We both leaned our heads back and measured the other. Maybe old King Henry said it, but I know Sherlock did. I liked the story.
Gael sat on the couch with her knees pulled to her chest. Her eyes turned inward. She went somewhere deep and I wasn’t invited.
“Hey, you still there, Doc?”
“Be quiet, I’m thinking.”
I could feel the recliner calling to me. I didn’t fight its magic. A nap was brewing. A plan or at least a place to start to build a plan was forming. The big question was why the military wasn’t all over this place. I hadn’t seen anyone of authority besides me since yesterday, and my authority ended once I left campus. Did many people die? What was keeping the Feds from storming the town and saving our backsides?
Sleep started to drag me under. I hoped the nap would help me get resolution to this major honking stress out situation.
One last tidbit of reality flashed against my drooping eyelids.
What did Gael mean, she picked me?
Chapter Three
The nap was great. I earned it. The shock was gone and I realized I’d been hiding from my responsibilities. The chat with Gael did me a lot of good, but I still needed some answers. She left a note telling me she was going to try and round up a few items and would be back before dark. About two hours of daylight remained before she’d return.
My ’72 Mercury Capri was parked in the grass beside the driveway. I worked my knuckles raw rebuilding my silver ride. Capri lived up to all my dreams. She was light, roared with her aftermarket V8, and supported the stylish factory chrome package. No sissy plastic bumpers for me.
I felt lucky and muttered “come on, baby” as I slipped the key in the ignition. Vroom—the engine roared. The small block purr was music and magic to my ears. I’d probably only seen five cars running since the event, and now my sweet girl was taking her place as duchess in a town full of peasants.
I popped the clutch and burned twin rubber tracks as first gear bit the concrete. Rye was back and on a mission.
It was a fast five blocks, even if you count dodging all the fallen power lines. I didn’t need the car. My soul ‘needed’ the car. Capri and I ground loose roadway as we took the final corner into the cafeteria service parking lot. I backed her between two dumpsters and checked my line of sight to the upper railings. If an unfriendly was still roaming the building, I’d stand a good chance of making it back to the car.
Betsy’s metal frame was riding smooth and comfortable. A couple of extra mags were stuffed into my jacket pockets along with my master keys. I told Capri to take care, and turned to face the labyrinth.
Several students were shuffling boxes and other junk around the loading dock. They were watching me as I stuck my head around the dumpster corral. I figured they were deciding if I was there for good or evil.
“Hey,” I said to the group.
Several big dudes stared me down. Others darted for the doors.
I flipped my jacket open and showed them my badge. “I’m security, Rye Ironstone.”
One girl squealed, I swear, she squealed. The big dudes brushed off their palms on beefy thighs, and took an imposing stance. Big and mean was what they were trying to present and they were doing a good job.
Biggest dude looked me up and down. “What you want?”
“Just looking around,” I said, and kept walking toward the steps which led up to the top of the dock.
My welcoming committee parted and refocused on their boxes. Whatever this group was involved in was way more important than me.
“What are you guys taking?” I asked the big guy once I neared the door.
He looked up and I recognized him as the captain of the football team. “Food. The group from yesterday missed a few boxes.”
I played dumb. “What group from yesterday?”
“A bunch of men came and took all the food and some of the equipment just after sunrise.”
Hmmm… Food, sunrise, we were getting somewhere.
I walked back a few feet and looked at a couple of boxes. Beets, tomato sauce, corn, all in number ten cans. “How much you think they took?”
Football guy relaxed and started to reorganize his labor crew. “Most all of it. We’re getting what’s left. Are we going to have problem?”
“Are you kidding, I’m glad you guys are being proactive. Let’s make a deal, okay?”
Football guy stiffened. “What deal?”
I presented my security badge again. “Feed the whole school, not just you few. I’ll see if I can round up some more food and water, and get it sent over.”
Big guy’s shoulders slumped, and I watched his face turn a little green. “Won’t be a problem. Not many people still alive.”
