“Okay, cool. Thanks!” Dre said, resuming his verbal flood, this time aiming it at the girls.
Slayer looked at Diesel and rolled his eyes while they went back to the trailer for more wire.
Diesel laughed. “Better them than us.”
The new guy, Redfall, wanted the girls to construct the two-hundred-square-foot awning and place it over the soon-to-be-bonfire location to keep the fire burning in the rain.
They were planning to melt the casing from the wire, leaving them with pure copper. Redfall and G were going to use the wire as conductive lashing material in and around the pile of forty-three metal screens Wicks had saved from the window upgrades a few years ago.
The team had also dug around the scrapyard out back and searched the storage room, finding a number of other items that could be used to build makeshift Faraday Cages: metal garbage cans, aluminum siding, sheet metal, aluminum foil, Mylar bags, duct tape, an old metal file cabinet, poultry fencing, chicken wire, an old microwave oven, a rusted metal drum, half a spindle of 14-gauge, galvanized tracer wire, and some other odds and ends.
The plan was to construct shielding around their sensitive equipment to protect it from a burst of microwave. Slayer wasn’t sure if he believed everything he’d heard about the red rain and its intended purpose, but he told Wicks he’d man up and contribute in any way he could.
“You seen Dixie?” Diesel asked him a minute later, after they’d hauled the third coil to the bonfire pile.
“Nope. I’m sure she’s around. Probably drooling over the new guy. I think she has a crush on Redfall. Have you seen the way she smiles whenever he’s around?”
“I hadn’t noticed. Isn’t he a little too old for her?”
“Yeah, but try explaining that to a girl when she’s all gaga over some dude. Especially a famous one, at that.”
“I don’t know if I’d say he’s famous.”
“Well, his wife is, sort of. And he wrote a book. That qualifies.”
“I guess,” Diesel added, grunting to lift the last coil from the trailer.
They hauled it to the pile, then stood back with arms folded, watching Kat, Jazz, and Dre finish securing the last leg of the covering.
Next up would be the kindling and starter logs to get the coals going before the wire could be cooked.
“Do you think it’s tall enough?” Jazz asked Slayer, looking up at the canopy.
“Should be. With those leg extensions, that’s what, twenty feet?”
“We should cut reliefs in the top,” Dre said, pointing at the center.
“To let the smoke out?” Slayer asked.
“Yeah. It’ll be toxic when the casing melts.”
“Good idea,” Slayer said, turning to Diesel. “Where’s that ladder we were using yesterday?”
“I’ll get it. It’s around back by the old camper.”
Slayer leaned in close to Diesel’s ear and whispered, “Hey, no stopping in there to rub one out like last Saturday. I moved your smut mags yesterday so Wicks wouldn’t find them. You gotta be more careful.”
Diesel’s face turned a deep red color, but he didn’t say anything.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Simon waited for Wicks to unzip the rifle bag containing the hunting rifle Slayer used for small game. She pulled it out and gave it to him. It was an older model .22 long rifle—wood stock, bolt-action, with signs of extensive use.
“It was my grandfather’s,” she said.
“Looks like it,” he said, opening the bolt and checking the condition of the chamber, then inspecting the barrel and the rest of the weapon. “When was the last time anyone cleaned this?”
“Slayer is supposed to do that. Didn’t he?”
“Doesn’t look like it. If nothing else, he should run a bore snake through it with a few drops of cleaner after every hunt. Then I’d suggest a complete breakdown and thorough cleaning every five. I’m not sure I’d rely on this rifle for much, other than to hunt the occasional rabbit. What else do you have?”
“Wyatt didn’t leave us much when he left. He knew I wasn’t into the whole gun thing, so he took most of the other stuff,” she answered, opening the wall safe in the corner and grabbing a plain rectangular box from inside. She gave it to him. “I think Grandpa was saving this for something.”
Simon opened the box and found a pristine .44 magnum revolver wrapped in a protective cloth. Under it was a certificate of authenticity with a stamped number and signature on it. The number said two-hundred-twelve.
