The Seeds of Man

Chapter Seven

The dull ache refused to go away, so Tre sought refuge in the delicious darkness. But now, having released him, it refused to take Tre back. And the voice wouldn’t go away. “Hey, I know you’re in there. It’s time to rise and shine.”

Tre could see light through his eyelids—but a major effort was required to open them. Finally, once he did, Tre saw a young man with dark skin and a haystack of dreadlocked hair. The visage smiled. “That’s better… Freak is going to give you a pain pill and some water. Try not to choke.”

Suddenly the man was replaced by a girl with blue eyes and blond hair. It was ragged, as if she had cut it herself, and done so without using a mirror. Her lips were full but pursed as if in a perpetual pout. Suddenly Tre realized that he’d seen her before. But where?

Then he had it. Afton, the girl who had been roped, and the toughs… He was alive! The realization came as a pleasant surprise. Freak placed her left hand under his head and lifted. When her right hand appeared, she was holding a pill between her thumb and index finger. “Lollipop.”

The word made no sense, not in that context, but Tre understood. He opened his mouth and Freak placed the pill on his tongue. A canteen appeared and she held it to his lips. “Bubbles.”

Tre drank, sparingly at first, then greedily, as water trickled down his chin and onto his neck. “That’s enough,” the man said. “They call me Bones. What’s your name?”

Tre struggled to speak. The task was more difficult than he expected it to be. “Tre.”

“Well, Tre, you took a blow to the head and suffered a concussion. Do you remember the fight?”

Tre could see it, hear it, and feel it. The gang leader going for his gun, the recoil from the shotgun barrels, the spray of blood. He nodded.

“Good. No loss of memory, then… There could be lasting effects, though. Time will tell. In the meantime I’m going to make up a tonic of sage, nettle, and mugwort. That should put you right.”

Tre wanted to object, wanted to say that he had never heard of mugwort, but couldn’t find the strength. A great weakness came over him and sleep started to pull him down. Someone pulled a scratchy blanket up under his chin. Then she said, “Treetop,” and kissed him on the lips. Darkness fell.

There were dreams. Strange, twisted things that made no sense and woke him up. Sometimes there was light, and sometimes there wasn’t, and there was no way to gauge the passage of time.

Eventually the pain began to fade, his appetite returned, and Tre found the strength to sit. A day later he managed to stand. And then, with Bones guiding him about, Tre toured the hideout. It was located east of Afton, up in the Salt River Range, where steep terrain, forested slopes, and rushing rivers made the tunnel hard to find and easy to defend.

The hideout had been a coal mine once. That was obvious from the wooden timbers that supported the roof, the tool marks on the dimly lit walls, and the half-buried tracks that led deep into the mountain.

There were three “rooms,” including a stable large enough to accommodate twenty horses, a workshop complete with a forge, and a communal living area furnished with a variety of castoffs and warmed by a large coal-fed stove. That, plus the stream that ran along the east side of the main passageway, meant the residents had two very important luxuries: heat and water.

One by one, Tre met other members of the gang. The first was a young man named Knife, a sobriquet that fit perfectly given his appearance. Knife was at least six-two, with a saturnine face, and tattoos on his arms. When they met, Knife was working at a small forge. It was, according to Bones, one of the amenities the miners had left behind.

The coal-fed fire glowed and threw off waves of welcome heat as Knife used metal tongs to pull a long strip of glowing metal out of the flames. After folding the blank he positioned it on an anvil and began to pound on it with a hammer. A sweaty sheen appeared on his pale white skin, and droplets flew as he worked. “It’s going to be a sword,” Bones explained. “A katana.”

Tre had read about Samurai swords and looked on with considerable interest as Knife worked. “This is Tre,” Bones said. He had to speak loudly in order to be heard over the ring of steel on steel.

The response was little more than a grunt of acknowledgment as Knife plunged the steel into a bucket of gray water. That was followed by a loud hiss and an explosion of steam. “I read that Japanese sword makers fold their steel up to sixteen times,” Tre said. “How many folds are you going to make?”

Knife frowned as he turned to look at the newcomer. “What’s your name again?”

“Tre.”

“Fourteen. I plan to fold the steel fourteen times.”

Tre nodded. “Can I watch?”

Knife looked at Bones and back. “No. But you can help.” That said, he turned back to his work.

