American Apocalypse Wastelands

by Nova

  Max walked out and stood in the middle of the yard about twenty feet back from the berm entrance, waiting for them. They arrived in two black Chevy Suburbans, the three-quarter-ton model—the SUV of choice for nine out of nine Homeland Security-equipped agencies. The blue lights on the dashboard confirmed it.

  The lead vehicle stopped about a foot short of Max. He didn’t flinch. In fact, he looked bored.

  They had the windows down and guys sitting in the sideways Secret Service-style seats looking out. The rear doors opened on each side of the lead vehicle. From the left-side passenger door a white male stepped out wearing a blue T-shirt with POLICE printed in white on the back. His handgun rode high on his hip.

  Two seconds later, another male stepped out from the opposite side. He was wearing a white dress shirt and black dress pants. He had his weapon in a black leather FBI-style holster. While the other guy had on tan boots, this guy wore dress shoes—wing tips would be my guess. He had to be management.

  The passenger doors opened on the other vehicle, but nobody exited. The two who had just gotten out didn’t bother to shut their doors.

  “Hey, Max! Everything cool?” Wing Tips called out.

  Max walked around to meet him. “Yep, so far, Sheriff.”

  Police T-shirt had circled around and was now standing behind Max. I was not thrilled about that. Max did not even seem to notice.

  The sheriff held up his hands. “It’s cool, Max. How do you want to do this?”

  “Why don’t you unload what you brought and we will see what we can do.”

  He nodded. “Sounds good. My people are going to get out of the vehicles and start unloading. I want to do this quickly. We have approximately one hour and ten minutes before the next drones pass. I want to be five miles east of here by then. Where do you want it?”

  “Stack it by the stairs going up to the porch. That would be fine.”

  “Alright, people! Let’s unload.” He walked over and stood next to Max. “After this, maybe we can be more civilized the next time. You know, you could invite me up on the porch, and we could drink something cold and talk shit for a while.”

  “Yep. Right now let’s talk about what you got coming off the truck.”

  The sheriff sighed. “Okay, man. This hardcore thing is going to make you old before your time.” He nodded toward the first crate two guys were bringing out. “You can keep the crates. We made them special for this at no extra charge.”

  Max just stared at him.

  “Okay, moving on.” He looked at the taller of the two guys at the crate. “Pop the top, and let’s do show-and-tell.”

  The guy walked back to the SUV and returned with a short pry bar. I really dislike the sound of wood and nails being separated.

  “What I got for you, Max, is old. Everything is old. It’s functional to the best of my knowledge, but what you are getting is armory clearance stuff. The Feds won’t support it, so we might as well dispose of it. What you got there is the M-14. I have no clue why we had them. Probably bought or given to the department by the government in the late 1960s, just in case the Russians came. They were supposed to be destroyed back during the Clinton administration but someone overlooked them.”

  Max had already pulled one from the crate and was looking at it. He nodded. “Not a bad weapon. Better than the M-16 in some ways.”

  “Well, you got ten of them. I can probably do ten more. We aren’t the only department to have them buried in the back. The National Guard destroyed all of theirs a while back. I couldn’t get you a lot of what you asked for. No night scopes. No M-60s. Actually, anything manufactured later than 1970 or that can generate serious firepower is not going to happen. At least not from me. I got Fed accountability problems and I got my own people to look after. So, you want to see the rest?”

  Max said, “Sure.”

  “Good. I thought you would.”

  What he had were five pump riot shotguns, two flak jackets, and ammo for the shotguns and the M-14s. For handguns, he had six Colt .357 revolvers and six cases of .357 ammo.

  “The Colts are the only things I got for you made later than the seventies. I think they are left over from when the department switched to the Beretta in the early eighties. Or was it the Glock? Hell, I don’t remember. That was five sheriffs ago at least.”

  Max brought out what we had. While they went back and forth, I checked out the two guys who had done the heavy lifting.

  They noticed and one said, “What are you looking at, Tex?” They both thought that was funny.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Deputy Dawg. A couple of dipshits probably.”

  “You want me to come up there and kick your retarded little cowboy ass?”

  “Sure, why not. We got more dirt to move. Wouldn’t be any problem to put you under it.”

  His buddy smacked him in the arm and said quietly, “Not now. Not here.”

  I grinned and watched the first one turn red.

  Then the sheriff unveiled a surprise for Max. At his nod the two guys dragged a crate out of the back of the SUV and gently set it at his feet. They popped the top and stepped back.

  “I know you recognize these, Max. Probably made in the early seventies. And don’t ask me where I got them.”

  “Nice.”

  I agreed with Max. I had never seen real ones, just the virtual models from online gaming, but I knew what they were: claymores.

  They went back to haggling and struck a deal. The guy who had been behind Max had gradually wandered away and around. He tried to be casual about it, but it was obvious what he was doing. He tried talking to Night but got nowhere. As his boss and Max finished up he asked Tommy if he could come inside and use the bathroom.

  Max broke off what he was saying and answered him. “No. Piss in the woods or shit in town.”

