Bill got up and started making coffee. Maybe a large pot, this morning. When the coffee was ready, he called out, “Come and get it!”
Matt moaned, “Can’t. Move. Or. Talk. At. Normal. Rate.”
Bill said, “Dammit, what’d I say to you about treading on my turf?”
“Sight. Returning. Brain. Rebooting,” Matt muttered.
“Will you shut. The fuck. Up,” came from Richard’s bed.
Maybe two pots. Bill laughed and poured several cups of the elixir of life.
He then walked over to the other motor home and banged on the door. “Time to get up,” he called out.
“Get Lost.”
“Fuck off.”
“Coffee’s ready,” Bill replied.
“Be right there.”
“I love you.”
Bill smiled. Much better.
***
It took two more pots of coffee before everyone had managed to sufficiently caffeinate themselves. Matt got up and organized the weapons and ammo. He paused to look at the other three explorers, who were still looking less than enthusiastic. I hope they don’t shoot their own feet off today.
The team departed a little later than the previous day, but since they didn’t have a shooting session, they ended up at the creek-bed at about the same time. There, they discovered that stiff and sore university students don’t work as fast as fresh and healthy ones. Frequent rests were required.
During a rest break later in the afternoon, Lucy started barking. The four looked up and realized that they were facing a small pack of dire wolves. Without the gun session that morning, wildlife hadn’t been driven from the area, and some of it was now interested in a potential meal.
Big mistake. Four sore, cranky, tired potential meals took exception. Without preamble, discussion, or hesitation, four pump-action shotguns cut loose. BOOM BOOM BOOM. Several wolves fell over in the first volley. One wolf all but disintegrated.
Monica yelled, “Rate of fire, motherfucker!” while continuing to pump and fire.
Matt managed a smile, recognizing the reference. Bill would be proud.
Lucy, as usual when shooting started, was trying to emulate a gopher. The few wolves still standing after the initial rounds took off at full speed.
Matt realized that emptying all the weapons at the same time might not be a good idea, so he stopped with several rounds left. Monica stopped early as well, stretching her gun-pumping arm and grimacing in discomfort. They were all left panting, looking at the carnage.
“Well, that was not well thought out,” Matt said. “The area is now covered in blood, and it’s going to attract more predators and scavengers. We may be done for the day.”
“That’s fine by me,” Erin said. “I think I’m done anyway.”
They went over, donned their packs, then turned to look at the shaker table.
“About a hundred bucks to build,” Richard said. They looked at the bags stuffed with gold. “Nawww,” Richard said. As one, they turned and headed off, leaving the table in the clearing.
Tallying Up
"The chance of that happening in our lifetimes is exceedingly insignificant," said Cervelli, a scientist with the Yellowstone Volcano Observatory.
— Reuters. “Scientists Dismiss Claims that Yellowstone Volcano About to Erupt.”
“Well, son of a bitch,” Richard said, with awe in his voice.
They had brought an accurate scale this time. Weighing the haul had produced a grand total of just a shade over thirty pounds. “That’s, uh…” Matt worked the calculator on his phone. “A little under $450,000. Same assumptions as last time,” he added, looking at Richard.
“That’ll do, pig. That’ll do,” Bill said.
“Have we exhausted the strike?” Kevin asked.
Erin shook her head. “No, Kevin. There’s a lot of uncertainty about how much was extracted from Deadwood, of course. But within an order of magnitude, we could probably get fifty million out before we had to start using serious extraction methods. Then we could always just go to the Homestead lode and start digging.”
Matt added, “And if we ever came close to exhausting that, Pike’s Peak is about the same drive from home.”
“So you’re saying money is no longer an issue,” Kevin finished, his voice shaking a little.
“Ah, yep,” Erin answered.
“I can’t stop smiling,” Bill said. “My face is starting to hurt. Make it stop!”