“He likes you,” Bones said. “That was a long speech by Knife’s standards.”

Then Tre was taken to meet Smoke and Fade. They were “a couple,” as Bones put it and shared an alcove. As Bones announced their presence and ushered Tre into the area, both women turned to look. “Good morning, ladies,” Bones said cheerfully. “The patient is up and around.”

One of the women had black hair, brown skin, and almond-shaped eyes. She was dressed in a shirt that was tied at the waist, buckskin trousers, and pull-on boots. Her eyebrows rose. “Look, Fade… one of Bone’s patients survived! It’s a miracle.”

The other woman had blond hair, wide-set eyes, and a generous mouth. Her outfit was similar to Smoke’s. “You’re right… This is a first. And he’s cute too.”

Tre felt blood rush to his cheeks and hoped the women wouldn’t notice. “Ignore them,” Bones advised. “They claim to be our scouts but spend most of their time lounging about.” Smoke winked and Fade smiled. Tre tried to think of something to say, came up empty, and was eager to escape as Bones led him away.

“Time for lunch, Tre… No offense, but you’re kind of scrawny. We need to fatten you up.”

The “cafeteria” consisted of three improvised tables in the middle of the common area. The kitchen was centered around a large coal-fed stove the miners had left behind. And there, hard at work, was the man everyone called Hog—not because he was fat or ugly, but because he had a fondness for bacon, or so Bones claimed.

When Hog turned to look at them, there was a big smile on his face. “You’re up and around! That’s good. I was running out of gruel. Sit down and prepare for a feast!”

And it was a feast by Tre’s standards. The meal included pieces of freshly baked bread, slices of canned corned beef, and a pot of mustard. That was followed by slices of apple dusted with cinnamon and mugs of hot tea. All of it was delicious.

It had been a long time since anyone had prepared a meal for Tre. The last one he could remember had been cooked by his mother the day before her death. He pushed the memory away as Fade and Smoke sauntered in. Freak arrived shortly thereafter and made a point of sitting next to Tre. She looked at him and smiled. “Kneecap.”

Tre, who had no idea how to respond, shifted uneasily. Bones came to his rescue. “The best thing to do is assume that Freak is saying something appropriate. Like, ‘glad to see you.’”

Tre swallowed and looked at Freak. “You too.”

A teenager named Snake arrived at that point. He looked normal enough, and Tre was at a loss to understand the name, until the boy began to lick some mustard off his hand. That was when Tre saw Snake’s tongue. It was split at least halfway back and it appeared that both halves could move independently. Tre had never seen anything like that before and wondered if it was a birth defect.

As Tre listened to the gang members talk, he got the impression that there were others. Guards who would eat later, some “wranglers,” and a person named Crow—a man who, if Tre understood correctly, was the group’s leader.

Once Tre finished his meal, he felt unexpectedly tired, excused himself, and went back to the side gallery that Bones called “the dispensary.” He lay on a cot, pulled a blanket up under his chin, and let sleep carry him away.

Tre rose an hour later with plans to visit Knife and help with the sword, but just as he was about to leave the dispensary, Bones arrived. “There you are… How’s the head?”

“I feel better. Thanks.”

“Good. Crow wants to speak with you.”

Tre felt a sense of concern and wasn’t sure why. Because he didn’t like to talk to people that were in charge of things? Yes, but, like it or not, there was only one answer he could reasonably give. “Okay, when?”

“Right now,” Bones replied. “Come on.”

Tre followed Bones into the main tunnel, under a low arch, and into a chilly alcove. A wooden ladder led straight up. It creaked as Bones climbed and Tre followed.

Once on top, Tre stepped off into what might have been an exploratory tunnel. Bones led him down the passageway to a crude doorframe. “Go on in… Once you’re done, you know how to get down again.” And with that, he left.

Tre stepped into a vaguely circular space. An unmade bed stuck out from the far wall. It was flanked by a small stove on one side and a large chair on the other. Clutter lay everywhere. As Tre looked around, he saw a jumble of clothes, books, weapons, riding gear, rolled maps, and even a stuffed raccoon, all of which ran contrary to his natural sense of tidiness.

