Families First: A Post-Apocalyptic Next-World Series Volume 6 Battle Grounds Lance Ewing (ebook e reader TXT) 📖

scouts on the Rimrock who are telling me there is a stir in camp already and we can expect this to grow over the next hour or two. Each person here is on the front line. Some are ‘Forward Offense,’ you could call it, if this were a soccer team. Some will be Midfield and some Defense. Ten of you have already been designated Goalies, five here and five at The West property. This means you will do nothing less than throw your bodies in front of the goal, in case our shelter is about to be breached. Everyone we care about is in one of those shelters. And mark my words, should they get that far, I and everyone in front of you have already sacrificed our lives. You will be our last hope.

“Everyone should be locked and loaded, with spare rounds on each person, and in designated areas here, here, and here,” Mac added, pointing to the map of the Valley. “Those from The West are not to take up arms, but many will be on the front lines to assist us, as well as providing valuable intel on precise locations of our opponents. Next, the skies will be filled with aircraft of various types, some friendly and others not. Avoid them all and do not fire on any of them. We don’t have time to pick out the good from the bad. Our fearless leaders—John, Bill and the Council—will be sheltered until this is over. It’s my call. If anyone has something to comment on, let’s hear it.”

Nobody raised a hand or voiced out loud.

“Lastly,” Mac continued, “we only shoot in response. Let me be perfectly clear on this for clarity, though. If the crisis passes the midpoint of the Rimrock, even without firing a shot, we are in our right to defend this land with everything we have. Don’t waste a round that could bring us food later, but also don’t save one that could have protected this Valley. All those in, say ‘I!’”

We all responded in unison, and each grabbed a small gunnysack handed out by Rico and his chefs-in-training as we headed to our predetermined spots. There was a radio for every third man, leaving some information to be passed the old-fashioned way.

* * * *

My job was two-fold. I was stationed at the cemetery I had been to more than once as a kid for burials, and my second job was to pour and light the gasoline if it came to that. Setting up, I saw my traveling friends on both sides, probably given the upfront detail due to our former scuffle with Baker’s group.

I wasn’t surprised to see Mac and Cory head up the Rimrock, past me, to take the closest defense possible, risking everything they loved to do so. They radioed every fifteen minutes for the next hour, giving updates on the valley below. A part of me hoped they would wait for another day or two before the attack, so I could tell Joy and our boys some things I just thought of, in case we never spoke again. The other, more rational, part of my brain said to get it done and, God willing, have the next half-century to live the simple, clean, but hard-working rancher’s life with my family. It was so close I could taste it.

As it would turn out, it wasn’t my call anyway, and the radio chatter was ablaze. It started with a call from Drake.

“They are lining up!” he shouted—“hundreds of them!”

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” called Sergio to Mike.

“Where?” Mike asked—not that it really mattered.

“To cut the head off the snake!”

“How do we find him?” asked Mike.

“In the very back,” replied Sergio, matter of factly. “He is not a leader but a talker. We will find him safely tucked behind the children.”

* * * *

The men in front, followed by the women second, and children of all ages behind them in a line spanning across part of the valley, started to march.

“My God,” added Drake, still over the radio without thinking. “Are they using women and children in the battle?”

Facing them once already, I knew the answer quite clearly. The men would fight first, then the women, and finally the children, if it came to that. Baker wasn’t the first leader to instill this tactic—and probably wouldn’t be the last.

“Front line only, everyone,” I called back on my radio, not worrying about overstepping my bounds with Mac or anyone else. “We’re not shooting at women or children,” I added, hoping to hear an immediate response.

Nearly a full minute of radio silence ensued, with muffled voices—from where I couldn’t tell.

“This is your leader.” John came through loud and clear. “We will engage the front line only; I repeat—only the front line. Should we be successful, I will attempt a treaty of sorts with the rest. Bill and I will make our way to the Rimrock now.”

The chatter erupted again for nearly two more minutes, with Mac finally getting control of the radio.

“Sir, I wish you would reconsider,” he pleaded. “We need you and Bill to lead us in the next step, and you can’t do that if you’re not around.”

“I have never led from behind, and I won’t start now,” replied John.

“Neither will I,” came a voice I knew well.

Samuel picked up John and Bill on the main road, and they all walked up from the Rimrock’s base. I waved to them, not thinking it was the best idea but respecting their decision and understanding it to a T. They stood atop the Rimrock, tall and proud, but didn’t interfere with Mac’s work.

“Tell us what to do,” John told a surprised Mac.

“Uh, okay, sir. Uh…we need scouts on that ridge just up there,” he pointed, to watch with binoculars and radio any and all information as to