Will Normal Return: A small mountain community scrambles to survive a catastrophe

By Ben Kilgore

A small mountain community is struck by a catastrophic event. Most in the community are evacuated by the military. A small group comes together hungry for information about what happened and why help isn't coming. They face murders and desperate people. This is a story of survival in a lawless world until everything returns to normal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098311285

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

© 2020 Ben Kilgore All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN 978-1-09831-127-8 eBook 978-1-09831-128-5

For my grandchildren

Abigail

Annalise

Drew

Gabe

Ethan

Grace

Greta

and Elsa

Contents

Mirror Lake

The Triple-O Ranch

Scouting the Road to Town

The Viking

Over the Hill

Resident of Gilbert

More Senseless Killing

Central Command Orders

Burial Duty

Victims of Coincidence

Left Behind

Living Off the Grid

The Marlboro Man

Caught in the Act

A Warning Shot

Under a Prairie Sky

First Contact

Strangers South of Mike’s

Shots Fired

The Matchbook

On the Trail Again

At the River

Time to Leave

Finding Charley

It’s Taking Too Long

A Surprised Shopper

Visit to Main Street

Time Passes Slowly

Checking on Neighbors

The Hog Farm

Showdown on Main Street

Giving Birth

Charley Fires His Shotgun

Mainstreet Round Two

Heartbreaking Discovery

Bearing Bad News

Stake Out

Ann and Allie Ride West

Hal’s Discovery

Strange Markings

A Little Encouragement

Pincher Creek

The Chicken Mission

The Curious Crowd

Holiday Plans

The Proposal

Under the Aspen Arch

A Thanksgiving Feast

Hi-Ho from Tahoe

Premonitions

Under Surveillance

Takedown and Capture

Stranger in the Snow

Heard in Amarillo

Billy Returns

1.

Mirror Lake

The sun was now high enough to break through the trees at the top of the eastern ridge. The shadows were creeping back to the granite wall. The weather had been perfect. Not too hot, sunny and crystal clear. Mornings in the mountains were special.

Jack’s camp site, not far from a mountain lake, looked across the high valley to the foot of another peak. The lake was too small for most maps, but locals called it Mirror Lake. The water was like glass reflecting the surrounding heights. The camp site was on a gentle slope mostly rock with gnarled pine trees scattered about. This setting was a familiar place. This was the fourth year he had camped here.

The serenity and beauty of this place was intoxicating. Jack had discovered this hidden valley by accident when he thought he was taking a short cut. Standing on the high ridge he spotted the lake and was determined to climb down the steep face.

Jack loved the isolation and had returned for his annual retreat each summer. It was special in part because he never saw other hikers this far off the popular trails. That was probably because it took some serious climbing to get here. He had done some technical climbing and enjoyed rappelling down a steep cliff.

There were Brown Trout in the lake! Nothing beat arching a line over the water to just the right place and seeing the splash as a fish hit his fly. Fly fishing went well with Jack’s love of the mountains. He had been doing it since his high school years and enjoyed tying his own flies. His days here had been spent trying out his variations on established patterns. Fresh fish in the frying pan made a great end to a lazy day.

His two weeks had gone quickly, and today was Friday and the end of his stay. It was time to pack up and head back to the trail head where his car was parked. Packing up took time since everything had to fit in or on his backpack. Jack was a meticulous guy who left no evidence of his stay. He prided himself on being able to live off the land with minimal equipment. It was late morning before he started back.

He first had to climb back up the rocky face to the top of the Eastern ridge. It was steep enough that Jack had rappelled down the face on his way in. He carried two climbing ropes. One would take him about halfway. There was a small ledge that made it convenient to start the last rappel. He had left his ropes in place for the return.

The assent would take more than an hour. Several well-placed pitons from prior visits made it easier. After climbing to the ledge in the middle of the face, he raised his heavy camping pack. This was secured to the climbing rope hanging from the top. The other rope was retrieved, coiled and attached to his pack.