The man seated in the big chair was in his thirties, which made him old by post apocalyptic standards. He had a full head of black hair, a bladelike nose that was reminiscent of a beak, and a long face. The eyes that met Tre’s were half-hooded and thoughtful. Like his namesake, Crow was dressed entirely in black and lounged with one leg dangling over the arm of his chair. “Welcome. Have a seat.”

Tre looked, saw that a smaller chair was hidden under some discarded clothes, and sat on them. “So,” Crow began. “Your first name is Tre. Do you have a last name?”

“Ocho.”

“Ocho means ‘eight’ in Spanish… Did you know that?”

“No.”

“Eight is also the symbol of chaos,” Crow observed, “which is emblematic of the time we live in.”

Tre was uncertain of what to say, so he said nothing. If Crow was offended, he showed no sign of it. “I’m told that you remember the fight.”

“Yes.”

“There was a witness, you know… I had sent Knife and Brute to Afton. They were supposed to purchase certain items. Freak wanted to go along and Knife let her come. That was a poor decision, looking back on it, but understandable since Freak had been to Afton before and didn’t cause problems the first time.

“In any case, Freak wandered off while Knife was talking to a merchant. Brute noticed and went looking for her. By the time he arrived, the townies had a rope on her. In spite of the name, Brute is only four feet tall. So he was about to go get Knife when you entered the picture. The way he tells it, you made the locals look stupid. Then, when their leader was about to draw, you blew him away. It was, according to Brute, a thing of beauty.

“But a townie hit you from behind and you went down. The crowd lost interest after that. The gang leader’s toadies took his body away for burial. Knife, Brute, and Freak were going to do the same for you. Then Brute realized that you were still alive and they brought you here. Bones did the rest.”

Tre felt awkward. “Thank you.”

Crow laughed. “No, we’re the ones who should thank you. I don’t know if you noticed, but Freak has a crush on you.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

Crow shrugged. “We don’t know. Bones has a theory, though. He thinks something bad happened to her and Freak retreated deep inside. Who knows? Maybe he’s right. But do me a favor.”

“Yes?”

“Freak isn’t ready for a boy-girl relationship. If she comes on to you, ignore it.”

Tre remembered the kiss on the lips. “Understood.”

“Good. That brings us to you.”

“To me?”

“Yes. You’ve seen what we have here. It isn’t much compared with the way a food lord lives—but there are plenty of people who would like to take it away from us. You can join us or you can leave. If you decide to go, my people will take you down out of the mountains blindfolded. You understand why.”

“So I can’t tell anyone where the mine is.”

“Exactly. Now, before you make your decision, I want you to know something about us. We’re bandits. But you’re a bright lad and you knew that. But,” Crow said, “we’re something more as well. This group is the nucleus for what will become an army. Eventually, when we’re strong enough, we will challenge Voss for control of the Star Valley.”

Tre thought about that. And for once he knew what he wanted to say. “That holds no interest for me. One dictator is the same as another.”

Anger flared in Crow’s eyes, burned there for a moment, and died away. “Fair enough… I understand why you see things that way. But I—that is, we—have something different in mind. We envision a democracy. More than that, we want to reconstitute the United States of America. Do you know what that was?”

“Yes,” Tre said. “I read a book called A People’s History of the United States.”

Crow’s expression softened. “Then you know… You understand.”

Tre was silent for a moment. “Let’s say you succeed. How do I know you won’t decide to keep the power for yourself?”

Crow laughed. It had a harsh sound. “You’re a pain in the ass… How old are you anyway? Sixteen?”

“Twenty.”

Crow laughed again. His eyes grew serious. “Fight by my side, Tre… Be there when we win. Then, if I betray what we believe in, shoot me.”

Tre looked Crow in the eye, liked what he saw there, and gave his word. “I will.”

Tre’s strength continued to improve over the next couple of days, and working at the forge was a significant part of that improvement. Knife believed in learning by doing, so the first thing Tre was ordered to do was to mine a small quantity of coal and bring it forward in a squeaky wheelbarrow. Once that was accomplished, Knife put him to work pumping the bellows, a position that allowed him to see what was going on. And finally, under Knife’s direct supervision, Tre was allowed to work with hot metal—but not on the sword because that would require skills he hadn’t developed yet.

More important, perhaps, was the way the physical exercise helped him recover from his injury—so that by the time the spy arrived, he felt like himself again. No one knew the spy’s identity except for Crow, and very few of the gang got more than a glimpse of the hooded figure as he or she entered the mine and disappeared up the wooden ladder to the level above. One thing was for sure, though: Crow put a great deal of trust in whoever the person was, because the spy knew where the mine was located.

