by Nova
Being off the asphalt was a lot better in some ways. Less heat, I noticed. But in other ways it wasn’t. Where the bikes had torn up the trail, you had to be more careful with your footing, especially when you got tired. I didn’t want to be the one to twist an ankle and delay Night from getting to her shower.
About two hours later we faded into the woods when we heard the whine of motorcycles coming up fast. We were on the power lines so I wasn’t surprised. What did surprise me were the riders—just a couple of teenagers racing along the path, going way too fast and enjoying the hell out of it. One of them had a girl on the back wearing a visorless helmet. Her grin was delightful, even from a distance.
It was a bit surreal seeing them, a reminder that there was still a world out there that lived, at least partly, in the old reality.
We weren’t clicking off the miles. The main reason was that we had to freeze and fade three or four times a day. We did it for light planes, helicopters, bikers, and Movers that we didn’t want to deal with. Plus, we moved with the cover. Not a lot of straight paths to follow.
We learned the rudiments of land navigation using a compass. Ninja turned out to be a natural at it. We also learned the correct way to walk a hill line or rise. Basically, it came down to not silhouetting yourself. That part was easy. Online gaming had been good training for some of this stuff.
Days ago I had asked Max, “Why didn’t we bring a GPS?”
His reply made sense. “Because I didn’t want to raise a bunch of tech cripples.”
It was the same reason none of us had cell phones. With cell phones you had the added bonus of becoming a beacon for trackers. I knew Ninja still had his iPod in the hope that someday he could put a charge on it. He’d have to be somewhere safe enough that he could relax enough to listen to it.
The Burners had a point. What use were half the electronics we owned other than being delivery systems for addictions to that all-consuming product?
We moved on. The next three days were rather uneventful. On the third day we started running parallel to a county highway.
The biggest excitement came when I disturbed a water moccasin that was sunning itself on a rock in a creek bed. It scared the living crap out of me. I was lucky. It decided not to be aggressive and faded back into the water. They can be mean. I have thrown rocks at them to chase them away and had them decide to chase me away. They usually won, unless I was feeling especially ornery. I really hate snakes.
Our pickup place was an abandoned gas station off the same county road we had been paralleling for the last day. We had camped within half a mile of it the night before.
Max disappeared around 0400 hours to take a look at the place. Before he left he told us what it looked like, how we would approach it, and where we would meet if we had to run. I hoped we wouldn’t have to. I was really looking forward to that shower.
Tommy, Max’s buddy from the marines, was supposed to be there every morning at 0630 for the next week. He would chalk a X on the wall of the gas station if he had been by. A circle meant go away and find a way to contact him.
We came up behind the gas station about an hour early. There was a little patch of brush and trees about a hundred yards from the station. We would stay there while Max went to wait for Tommy. We sat around, not speaking, watching the sun come up. Before he left, Max gave me the Barrett.
“Hopefully, we won’t need it,” I told him.
“Better not,” Night answered for him, “or we are checking into a motel for the night.” I was beginning to think the woman had a shower fetish.
About forty-five minutes later we saw an old pickup truck with a shell on the back pull in. I recognized the truck. It was Tommy’s, and it looked like he was alone. Then Max whistled. I sent the others in while I broke down the Barrett and wrapped it up. No point in advertising that we had quality toys.
Everyone was in the truck by the time I got there: Max in front, Night and Ninja in the back. I jumped in back and Tommy pulled slowly away. His muffler had gotten worse since the last time I’d ridden with him.
Once he hit the county road, he slid open the back window and yelled over his shoulder, “Damn, you sure got uglier. I didn’t think that was possible.”
I flipped him off. “Fix your muffler, Billy Bob!”
He grinned. “Yeah, maybe I will when they start making parts again.” He turned back to say something to Max, and I stretched out in the truck bed, elbowing Ninja to make space, and tried to fall asleep.
Our arrival was uneventful. Nothing much had changed since the last time I had been here. Tommy’s kids came out to meet us. It was kind of cool to see them again. Not only did they remember me, but they also seemed happy to see me, in that shy way little kids have. We did the introduction thing and went up to his house to catch up on things.
To my delight, there was my old good nurse, Donna, who had been babysitting the kids, putting breakfast on the table. Real coffee, pancakes, and eggs. Syrup, too! My sweet tooth went into overdrive. I was really wolfing them down when it registered that the table had gone quiet.
I looked up from my plate and saw everyone grinning at me. “What?” I asked. Not waiting for an answer, I went back to eating and they went back to talking.
Night slipped into the kitchen to talk to Donna. She came back, grabbed her pack and went upstairs without looking back. I was torn for a second. What to do: Eat pancakes with syrup or join Night for a shower?
The pancakes won.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I tuned back in when Tommy started talking about what was going on around the new homestead. He was having problems. I listened for a bit and realized that Tommy couldn’t handle his neighbors.
Then again, from the sound of it, neither could anyone else in town. Oh, there were exceptions. Apparently there were a couple of guys in town who had been let go from the army when they did the great downsize.