It wasn’t a really serious technical climb, but the height, the exposure and small ledges discouraged anyone without experience. Jack was athletic and made steady progress. At the top he coiled the second rope and shouldered his pack. Wearing a baseball hat and sunglasses he was ready for the next challenge.

From the ridge top there was a long descent across a boulder field to the trail. The sight of two miles of nothing but car sized boulders lying next to one another on a long slope was itself intimidating. His route required hopping from boulder to boulder, each with its unique shape and orientation. The irregular surface of the angled stone slabs forced him to focus on the landing spot for each jump. He wore leather climbing boots which grabbed the rock surface and protected against twisting an ankle. Occasionally he would stop to catch his breath and plan his way across the next sequence. The boulder field was the hardest physical part of the decent. Every step was different and there was no easy rhythm. It took nearly three hours and even with strong legs and good mountain boots, it was tough going.

Once on the trail the tough part was done. The trip down the trail back to his car usually took about four hours. The first third crisscrossed the scrub pine and bushes common above timberline. Then tall pines would surround the path as it descended the steep slope and create deep shadows. It would be after dark by the time he reached the trail head. He usually spent the night in the parking area at the trail head before the drive home. That would take another six hours.

After each summer retreat it took a couple of days to get back into working mode. There was a new project planned to start the week after his return. Jack was a computer programmer and project manager. By nature, he tended to be a loner. Self-confident and a good team leader was how his boss had described him in his last review – he led a team of six junior programmers. Jack liked learning and problem solving and he liked being self-reliant.

The drive back started with working his way down a narrow gravel road to the highway. There was a country store that had good sandwiches. Stopping there always marked the official end to his retreat. Mike Williams ran the store. He was a good-natured guy always with a story or two. Jack enjoyed having a beer with Mike and catching up on local news.

The sun had slipped below the mountains for more than an hour when Jack finally could make out the trail head parking area. He was well below tree line and the trail winding through pines in deep shadows was eerie. The way was illuminated by the moon. The day hikers would already be long gone.

Even for Jack who was in excellent physical shape, it had been a long day. His back ached as he walked the final yards to his car. He noticed it was the only car in the lot which seemed a little strange. Usually there was at least one other party camping on weekends. It was Friday and past the time for starting up the trail to one of the prepared camp sites.

After stowing his pack and climbing rope in the back of his Chevy Suburban, Jack eased into the driver’s seat. It felt good to relax and be off his feet. He had that mission accomplished feeling. He just sat there enjoying a successful last day. Everything had gone according to plan. Monday he would be back at work.

The first order of business was finding his cell phone. He left it in the car and the battery would be low. It would be good to check his email and start to reenter the world. He dug it out of the glove compartment and plugged in the charger. But the Apple logo which displayed when the phone came back to life didn’t! Maybe the car had to be started

He turned the ignition key. Nothing. Not a sound! Not even the starter struggling to turn the engine. He tried again, but same result. Jack’s mind was now focused; Why should his battery die? He hadn’t had any problems with his car. It was a couple of years old, but that shouldn’t matter. It had been a good retreat. This car thing was just life’s way of welcoming him back to the real world.

One thing was clear. He wouldn’t be able to get anyone to come up to the trail head to start the engine at night. He would just deal with it in the morning. There would probably be hikers arriving early.. With luck they would have a jumper cable and could give him a start. No big deal.

Jack searched through his pack for some jerky and dried fruit. Why do the things you want always slip to the bottom? There were several bottles of Gatorade in the car. The hike out always left him thirsty in spite of frequent drinks from mountain streams on his way down. He sat quietly enjoying the quiet and the glow of his plan well executed.

The seats had been folded down to accommodate his camping gear. Even with his climbing ropes, fly rod, and mountain pack there was still plenty of room to lay out a sleeping bag. He got everything in just the right place and stretched out. His tired muscles were happy. He was thinking about the pleasant days spent in the mountains. Soon he was asleep.

Bright sun streaming into his car started his day. At his retreat campsite, the high eastern ridge kept the sun away until after 9:30. Here sunup was at 6 AM. He stretched, sat up and looked around. No one here yet.