  The bodyguard shrugged and muttered something. The sheriff raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. He and Max shook hands and they were gone. Deputy Dawg flipped me off as they drove off. I winked at him.

  Afterward, we went over what had happened, what could have happened, and what we would have done. Then people started to get up and go back to their work.

  “Hang around, Gardener,” Max said. He pulled the box of claymores over to his chair. “So what’s your intuition telling you?”

  “Well, the sheriff is a used car salesman with a badge. His bodyguard has a clue and was busy checking us out. The two other guys were spear carriers. I never got a good look at the drivers.”

  He reached into the box and pulled one of the claymores out. “Ever seen one of these before?”

  “Just online.”

  He snorted. “Ah, yes. Tell me what you see,” and he handed it to me.

  It was lighter than I expected. I looked at it, shrugged. “A claymore?”

  “Yeah. You’re close.” He set the plastic case on the floor, knelt down next to it, and drove his knife into it. He worked at it a few minutes and then pulled the case apart. He reached inside and pulled out a black sock filled with sand.

  “I’m guessing that isn’t what it is supposed to look like inside,” I said.

  “Nope.”

  “And we paid for these with our meds, didn’t we?”

  “Yep.”

  “So we going to go find them and kill them? Maybe even get our drugs back?”

  “Nope. I’ll tell you why, too. You may be right about it just being a rip-off. Then again, why did he keep telling me how important these would be for our perimeter defense?”

  “Because we don’t need to find them. They’ll be coming back.”

  “Yep.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  At dinner, we explained to everyone what we had found out about the claymores and then talked more about it on the porch. People were pissed. I think I even saw Tommy’s nostrils flare in anger.

  Yeah, I am being a jerk, but the man had skills, experience, and—you would think—motivation. He just didn’t have the will to use it anymore. Oh, he would
pull the trigger if someone shot at him, at least I hoped he would, but we needed more than that. We needed him functioning like he did with Max during his first deployment.

  The one who surprised me was Old Guy. “The hell with sitting around here waiting for them to decide when they are coming over the walls,” he barked. “I say we find them and drag them down a gravel road naked for a while.”

  I laughed. Everyone laughed. I even heard one of the kids snickering in the other room. He looked at us like we were crazy for a second and then he laughed.

  “No, we get them alive, then, well, I say we leave them with Night. What do you think, honey?”

  “I think they will find the sun is very hot when they don’t have any skin.” She wasn’t kidding either. I don’t know about anyone else, but that sent a chill down my spine.

  The rest of the conversation was a lot more pleasant. Night wanted to buy a cow and a steer from someone Donna knew outside of town. The cow would provide milk for the kids. The steer would be for meat. She planned on drying most of it.

  Everyone seemed to be waiting for Max to tell us what the plan was. He was being a little more quiet than usual. He startled me when he began talking about something completely different.

  “So, Gardener . . . how do you feel about going back to law enforcement? I mean, I know how much you love farm work and all.”

  Everyone thought this was funny, which pissed me off. I pulled my weight. Then I realized they were right. I hated farm work. I did it, but it was not what I wanted to do. I began laughing. I felt Night’s hand on my leg. She gave me a quick squeeze and then pulled her hand away.

  “Sure. I think I could probably work that in.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re even getting a promotion.” Night clapped. I waited for the hook. “You’re going to be deputy chief, and you’re going to have a couple of deputies.”

  “Okay. But we don’t have anyone to spare. Wait—who did you hire?”

  “You met them last time you were in town. They say they owe you for ‘the library,’ whatever that means. It will be good for you. You can practice your leadership skills.”

  That made me laugh. I wasn’t a leader. I wasn’t a follower either. I never did get around to telling anyone about the library incident. Tommy must have snitched me out to Max.

  “Yeah, Max, I think I remember them. So, are we going to talk about what we’re going to do about today?”

  “Yep. I got to tell you all that we are going to have to roll the dice on this one. I think I know what’s going to happen. If I’m right, then we are going to have to go medieval on their dead asses to make a point.”

  I looked at Night. “You have a problem with going medieval?”

  “Nope. I’m already there.” She turned to Old Guy. “How about you?”

  He grinned. I liked that grin. He was an old dog, but he had some wolf in him too. “No, ma’am.” He also had good manners.

  We all looked at Tommy.

  He grinned. “I might surprise some of you.”

  I realized as I was getting ready for bed that no one had thought to question Max over his intuition about what was going to happen and what our chances were. I didn’t. The only question I had is why he gave first watch to Night and last watch to me.

  Max had us stay close to the farmhouse the next day. He also had us resume carrying our shotguns. Tommy and Old Guy kept working on the last part of the berm. Because of trees and outbuildings we couldn’t berm everything without stretching our perimeter to an unmanageable size.

  Old Guy was running the Bobcat now. He was an artist with it. He reminded me of a cowboy riding a rodeo horse the way he whipped that thing in, out, and sideways. Tommy told us that they would be done in two days at this rate.

  Max left early and came back after a couple hours with a large bell and a post. He dug a hole for the post and set it up, while I dug holes and set posts in the gaps between the berms. When I wasn’t doing that, I worked on the freshly completed part of the berm.

