.”
“You don’t want your gun?” asked Lonnie.
“No, they will just take it from me anyway. Show this all the way up to Breckenridge,” he added, handing Lonnie a blue ticket with the words “Paid x6” on it.
“Will do, friend, and be careful.”
* * * *
With that, Mike rode east, not looking back. We headed unobstructed through the open barricade, winding up past the Gorge. I hoped we wouldn’t pass a police presence on the fisherman’s turnoff and relaxed just a bit as Carl called out “on your left” over the radio, without explanation. Only the four of us would ever know, and the turnoff was empty—even the truck was gone. The roads were clear, with vehicles pushed off to the sides, probably weeks ago now.
I had forgotten how peaceful it felt traveling at night. As a young man, I would go home once a year in the summer, driving from Southern California to Saddle Ranch. I would leave at four in the afternoon and always started my trip with Tom Petty’s “Full Moon Fever” cassette. Yes, it was that long ago—not eight-track long, but long enough. Coffee was my constant companion, driving through the Colorado mountains in the middle of the night with windows down.
* * * *
We traveled the 74 miles to Fairplay in just over four hours, including a quick bathroom break and not seeing anyone on or off the road. As advertised, our little blue ticket got us through with only a few questions of how many vehicles, occupants, and if we were only passing through. The next leg was easy, heading north on SH-9, the 22 miles to Breckenridge passing quickly through the towns of Alma and Blue River.
“Break time,” Lonnie called, two miles out of town. He gathered a few of us, including Carl and Jake, for a pow-wow.
“Carl, I’m guessing you have been through here before.”
“Yep, we ski up here every winter and almost bought a place last year.”
“I’ve been through here a bunch of times,” said Jake, with me saying the same.
“It’s a straight shot through town, up to Interstate 70. We can detour around if we have to, but not far off the main highway, not with the trailers at least,” said Carl. “I know the Mayor; he used to fish with my dad nearly every-other weekend in the summer. Still, it won’t guarantee us free passage, but it might help. Can I lead on this one?” he asked Lonnie.
“Sure, I’ll be second in line behind you.” Steve took over Mike’s driving responsibilities in the rear vehicle.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Fifteen
Breckenridge, Colorado
“Jake and Lance, come on up,” called Carl when we hit the barricade.
“I see what you mean,” I said, looking at the most impressive blockade we had seen so far, including two old WWII tanks.
“Are those T-34s?” asked Jake. “The old Russian ones?”
“Yeah,” replied Carl. “Why a tourist ski town needs two tanks beats me, but they belong to the Mayor. He bought them at auction ten or so years ago, and he and my dad would race them outside of town.”
“Do they still run?” I asked.
“Far as I know. They did a few years back, for sure,” he replied.
“Name’s Carl,” he said to the guards as we walked up.
“So?”
“I need to talk to the Mayor.”
“That’s not going to happen,” one of the guards said. “Now turn around, the lot of you, and head back down the mountain.”
“I’m Doc Mason’s son, and I need to speak with the Mayor.”
“I don’t give a rat’s...”
“Hold on a minute,” said another man from inside, clearly his superior.
“Did you say you’re Carl Mason?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You folks hold on for a few, and I’ll get hold of the Mayor. Where you headed, by the way?”
“Down the other side—Fort Collins area,” I interjected.
“Huh… Going the long way, aren’t you?”
“Trying to stay off I-25 is all,” I replied.
“Yeah, can’t say as I blame you for that. All right. Hold tight.”
The other guard returned. “The Mayor won’t be up for a couple more hours, but I’m sure he’ll want to talk with you.”
We waited without a word for more than two and a half hours, and I eventually took a seat on the hood of Lonnie’s trunk, taking pressure off my leg.
* * * *
“Carl Mason, how the hell are you?” came the voice of a short boisterous man of maybe three hundred pounds and round as a beach ball.
“Good morning, Mr. Mayor,” Carl replied, shaking his hand.
“What brings you up my way? You headed out of town?”
“Just looking for some new opportunities is all.”
“And them?” he asked, pointing over Jake and me to the caravan.
“Yes, sir. We’re all a group of sorts.”
“Hmm. I hear you’re headed over the pass, down to Fort Collins.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Do you think these trailers are going to make it down the backside of Trail Ridge Road without eating up your trannys or brakes?”
“That’s the plan. We will see, I guess,” replied Carl.
“I told your pops I would keep an eye out for you, and I’ve done a piss-poor job, son. I’m sorry about that.”
“No worries, sir. I’m a grown man.”
“Now, that lawman down in your little town, I hear he’s looking for you. I heard there was a fire a few