After coffee and some oatmeal heated in a small pot, he was ready to move on. Waiting for early bird hikers was trying his patience. Then it struck him. What if they didn’t have jumper cables. So much for plan B.

The thought of the 14-mile hike down to Mike’s wasn’t appealing, but there didn’t seem to be an alternative. He was looking forward to a cold beer and Mike’s latest would-you believe story. If he saw a car coming up to the trailhead, he would flag it down. If they had jumpers he would return. Mike for sure would be able to help him.

His pack was still loaded from yesterday’s return. He ditched the tent and his fishing gear, stuffed in his water bottle, cup and small pot. Jack grabbed his cell phone and charger, locked his Suburban and was off. No point carrying too much. He was just going to return anyway.

The gravel road sloped down at an angle that was comfortable for his long strides. It would be an easy walk. Most important he wasn’t standing around waiting.

About halfway down there was a less traveled road that branched off to a deserted music camp located in an adjacent valley. Just beyond the turnoff Jack saw a car. It was empty, parked in the roadway making it hard for anyone to pass. Strange, what would an empty car be doing here. Why would it be left in the middle of the road? The car was abandoned. He looked around. No note or any other sign of what happened. The car was locked, and it looked like there was hiking gear in the back seat.

Jack continued down the curving gravel road. The sun was high, and it was much warmer. He unbuttoned his flannel shirt and kept going. He was still puzzling over not seeing anyone and the deserted car. By now there would certainly have been hikers on the way up to the trail head. This was a popular place for easy day hikes.

Rounding a curve, he could see Mike’s store and parking lot ahead. He had been walking for more than four hours and was sweating. The thought of something cold to drink quickened his pace. Just a quarter mile more and he could shed his pack. Walking across the parking lot, he saw another car at the gas pumps. This was more like it.

Mike’s store wasn’t large or showy. Hikers and campers stopped here for information, a fill-up or sandwiches to take with them. Anyone wanting to fish the mountain lakes stopped to get his advice on the best flies to use. Some just stopped to swap fishing stories.

Mike had been here for at least twenty years. He was older than Jack and knew just about everything concerning the local mountains and high country. He was a big, man, had thick shoulders and large weathered hands. He loved to talk and just walking in his store started a conversation. He always had a little advice for the first timers. Mike lived in a loft above the store and made silver turquoise jewelry in his spare time which was mostly in the late fall and winter months.

Jack climbed the few steps to the door. It was locked. Jack hollered, Mike. Then he hollered again. No one was there. Not a light in the place. After being fixated on having a cold beer, Jack was frustrated and turned away muttering, dam! Where’s Mike..

Glancing down he noticed on the ground a piece of brown paper bag with two strips of tape hanging off one edge. It must have been taped to the glass. Scribbled on it was a note that said, Gone to town. Lost power.

Mike’s store was always open during the summer season. That’s when he did most of his business. Jack had never seen the store closed. And the car out at the gas pumps? Where was the driver?

The town of Gilbert was seventeen miles up county road K and then several miles west on highway 12. The county road wasn’t a main travel route. It was just a maintained gravel road. If you didn’t live out this way or weren’t here for the hiking and camping, you wouldn’t drive it.

Nothing made any sense. Jack could deal with unexpected problems and quickly decide on a new action plan. But the return from his annual retreat always went smoothly. This part was a no-brainer.

He sat down on the steps; slipped the shoulder straps of his pack off and started pondering what to do next. Everything had gone perfectly up until he had returned to the trail head. For a guy that liked to plan and liked to execute his plan, this was more than frustrating.

Talking to himself he said, OK Jack. What’s the plan?

He got up and started walking around the store. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for but maybe something would give him an idea. Around back he noticed Mike’s old pickup truck was gone. It was an old Ford and Jack had teased Mike saying it should be in a museum.

He tried the back door of the store, but it was locked. There was a shed that Mike used for storage. It was open. Other than stacks of cases of canned goods, beer and soft drinks, he didn’t see much that would help. He opened a warm Coke and returned to the steps in front. At least he had something to drink.