“Okay, let’s get serious for a second,” Richard said. “We still have to cash this in. We’ll spread it around a little more this time, which means more driving. I’ve got a total of thirteen places we can do that. That’s still around thirty-five grand at each service. I’d like to bring about half that to the places we’ve already been, and more to the places we haven’t. I’ll work it out in more detail later.
“Meanwhile, I think a dividend is in order. Maybe ten thou each, just for pocket money?” Richard looked around. Every head was nodding vigorously.
“All right,” he continued. “Now back to your regularly scheduled laughing and frolicking.”
People let out whoops.
Monica started waving her arms in the air and dancing. Richard’s IQ plummeted.
In the News
The FAA has issued a directive making the area within two hundred miles of Yellowstone a no-fly zone for commercial airline traffic. Airlines are scrambling to re-route their flights, and are promising customers that they will refund any tickets on request.
Government agencies have reported a dramatic increase in chatter on known terrorist channels. They have announced that they are issuing warnings about possible attacks in undisclosed locations.
“Extremist groups see the Yellowstone activity as a direct message from God, and are using it as a rallying call,” said one unnamed source.
Trouble Brewing
Lem considered his options. That was two ridiculously large assay submissions within a week, both by kids who had no business being in the business. So to speak. This kid had given some lame explanation about a group expedition and pooling their finds, but Lem knew BS when he was being showered in it. He’d made a note of the kid’s contact info, and he retrieved his notes from the earlier visit.
Andy always paid well for useful information. This could turn into a weekend in Vegas for him if it turned out to be something. He thought for a few seconds, took a breath, and picked up the phone.
***
Andrew Petrelli put the phone down, and considered the information he’d been given.
Andrew and his associates were minor members of the local underworld. In this modern era of street gangs, they were old-school. They’d managed to leave the big city at a good time (for their health, of course) and had taken up residence in Lincoln just when there was a power vacuum due to a police sweep. Once they were in, they were hard to remove, and Andrew’s reputed Italian heritage made others reluctant to confront him. If pressed, Andrew would point out that he had never claimed to be a Family member as such, but if people insisted on making assumptions, who was he to correct them?
The three of them, Andy, Bluto, and Charles, made a living off the usual low-level stuff: stolen goods, drugs, prostitution, and the occasional bit of strong-arming and extortion. They would never get rich, but it was a living. And the people who had urged Andy and his friends to leave their former location seemed disinclined to follow up as long as they stayed gone.
Andy looked somewhat like a Mafia Don, or at least the TV version of one. Impeccably dressed and manicured, the effect was marred by a gut that tended to hang over his belt.
“Gentlemen, I think we have something interesting here,” he said.
Charles and Bluto looked up from their card game.
Andy relayed what Lem had told him. “I think we should send a gift his way. This sounds like it could be very lucrative.” He handed Charles a slip of paper. “See what you can find out about these kids. Lem said they seemed naïve enough that they m
ight have given him their real addresses.”
Charles took the note without comment, read the contents, and placed it in a billfold.
Charles was large, black, and impressively bald. The baldness was a fashion choice. As with many shaven-headed men, he felt it made him look more dangerous. In his case it served to offset his habitually thoughtful expression. Although Charles was capable of violence when the job demanded it, it was a choice he made with reluctance. He’d taken flak from Bluto about it many times in the past.
“Can we just squeeze it out of them?” Bluto asked.
Andy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and if they’re legit, they run straight to the cops. Good thinking, Trevor!”
“Don’t fucking call me that!” Bluto did not like the name his mother had given him. It had resulted in many beatings in school, until Trevor had hit puberty and gone from the smallest kid in his class to the largest by a significant margin. The joy he’d gotten from extracting payback had strongly influenced his subsequent career choice. Unlike Charles, violence was Bluto’s first choice.
Now as an adult, Bluto was a very large man—not muscular, just big. A shade over six feet tall, thick and round, he had long black hair and affected a scraggly beard. Andy suspected he was trying to look like the eponymous cartoon character, but had never bothered to ask.
