The truck rolled along the deeply rutted road as an escort of a half dozen horsemen moved around it on all sides.
Nathaniel Bridger sat in the passenger seat of the truck, taking a moment to enjoy the beauty of the pine woods and meadows. Any moment now things could change and the peaceful day interrupted. They were out here hunting bandits.
Nine shipments of weapons had been taken, and six of his people had been killed. The Rangers generally did a good job of protecting the roads, but once you got out of the valley it was wild country and the Ranger’s rarely ventured this far out. Which is what made his business out here so lucrative, and dangerous.
For the rest of the day they traveled in peace, setting up camp next to a mountain lake. There were plenty of fish to catch so the group ate until they were full. Hey remained I disturbed for the night and in the morning headed back out.
The woodlands soon gave way to grass. The Camas Prairie stretches away to the east ahead of them. Nothing but rolling hills stretching out before them. The road they used followed an old pre-flash road, it’s path carving through the hills and spanning low valleys over great earthworks. Here and there the remains of buildings could be seen, the grass doing its best to cover them up.
They made good progress and camped in the middle of the road in a valley carved out through a hill. It was the next day they’d have to worry about. Up ahead was a gorge and a single ancient bridge spanning it. Beyond that was a wooded valley before reaching Cottonwood, the midway point of the Camas route, a town of about ninety or so people.
It was here that most of the shipments had been hit. It was a good spot. Far enough from town to avoid their interference, and located on a bottleneck with terrain that would allow for quick escape. Nathaniel studied the approach with trepidation.
He could see the bridge ahead, but while it looked clear there were too many spots from which an ambush could come from. The bridge was almost a mile long, spanning a very deep gorge. A single man with a good rifle could easily pin down a battalion on it.
His guards waited as he studied the path ahead through binoculars. There was no movement, no sign of anything out of the ordinary. He took his time, and waited, but nothing changed. Finally he returned to the truck and ordered them to head forward.
They crossed the bridge without incident and then passed through the woods on the other side, making their way up the valley towards Cottonwood. Nathaniel was both relieved and irritated. He was glad to have avoided an ambush but at the same time he’d personally come out here to root out the bandits. It just meant they’d have to try again.
They came up out of the valley, crossing open prairie before descending again into another wooded valley beyond. Finally they could see the town ahead. Or what was left of it.
The wooden palisade that surrounded the town had been torn down and its buildings were now nothing but charred ruins and ash. Nathaniel ordered a stop and got out, studying the town through his binoculars.
“Did the bandits do this?” One of his men asked.
Nathaniel shook his head. “No,” he answered as he saw the bodies lying about on the streets. They’d been hacked to pieces and mutilated. A few had been pegged up on parts of the wall. There was no survivors.
He said only one word, spitting it out as if it was poison. “Rovers!” was all he said.
Nathaniel Bridger sat in the passenger seat of the truck, taking a moment to enjoy the beauty of the pine woods and meadows. Any moment now things could change and the peaceful day interrupted. They were out here hunting bandits.
Nine shipments of weapons had been taken, and six of his people had been killed. The Rangers generally did a good job of protecting the roads, but once you got out of the valley it was wild country and the Ranger’s rarely ventured this far out. Which is what made his business out here so lucrative, and dangerous.
For the rest of the day they traveled in peace, setting up camp next to a mountain lake. There were plenty of fish to catch so the group ate until they were full. Hey remained I disturbed for the night and in the morning headed back out.
The woodlands soon gave way to grass. The Camas Prairie stretches away to the east ahead of them. Nothing but rolling hills stretching out before them. The road they used followed an old pre-flash road, it’s path carving through the hills and spanning low valleys over great earthworks. Here and there the remains of buildings could be seen, the grass doing its best to cover them up.
They made good progress and camped in the middle of the road in a valley carved out through a hill. It was the next day they’d have to worry about. Up ahead was a gorge and a single ancient bridge spanning it. Beyond that was a wooded valley before reaching Cottonwood, the midway point of the Camas route, a town of about ninety or so people.
It was here that most of the shipments had been hit. It was a good spot. Far enough from town to avoid their interference, and located on a bottleneck with terrain that would allow for quick escape. Nathaniel studied the approach with trepidation.
He could see the bridge ahead, but while it looked clear there were too many spots from which an ambush could come from. The bridge was almost a mile long, spanning a very deep gorge. A single man with a good rifle could easily pin down a battalion on it.
His guards waited as he studied the path ahead through binoculars. There was no movement, no sign of anything out of the ordinary. He took his time, and waited, but nothing changed. Finally he returned to the truck and ordered them to head forward.
They crossed the bridge without incident and then passed through the woods on the other side, making their way up the valley towards Cottonwood. Nathaniel was both relieved and irritated. He was glad to have avoided an ambush but at the same time he’d personally come out here to root out the bandits. It just meant they’d have to try again.
They came up out of the valley, crossing open prairie before descending again into another wooded valley beyond. Finally they could see the town ahead. Or what was left of it.
The wooden palisade that surrounded the town had been torn down and its buildings were now nothing but charred ruins and ash. Nathaniel ordered a stop and got out, studying the town through his binoculars.
“Did the bandits do this?” One of his men asked.
Nathaniel shook his head. “No,” he answered as he saw the bodies lying about on the streets. They’d been hacked to pieces and mutilated. A few had been pegged up on parts of the wall. There was no survivors.
He said only one word, spitting it out as if it was poison. “Rovers!” was all he said.