In any case, there was a good deal of suspense after the spy’s departure. And, being the newest member of the gang, Tre felt it more strongly than most, because if they went on a raid, he would have a lot to prove.

The spy left about midday, and it wasn’t until just before suppertime that Crow came down to mix with his followers. He had a rolled-up map tucked under one arm. “Okay, there aren’t any secrets around here, so you know that we had a visitor. And yes, we’re going on a raid. A big raid. Let’s spread the map out and I’ll show you how this is going to work.”

It took a moment to spread the map out on one of the tables and place pieces of silverware on the corners. Once the process was complete, people gathered around. By looking over Smoke’s head, Tre could see. “A caravan loaded with food is going to leave Star Valley bound for Laramie two days from now,” Crow announced. “We’re going to take the food, keep what we need, and give the rest away.”

Tre was reminded of a children’s book he had read. It was called The Adventures of Robin Hood and was about a band of outlaws that robbed the rich and gave to the poor. Had Crow read that book as well? Not that it mattered. Supposing the bandit leader could capture the caravan and give food away, the effort would help build his reputation. This would be the first battle in a no-holds-barred war with Luther Voss. So that much made sense, and Tre approved. He looked around. If the others understood the strategic implications of the raid, he could see no sign of it on their faces.

“So,” Crow continued, “we will gear up today and leave early tomorrow morning. Once we pick up our horses, we will follow a variety of trails south until we reach the unpaved east-west road here.” As Crow spoke, a grubby finger stabbed a dirt road that led east from Star Valley to eventually make contact with a short stretch of Highway 350, which led to the town of Marbleton. Tre knew the road was unpaved because dots had been used to delineate the edges of it.

“Why is Voss sending his food over the mountains and through Marbleton?” Bones wondered out loud. “Wouldn’t it be easier to go south on 89, connect to 30, and link up with the interstate from there?”

“Yes, it would,” Crow replied. “But according to our spy, Voss is at war with Lord Hashi to the south. So if he sends his food down 89, he’ll run into trouble. This route is safer.”

“And they won’t be expecting an attack,” Hog put in. “I like that.”

“We will have the element of surprise on our side,” Crow agreed. “But don’t overestimate the value of that. This caravan is important to Voss. Very important. He’ll assign lots of guards to it.”

“How many?” Smoke inquired.

“I don’t know,” Crow answered. “That’s why I want you and Fade to leave as soon as you can. Ride hard, get in position off to the west, and let us know what you see as the caravan passes by.”

Both of the scouts said, “Got it,” in unison.

The conversation turned to tactics after that. The bandits were to shoot the leaders first, avoid shooting pack animals, and conserve their ammunition to whatever extent possible, all of which made sense to Tre, who was experiencing the first stirrings of fear. He’d been in scrapes—a number of them—but this was shaping up to be a full-fledged battle. How would he perform? And would he survive? He did the best he could to push such questions away.

The meeting broke up after that as everyone went off to get ready. Tre managed to intercept Bones. “Sorry to bother you… but I need some gear. Not to mention weapons. I lost my stuff in Afton.”

“No problem,” Bones said confidently. “I’ll take you to the storeroom. You’ll find whatever you need in there.”

Tre didn’t find everything he needed in there. The interior of the storeroom was an unorganized jumble of gear, weapons, and tools, and as far as he could tell, there was no inventory list or any rules regarding what people could take. So, as one would expect under such circumstances, all the good stuff was gone, leaving Tre to sort through what remained.

After pawing through all manner of junk, he found a Remington 700 Mountain rifle with a stainless steel barrel, similar to the Model 700 XCRII hidden just south of Jackson. But the weapon’s laminated stock was broken, which was why no one had taken it. Fortunately Tre came across a second 700 a few minutes later. The trigger assembly was missing and the barrel was pitted with rust, but the stock was intact. So Tre put both weapons aside and continued to scavenge. After some effort, he was able to find a serviceable parka, a sleeping bag, and a light pack.

