As Eric came around the bend and the weed-strewn highway straightened out again, he pulled up on the reins, bringing the horses to a sliding halt. About fifty yards ahead of him, directly in front of the concrete bridge that spanned the turbulent river below, a huge barricade of trees and logs and earth had been erected. It completely blocked the highway, cutting all access to the bridge.
Before he had gone ten feet more, he heard a cry off to his right. Suddenly men sprung up everywhere, swarming out at him from behind the barricade, out from the trees, and up from the steep riverbank.
“It’s Ricky,” someone shouted. When he saw the tall figure of his father among those at the barricade, he kicked the horses into a trot.
“Ken,” Eric said, as he swung down and thrust the reins at the nearest man, “can you cool these horses down and then water them? I’ve pushed them pretty hard.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned to face his father.
“Where’s Cliff?”
Eric looked down and his shoulders sagged. “He’s dead.”
Karl Lloyd flinched, as though slapped across the face.
“They shot him down without warning.”
His father’s face, normally a deep tan, turned the color of wet clay, and his lips tightened into a tight line. “Marauders?”
“No. You and Cliff were right about the lights. There are cars and trucks. It’s a regular army. Over a hundred men.” That brought renewed exclamations from the villagers. Eric went on quickly. “Cliff went down to talk to them. At first they seemed friendly. They know about the village and are looking for us. Cliff got suspicious and tried to disengage, and they opened fire.”
“We heard shooting and an explosion,” one of the men said.
Eric shook his head, still dazed by the searing reality of seeing Cliff go down. “Their weapons don’t make a sound. It was really strange. I was up on the ridge and opened fire, but it—” His voice caught in his throat, and he went on angrily. “Cliff made me stay out of sight. There was no way I could get to him. I—it all happened so fast.”
Karl Lloyd laid his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Where are they now? How far behind you?”
“I dynamited one of their trucks three or four miles back and blocked the road. But it won’t take them long to clear that up. At most they’re probably an hour behind me. Maybe less.”
His father swung around to face the men. “All right, we’d better get ready. We know now that they don’t come in peace.” He took one of the men next to him by the elbow. “Fred, get Eric a fresh mount, and—”
Eric jerked up. “What?”
“I want you to go back to the village, start the—”
“No, Dad! We’ve got to stop them here. You need me here!”
Karl shook his head, his eyes resolute. “We’ll try to stop them here, but if we can’t, they’ll roll right on into the valley. I want you and Travis to take the rest of the dynamite, mine every bridge, every culvert along the road to the village. Anything that will delay them.”
“Travis is at the village,” Eric pleaded. “Send someone to tell him what’s happening. I want to be here when they come.”
“Travis doesn’t know how to work with dynamite. Besides, he’s only been with us a month. He’s a good man, but not proven. Not in this kind of a conflict. I will feel much better with you there.”
“The village needs you, Ricky.” That came from a man near the back.
“He’s right, Eric,” Karl said soberly. “We need you here, but the village needs you more. If you see them enter the valley, let Travis light the charges. You get the people up Dead Rock Canyon and into the high country.”
Eric suddenly surrendered, remembering his useless protest with Cliff, feeling the same sick feeling he had felt then.
Fred Carlyle trotted up, a large dun quarter horse in tow. “Your rifle is in the scabbard, Ricky,” he said, handing him the reins.
Eric looked quickly around the circle of tight-lipped, grimfaced men. The only sound was the soft rushing of the river off to their left. These were the men with whom he had grown up, played, hunted, worked, worshipped. The sick feeling became a heavy dread pressing down on him. Finally his gaze met his father’s.
“We’ll have a few surprises for them here,” his father said quietly. “Maybe we can turn them back, but we can’t take that chance. Take care of your mother and sisters.”
Eric nodded numbly, then swung up into the saddle.
“The Lord be with you.” It was Karl Lloyd’s standard farewell when anyone left the village for any length of time, but now it pierced Eric like the thrust of a knife.