I felt like a heel. This guy was telling me what I should be telling him. I said a silent prayer for a cheerleader to keep him warm for the night.
**
The cafeteria building and accompanying student union were pretty clean. I only found a couple of bodies, all shot in the back as if running away. My opinion of Blondie and her crew took another drop on the respect-o-meter.
I could see obvious structural damage. Cracked support beams, chunks of walls sagging, and in many places it was obvious the electrical wiring and conduit were scorched inside the wall. Scorching was the wrong word. It looked like that red-hot branding iron thing again.
From the top floor, I could see the whole campus. The student union building with its ground floor cafeteria was built in the late fifties. Midcentury modern they called it. Lots of glass. The high angular ceiling provided me with an unobstructed view. About fifty people worked for Football Captain. A couple of guys were running a backhoe, digging a large pit in the middle of the quad. All the others formed a human train of pack mules lugging boxes and cans toward the old home economics building. Smart dude I thought. The smaller kitchen would be easier to keep secure.
The quad was messy. I counted nineteen bodies. It should have been twenty, my little voice said. Yeah, I agreed. I’d been superhero lucky to not be lying out there fertilizing the grass.
Blondie chose her firing position well. The gal cleaned up her brass, but Rye was on the case and my tenacity paid off. Lodged under a nearby planter was a lone shell casing. World War II was won because of the .30-06. It was dang cold of Blondie to have been firing the military version of those big ol’ cattle killers at unarmed coeds.
I spent a few minutes judging her accuracy and thinking about the shots she took at me. Several shots actually, all in a row. I’d bet my life it wasn’t a bolt action rifle she was using. War surplus? Garand? Ouch. Iron butterflies bounced around my gut as I remembered the wood splinters flying past my face.
I left the student U and walk across the campus. It was uneventful, if you call death and destruction uneventful. Not many people were outdoors when the buildings collapsed. Students were snuggled in beds, and the kitchen crew should have been hard at work. Alarm bells went off—ring, ring, ring. This was too big to miss. Where was the kitchen crew? I’d found two bodies in the building, but they were both students. There should have been a dozen people laboring over grease covered griddles. Why was the cafeteria parking lot empty when I parked Capri. Where were the people?
Security, where were they? I was on shift at the time. Yeah, I was locked in the basement when the power went out, but still. Two other guys were on duty last night.
I jogged over to the security office. It was still a pile of rubble, but what I wanted to see was the parking lot. My car had been home, but Jackson’s and Timbler’s trucks might still be in the lot.
Timbler’s late model Ford sat in his usual spot, but Jackson’s rusted-out Dodge was gone. The little voice started pinging questions faster than I could process. Slow down, I told myself. Think this through. Sergeant Timbler’s probably dead. He was on desk duty. Let’s check him off.
Jackson, is he alive? Did he go home after the event, or before the event? The cafeteria workers were gone too. How many people miss
ing from campus?
**
I pulled into the driveway and saw Gael trudging across her yard pulling a wagon. The little red cart was loaded with gym bags and luggage. I backed Capri into her usual spot, popped the hood, and removed the distributor cap.
“Hey, Doc,” I said. “What ya’ got in the cute little wagon?”
She winked. “It’s a surprise.”
Okay, my mystery girl liked secrets. So far she’d been nada with information. Why would I expect anything different?
She dragged the wagon to the back of the car and stood there waiting. “Let’s put it in the trunk.”
“Why?” I asked as I popped the trunk and stowed the bags.
“For later.” She parked the Radio Flyer under the stoop and turned to head upstairs. “I spoke with some guy from the government a bit ago.”
I was all ears and dashed to catch up. “Army or Feds?”
“Federal. He was friendly. It was a nice talk.” She glided up to the top, one bag in hand, and waited by the door.
My feet clopped on each tread causing the old wooden frame to shake. I unlocked the door and waved her in. “Okay, stop the tight lip stuff. Spill it, cookie.”
