Black
The shot cracked through the dark, and I knew at once. That was my tripwire going off. I was off the bed before the echo faded, throwing on my coat as I snapped at Wolf.
"Wolf! Sleeper."
He let out a low whine but scrambled into the corner of the sleeper anyway. I pulled the Saiga-12 from the rack in the sleeper locker.
I stepped quietly out of the truck. The camp was already in an uproar. Mike's van had roared to life, its headlights bleaching the entrance as bright as noon.
Caught in the middle of that glare, an old motorhome sat at an awkward halt. They must have snagged the wire trying to come in.
Farther out, Gunner had taken cover behind a rock beside the entrance, his M4 trained on the camper. Frank, who'd drawn watch tonight, was out of his pickup with a white-knuckle grip on his Remington 870, the barrel laid across the hood.
Gunner's voice cut through the night air like a blade.
I took up a point-shooting stance and ran for the entrance.
As I closed in, the driver's door swung open and someone climbed down slowly, both hands raised, squinting against the headlights. What got out of the driver and passenger seats were, of all things, two women.
Gunner looked briefly relieved at the sight, but he didn't lower the muzzle. Frank didn't ease off either.
"Anyone else in the vehicle?"
At Gunner's question, a woman who looked to be in her late forties called toward the interior in a trembling voice.
"Adam, get out here. Now!"
A moment later the door opened again and a boy in his late teens stepped down, hands up, his face white with fear.
While the three of them stood there with their hands in the air, I caught Gunner's eye. He slung the rifle behind his back at once, drew his sidearm and a flashlight, and swept the motorhome with practiced speed.
He dropped back out of the camper.
"Clear. No threats."
I eased the muzzle down a fraction and asked the woman in her forties,
"You carrying a gun?"
"Yes... in my coat pocket... there's a revolver."
Her voice was still shaking. Gunner stepped in, searched the coat, and came up with a revolver no bigger than his palm. He handed it over.
I turned it in the light. The shape was wrong. Unlike any revolver I knew, the barrel was mounted at the bottom of the cylinder instead of the top — an odd model I'd never seen before.
I looked at the three of them.
"You can put your hands down."
Then, to the older woman:
"What were you doing trying to come in here in the middle of the night?"
She answered in a voice that hadn't quite settled yet.
"We're from Bozeman, Montana. We were heading south to get ahead of the Great Winter and were going to stop at a rest area when we heard gunfire. So..."
She swallowed and pushed on.
"We got scared and just kept driving. Then I remembered this place — we used to camp here as a family — and we came in without thinking."
That tracked. I figured the Road Warriors we'd hit had gone after the next rest stop to recoup their losses.
I felt for them. That didn't mean I could trust them.
"I see. And your husband?"
She shook her head.
"I'm a single mom."
I let that sit for a second. There was no lie in her eyes.
I turned the little revolver over in my hand.
"This gun. What's the model?"
Something flickered behind her eyes, then she had it locked down again, and her answer came out even and calm.
"Chiappa Rhino 20DS. Recoil's easy to manage, and it conceals well. That's why I chose it."
It struck me then that hers had not been an easy life.
Gunner and Mike had come up beside me without my noticing. Their faces said the same thing: Your call, boss. Unspoken trust.
I looked at her again and held the revolver out.
"Here. Take it."
I pointed to a spot deeper in the camp.
"We'll be gone ourselves come morning. Park over there, keep it quiet for the night, and be on your way."
I didn't forget the rest of it.
"That round at the gate was rock salt. Your vehicle should be fine."
The midnight commotion wound down, and I strung a fresh tripwire across the entrance. The motorhome family parked where they'd been told, and an awkward silence settled back over the camp.
Everyone turned in. Frank stayed at the gate, standing watch without a word.
The next day.
I woke earlier than usual. Instead of the morning workout, I made a single cup of coffee and put the rest of the routine on hold. Frank had stood that gate alone all night, and it was sitting on me.
I dressed and stepped outside. In the blue-gray dark before dawn, Frank was in his truck with the 870 in his arms, rubbing at his eyes.
He saw me first.
"Hey, boss. You're up already?"
"That's enough. Get inside and grab some sleep, even if it's only a little."
I clapped him on the shoulder. He nodded like he meant it and stumbled off into the caravan.
I put a treat in Wolf's mouth, shook the night out of my shoulders with a few stretches, and started the jog that had become as familiar as the camp itself, Wolf falling in beside me.
