The Trap
The news Frank brought was rain after a long drought. Unable to hide my delight, I led him straight into my trailer, and the moment the door shut I pressed him for answers.
"Where is it? How'd you find out?"
Frank settled back on the sofa, taking his sweet time.
"You know that outpost Matthews and Jake found? Cerro Summit. It's not far from there. Cimarron."
"Cimarron?"
I repeated the name, tracing the map in my head. Frank nodded.
"Used to be a tiny little town — just a handful of households. Looks like the Black Bear boys have occupied the whole place and turned it into their headquarters."
"You sure about that? How do you know?"
At my skepticism, Frank put on that trademark swagger of his and went on.
"Who do you think I am? This is Frank you're talking to. When our convoy rolled through downtown Montrose earlier, something caught my eye. Bunch of pickup trucks parked in front of a shop, armed guys going in and out."
"And?"
"I was about to just drive on by, but then two of those pickups suddenly peeled out and overtook our whole column. Something smelled off, so I went back for a look."
"So that's why you deliberately doubled back to Montrose?"
Frank waved a hand.
"Nah, that was just a bonus. I actually went because Chloe asked me to pick up some medicine."
"What kind of medicine?"
Frank paused, then pulled a notebook from his pocket and fumbled through it.
"Uh… what's it called. Medicine for preventing and treating altitude sickness. Aceta… acetazolamide? And dexamethasone? Anyway, that's what I went to get."
"Did you get it?"
"Of course I did! Who do you think I am? The medicine, plus a whole pile of portable oxygen canisters — stocked up plenty. I guess being this close to high country, the pharmacy warehouse was sitting on a mountain of inventory and nobody was buying. So I cleaned them out for a steal. Heh heh heh."
"Wow, that's huge too. Nice work, Frank. So? What happened next?"
When I pushed him to continue, Frank picked up the story with obvious pride.
"Think about it. The Black Bear crew's gotta source their supplies from somewhere if they want to eat, right? They're not hauling stuff east over that brutal Monarch Pass. The easiest target is sitting right in front of them — Montrose."
"Makes sense."
"That contact post they had in Grand Junction was just a smokescreen. I figured the real supply line would be in Montrose. So I went back to that shop and poked around a little."
"Is the shop owner in with them?"
"Not so much in with them as… a symbiotic relationship? He acknowledges the Black Bear boys exist and uses them. That whole stretch is like Montrose's black market. I sold a few things, bought some drinks, dropped a few casual questions, and the guy spilled everything."
Frank paused to catch his breath, then went on.
"Cimarron used to have people living there, but they all fled because of the Great Winter and the town sat empty. The Black Bear crew just swallowed it whole."
"But isn't that too close and too obvious? The defenses would be thin."
Frank clicked his tongue at that.
"Chan, think about this weather. You gonna go deep into the mountains and live in tents? With that many people? Cimarron still has electricity and running water. They're human too — you think they'd rather freeze outside than sit in a warm house? They didn't have a choice."
Frank's argument was convincing. Extreme cold narrowed a person's options, and the enemy was no exception. I checked Cimarron's location on the map again. A small town just a little farther east past Cerro Summit. A picture was starting to form in my mind.
"That's Frank for you. Incredible."
I clapped him on the shoulder as I said it. Then Raven's gentle voice came through the radio.
That was when the hunger hit. We hurried over to the motorhome.
Inside, Dave, Gunner, Mike, Jed, Chloe, and Mrs. Gibson and her family were already gathered. It was a tight space, but it was full of a warm, homey heat.
Once we sat around the table, Eleanor quietly folded her hands. Everyone bowed their heads.
"Lord, we thank You for watching over us even on these hard roads, and for granting us this daily bread. May this food strengthen the bodies and spirits of us and of our guide, Chan, that we may have the strength to overcome the trials ahead. Amen."
"Amen."
After the prayer, the meal began. The menu was nothing more than pasta with pan-fried canned ham, a warm soup, and a few slices of bread, but food made with care was finer than any feast.
Fork in hand, Frank turned to Chloe.
"Chloe, I got what you asked for."
Chloe's eyes lit up.
"Really? Oh my goodness! How much did you get?"