Having left everything else on his cot, Tre carried the Remington rifles to the work area, where he took them apart. Combining the parts into a single weapon turned out to be more difficult than he’d anticipated, especially when it came to seating the barrel properly, but he was well on his way to solving that problem when Knife materialized at his side. There was a solid thunk as he drove a blade into the workbench and dropped a leather sheath next to it. “You’re going to need a knife,” he said with his usual economy of words. “Try this one.”

“This one,” turned out to be a knife with a seven-inch blade. The back edge was serrated—just the thing for sawing through rope and such. And thanks to the extra weight in the guard, Tre could tell that the weapon was perfect for throwing. Tre turned to thank Knife, but he was gone.

After eating a big breakfast, they set out early the next morning. Tre was carrying a pack, and a two-hour hike was required to reach the mountain meadow where the group’s horses were kept, but he felt good nevertheless. The sun could be seen through broken clouds, the air was relatively warm, and there was very little snow at that altitude. The streams that tumbled down the hillsides ran full, and animals were in evidence; they saw deer tracks, piles of pellet-like elk scat, and the picked-over remains of a dog or wolf kill.

Unfortunately Tre had something to fear besides the raid, and that was the act of riding a horse. It was something he knew nothing about and wasn’t looking forward to. He couldn’t say that, however, or was unwilling to, so the sense of dread continued to build as Crow led his gang into a large meadow. There was plenty of grass, and a small lake occupied the center of it, which made the spot perfect for grazing horses.

A man named Patch had been stationed there along with a leathery-looking specimen named Slick. Thanks to advance notice from the scouts, the two men had been able to herd all the mounts into a crudely made corral and get them ready, so it wasn’t long before Tre was up in a saddle receiving a riding lesson from Bones. “Pull right to go right, pull left to go left, and pull back to stop. That’s all there is to it.”

Tre’s mount, a swaybacked nag named Willie, had stopped to munch on some likely-looking grass by then. “How do I make him go?”

“Nudge his sides with your heels,” Bones advised, and demonstrated by urging his animal up the trail. The advice worked—to some extent, anyway—although Tre’s journey was interrupted by frequent stops as Willie continued to enjoy the trailside buffet. And Tre’s often fruitless efforts to get the horse going were an unending source of amusement for the rest of the group.

That was bad enough—but after a couple of hours there was pain to cope with as well—pain in Tre’s back, butt, and knees—so that by the time Crow called a halt, Tre was thrilled to slide to the ground, remove the horse’s saddle, and surrender the beast to Patch.

The spot Crow had chosen was protected by a wedge of rock that looked as though it had been thrust up from the earth. The riders were higher now, so there was more snow on the ground and a definite chill in the air as Tre helped gather wood. Eventually the sun dipped beyond the western horizon and darkness fell. That was the signal to light a couple of campfires. Shadows danced on the rock wall as people took care of their chores.

After washing up in the nearby stream, Tre got in line for a serving of Hog’s navy bean soup. There were chunks of pork in it, and when combined with a hunk of bread, it made for a good meal. And that, Tre was beginning to understand, was one of the ways Crow had been able to recruit and keep his people. But would they continue to stand by him if there was less to eat?

The night was long and cold, and it was difficult to sleep because Tre’s sleeping bag was only half as warm as the one he’d lost. But the fact that he was scared had a lot to do with it too, as did a host of doubts that plagued his mind. It had been stupid to join the gang. He could see that now and longed to be back in the Tangle. How was Ninja doing? And what about the hydroelectric project? He couldn’t proceed without the magnets, however, and would have to buy more.

Such were Tre’s thoughts as he finally drifted off to sleep. He woke when Bones spoke his name. “Hey, Sticks… Time to rise and shine.”

Tre sat up and stretched. “Sticks?”

“Yeah, as in the fighting sticks you used to kick that guy’s butt. Brute called you that and it stuck.”

It was silly—Tre knew that—but the name gave him a sense of pride, of belonging. And that, he realized, was the reason he had joined. That and the possibility that Crow would keep his promise. The thought made Tre feel better as he got up, packed his gear, and went to breakfast, which consisted of two pancakes and a single strip of Hog’s beloved bacon. Since Tre had been spared sentry duty during the night, he was assigned to help saddle the horses. It was hard work, but a chance to learn more about how to handle the animals.

Then it was time to mount up, take his place near the tail end of the column, and kick Willie into reluctant motion. The trail wound around the side of a mountain and passed through a meadow before following an old logging road south. They were passing through some second-growth timber when Fade came out to greet them.