His mind was asking questions. When had Mike left? Why was the other car still there? Jack who was analytical to the point of driving people nuts couldn’t find any answers.

He walked over to the car parked by the gas pump. It wasn’t locked, but there were no keys. It was empty. Back to the front steps. It was now nearly two. He had been at Mike’s store for over an hour.

Jack thought about what he had found. Something unusual had happened. He decided Mike and the car passengers had left together. The loss of power must explain it. Maybe the folks in the car on the trail head road had walked down and they had all left together.

Regardless, there was no help here. Jack’s food was mostly gone – just a package of dried fruit, one pack of oatmeal, and some coffee. After thinking about his options, he decided it was time to move on. Going back up the trail head road would take him to the deserted music camp road. From the camp he could hike down to a dude ranch in the adjoining valley. That was the new plan.

Before leaving he returned to the shed to find food. He took several cans of chili, a can of peaches, three cans of Coke, a box of wooden matches and a large knife Mike used to open cartons. He left a short note telling Mike what he had taken, and he would pay him.

Back up the gravel road towards the trail head Jack trudged. The can goods made his pack heavier. His goal was the music camp. If he kept a steady pace, he could get to the camp just at sundown.

At a small stream that crossed under the road, Jack filled his Yeti, a water bottle that kept the contents hot or cold. Then he dropped down on a boulder for short rest. What a crazy day. It started out so positive. He was looking forward to seeing Mike. Now he had to keep moving. This would make a great story to tell his team when he got back.

He passed the car in the road and branched off in the direction of the old music camp. In a mile or so the road would flatten and begin a gradual decline. Still there was about five miles to go. Jack hadn’t been down this road for several years and he knew there wouldn’t be anything there but a few nearly collapsed buildings. But it was a better place to spend the night than on this gravel road cut into the sloping hillside.

The shadows were growing longer. The sun was dropping below the ridge line above. It wouldn’t be long before the only illumination would be moon light. It was cooler and that made it more bearable. His pack seemed to get heavier as he marched along.

Finally, after more than an hour walking under a star filled sky he finished the last bend in the road and saw the faded welcoming sign ahead. The remains of the old music camp were visible. Like a ghost town there were clues to what had been there. He walked past the skeletons of old cabins and in front of a mess hall that was falling to pieces. A place where young people once came to practice their musical skills was now deserted. It had been that way for many years

Jack looked around for a place to camp for the night. There was a small stream on the far side of the camp. He found a place that was level and not too rocky; dropped his pack; and stretched out his sleeping bag. Sitting there he chewed on a piece of jerky. What a strange day it had been. It still seemed like a bad dream.

2.

The Triple-O Ranch

Lindsey Michaels was washing up her breakfast dishes in the Big House at the Triple O Ranch. She had worked there for the last two years.

Lindsey had become a horse lover as a young girl and that love had brought her to the Ranch. For a half-dozen summers the Triple O had become her second home. Her days at the Ranch were some of her dearest memories. That experience had made her an excellent horsewoman.

After a divorce at age twenty-six, she was in search of a new life. She remembered the Ranch. and came out to say hello. What was supposed to be a short visit became an opportunity. She talked Billy into hiring her to help with the cooking and guests. She was good at teaching the younger kids how to handle their mounts and her cooking was a major improvement. Lindsey with her horse, Grey, in the barn settled into a new life.

The Triple O was a working horse ranch that took in a few guests. There were generally three or four most weeks during the summer months. A week’s stay was the norm. The attraction was the chance to ride in the high country. They learned horsemanship and riding narrow mountain trails. They helped care for the horses and went on a guided overnight camp out. In the fall they came for Elk hunting. You had to love horses to enjoy the Triple O and there were many who came back every year. Lindsey had been one of those repeat guests.

Billy Richards and his partner Ron Hansen owned the ranch. Both had been in the Army before buying the land and a couple of dilapidated buildings. Now after almost fifteen years they had restored it. The horse barn had been expanded. There was a corral and a large fenced in pasture for the horses.