He took a deep breath. “And with you,” he answered softly. Then with a savage jab of his heels, he sent the dun exploding into a hard lope around the barricade and across the bridge toward the valley road.
Travis Oakes had evidently been watching down the valley, for he came trotting down the main street, rifle in hand, and met Eric just beyond the first houses of the village. “Eric,” he called, “what are you doing here? Where are the others?”
“At the river bridge,” Eric answered as he pulled up the horse and swung down. He gave the lathered animal a quick slap on the rump, as he pulled the rifle out of the scabbard and turned to face Travis. “Come on, we’ve got big trouble.” He started up the street, leaving Travis staring at him.
Travis broke into three quick steps to join Eric. He was an inch or two shorter than Eric’s six-foot height and of a stockier build, with a dark handsomeness and a quick smile that had sent every unmarried female over twelve years of age into flights of hopeful, tittering anticipation. But he had quickly proven to be a valuable addition to the village and had been accepted as one of them. As he caught up and matched strides with Eric, he asked, “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Cliff and Dad were right. They were automobile lights. A whole column of men and vehicles is moving toward us. They killed Cliff.”
Travis stopped abruptly, stunned. “What?”
“Yes.” Eric went striding on, once again making Travis hasten to catch up with him. “It’s a whole army of men.” Eric looked around, suddenly noticing the lack of activity in the village. “Where is everybody?”
Travis was startled momentarily by the question. “Uh—they’re in the schoolhouse. We were—uh—they’re having a meeting, trying to keep the kids occupied.”
“Good,” Eric said, oblivious to the sudden change in Travis. “That will save time getting everybody together. We may have to evacuate the village.” He pulled up short, causing Travis to bump against his arm. “Listen!” he commanded, raising his hand.
They both cocked their heads as the faint echo of rifle fire rolled up the valley toward them.
“It’s started!” Eric said, grabbing Travis by the elbow. “They’ve reached the bridge already. We’ve got to hurry.”
“What is going on?” Travis demanded. “There shouldn’t be shooting. What if they come in peace?”
“Cliffs dead!” Eric snapped angrily. “They don’t come in peace.” He dragged Travis into motion, talking quickly, outlining what had to be done, then answering Travis’s rapid-fire questions about the events of the past few hours.
As they rounded the corner and started up the street that ended at the white frame schoolhouse, Travis was shaking his head. “It’s all wrong,” he muttered. “Those stupid, blundering idiots!”
Eric spun around angrily. “You think it’s stupid to protect ourselves?”
That pulled Travis out of his thoughts, and he shook his head. “I don’t mean the villagers. I mean those idiot fools in the blue and orange uniforms.”
“Oh.” Eric took two more steps, then stopped short again, staring at Travis. “How did you know they were wearing blue and orange uniforms?”
Travis looked past Eric, then jerked his thumb behind him. “Did they look like that?” he asked softly.
Eric turned in time to see two men step out from behind a nearby building. They were clad in bright orange and blue onepiece uniforms and orange helmets. Each pointed a stubby, longbarreled pistol directly at Eric. Instinctively, Eric started to whirl, bringing up his rifle, but Travis was quicker; he snatched the rifle out of Eric’s grasp, jumping back from him.
Three more men in similar dress came running out from behind the schoolhouse as Eric stared, dumbfounded.
“All right,” Travis barked. “Get him inside with the others. Something has gone wrong. We’ve got to get down to the river bridge and stop a massacre.”
“You’re one of them!” Eric cried hoarsely, the understanding hitting him like a runaway hay wagon.
Travis smiled sadly. “How do you think they knew where the village was?”
Eric had risen to the balls of his feet, his fingers extended like the talons of a hawk. With a cry of rage, he launched himself at Travis, but as swift as he was, the nearest man was quicker. The barrel of the weapon swung a fraction of an inch. There was no sound, but Eric was caught in midair, as though hit by an invisible sweeping steel boom that instantly stopped his forward flight and hurled him backward. He bounced once hard against a hitching post, then slumped forward, face down in the street.