There Comes A Time

From a vantage point above the Wetherill Mesa Road in the Badger House Community, Game Warden John Christie Buchanan looked down the scope of his bolt action Weatherby and got a fix on the disturbance going on down there on the park road. It was the winding part. Not quite to the gated entrance but far enough away to be random. His horse stood silent behind him. Buchanan was on his way back to the Spruce Tree section of Mesa Verde National Park when he heard the distinct pop of a gun followed by the horrified screams of a woman echo through the high walls of canyon arroyos and he got off his Palomino mare to investigate, walking several feet into the scrub tree lined edged of the small plateau.

Down below, at a few hundred feet distance, a threesome of delinquents had surrounded a car and proceeded to attack the occupants, an elderly couple, which Buchanan could see through his scope. The old man lay dead on the road which, he was sure, had prompted the terrified screams. Such outright disregard for the elderly, Buchanan thought with clenched teeth. Such downright disdain for human life. Such reckless hatred. White hot anger rolled up his spine from the crack of his ass and he took aim on the gun holder even as that miscreant pulled the trigger and dropped the old woman where she stood on the gravelly shoulder of the desolate road.

I'll help you people, Buchanan whispered to himself as he squeezed his trigger and the shooter crumpled to the ground beside his victim. The other two bolted for cover but not before Buchanan picked off a second and gained sight on the third. He kept his sights trained on the area where number three had hidden behind the car of the couple he had just conspired to send to the netherworld, and waited.

He had plenty of time.

Of all his days in Vietnam he had not felt the outrage he felt at this moment and when the number three sorry excuse for a man chanced a peek through the backseat door window, Buchanan squeezed off his third and final round. It crashed through that back window on Buchanan's side, through the backseat and through the glass on the other side where the yellow-bellied coward peeked up from hiding and found its target.

John, "Buck the System, Buck, for short," Buchanan slowly stood up, walked over and thrust his rifle back in the saddle holster, mounted his horse and rode off. It was damn hot today and by gosh he was feeling old. Hell, he was old, he thought wryly to himself, but not too old to hit his target. A slow smile formed on his rugged sun bronzed face and his right hand rested confidently on the mahogany stock of his favorite rifle.

He had ridden up to Badger House Community to check the roads and make sure the gates at this western end of the park were still closed and locked from looters and squatters. In the days since this devil virus, as he called it, had occurred, most everyone but him had evacuated leaving the park deadly silent and in the last few days the final vestiges of folk had gone, running for what they hoped were safer havens. But not Buchanan. Everything he had in the world was tied up here in Mesa Verde and besides, he would soon be having company. If they could make it.

His old friend and smoking partner, Cloud-Song had radioed him early, early this morning and told him there was a wild fire in the upland corridors and he was heading out with a small group of people.

John Buchanan agreed. There was no place safer in the world right now, and even though Buchanan wasn't all that sociable he knew he was going to need help. There was still a stable full of horses and other responsibilities to tend. Back in the main section of Badger House park, he stopped off at the ranger and first aide station and went inside rummaging around for anything that might be of need which he stuffed into a gunny sack. He raided the ranger office for extra bullets and took all he could find which happened to be quite a bit.

They didn't have any kind of bio gear protection in the park. Why should they?

For Buchanan, like most people, the idea of a serious epidemic just never scratched the surface of his mind, like for instance, surviving one had never occurred to him.

All his memories and the mild PTSD he suffered from his years in Cambodia and South Vietnam fighting the ghosts of the Mekong with ¹Agent Orange were his experience of shit hit the fan. And he was one of the lucky ones who made it home without any lasting illnesses, so he didn't mind telling anyone who complained about life in the good ole' U.S. of A., where to go with all their pitiful me problems.

He sat down at the security desk, pushed his faded brown cowboy hat back off his brow and took all the safety and hazmat manuals out of the drawer, leafing back and forth through them. If he was hoping to find any helpful information in them he was disappointed, so he threw them down on the desk and kept digging around to see what else he could find. Which didn't amount to much in the way of useful.

Buchanan got up and went over to look out the window and his mind wandered a little as he stood in the shadowed interior, but he shook it off and gathered the items he had collected and left. He strapped the gunny sack to the back of his saddle and his horse pawed the ground impatiently.