They took down the oldest buildings and built what they called, the Big House.. This served as a lodge, their living quarters and had a large dining room and great room for guests. There was a covered deck that ran across the front and looked out towards the high country to the south east.

This was a favorite place for relaxing and conversation at the end of a busy day. The setting sun left the mountains painted in shades of purple and grey.

More recently the guys had added two small guest cabins. These could each provide accommodations for a family of four if you didn’t mind bunk beds. For Billy and Ron, the Triple O was their life. It wasn’t work or a business.

It had been seven days since they had left. They were taking guests into Gilbert to catch the bus and pick up a couple making their first visit. Gilbert wasn’t much of a town, but if you wanted to come to the Triple O, you either drove or took the bus to Gilbert. That was the day the power went out. They never returned, and Lindsey was left at the ranch alone.

Her immediate reaction was it wouldn’t last long, and the guys would be returning. But they didn’t return. Their cell phone service stopped working when they lost power. There was no telephone landline to the Ranch. No way to call anyone.

Now it had now been a week with no power and no sign of the guys. Lindsey wasn’t sure what to do. She felt compelled to stay and care for the horses. For the time being there was plenty of food. Just wait a little longer and everything will get back to normal. That’s what she kept telling herself.

The power loss itself wasn’t terrible. There were plenty of Colman lanterns for light and a large propane tank fueled the stove. There was ample refrigeration down in the mountain stream that passed near the barn. Billy had built a large cage that held several waterproof coolers. Hay and oats stored in the barn were convenient. The power loss just meant some extra work and a little inconvenience.

Still, Lindsey was worried. It just wasn’t like them to be away so long. It was unusual to lose power for more than a day. Being alone finally got to her. She had to talk to someone. It was time to ride over the ridge to a bed and breakfast owned by her good friend. She hoped there was cell phone service there and she could contact Billy to find out what was going on. The trail went eleven miles across some desolate back country. But it was a nice day for a ride and her horse, Grey, could use the exercise.

She grabbed her Stetson and riding gloves and hurried down to the horse barn. Before leaving Lindsey let the other horses out into the pasture. They spent the nights in the barn, but it was good for them to have the freedom to graze and get out in the fresh air. A shallow mountain stream cut through the pasture and there was a grove of trees for shade. In all there were eight horses. Later when she returned their stalls would need to be cleaned.

She put a bridle and saddle on Grey, mounted and rode west. The trail wound back and forth up the rising western slope for several miles. The first part was in and out of Aspen trees with their shimmering leaves. After maybe two miles the slope steepened, and was covered by patches of bushes, a few pines and boulders scattered about. Her blond ponytail bobbed in rhythm with her horse’s steady gait.

The mountain air was fresh and clear. Lindsey continued at a steady pace enjoying the outdoors and being on a mission. The week had been busy getting the accommodations ready for the new guests and taking care of the horse barn. The guys handled the heavier chores. By herself everything took longer.

Finally, she crested the slope and could see the trail snaking down into the next valley. There was still about seven miles to go. This part of the trail went up and down and would finally flatten out about a mile from her destination.

Molly Jensen who owned the Bed & Breakfast was also a divorcee – just a year older than Lindsey. Molly was one of those take-charge women. She always had a smile on her face and something in the oven. The two had become good friends. Both were busy with their daily routine but found time to stop by and catch up every so often. It had been nearly three weeks since their last get together. Lindsey was looking forward to coffee and whatever sweet treat Molly was baking. She usually had a recipe for Lindsey to try. She liked to say Molly was her cooking coach.

Molly’s place was on a large pound that was fed by a mountain stream. It was a large log building, but not your pioneer log cabin. It has been built as a rustic lodge where the interior log walls were varnished and let light in through large picture windows. Everything was finished and provided bedrooms for five. It was a comfortable place with a large stone fireplace in the main room.

Her clientele were older guys, typically single who came for the mountain air, a little fly fishing and Molly’s baking. Seldom were there more than three guests and often only one or two. Most were regulars and helped wherever they could.