“Be that as it may,” Andy said. “Keep it clean, very light touch. If there’s something we can use, perhaps we can sell them some accident insurance.”
The three smiled at their shared joke. Bluto in particular liked selling accident insurance as much as he liked squeezing.
Back At the Warehouse
It had been a very good trip overall, Bill admitted to himself. He looked around the warehouse and smiled at the disorganized stacks of equipment and supplies.
They had cashed in all the gold. They’d had to come up with another cover story, and Bill was pretty sure that they would start to sound very lame very soon.
Now they were making good on Bill’s request. They had taken delivery of a couple of metal sheds. These were the largest they could find that could be assembled by a couple of people without special equipment, or so the ad said, anyway. They came with skylights to provide good light inside even without power.
With the cash influx, Bill had been able to finish the construction of the parts for the truck-sized gate. He added some detail to make the gate modular, so it could be disassembled into four segments when not in use. It didn’t have support plating, and was open on both sides.
Richard had also ordered the parts for more portal generators. With Bill’s natural paranoia and some recent instances of things going not as planned, it looked like Richard was beginning to appreciate Bill’s philosophy of backups for the backups.
Matt had already delivered a half-dozen new controller cards, one for the third portal generator and a bunch of spares. And Bill was building more gates.
At Monica’s insistence, they had gone out gun shopping. They now had an arsenal that would make a survivalist salivate. In fact, they’d been trolling survivalist websites to get ideas for weapons. Bill had taken to affecting a bad Arkansas accent.
“Now,” Bill said, “we need to start buying stuff.”
“And all that is what, exactly?” Matt replied, pointing to the piles of merchandise already in the warehouse.
“That’s just the beginning,” Bill said. “Look, chances are this will come to nothing. We’ll publish the portal information, some of us will get rich, some will get Nobels, everyone’s happy. The world gets a second planet to pollute up and overpopulate and fight over. Whoop-de-doo. But,” Bill held up a finger and put on his most portentous look. “If Erin turns out not to be the Cassandra we’ve all pegged her as—” Bill gave Erin a raised eyebrow and she stuck her tongue out at him in reply. “—then I for one want to have a TV and DVD player in Outland. Minimum.”
“Hah!” Monica waved her index finger at him with mock severity. “I can see you sitting in your LazyBoy watching the TV while a smilodon sniffs your empty snack bowl.” Everyone laughed at this image. “Speaking of which, you’re looking a little more trim, Sunshine. Been doing laps?”
Bill felt himself blush. “I think it’s all this nature stuff we’re doing. More exercise than I’ve gotten in the previous year.”
Richard jumped in. “Okay, Bill, admittedly your paranoia is beginning to rub off on everyone. But we’re not forming a colony, right?”
Bill shrugged. Maybe, maybe not. Stuff happens, dude. All kinds of stuff.
At the Gun Range
Matt watched as Monica pushed the switch to send her target to the maximum distance. She adjusted her safety glasses and hearing protection, raised the Glock to ready position, aimed and began firing.
Richard looked over from the next lane, his eyes getting wider. He waited until she’d emptied her clip.
“Good God, woman. You’re enjoying this way too much. What happened to the shy, retiring wallflower that I met a few short weeks ago?”
Monica pressed the button to retrieve her target. “Yeah, that’s me. Shy and quiet. But it turns out that I like guns. Go figure.”
Erin, who had been in the opposite lane, leaned around the partition and commented, “I don’t see how it’s a surprise, Monica. What is surprising is that it took you so long to discover them.”
“Hey, contrary to popular clichés, not all Italian families are Family, if youz knowz what I meanz. My parents are democrats.”
Richard looked over to Matt. “Okay Matt, I’m done. You can have the lane. I’ll be outside at the rifle range. We’re going to try out the new AR-15s.”
“Ooooh!” Monica exclaimed. “Me too! Me too! I want to try out the new assault rifle!”
Matt looked at Richard and raised an eyebrow. “Girls and their toys…” he said sardonically.
