"Just a precaution, I assure you," said Sheriff Rosewood. "We didn't know if you might turn or if you would wake up and try to shoot us."
"Actually," I said, "I'm very grateful to you and your officers for rescuing me. If you hadn't opened that door, I would have died."
"Just doing the right thing," he said, nodding at the female sergeant.
She didn't look happy about it, but removed a cuff key from her belt and started removing the restraints. I lay still while she removed them all. I didn't want to make any sudden movements and end up getting shot by mistake. Once they were removed, I stretched and swung my legs off of the bed.
"Easy," said the EMT, rushing back into the cell. "Don't pull out your IV."
I sat still while she checked it and made certain I hadn't pulled it loose. She smelled like fresh soap. Not a fancy body wash or perfume, but like plain bar soap. The unscented type we issued to inmates in the jail. It was clean, but not fancy. On her, it smelled just fine.
"I'm alright," I said to her, smiling. "I think you can remove that."
"I think so, too," she replied. "Hold still."
She slipped on a pair of latex gloves and very carefully removed the needle, quickly covering the spot with a piece of gauze. Holding pressure on it for a moment, she lifted it to check for bleeding. There wasn't any, so she lifted the gauze and glanced at the wound.
"Not much of a bleeder, I see," she said, smiling. "That's good. Do you need a band-aid?
"Do I get a sticker and a balloon, too?" I asked, grinning.
"Well, you have been a good boy," she replied, returning the grin.
"Let me introduce you to my people," said the Sheriff. "You've already met our medic, Tabitha Copeland."
"Hi," I said, nodding.
"Hi, back," she said, standing up.
"This is Sergeant Kelly Armstrong," he said, gesturing at the female sergeant.
I just nodded.
"And this is Heath Randall," he said, pointing to the firefighter. "Lebanon Fire Department."
The big firefighter stood a few inches taller than me and kept his head shaven. His goatee was starting to go grey, and I guessed him to be somewhere near forty. Lean and tanned, he had the look of a career firefighter. As much as I used to tease the bucket-heads (sorry, firefighters) in Springfield, I had tremendous respect for what they did. They were the only people I knew who were crazy enough to run into a burning building, smiling like a kid in a candy store the entire way.
"Wylie Grant," I said, nodding to them all.
"Sheriff Wylie Grant," corrected Rosewood.
"Thanks," I said, "but the badge really doesn't mean much, now. Just a title. How many of you are there?"
Rosewood glanced uncertainly at the others and they exchanged a hurried glance.
"There are four deputies, myself included," said Sergeant Armstrong. "Three firefighters, our EMT…"
She jerked her thumb towards Ms. Copeland.
"…and six civilians," she finished. "Plus the Sheriff."
"Fifteen people," I thought. "Well, they weren't a very big department, to begin with."
"How about yourself, Sheriff?" asked Rosewood. "Or are you alone?"
"I managed to pull some survivors out," I said. "I had a lot of good help. There's close to a hundred of us, now."
"A hundred?" said Rosewood, surprised. "Where are they at?"
"We have a camp," I replied, guardedly. "It's not too far away."
"How did you manage to rescue that many?" he asked, wrinkling his brow.
"A lot of good people put it all on the line to help," I answered. "We lost our fair share, too."
"Fair enough," he replied. "We've all lost people."
"Can I have my gear back?" I asked, glancing around the group. "I need to check in with my people. I have a radio in my pack."
There as a tense silence as the Sergeant glared at the Sheriff. I had the distinct impression that they weren't going to do it, but they surprised me.
"Alright," said Rosewood. "We'll let you have your gear. Does everyone in your group have that much gear?"
"We've got plenty of supplies," I replied. "If you like, we can arrange to share some with you."
"We'd be in your debt," he said, nodding emphatically. "We're not in the best of shape when it comes to weapons and ammo. We're running low on a lot of things, around here."
"I'm sure we can help," I replied. "Maybe we can do more than just exchange gear. Maybe we can start working together. There's safety in numbers, after all."
"I'm not sure I'm ready to sign on under another sheriff," he admitted. "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I can do that."
"I understand, sir," I replied. "But being in charge doesn't mean all that much to me. I'm just happy to be working to keep my people fed and safe. As long as we're working together for that purpose, I don't care who's in charge."
"Well said, Sheriff," he said, not over-emphasizing the word for the first time. "Putting your people first. I can respect that."
"Besides that, sir," I said. "We can let the people decide who they want to be in charge. I prefer to be in the field with the other grunts. I'm only carrying the badge because I made a promise. Not because I want the job."
"We can worry about that, later," he said, grinning. "Let's get your gear for you and maybe some food. Hungry?"
"I could eat," I replied. "If it's not asking too much."
"Nonsense," he said, smiling. "My mother would roll over in her grave if she knew I wasn't showing good manners and hospitality."
"Sounds like our mothers had a lot in common," I said, standing up.
"My mother was old-fashioned Missouri hill-folk," he said, grinning.
"So was mine," I said, smiling. "I'm pretty much a hillbilly, myself."
The sergeant excused herself and stepped out of the cell. I discovered my boots were under the bunk. While I was putting them back on she returned with my gear, which I gladly accepted it. Everything was there, but all of the weapons had been unloaded. I considered reloading them all right then and there, but figured it might cause an issue. Instead, I just buckled them all back into place. When I went to holster the old Colt, I saw that one of the wooden grips was starting to come loose. I made a mental note to fix that before I used it again.