Lindsey crossed over the last hill and the trail ambled through more Aspens on the gradual approach to the Molly’s place. Grey suddenly heard something. She stopped. Then she heard a loud pop or crack. Maybe a gun.

Lindsey dismounted. Holding the reins, she led Grey slowly forward staying out of the direct sun. She could see the pond up ahead but not the house. There was no one fishing the pond.

Moving off the trail she slowly worked her way forward. Then through the trees she saw movement. Her heart pounding Lindsey knew something was wrong. She crept a little closer. Just barely she could see someone standing near the steps that climbed up to Molly’s wide porch. It was a young man, stocky build, maybe in his twenties. He had a rifle. It was about a half mile away through the trees. She froze. Her heart was racing. The trees with their shimmering leaves made good cover. Minutes passed.

Then, someone called to the man and he turned and went up the steps.

Lindsey couldn’t hear what was said. It was the way the guy reacted that made it clear something was very wrong. Where was Molly?

A few minutes later two guys ran down the steps. They were carrying a sack stuffed with something. The sack appeared heavy and the guys hefted it onto the back of their four-wheeler. Then they slowly drove off up the hill on the road into town. She could hear the engine noise slowly fade away.

Lindsey waited until she was sure they had left. Very slowly she moved back to the trail. Walking with Grey’s reins in her hand she moved closer to the house. Only the gentle rustling of the leaves could be heard. Her heart was pounding. Her mind reeling with concern for her friend.

Now nearer she could see a form lying on Molly’s deck. It was a long deck that extended across the front of the building partially sheltered by the roof overhang. There were an assortment of chairs and small tables.

She reached the stairs leading up to the porch and fastened Grey’s reins to the railing. Halfway across the deck was the form – a man’s body! Thankfully it wasn’t Molly. It was one of her guests, an older man with snow white hair. Lying face down, legs splayed awkwardly. He had turned away and been hit squarely in the middle of his back. Already blood was pooling around him.

She knelt touching the side of the old man’s neck for a pulse like they did on the TV shows. She felt nothing, but maybe it was her technique. The man didn’t react to her touch. Her body was trembling in fear. She could hardly stand.

To herself she prayed please not Molly, Lindsay entered the house. The kitchen was empty but had been ransacked. Drawers pulled out, cabinet doors standing wide, the door to the pantry open. At first glance it looked like they had emptied several shelves.

She screamed, Molly! Molly, where are you?. Then she called again even louder. No reply. She was numb with fear of what she would find. Her heart was racing. She was terrified.

The stair steps creaked. Molly crept down one step at a time. She had an old Colt revolver in one hand. Her eyes nervously looking about. Then she saw Lindsey and with relief ran into the kitchen. They embraced as their emotion subsided. They just held each other for several minutes. Neither had experienced anything like this before. They both sobbed quietly.

Thank God it’s you, Molly said as they held each other.

There is a man on the deck! He was shot.

Oh no! Why would they shoot Henry? He’s a gentle, old man? Molly walked to the door and looked out.

She turned, explaining, I saw them drive in from an upstairs window. Hearing the shot, I hid in a closet.

They went outside, and Molly knelt by the crumpled figure sprawled on the deck. He’s a regular; been coming here ever since his wife died several years ago. He came mostly to enjoy the solitude.

Molly bent over the sprawled body. She placed a hand on his chest. No sign of breathing. She checked his pulse. No pulse. They both just starred at the body not believing what had just happened.

Now words and questions came in a rush. Would the men come back? They had left in a panic probably because of the shooting. But they very likely knew there was more food here for the taking. Lindsey was about to try here cell phone when Molly told her they had lost service when the power went out.

They were just staring at the body. Then Molly said, We’ll put the body in the old icehouse. It’s not used much anymore but is cool and safe from marauding animals. We can’t report it with no phone service.

First, she scribbled a note explaining the circumstances and signed her name. The note was put into his pants pocket. Then they rolled him onto an old tarp. Lindsey was in a state of shock.

The women dragged the tarp with the body a few steps at a time. It was awkward and slow.