Monica left, dragging Richard along behind her.
Like a squirrel towing a moose, Matt thought, watching them walk away. A very energetic squirrel…
He paused to look at Monica’s target, which she hadn’t bothered to take down. There were two very close-spaced groupings of bullet holes: one dead center on the chest, and one right in the groin.
A possibly rabid squirrel.
***
Matt and Erin caught up with Richard and Monica at the outdoor range. Monica had set up with the AR-15 and was methodically squeezing off shots. Richard watched the target with binoculars. He turned to them. “She scares me. I’ve never seen anyone take to something like this. I like to think I’m a pretty good shot, but shit!” He inclined his head towards Monica to emphasize his point. “So where are Bill and Kevin?” he asked.
Matt chuckled. “Kevin did the bare minimum necessary to learn how to shoot and called it a lifetime. I don’t think he likes guns…
“Bill is still on the gun range. He takes a few shots, does a Dirty Harry quote, takes a few shots… The guy is seriously deranged.”
“He just needs a girlfriend,” Monica said. She safetied the rifle, swapped clips, and handed it to Richard. “You’re up, sunshine. Do try to hit the target this time, hmm?” She smiled to take the sting out of the comment.
Richard rolled his eyes and moved into position.
“I’ll want to go over our inventory next time we’re back at the warehouse,” Monica said to Matt and Erin. “We kind of neglected the handgun factor when we did our first round of purchases. We definitely need something for short-range work.”
“First round?” Matt exclaimed. “What are you ramping up for? A war?”
“Well, first… Oh God, I’m starting to sound like Kevin.” They all laughed, and Monica continued, “You have to remember that my introduction to this little escapade was a smilodon trying to eat me. I’m a little sensitive about that. And we’re going to be going, probably many times, into an environment that hasn’t been thinned out by the scourge known as humanity. There’s a full-on ecosystem on the other side, and it’s got a lot of apex predators, and a lot
of prey animals that have learned how to fight back. One thing that Bill is right about is that movie characters always go in underprepared and overconfident. I intend to go in overprepared, armed to the teeth, and ready to shoot anything that even looks at me funny.”
Erin smiled. “Well, you ain’t wrong…” They laughed at Richard’s favorite line. Richard gritted his teeth and took another shot.
Casing the Joint
Charles and Bluto sat in the SUV, watching the building. It had taken them very little time to trace the names and addresses. Turned out these eggheads really were that naïve. Following the twerps had been easy; they were completely oblivious. He’d determined that they were renting warehouse space in the building across the street, one of those businesses that rented out short-term or long-term storage and warehouse units. The larger units had a rollup delivery door to the outside as well as the inside entrance.
Right now, several of them were in there. Charles, a veteran of this kind of surveillance, had kept careful track of how many went in and how many came out. There was just the tall guy and his hot girlfriend left right now. Once they were gone, it would be time for a look around.
Charles didn’t have to wait long. The two came out and walked to a nearby vehicle. Charles waited until they had driven out of sight, then nudged Bluto. They got out of the SUV, locked it, and walked across to the building. Entering the tenant-only area presented no problem— Charles could pick a standard door lock without breaking stride. They moved down the hall to the proper door.
The door was locked with a common retail padlock. Easy breazy, thought Charles, and pulled out his tools again. It was a matter of seconds to open the lock, and voila! They were in.
Charles and Bluto looked around. Charles was not sure what he had expected, but this wasn’t it. There was a kitchen area, with a fridge, microwave, kettle, toaster, big-ass coffee maker, and some empty beer bottles and pizza boxes. On the warehouse floor, he could see a bewildering array of very scientific-looking equipment, some unidentified crates, and several pallets of what looked like supplies: water, food, camping equipment, tools, and the kits for those big metal sheds that you buy and put up yourself. Pretty good quality too. Real steel, not the tinny ones that would blow over in the first stiff breeze.
Outland (World-Lines Book 1) Page 12