"Well, I hauled it in by the box, so I didn't count. Should be more than enough, though."
At Frank's swaggering claim, Chloe smiled brightly with relief and looked at me.
"Polar Bear, when are we crossing the mountains?"
"Hard to say. Once we prep and do maintenance… probably two or three days from now."
"That's perfect. The altitude-sickness preventative needs to be started at least one or two days before the climb to be effective. This is exactly the right time."
At Chloe's words I glanced at Dave. He read my look and nodded.
"Got it, Chan. I'll make sure everyone in the Union and the Division takes it at breakfast tomorrow."
Frank added, still chewing on a piece of bread.
"And I bought a few hundred oxygen canisters too. The truck bed's packed solid with 'em."
Tank cocked his head at that.
"Oxygen cans too? Back when I was hauling, I'd chew gum and roll over 10,000 feet no problem. Didn't seem like a big deal."
Chloe's expression turned serious as she explained.
"Tank, under normal circumstances you'd be fine. But once you go above 10,000 feet — about 3,000 meters — the oxygen concentration drops to sixty-five percent of sea level. If you're just driving through at a leisurely pace and you're over it in a day, a healthy man can tough it out. But…"
She paused and looked around at everyone.
"If the convoy gets stuck on a snowed-in road and we're isolated for days, or if we have to do hard physical work outside, that's a different story. Hypoxia clouds your judgment, and in severe cases it can lead to pulmonary or cerebral edema. It's even more dangerous in a situation like ours, where we're under constant stress."
Tank scratched his head, looking sheepish.
"Ah, sorry. I oughta listen to the doctor."
His reaction set off a round of laughter around the table. It was a precious evening — a brief stretch when the tension eased, if only for a little while.
After dinner, the key people began drifting one by one into my trailer. Unless something unusual came up, gathering there after a meal to recap the day and talk through the next plan had become an unspoken rule.
"Let's get started, boss."
Gunner opened.
"Dave's not here yet. We'll start when everyone's in."
No sooner had I spoken than the trailer door burst open and Dave came in, breathing hard.
"Speak of the devil!"
Frank cackled in greeting, and Dave snapped right back.
"You jackass — you dump a truck full of stuff and just walk off? What was I supposed to do? I was late because I had to sort that whole load by myself!"
"Hey, the division of labor's crystal clear. I'm the hunter who brings the goods in. Organizing them is housekeeper Dave's job, isn't it?"
Frank shot back with infuriating calm. Mike, watching from the side, shook his head and tossed out a joke.
"Those two would still be at it at their own funerals. Tsk tsk."
The room dissolved into laughter.
Once I confirmed everyone was present, I shared the information Frank had brought. When I revealed that Cimarron was Black Bear's headquarters, Matthews and Jake's eyes went wide.
"So that's… that was it."
Matthews let out a breath of recognition and continued.
"Actually, Jake and I flew a recon pass over that area this afternoon. Cimarron had been looking suspicious. No matter how much we scanned the surrounding country, everywhere else was too barren to serve as a long-term base in this cold."
"What's the distance from the enemy outpost at Cerro Summit to Cimarron?"
Matthews checked the map and answered.
"A little over five miles."
Gunner muttered under his breath.
"By vehicle that's less than ten minutes to the outpost. Reinforcements would be on us in no time."
I turned the picture over in my mind. Fast enemy support could be a threat — but it could also be an opportunity. I made my decision and spoke.
Every eye locked on me. Meeting Gunner's gaze, I laid out the operation.
"Gunner, myself, and the special operations team infiltrate first — quietly. We take the M2 machine-gun nests on both ridges, and we capture all six of them."
"Capture them?" Matthews asked.
"That's right. Not destroy — secure them so we can use them. Once that's done, Matthews' platoon launches a diversionary attack on the enemy outpost. Make enough noise to pull their attention."
"So… we wait for their main force to come in as reinforcements?"
"Exactly. We use the trap they dug against them. The ones who walk into the kill zone of their own accord, we cut down with the M2s we took from them."
They thought of us as prey, sitting pretty in a trap of their own design. It was time we showed them that what they were about to meet was not prey at all — but a predator, crouched and waiting.