“It’s your turn to cook tonight,” she said, flatly ignoring my gruff.
It was time for a little talk. Yeah she was homeless. No reason to keep me out of the loop.
I poked my finger at her.
Some unearthly, demonic scream erupted from my mouth. Stars began to flutter around my eyes, and all I could think was, please don’t break my finger.
My knees went weak, and I looked up to see Dr. Gael Gale studying my face.
She gave my finger a little twist. “It’s not nice to point,” she said in her sweet grandma voice.
I hate to admit it, but peed myself. Only a little, but I did.
“You cook. I get the nap in the recliner, capisce, Mr. Ironstone?” She accentuated the ‘capisce’ with a short yank. I landed face first on the rug.
I spent a moment catching my now sucking breath. Trying to not look the fool, I did a macho pushup into a standing position.
The recliner creaked and I heard the footrest clack open. “His name is Mr. Dallas. Wouldn’t give me what office he worked for though,” she said.
I rubbed my finger and watched her spin the chair around and face the window.
“Look lady, we need to talk.” I took a couple of steps and then reached to grab the upper frame of the chair.
I didn’t see her move. Oh the pain. It was like bamboo splinters shoved up my fingers all the way to my elbow. Suddenly my arm was locked up, and I was dancing on my toes. I must have looked like a broken-wing chicken headed to the electric shock corral.
“It’s not nice to try and grab an old lady,” she said.
Dang, I couldn’t believe she was still working the helpless old lady routine. I kept dancing. A last soaring rocket of pain brought rainbow tears to my eyes. I felt her shift her grip and figured the worst was over. Nope. The next thing I knew, I was somersaulting across the coffee table and landed on the couch.
I shifted to a sitting position and brushed my palm against Betsy but though better of it and looked up to see Gael’s little silver pistol nestled in her lap.
My ego was hurt and my wrist smarted. Gael moved up about a hundred points in my opinion. Ol’ Rye Ironstone is pretty tough, and I can respect someone who tosses me around like a limp fish. I was more intrigued than hurt.
“Truce?” I mumbled from clenched teeth.
“What’s for dinner?”
I liked her.
**
Dinner was bachelor spectacular. Grilled steak with rice and sautéed onions is one of my favorites. Besides, the stuff in the freezer was starting to get a little soft.
It took me half an hour to get the food on the table, and as I cooked, I told Gael about my day. We bounced a couple of ideas concerning the cafeteria workers, but got nowhere. The best we could figure was the kitchen staff cleared out early before the church group arrived. I wasn’t sure. I grew up in a dirt-poor part of town and remembered how steady jobs like cafeteria worker were good career choices for women who took care of children in the afternoons. Let’s just say, I had doubts.
“Tell me about your Mr. Dallas,” I said as we both cleaned the dishes.
Gael wiped the plates and stacked them in the cubby over the sink. “He was nice, expensive suit.”
“Expensive suit, why is that important?” I finished rinsing the sink and turned to lean against the counter.
“He orders people around for a living. I used to have a government position and a quick way to see where the bureaucrat falls in the pecking order is their suit. Cheap polyester and you have middle management. Worsted wool and you’ve moved up a couple of rungs. Custom tailor and they’re a Director. He was definitely from the higher level.”
I scratched my head to chase away the two-days-without-a-shower itches.” What did he say happened? Does he know anything about the bombs? What agency was he from? Did he tell you what to do or where to go for help? Is it safe to stay here?”
Gael took a seat at the small two-chair kitchen table and opened the gym bag she’d brought in earlier. “Cupcake?”
“Heck yeah.” I plopped down across from her and held out my hand for the highly processed chocolate confection. My fingers wiggled with anticipation as I opened the wrapper.
“You’re easily distracted,” Gael said.
“What?” I asked, shoving an oversized bite into my mouth. Sticky icing made my lips smack. “Distracted? Not me. We were talking about Mr. Dallas.”
“Mr. Dallas said the town was quarantined.”