I didn’t quite understand what he was saying here. Something about it not just being them; it was the family network they were born into. Apparently they had a shitload of homicidal kinfolk that they could call upon somewhere in the Appalachian Mountains. Or nearby trailer parks. Or the next town.
Yet it didn’t ring true. If so, where were they? I didn’t hear any mention of these kinfolk actually being spotted. I could picture them easily enough: white trash tweaker heads who needed to call going to a wedding by its real name—a family reunion.
I had run across a few of those peckerheads in my time. Never any obvious muscle to them, but, just like Juan from tortilla land, they could work all day. Forget fist fighting with them. You had to kill them. They were smart in a sly way. If prison or drugs didn’t get them, then the Lord did. We got along well together the few times I had to hang with them. Usually it was because Mother had landed us in a neighborhood infested with them.
Tommy’s neighbors, the McKinleys, were trying to fill the power vacuum left by the resignation of the local police. Funny how if you didn’t pay them and provide health benefits, the police just didn’t want to die protecting your F-150 from part strippers.
The evil McKinleys consisted of Ma, Pa, and two boys. One boy was a bit “slow” and the other was a nut job with issues. Supposedly he was married, but his wife had fled with their three kids two months ago. So the boys were living at home, probably back in the same rooms they had grown up in. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had the same posters on the wall. My guess was Nut Job had one of Pamela Anderson. She was probably still considered hot around here.
The family also had heavy equipment that still worked. The old man was the only way people got snow removed from the side roads and the main road in town. There were locals with plows on their trucks or tractors. As long as they stuck to their driveways and service roads, then the McKinley family left them alone.
But try to plow a road in what Pa McKinley called “the Franchise” and you would come out one morning and find your vehicle didn’t run anymore. Push the issue and somebody would
find your body slumped over the wheel. They only had to go that far once. It was enough.
The McKinleys got their franchise because folks couldn’t be sure the county and state would show up anymore. The county crews would still plow, but they wanted cash or something of equal value before they showed up. Little towns with out-of-the-way roads were especially vulnerable to this. Tommy’s little town had had all of its snow removing equipment repossessed three years ago.
Every year the McKinleys got a little more out of control, so people tried to tread lightly around them. If not for the reason that they liked driving on plowed roads, then because Pa and the boys would beat the crap out of you, given the right incentive. Nowadays, not kissing their ass correctly was incentive enough.
It was typical small-town politics played out in the absence of any organized and armed authority to put a to stop it. A few frayed threads of morality and civil responsibility were the only things keeping events from getting really ugly. That and the possibility that what was happening to the local and state governments was temporary. They didn’t want to push too hard, since no one wanted to explain to Homeland Security how so-and-so ended up dead, nor who was probably collecting and pocketing the tax money.
Tommy saved the best for last, as far as I was concerned. The nut job McKinley boy had taken a shine to Donna and had begun dropping by her place. He would also come by Tommy’s when he saw her car there. After all, they were neighbors. Apparently Tommy’s idea of discouraging him had been to hide her car in the garage. So far that had yielded mixed success. It sounded like Nut Job was not big on no. His type never was.
We moved outside and sat around on the porch. Night came down from taking her shower smelling good. Real good. It just emphasized how bad the rest of us reeked of sweat.
It was pleasant to see Donna again, but it was also a bit uncomfortable. I was happy that she and Night seemed to be getting along so far. At least there were no obvious claws yet.
They were both Asian, but as Night had reminded me—the last time with a smack upside the head—all Asians were not the same. I was really glad I had choked back what was in my head, which was “But you all look alike.”
Seeing them side-by-side I could see a difference. Night was Chinese while Donna was a Filipina. Different body types and facial features. I was starting to go down some X-rated hallways when Max snapped me back to reality.
“Okay. Since we are together I thought we might talk about what we’re going to do.”
Oh, damn, I could already feel myself going numb and we had just started. I hated meetings. I also was not thrilled about the glare Night was shooting me. Shit. I sat up straighter and tried to look interested.
I managed to feign interest for about thirty minutes before I began to get restless. I really did not care about planting grains or deciding which were the best. I’d give it fifteen more minutes and then I was gone. I would deal with Night’s hissy fit later. Hey, I never even touched Donna!
“I want to burn the farmhouse and outbuildings,” Max was saying, “which means we’re going to have to talk to Mr. McKinley.”
“That should be fun,” I added. That was just to let everyone know I was listening and involved in the conversation. It didn’t stop Night from rolling her eyes. She was really immature sometimes.
I left the meeting when they went back to talking about cattle, goats, and chickens. Night and I had the trailer to bunk in. We were sharing it with Ninja, who had the other bedroom. He could charge his iPod but he still had no computer access, other than the half hour or so he could get on Tommy’s computer each day.
I didn’t even bother to ask Tommy for time on it. I realized I really didn’t care if I was on the Internet. There just wasn’t anything out there that interested me anymore.
I walked across the yard and into the trailer. I suppose I could have found some chores to do but I didn’t feel like it. I had figured out pretty quickly the last time I was here that I wasn’t a farmer, nor did I want to be. Instead I sat down in the living room and cleaned my guns. I enjoyed doing that. Plus, it looked like I might be using them soon.