  We needed rain, but I was glad we hadn’t gotten it. Most of what we were pushing was hard-pack clay. A little rain and we would have had to stop.

  One problem that we kept facing was the amount of work that needed to be done versus the number of hands we had to do it. Night worked on the garden and tried to keep an eye on the kids, while also doing the cooking and laundry. It struck me as a bit sexist, but at a hundred pounds she just didn’t have the upper-body strength required for the heavy labor. Plus, someone had to make sure I had clean underwear. I kept that comment to myself.

  At lunchtime Max rang his newly rigged bell. Of course Tommy and Old Guy ignored it. I had to go fetch them. We ate lunch while Max told us about the bell. It was now our “Alarm Bell.” Tommy’s boy asked, “Can I ring it?”

  Max told him, “Sure. I made certain the rope was long enough for both you and your sister. You have to understand”—here his voice grew very serious—“that it can only be rung for fires, strangers, or if Woof starts barking a lot. Oh, and for lunch and dinner.”

  Tommy added, “If it isn’t serious, then I am going to whip your butt so hard you won’t be able to sit down for a week.”

  Both kids nodded their heads solemnly and agreed that they would ring it only in case of bad men and fire. The boy made me laugh. He asked Max, “Can we ring it one time for fun?”

  “Sure. If you ask Aunt Night nicely, she might let you ring it for her at lunch and dinner time.” They loved that idea. “But not now. We need to talk, so why don’t you go make sure Woof has water.”

  They knew what that meant. They climbed down from their chairs and went out the door arguing over who should get to ring it first.

  “After we get done talking we’re going to break out the M-14s and do some target practice,” Max said. “I stripped and cleaned them all last night. They look good. When we’re done shooting I am going to show you how to take care of them.”

  I saw the frown that fluttered across Night’s face. Max’s idea of learning how to take care of weapons meant learning how to strip them and put them back together in what he considered a respectable time. She hated doing that, which was surprising since she was the fastest of us by far. She caught me smirking and kicked me under the table. Max ignored our little drama timeout.

  “This is what I think is going to happen. We are being set up for a raid. We should have been able to get better weapons and more of them. Eventually we will, but that is something for another day. I can tell you that when Gardener and I go back to law enforcement, I am going to make sure we are federally recognized.”

  “For the weapons we can get?”

  “Yep. Exactly, Gardener. We are going to become ‘marcher lords,’ albeit minor ones for now. The Feds don’t call it that. They may not even know their history well enough to understand what they are doing. But that is what they are creating in the areas near the Zone border, which comes back to why we are being set up.”

  He paused. “Tell me, Night. What’s your analysis?”

  I had forgotten about her self-appointed role as our group’s intelligence officer. She did work on her maps, and we all found time to stop by and look at them. For me it was just something to keep her happy. But she took it seriously. At dinner she would give us an overview of what was happening in the world. Max had not forgotten.

  “I believe there are three possible answers,” Night said. “One: It is the Feds—a payback for the food-for-the weapons confiscation fiasco at the shelter. Two: It’s the colonel and those assholes in West Virginia. Three: The sheriff is thinking along the same lines you are, Max, and he wants this area to be part of his domain. Of those, I’d go with the sheriff. Though I do believe he has Fed support at this point.”

  Max replied formally, “I agree, Night.” She grinned. “I don’t think it’s personal for the Feds. They are just letting the dogs fight until the survivors shake themselves out and they know who to throw the bones to.” Night grinned.

  Old Guy muttered,
“Assholes.” I agreed, but then the Feds were always assholes.

  “This is the way I see it happening,” Max continued. “They’re getting a feed from the Feds on our progress here. They also have eyes on us. They’ll watch until the berm work ends. That’s when they figure we will set the claymores out. Then they will wait a day or two to let us settle in and get comfortable behind it all.

  “When they come, it will probably be a little before sunrise. They’ll spread out a bit, probably a team of six, and come in fast. Four will split up to take the front and back door at the same time. The other two will clear the trailer. My guess is they will spray the bedroom area of the trailer with a burst and then come in to clean up. Then those two will join the other four for a final walk-through. They won’t be planning to let anyone get out alive. Finally, they will burn down the place and blame it on the ‘same bandits’ that hit our neighbors. They’ll follow that up with an offer to provide law enforcement to the town.”

  I nodded. A nice plan, I thought. It was how I would do it.

  “I’m going to need to get the kids out of here.”

  “No, Tommy, you are not. They are going to sleep in the basement.”

  The steel in Max’s voice was obvious and unusual. He wasn’t fucking around. Tommy was stunned. Night looked puzzled.

  “We’re being watched, Tommy. There is a guy in a blind on the next hill. You pull the kids and by the time you get back from dropping them off, your farmhouse will be gone and so will we. They will come in fast and hard then. If they don’t, they will pay the Feds to use a drone to take us out.”

  Night was nodding her head in agreement.

  Tommy looked around the table. He didn’t see any support. He shut his eyes for a minute. When he opened them again I was pleased to see a different Tommy looking out of them. Now if he could just maintain it.