Buchanan looked around, shoved his rifle in the holster again, mounted up and eased the big boned mare toward the main road and back in the direction of Spruce Tree, House and Visitors center. It would take at least two hours to get back even as the crow flied but the good thing was, the mare knew her way and Buchanan just sat back in the saddle and let her go. There was no formal road between Wetherill Mesa road and Chapin Mesa road, just miles of canyon, mesa and desert. Buchanan rode on with the heat bearing down. Up and down the desert trail, the mare carefully picked her way, looking forward to her home paddock and a long drink of water.

Out here, in the Mesa Verde, it was hard to imagine the level of chaos Len had described to him. The only televisions out here were in the hotels and lodges. Everyone else relied on computer communication or cell phone. Buchanan had thrown his Samsung in the desk drawer back at Spruce Tree when the grid went down and that had been the last news he'd had since talking to Len on the Hamm. It was sporadic but the radio system he had devised had been his only contact to the outside world in two weeks. He pulled his hat down snug on his head and the mare trudged on, dodging scrub brush, loose rock and the occasional desert lizard scuttling back and forth chasing bugs.

When the silver glint of a vehicle bounced off the clouds overhead Buchanan instantly grabbed his binoculars and studied the landscape in the distance. The slightest dust from a very slow-moving vehicle caught his eyes and he followed it as a small group of assorted vehicles came into view when they rounded one of the many sharp twists and turns on the Chapin road. They were a still a good eight miles out just past the Fair View area. His gut told him it was Len Cloud and the rest.

〰️

As the small convoy entered the park section of the Chapin Mesa, Len pulled to a stop. Behind him, Deag driving his truck and Mark's SUV pulled up next. Len and Hollis got out. Deag and Mark followed suit. Biggie and Yolo barked raucously from the bed of the pick-up. Hollis walked around and dropped the tailgate, and the two shepherds jumped out and took off sniffing old surroundings that were familiar to them. The rest of the group had now gathered around. Haven and Bretta and the children looked around wide-eyed. There was a large restaurant, a museum, a post office, library and restrooms, and further back down the tree lined median roadway, the Ranger Headquarters all centered within this secluded southwestern end of the Chapin Mesa.

Deag said very little as he took in the mysterious but comforting environment. It was ethereal. A silent tribute to an ancient civilization. From where they were, they could see anyone coming for miles and for a moment Deag let down his guard as he watched Rois and Neala look around in fascination. They had never been to places like this and Deag smiled warmly despite his exhaustion and wariness. Their mother should have been here to see them. The thought distracted him, and Donelle's eagle like intuition took notice of her son's nostalgic expression. She immediately whipped around to Len.

"Where will we stay, Len?"

Her interruption was not lost on him. "Up there," he nodded in the direction of the ranger headquarters. "There are small bunk rooms inside. Enough for all of us if we double up. It has a kitchenette and a small living area. We should get our belongings in there while we have daylight. I'll show everyone around after that." Then he whistled a long low whistle which brought Biggie and Yolo back from their canine investigations panting and thirsty.

Donelle nodded and bustled the children, Haven and Bretta to retrieve whatever they had been able to bring. The others followed and soon they were walking up the gravel trail, behind Len who led the way.

He stopped at a back entrance and took out his key ring, fishing among the many keys until he found the one he wanted and unlocked the door.

Deag watched with unchecked question. "Just how is it that you have keys, Len?" he wanted to know.

"The Chief Ranger gave them to me," Len smiled. "He is a good friend. You will meet him. J. C. Buchanan. Buck for short. I talked to him this morning on the radio. He'll be expecting us."

Deag nodded silently with a raised brow.

Donelle pursed her lips at him and rolled her eyes, but he only shrugged.

Inside, Len opened a curtain. "You'll see the furnishings are a bit sparse and dusty. As to be expected. Buck rarely uses these quarters. He has his own cabin further in the park near the horse barns and outbuildings. Closer to the things he uses the most here at Mesa Verde," Len told them as he ushered everyone in and moved them down a back hallway and showed them the four small bunk rooms. Each room had two sets of bunkbeds, a dining table and there were small dressers between the beds.

"Throw your things down and meet me back in the front room."

Donelle and Deag took the first room with his kids. Mark and Sherri took the next one and Hollis and Verbena took the third. The girls took the forth room.

Back in their room Deag looked around distastefully. "I'm not sure about this place, Mom."

Neala patted Donelle absently on the side. "I don't like it here Mommy."

Deag looked at her in horror. "Did you just hear that? She called you Mommy."

"Oh Deag. Stop it. It'll be just fine here. My God. What choice do we have? I'll have it cleaned up in no time and the kids will be fine. And I wouldn't pay much mind to her saying that. She's just a little girl. Now go on, while I make the beds up. Go help Len do something," Donelle snapped with a hand on her hip.