At this point I had the shotgun, my Vaquero, and a black powder Colt 1851 Navy revolver. I loved that gun but I was really unsure about it. I had fired it in the backyard a couple weeks before we left. It had been in Jake’s armory. I had noticed it and instantly lusted after it, more so than his later generation Colts. Much to my surprise, he had given it to me.
It felt better in my hand than the Vaquero. It wasn’t as accurate, nor did it have the range or punch. It also was not a gun you could reload in a hurry. You could supposedly swap out the cylinders, but the only way I saw that happening was if you called for a timeout. Not going to happen in the middle of a shootout.
I had been carrying it in my pack unloaded. Now I decided to load it. It beat digging holes in hard-pack clay. I had to go on the Internet the first time to get instructions on loading. Afterward, I understood why cartridges were such a huge improvement in the technology for killing people. It was obvious to me every time I measured out the powder, loaded the ball, greased it, and set the caps.
I was working on the Colt when Night came in.
“Hey,” I said.
She didn’t reply. She just stood there in the door. I raised an eyebrow.
“Max wants to talk to you back at the house in about fifteen minutes.”
“Yeah. Any idea about what?”
“My guess is it’s about the same thing that has you cleaning your guns.” She sat down on the couch next to me.
“So what did I miss?”
She summarized and I half-listened while I finished up the Colt. Then she sat there and silently watched me.
Out of nowhere she asked, “Did you fuck your nurse while you were here?”
I had been sitting there, tracing the engraving on the Colt with my fingernail, letting my mind idle when she dropped that verbal bomb. I set the gun down gently on the coffee table and turned to face her.
“No.”
“Would you have?”
Damn. I really wish she had been content with a simple no. Now I had to decide whether to lie. I may be a lot of things but I am not a liar.
“No.”
I am also not stupid.
She cocked her head, looked at me, and let it pass. “Don’t ever lie to me or cheat on me. You understand?”
I nodded my head.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
She kissed me slowly and pulled away. “Go see Max. Your time is up.”
I walked back to the house feeling like I had just gotten married.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Max was waiting for me on the porch, eating peanuts and sitting in the old rocking chair that I liked. I sat down next to him and propped my boots up on the railing. He rocked and I sat for about five minutes before he said anything.
“You know, I don’t really like farming.”
“Yep. I don’t either.”
“But you got to do what you got to do.”
“Isn’t that ‘A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do’?”
He flicked a peanut shell at me. “I got my lines. Get your own.”
“So, what time tomorrow?”
“Well, I say early, but not too early. Don’t want to catch them at breakfast and get them all upset before we even get acquainted.”
“Yeah, that might be counterproductive.”
“Then again, we got chores to do and I want to get moving on this as soon as possible. You know how to drive heavy equipment?”
“Nope. Can’t be all that hard, pardner.”
He laughed. Then he laughed some more. “Yeah, I’m getting the same vibe. You think you can get your ass out of bed and be ready to go by 0830?”
“Yeah. Leave me some of the peanuts.”
He handed me the rest of the bag, stood up and stretched, and walked back into the house. I swore I heard spurs jangling as he did.
I woke up around 0730 the next morning. Night had already left. We both usually got up around 0530, sometimes earlier. Since I had an appointment I had decided to sleep in. Plus, she had kept me up late. Not that I minded.
I rolled out of bed and hit the bathroom. I spent a little longer than usual. “Look good, feel good” was my motto. I figured it gave me a little more of an edge.
I brewed up a couple cups of coffee and cleaned my guns. No vest and shotgun for this. We didn’t want to present an overly threatening appearance and get their backs up right away. I skipped breakfast, just in case. I didn’t want anything in my stomach. Plus, I usually was hungry afterward. At the last minute I slipped the Navy Revolver in my belt.
At 0815 I walked over to the house. Max was waiting. He was sitting in the same position I had seen him in last night. I didn’t bother to sit down.
“You ready?” he asked. We both knew it was a rhetorical question.
He was wearing jeans, a ball cap, and a long shirt. I knew he had his .45 under it. He looked like he had grown up here. I looked like I always did—like I was from somewhere else. He set his ball cap so it felt right on his head, stood up, and stretched. Well, it was more of a half-stretch. He cut it off when he saw the Navy.
“You got to be kidding.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
“Nope. Don’t worry. I got a plan.”
“Well, I hope it doesn’t include that ancient piece of hardware. Jesus, Gardener. You worry me with this retro shit sometimes.”
We were going to walk to the McKinley farmhouse. Hell, it was less than half a mile if we cut across the fields. The heat wasn’t bad this early in the morning. It was probably less than ninety degrees, and the humidity was about the same. I waited until we had cleared the main house area and jumped the fence before asking Max the question that had been puzzling me.
“What’s up with your boy, Tommy? I thought he was one of those supermarines.”
“Yeah, good question. We talked around it a bit. The short answer is he doesn’t have it in him anymore.” He paused. “It happens.”