“Wow, I’ve never seen one of these. It’s absolutely gorgeous.”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever shot it.”
Simon could see why. “I’ll say this, your grandfather had great taste. This is an original Elmer Keith .44 magnum. A rare collectable.”
“Who’s Elmer Keith?”
Simon took the revolver out of the box and held it in his palm, testing its weight and balance. It was heaven in his hand. “He’s known as Mister Magnum. The inventor of the .44 magnum and famous for his 600-yard shot at a mule deer with an early model of this handgun. I can’t believe Wyatt didn’t take this one, too.”
“Well, we don’t have any bullets for it. He likes to shoot things and when there’s no ammo, there’s no boom-boom. I’m sure that’s why he left it behind.”
“Where’s your ammo stock?”
“On the top shelf over there. Only three boxes.”
Simon eyes found the boxes from a distance. He now understood G’s snide remark earlier about their weapons cache—they didn’t have one.
He moved to the shelf and inspected the ammo. Inside the first box was about 300 rounds of 22 long rifle. Box number two contained 33 rounds of .22 rimfire shorts, and the last held .44 specials—he counted five of them—hollow points.
Diesel showed up.
So did Dixie, all dressed up and decked out, chewing on a length of her hair while staring at Simon.
“Fire’s burning, Red,” Diesel said, sliding in next to Redfall. “Slayer’s helping Kat and Jazz melt the casing from the wire. Looks like it won’t take long. It’s making a lot of smoke, though. Can probably see it clear to the next county. I keep expecting the fire department to show up to see what’s going on.”
Simon turned to Wicks, ignoring Diesel’s comment for the moment. “You do realize .44 specials can be used in a .44 magnum, right?”
“No, I didn’t know that. So we do have ammo?”
“Well, not much. Five rounds won’t go far,” he said, holding both a single .44 and .22 round in his hand.
Then an idea came to him. He looked at Diesel. “Do you have a drill press in your workshop?”
“Yeah, two of them. Why?”
“What about drill bits? Any metal?”
“Oh yeah, got tons of them. Plus I have a bit sharpener, too. What do ya need?”
Simon gave Diesel the .22 short. “A metal bit that’s a hair bigger than the diameter of this round.”
“Okay, but for what?”
Simon held up the .44 special, pointing at the inverted tip. “You see how the tip of the bullet is recessed?”
“Yep. A hollow point.”
Simon moved his finger down the casing. “I want you to use the drill press and bore it out down the middle to about here. It must be perfectly straight and not too deep. You don’t want to drill through to the powder, otherwise it’s useless. Just drill deep enough so that we can take the .22, turn it around, and stick it inside.”
“Okay, then what?”
“You should be able to twist it in about a quarter turn to hold it into place. It needs to be deep enough so it only protrudes out about an eighth of an inch beyond the end of the .44. It can’t stick out too far; otherwise, when it’s loaded into the cylinder it won’t be able to slip past the forcing cone. The idea here is to use the revolver’s available chamber space beyond the shorter .44 special for the .22 short’s rim to stick out and lead the way downrange.”
“I don’t understand. Wha
t’s that gonna to do?” Dixie asked.
Diesel answered her, wearing a smile. “He wants me to make an exploding bullet.”
Simon was pleased—the kid was sharp and caught on quickly. “He’s correct. The .22 short is a rimfire cartridge, meaning hard contact anywhere around the rim will set it off. By turning it around and sticking it inside the nose of the hollow point, we are in effect making an explosive round.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. When the .44 is fired, it’ll travel downrange with the .22 stuck inside the main projectile. When the bullet hits something hard, like bone, the rim of the .22 will make contact and fire, sending its bullet the opposite way, penetrating the lead of the .44. That reverse action will make the .44 bullet explode.”
“That’s pretty damn cool,” Diesel said, picking up the revolver, too. “Looks pretty easy. Shouldn’t take long.”