"I want to go with you dad!" Rois took Deag by the hand. "I can help too."

Deag looked at Donelle and she smiled. "You heard the boy, Son. Go help Len get things set up."

Deag reluctantly took Rois and left his mom to her doings.

After that, Bretta and Haven appeared and Neala ran over to them hugging Haven around the legs. "Hold me Haven," she whined. Haven picked her up and held her on her hip.

"What's a matter Neala?" she crooned in her ear.

"I have to go potty." Neala whispered back, twining her fingers nervously through Havens shock of brunette hair.

"Me too. So Donelle, do we have to use the rest rooms we passed coming up here?"

"There's probably a bathroom here Haven. Take Neala and go ask Len. Bretta would you help me get these beds ready?"

Bretta nodded. "Yes ma'am."

Mark and Sherri passed by heading out to the front room. Mark stuck his head in the door. "Ya'll got everything under control?"

"We do, thanks Mark," Donelle answered. "We'll be out in a minute."

He nodded and went on with Sherri.

Bretta shook out the rough blankets that were folded on the bed. "Have you ever met Len's friend?"

"MmmHmm. I have. He never got out of the park much, but I've met him a time or two. Why?"

"Oh, I don't know, I just wondered. Do you think Nathan will be okay?"

"Of course," Donelle said stopping to give Bretta her full attention. "When he and Lara find out we're gone he will come straight here."

"So, all of you, had this planned? Coming up here?"

"Aren't you just full of questions today."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. O'Connor. This is all just unreal to me. One day I'm in class, and the next day, this."

"Bretta. It's going to be okay. We won't be here long. Once this virus thing runs its course. This is a safe place and before you know it things will start to get back to normal."

"I hope so," Bretta sighed. She hugged the blanket to her chest.

Donelle rubbed Bretta's back maternally. "I know its scary sweetie, but you'll be okay. And I'm going to need you and Haven's help with the kids. So, lets get that chin up."

"Mrs. O'Connor, can I ask you one more thing?"

"Sure, go ahead." Donelle managed a smile.

"Do you know if Cole Johnson knows about this place?"

Donelle took a deep breath. "That, I'm not sure of. It is possible, since he has known Seth for a long time, but I don't want to get your hopes up. Look, Cole is a self-sufficient guy, he's probably just fine."

Bretta held her breath for a long moment before letting out a sigh.

"Come on Bretta, lets finish up here and go see what else needs to be done. The kids will be getting hungry," she said as she fluffed some pillows and threw them back on the bed. Bretta followed her lead and when things suited Donelle the two of them headed back to the small living area where Sherri was in the tiny kitchenette. Donelle joined her inquiring about her arm, and made Sherri sit down so she could clean it. Bretta had no stomach for such things and sat down on the small sofa to wait for Haven. As soon as Haven and Neala came back the three of them went to find Deaglan.

Outside they found Hollis, Verbena, Mark, Sherri and Deaglan with Rois. The men were busy unloading the supplies they had managed to bring, and the dogs took to playing with the kids, keeping them distracted. Len was nowhere to be found but Verbena said he had gone to look for his friend Buck, who was expecting them.

〰️

"I know you're in here Len, may as well c-mon. I need your help."

Len materialized from the shadows of the barn smiling. "Damn Yankee tracker," Len chuckled. "What needs doin'? He asked walking up the Buchanan.

Buchanan hugged him with a whack on the back. "I bagged a deer for us. Need to get it skinned and on the grill. But first throw me a smoke."

Len obliged him. "Damn, that's what took you so long to get back. "Sounds good, let's get started."

Buck lit a smoke gave Len back his pack and the two of them left the barn. Len walked over to Bucks horse to have a look at his prize. The young doe was strapped to a hastily made travois and Len whistled low. They unhooked it from the horse and drug it over to a contraption Buck had hanging in a tree behind his cabin. Definitely a prize for good eating that Len figured could last the rest of the week.

As they skinned and dressed the kill Buck told Len about what happened out on the Wetherill Rd, and Len told him about the fire which he was sure burned out whatever they had to leave behind. He told him about Nathan and Lara, saying they would most likely be showing up at some point and hopefully Seth also, but he wasn't as sure about the boy making it.

Buck could only shake his head. He still thought he'd have never seen a day like this in America.

¹Cited [Wiki] Agent Orange in chapter title, 'Message.'