By the time we came around, the others were waking and filing out one by one. We traded silent nods across the cold.
I went back to my fortress and fed Wolf.
And so, in the temporary hideout that had given us a night's rest, we started packing for the next run.
We were still hurrying through it when the three from last night's motorhome walked over.
The woman in her late forties — the mother, from the look of her — stopped in front of me and introduced herself. Last night's terror and the wear of a long road still sat on her face, but underneath it I could see a spine that wouldn't snap easy.
"I didn't get a chance to say it last night. I'm Raven. We're much obliged."
Raven. A name that felt mysterious and tough in equal measure. It suited the all-black she was wearing, I thought.
And in the same breath I found myself stuck on an awkward problem: if she asked to join the convoy, how was I going to say no?
Sure enough, she didn't hesitate.
"I... I know this is a shameless thing to ask, but could our camper travel with your group?"
"Where are you headed?"
"We don't have a place in mind. Just... south. That's all."
I took a second, then answered.
"If the road's the same, I won't stop you from tagging on behind the convoy. But that's as far as it goes."
"Thank you."
She said it and still hovered, like there was more she hadn't gotten out. That was when the younger woman — her daughter, by the look of her — stepped forward.
"We're actually pretty useful people. We won't just be dead weight. Please take us as part of the group."
At that, Adam, the boy in his late teens, lit up and pointed straight at me.
"Wait a second... I've seen that guy on the news! Polar Bear plates, black Kenworth... is he the Korean Polar Bear?"
I didn't get a word in. The daughter pressed on, desperation and confidence running in the same current.
"I graduated from medical school and finished two years of residency as a general practitioner. I packed for this — antibiotics, trauma meds, a full load. If we travel together, we'll be an asset to everyone. I can promise you that."
I looked her dead in the eye and hit her with it cold.
"First fluid you push on a shock patient. What is it?"
Chloe didn't even blink.
"Unless it's hemorrhagic shock, you start with a crystalloid — lactated Ringer's or normal saline. Goal is to hold systolic pressure at a minimum of eighty to ninety."
A doctor. And a camper full of medical supplies, if she was telling the truth. It was a damn hard card to pass up.
I looked at Raven and her kids.
"Go wait in the camper. We need a minute among ourselves."
I called the others back to my trailer and laid out the conversation. When I was done, Gunner spoke first.
"I'll go with whatever you decide."
Frank shrugged.
"Same here."
I checked the map on the table, then looked at Dave.
"This isn't about whether they're good people or bad people. What bothers me is they don't have a destination. We take them in, and they'll be riding with us all the way to your aunt's farm. That's a given."
He caught my meaning and grinned.
"Ah, don't you worry about that. My aunt and uncle like it better when the place is full of people anyway."
Mike let out a low, rumbling laugh and backed him up.
"In a world like this, having a real doctor around isn't a bad thing. Call it the will of heaven, if you want."
That was the room. I nodded.
"All right. We take them in as part of the group."
Mike was already moving, like he'd been waiting on the words.
"Then we'll need to give them a radio."
I nodded, and he dug through his bag as if he'd seen this coming, pulling out a civilian walkie-talkie.
"Heh. I packed seven of the things, figuring we'd want extras. After this one, we'll have one left."
We walked over to Raven's motorhome, handed her the radio, and matched the channel. Then we went through their supplies.
Fortunately, she was the thorough kind. Food and fuel were both put up well enough that they wouldn't be an immediate weight on the rest of us.
And so our group, now six vehicles strong, rolled back onto the highway.
Gunner and Mike took the lead, Dave and Frank's caravans behind them. Raven's newly joined motorhome came next, and my truck brought up the rear.
From the high Kenworth cab, looking at the line of vehicles stretched out in front of me, I thought that this had become a world where you had no choice but to run in a pack.
Yeah. You can't make it alone.
We'd come far enough south that the highway was thin, and the CB was as quiet as if last night's chaos had never happened.
But the chatter that did come through made it clear a new kind of order was taking shape in this world gone mad.
The radio wasn't any brighter. The grim news kept coming.
The anchor's voice shifted south.
A hollow laugh escaped me. The world's order had turned itself inside out. Drug cartels playing border patrol. Canadians and Americans on the run as illegal refugees.
"Ha. If this isn't a black comedy, I don't know what is."