“Why?”
“Something about a death ray.”
Her eyes twinkled when she said death ray. I’m not kidding.
I stared at her as I continued sucking chocolate fudge from my fingertips. “I think you win the news of the day contest.”
“Hardly, your amorous telling of Blondie the Norse Goddess and her prowess with a rifle still ranks the highest.”
“Got another cupcake?”
“How about a Twinkie instead?”
I about fell out of the chair. Cupcakes and Twinkies. Life with this woman was good. It’s almost as if.
I put the Twinkie on the table. “You’re playing me.”
“Why would you say that?”
The chocolate was still sticking to my teeth and one persistent spot kept attracting the attention of my tongue. I decided to change up the conversation. “You planning to spend the night?”
“Of course, we’re a team now.”
Not the answer I was looking for. I could handle the staying another night, but this team stuff was a bit on the odd side.
Gael reached in her bag and pulled out a chilled bottle of beer. The fancy green bottle stuff they drank in the yuppie TV commercials. I could see little beads of condensation dripping on the table.
My eyes narrowed. “No thanks, I’ve an early morning.”
“The limit is booze?” Gael set the bottle on the table and popped the top with her thumb.
I didn’t catch the thumb thing at first, but a couple of days later it made a lot of sense.
I snatched the Twinkie and ripped the package open. “What limit have I reached, and while we’re at it, what do you mean when you said you picked me?”
Gael took a sip of the beer. “You and me, a team to get through the apocalypse.”
The finger twist thing she’d done earlier leapt to mind. I decided it was prudent to keep my composure. “Yeah. A team thing. For the apocalypse, if you say so.”
“Good. Now we’re a team, here’s the plan.”
I realized I pulled the losing lottery ticket. My sweet housemate was a master player. Before long she’d have the bed, and I’d be sleeping in the backseat of the car. “Tell ya’ what. You tell me the plan, and I’ll decide if I’m in.”
“Fair enough,” Gael said. “Mr. Dallas wants us to go to the chu
rch breakfast tomorrow and poke around. It seems they’re having trouble getting men and equipment past some weird weapons. The death ray thing, you know.”
The term ‘weird weapons’ stuck in my mind like the lump of chocolate still plaguing my tongue. “Death ray weird?” I set the unfinished half of the Twinkie back on the table. “How weird are we talking?”
Gael took another sip and set the bottle down. “He didn’t give me all the information, but what I could get was the army was staging a few miles outside of town. Every time they try to move close, some kind of electrical pulse blows up their vehicles and troops”
The million dollar question banged like a cheap Chinese restaurant gong. “How did Mr. Dallas get into town?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“What?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Oh come on. He tells you a death ray is frying people like Old Sparky at the state capital, and you weren’t curious how he got to be in town?”
“No,” Gael said as she took another sip of beer.
I considered risking the finger poke again.
Gael gently rolled her amber eyes and gave me a million-dollar fashion magazine smile. “We should leave at seven. You’re driving. My car is a little under the weather.”
**
I left the apartment feeling less than fulfilling from my conversation with Gael, and took refuge in my chair under the tree in the front yard. Gael passed by and walked to the back of her lot before disappearing behind some tall bushes. The sunset afterglow was lending a nice orange to the sky.
I liked the mountains. Home in Oklahoma was flat. It was difficult imagining what a mountain would look like. The national geographic magazine in the library helped, but seeing mountains in person changed me.
My last year of high school was painful. Dad’s health was failing. The truck stop Granddad started was failing and with Dad’s death, the bank called the note. Mom could barely earn enough money to keep the place going. I took to the road and figured the army would be my best option. But life got in the way. Something about a crooked back, flat feet, and maybe a non-passing grade on the psych evaluation. All I know is, I showed up for boot camp and the next thing I knew I was on a bus headed outside the main gate. Some muscle-swollen sergeant put five bills my hand and literally kicked my backside off base.
Rye Ironstone: Mother Tesla's Death Ray Page 3