“The key is to drill down perfectly straight and not too deep. We only have five of these, so no mistakes.”
“I got it. No worries, Red. I’ll take it slow and stop as soon as it’s deep enough to slip past the forcing cone.”
“Excellent. It’ll help maximize what we have for defense.”
“Uh, correct me if I’m wrong, but making exploding bullets can’t be legal,” Wicks said.
“No, it’s not. In fact, it’s a federal offense. But let’s face it, if we’re correct and a microwave burst is going to bring society to its knees, a new world order will rise in its place.”
She blinked, but didn’t say anything.
Simon changed tactics, searching for a better way to get his point across to Wicks, who was staring with deep interest.
“Look at it this way, Wicks. After the burst takes out most of the electronics, society will be forced to do a hard reboot. When that happens, survival will take on its own momentum and rhythm, if you will. The rules will change as governments fall and social order quickly turns to chaos. At that point, it’ll be every man for himself. And that includes the politicians, law enforcement, judges, and attorneys. Everyone will be too busy fending for themselves and their families to give a shit about what we are doing way out here. Trust me, at that point, nobody will care if we have a handful of explosive rounds.”
“I see your point,” Wicks said, pinching her lips. “But I’m still not sure about this. I don’t like the idea of killing anyone, and correct me if I’m wrong, but these bullets are designed to do just that.”
“Well, yes and no. We could fire them at a car door or body armor, assuming it’s a metal plate or ceramic. The explosion won’t kill, but it will certainly get someone’s attention. It might just give us the time we need to escape, assuming we need a diversion.”
“Okay, I like that idea better. Go ahead, Diesel. Make the bullets for Red.”
“You got it, boss,” the kid said, taking the rounds and gun with him when he left the room.
“Can I help with something?” Dixie asked Simon.
“Sure. What can you do?” he asked, remembering how skillfully she cut his hair and gave him a straight razor shave.
“Well, I’m really good with my hands,” she said in a coy voice, tilting her head and giving him a gentle smile. She ran a fingertip across his forearm.
“I see,” Simon said, feeling a rush of embarrassment. He pulled his arm back, realizing his assumption earlier about why she’d dressed up when they first met in the kitchen was dead-on. He needed to diffuse her hormones.
“How about we all go down to see how G’s doing with the shielding? I’m sure he needs lots of help. You know, people with good hands.”
Her smile disappeared. “That’s not what I meant.”
“He knows what you meant, Dixie,” Wicks said, turning to Redfall. “Don’t take offense. She really didn’t mean it.”
“Oh my God. How embarrassing!” Dixie snapped, turning and storming out of the room.
“Sorry about that, Simon.”
“No worries. She’s young and impetuous,” he said, secretly appreciating the ego boost. It wasn’t often a middle-aged man caught the eye of a young girl. But he’d never go there. Ever.
“Still, that shouldn’t have happened,” Wicks added.
“Like I said, no big deal. But I do have to ask. Earlier you said that everyone at Pandora has special skills. I know Dixie is a hair stylist and is clearly into fashion, but is that all?”
“She’s also our nutrition and fitness guru. Someone has to watch over everyone’s health and cardio, two things that most camps forget about.”
“G? Fitness?”
“Well, sort of. He tries.”
“That, I’ve got to see.”
“Plus Dixie’s a genius in the garden. Talk about a green thumb.”
“I never would’ve guessed that.”
Wicks put her hands on her hips, changing the tone of her voice to one of sarcasm. “It takes more than a day or two to get to know everyone, Red. Gotta give it some time.”
“You’re right. What about the shy girl, Kat?”
“She takes care of all the animals. I swear she can hear their thoughts sometimes. She wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up, though I think she already is. I’ve seen her perform some pretty amazing surgeries. The animals are lucky to have her, and so are we.”
He nodded, impressed. “Sounds like you have a fine crew. You should be proud.”
“Thanks, Simon. I try. But as they all get older, it’s getting a lot harder to keep everyone happy.”