Tre was too far back to hear what transpired between the scout and Crow, but it wasn’t long before the order came to dismount and proceed on foot. Patch and Slick were detailed to remain behind and guard the horses. Tre envied them in a way but didn’t want to be left behind either, so he felt mixed emotions as he followed the others through a screen of trees to the top of a sloped embankment. What had been a road lay below. It was still flat, and mostly clear, but the surrounding forest was in the process of reclaiming it. Crow called them together.

“Okay, here’s the situation. Smoke is stationed three miles west of here. She’ll let us know when the caravan passes her position. In the meantime we need to drop a couple of trees across the road. That won’t stop the caravan, but it will slow it down and give us the chance we need. Brute and Sticks can handle that.

“Meanwhile, I want Snake to find a tree about a thousand yards west of here and cut it partway through. Then, once the caravan has passed, you’ll dump it onto the road. Once that job is done, fire at the tail end of their column. Got it?”

Snake nodded.

“Right, let’s get to work.”

Having been issued an ax and a couple of steel wedges, Tre followed Brute over to a couple of very tall trees. The height was good, since tall trees would be required to block the road, but they were thick as well, and Tre had no idea how to proceed.

Fortunately, Brute did. He was carrying a two-man crosscut saw, and even though he was more than two feet shorter than Tre, his arms were thicker. “Grab on, lad,” Brute said. “Let’s cut some wood.”

The blade bit into wood, and Tre soon got the hang of the push-pull process, but what seemed easy at first soon became much more difficult. Brute was tireless, but it wasn’t long before Tre’s arms and shoulders were on fire. He didn’t want to ask for a break, though, and managed to hang on until Brute called for a wedge. It was Tre’s job to drive the steel into the cut with the flat side of the ax. That kept the saw blade from binding up and allowed them to continue.

Tre felt better after the momentary rest, for a while anyway. But it wasn’t long before the pain came back. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of physical effort, Brute ordered Tre to stand clear. Shortly thereafter a cracking sound was heard. When the tree fell, it was as if it was in slow motion. There was a loud snap as the top hit the opposite embankment and the top of the trunk broke off. That was followed by a heavy thump and the crackle of breaking branches as the rest of the tree hit the ground. “One down and one to go,” Brute said cheerfully. “Good work.”

Fortunately, the second tree wasn’t quite as thick. Even so, Tre was tired by the time it made a creaking sound, fell, and landed next to the first one. Crow was there to congratulate them. “Nice job… The caravan passed Smoke ten minutes ago, so grab your rifles and take cover. Remember… pick off the leaders, spare the pack animals, and make every bullet count.”

Tre took the final instruction seriously, and for good reason. Like the rest of them, he had only twenty-five rounds of ammo, not enough for a serious firefight. Making the situation worse was the fact that only ten members of the gang were going to participate in the actual ambush. Ten against how many, Tre wondered as he sought a position in the rocks. Crow hadn’t said. Was that an oversight or a way to boost morale? Tre hoped for the first but feared the second.

He did have one thing going for him, however. All the rounds he had were preloaded into detachable magazines, which would help him to reload faster.

Once all the gang members were in position, the wait began. Each minute seemed like an hour and, worse yet, gave Tre an opportunity to think about all the things that could go wrong. So he felt something akin to relief when the caravan’s scout finally appeared. He was wearing a Stetson and a brown duster and was mounted on a big chestnut. Tre could see the stock of what he assumed was a rifle protruding from the scabbard beneath the man’s leg, but the cowboy was carrying a double-barreled shotgun muzzle up as he rode. Just the thing for dealing with an ambush. And were he to fire the weapon, it would warn those behind him as well.

None of them moved as the scout approached the trees and pulled his horse to a stop. Then, having eyed the barrier for a moment, he took a long, slow look around. The rider hadn’t seen anything suspicious up to that point, so he turned his horse to the left and began to follow the tree trunks back to their raw stumps. Tre felt a rising sense of concern. All it would take was one look at the freshly cut wood and the cowboy would know the truth.

Tre swore silently as the scout made a clucking sound and urged his mount up the slope. He would see the stumps any moment now. Then he would fire the shotgun or get on a radio, and the—

Tre’s thoughts were interrupted as Freak rose from hiding and released an arrow from her compound bow. It flew straight and true, and the cowboy jerked convulsively and let go of the shotgun in order to grab the shaft that was sticking out of his throat. Then he made a horrible gurgling sound as he fell out of the saddle and hit the ground.