He smiled, letting his eyes soften. “Welcome to the world of leadership. Like you said, gotta give it some time.”
She shot a grin back, but didn’t respond.
“Let’s go see how G’s doing,” he told her, wrapping a loose arm around her shoulder and leading her out of the room.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Simon pushed his hand against the ceiling of the basement to hold the wire mesh in place as Diesel anchored a screw with a cordless Makita drill. It only took a few seconds to zip all four corners into place.
The rest of Pandora’s team was split into two groups. The first was working outside to finish burning the casing off from the copper wire, and the other was in the basement, helping with the shielding installation along the walls and ceiling in G’s computer lab.
“Make sure there are no gaps. We need 100% coverage. Floor, ceiling, and walls,” he told the group. “Then we’ll lash it all together with the copper once the girls are done up there. Remember, if we miss a spot, it’ll act like a slot antenna and the waves will penetrate. So take your time and keep it tight.”
“But some of these screens aren’t perfectly straight. There’s gonna be some seams. Nothing I can do about that,” Wicks reported.
“Just get them as close together as possible. We’ll mask the seams with the foil duct tape to complete the coverage. Then we’ll double the lashing wire around the entry door. It’ll work, trust me.”
Young Dre walked in the basement whistling a happy tune. His hands were carrying a pair of 35mm cameras with flash units attached to the top of the camera body.
“Hey, Simon. I have an idea. Can you help?” Dre asked.
“I’m a little busy right now, Dre. Can you wait a few?”
“Go ahead,” Wicks told Simon quietly, holding a length of screen next to him. “He’s not gonna stop asking until you do. I’ve got this.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. It might be something important. Go see what he wants. Just remember to be gentle and take your time with him. The littlest thing can really set him off.”
Simon nodded, stepping down the ladder and planting his feet next to Dre. “What’s up, little buddy?”
“I was thinking there must be some way to use the capacitors in these old cameras to make a Taser. You know, like a spy would do. What do ya think?”
“Yes, improvised weaponry is one of the most important tools of a skilled operator. Those of us in the trades call it lateral thinking. Very good, Dre
.”
“Ah, thanks. I just thought of it right now. I was, like, well, thinking that there’s a lot of stored energy in these flashes and, uh, we should be able to redirect the power somehow and boom, I could make a zapper. Just wanted to run it by you first to make sure I’m doing it right.”
Simon checked the room. Everyone’s eyes were on him and Dre, making him feel like a first-year college professor who was fighting down nerves as he prepared to deliver his inaugural class.
“Now, before you do anything, Dre, make sure the batteries are out and you drain the flash. The capacitor needs to be empty or you’ll run the risk of zapping yourself. And we don’t want that, now do we?”
“No sir. We don’t. Good safety tip,” Dre answered, prying the back of the flash assembly open. A second later he took the four AA batteries out and began pressing the manual flash button over and over until the unit stopped blasting light. “Okay, done, But I’m seeing spots,” he said, blinking rapidly.
Wicks laughed. So did G.
Simon let out a smile, but quickly squashed it. “Next time, turn the flash away to protect your eyes. Especially after dark, when it’s important to always keep one eye closed so you don’t compromise your night vision. Now dig into the unit’s electrical and find the two wires leading from the battery terminal to the capacitor, and then follow it to the contacts on the flash.”
The wide-eyed youngster made quick work of the flash housing, his hands moving right along with the instructions as they flew from Simon’s mouth.
“Yes, those two,” Simon said, pointing an index finger. “ Now carefully remove the ends of the wires from the flash, then reattach to the metal connectors on the bottom of the mount. The same place where it would be slotted into to the camera. Each wire must attach to a different location so we complete a circuit.”
“Like that?” Dre asked, working only an instant behind Simon’s verbal commands. “Did I do it right? Please tell me I did! Did I?”
Redfall: Freedom Fighters (American Prepper Series Book 2) Page 7