The horse shied away, but Brute was there to grab the reins and lead the animal up into the trees. Meanwhile, Freak went down to finish the scout with a wicked-looking knife and Crow appeared to tow the body upslope.

It had all occurred so quickly and been carried out with such efficiency that Tre felt a sudden sense of optimism. Given how professional the group was, they stood a good chance of success.

Then the waiting began anew, but it was shorter this time. Scarcely five minutes passed before three riders appeared, followed by a horse-drawn wagon and a long column of heavily loaded mules. There were more guards too, at least ten of them, and Tre couldn’t see the far end of the caravan. That spelled trouble.

Orders were to hold their fire until Crow took the first shot. Tre wished he had a telescopic sight as he tracked one of the cowboys. Lead him, Tre told himself, and go for a body shot. He felt tense but wasn’t scared, and marveled at that.

Even though Tre was expecting the gunshot, it still came as a surprise. The lead rider fell out of the saddle, the others jerked their mounts around so they could face their attackers, and Tre squeezed the trigger. The 700 thumped his shoulder, produced a loud report, and sent a slug spinning through the air. It hit a cowboy dead center and threw him back. The horse bolted out from under him and the body hit hard. Others were firing by then, and Tre heard a cracking sound as Snake completed his cut and the third tree came crashing down. The caravan was trapped. But even as that thought registered in Tre’s mind, things took a turn for the worse.

Suddenly the cowboys produced military-style assault rifles and began to fire three-round bursts into the rocks. Tre fired, missed, and was forced to duck as bullets struck all around him. Then bad turned to worse as one of the guards began to lob grenades upslope. Tre saw a flash, followed by a loud boom, and saw Brute’s partially dismembered body fly through the air.

“Shoot that bastard!” Crow shouted, and Knife did. But even as the bomb thrower fell, two mercenaries whipped the canvas off a pintle-mounted M249 light machine gun and one of them opened fire. A hail of slugs threw up geysers of dirt all along the embankment and tore into the scrub where Snake was hiding. His bullet-ridden body fell into view and rolled downslope. “Pull back!” Crow ordered. “Into the trees!”

So Tre glanced over his shoulder, realized that he should have planned for such a contingency, and would have to cover twenty feet of open ground before he could reach the trees. Would he make it? There wasn’t any choice. Tre waited for the stream of bullets to pass him by, turned, and ran uphill.

There was a shout. A bullet nicked his left heel, another tugged at his sleeve, and a third sliced along the outside surface of his right thigh. Gravel slipped under his boot. Geysers of dirt shot up to the left. What sounded like a bee buzzed past his right ear.

Then Tre was airborne, diving for the safety of the trees and hitting hard while gunfire rattled all around. He did a push-up, was pleased to discover that he still had the rifle, and went looking for a firing position.

The machine gun had fallen silent by then, and no wonder. After such an extravagant use of ammo, the cowboys wanted to conserve. And having pushed the bandits back into the forest, they were confident of victory. But were they confident enough to send men in after the attackers?

No. As Tre peered through the foliage in front of him, he could tell that the people in charge were more pragmatic than that. Two riders were already hard at work sawing through one of the trees. Then they would tackle the next. Once the cuts were complete, they would use horses to pull the shorter lengths off to one side. That would allow the wagon and the mules to pass through.

Tre took careful aim and shot one of the workmen. Maybe he could counter the effort and force the caravan to stay where it was or abandon the wagon. But it wasn’t to be. Bones appeared at his side. “We’re pulling out… You took a hit. Can you walk?”

Tre touched the wound and discovered that it was wet with blood. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Okay. Once we clear the area, I’ll patch you up.”

Together they made their way back to the horses. One by one the rest of the group joined them. Crow’s expression was dark and his voice was tight. “We’ll camp by the big rock and send a burial party back in the morning.”

Then he pulled his horse around and led them north. Tre felt a deep sadness. Two people were dead and they had nothing to show for it—no food, no weapons, and no hope for the future. The forest closed in around them, the sun disappeared, and Freak was crying. A battle had been fought, lost, and paid for. It began to rain.