I followed the others into a small break room with tables and vending machines. The machines were lit up, but had been opened to allow anyone to grab anything they liked. The snack and sandwich machines were both empty, but the soda machine still had a few cans in it. Copeland the EMT offered me a can of cola, which I gladly accepted. There was a small electric stove in the room and one of the firefighters was cooking over it. I recognized the smell, instantly.
"Beans and cornbread," I said, smiling. "An Ozarks delicacy."
"Not when you've had them as much as we have, lately," said Sergeant Armstrong. "Beans, rice and potatoes are about all we have left in the kitchen."
"Instant potatoes?" I asked, curious.
"Nope. I wish," she said. "We have to peel the danged things."
That made me smile. We just found our first crop. You can grow potatoes from the skins. It wasn't much, but it was a start towards us growing our own food. Now if I could just find some heirloom seeds. The kind that would grow good, natural foods. No hybrids or engineered seeds. The kind that would allow us to plant from the seeds that we grew. Begin the natural cycle of plant and re-grow. Hybrid or engineered seeds would feed us once, then nothing.
“How do you still have power?” I asked, glancing around.
“Generators,” said Armstrong. “We’ve got two big ones for the jail and the courthouse. So long as the fuel lasts, anyway.”
I sat down with a bowl of beans and a slab of cornbread, sprinkling it with salt and pepper. I noticed several other people were eating, but the Sergeant and the Sheriff didn’t join them. They stood together, well away from everyone else, whispering among themselves. There wasn’t really any doubt that I was the topic of discussion. Fr
om the furtive glances I kept getting, I felt it was safe to assume that they weren’t very happy about it.
I was just putting my second large spoonful of beans into my mouth when they approached my seat and stood waiting for me to acknowledge them. I chewed slowly, not really wanting to look up. I had the distinct feeling that this was not going to be a pleasant conversation. Without lifting my head, I dropped my spoon into the bowl with a soft clink of metal against the ceramic. I finished chewing and swallowed, preparing myself for the worst. Then I slowly looked up, frowning and expecting the worst.
“I’ve been thinking, Grant,” said Sheriff Rosewood.
“Yes, sir,” I said, noting that he was now addressing me like a subordinate, not an equal.
Anger started to rise in my chest.
“Since your people have taken shelter in my county,” he started, watching my expression for signs of danger.
I carefully kept my face neutral, but the anger was rising.
“And since I am the duly elected Sheriff of this county,” he continued.
My anger had reached my throat.
“That I should assumed command of all of your operation and supplies,” he said, watching me warily.
“Is that a fact?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
“Well, he is the Sheriff if this county,” interjected Armstrong.
“Well,” I said, placing my hands on the table, “that might be true. But I’m not about to surrender everything we’ve worked for to someone that never even made it out of his own jail. WE fought and bled for what we have. I’m not about to turn it over to anyone.”
“This is OUR county,” snapped Armstrong.
“Not anymore!” I nearly shouted, standing up. “This place belongs to the dead, now. As for what we have, you’re welcome to try to take it. Not to mention the fact that technically we are set-up outside your county.”
Randall, the firefighter, stepped in between us and held his hands up.
“Hey!” he bellowed. “We don’t need to fight each other.”
I knew that he was correct, so I took a step back and started letting my temper dissipate. A quick glance and I could see that Armstrong had her hand on her pistol. Randall was right, we didn’t need to fight each other but I could tell by the look on her face that we were going to. This wasn’t going to end quietly.
“Everyone, calm down,” he said, glancing back and forth at all of us.
“Thanks for the beans,” I said, scooping my pack off of the floor. “I think I’ll be going, now.”
“There’s no need to leave,” said Rosewood. “We can discuss this, later.”
“I think it would be best if I did,” I replied. “Before things get out of hand, here.”
Armstrong glanced down at her hand still resting on the butt of her pistol and pulled her hand away like the weapon was suddenly hot. She might not have even realized that he had put her hand there. Rosewood was watching her and seemed a bit surprised, as well.
I started by replacing the magazines in my weapons. I could see everyone was nervous as I reloaded each of my weapons, in turn. I never pointed them at anyone, but just having them reloaded was a subtle threat. I would not be pushed around by this group, or by anyone else for that matter. The last weapon that I reloaded was my old Colt. Replacing it in my holster, I stood to leave.
“Is there a back door out of here?” I asked, scowling.
“You’re not going anywhere,” said Armstrong, folding her arms across her chest.
Now it was my turn to put my hand on my pistol.
“Do you want to put money on that?” I said, my voice dangerously low.
There was a heavy, tense silence that filled the room. Everyone waited for one of us to make a move. The wrong twitch would have turned this into a firefight in the span of a heartbeat. I might not make it out of this building alive, but I would take as many of them down with me as I could before I fell. I was fairly certain that I could get everyone in this room before I died.
“We want those supplies,” snapped Armstrong.
“Newsflash,” I said, my hand tightening on my pistol grip. “You’re not getting shit from me. Who the fuck do you think you are, demanding we turn everything over to you? My group is ten times the size of yours. I don’t give a shit who you think you are. Your badge doesn’t mean a goddamned thing to me. Stay here in your damned hole. We fought for everything we have, and I’ll fight to my last breath to keep you from taking it.”
“Alright, Grant,” said Rosewood. “You’re free to go. We won’t stop you.”
I nodded and started moving towards the door. I didn’t take my eyes off of any of them. Switching my hand from my Colt to the handle of the Beowulf, I clicked off the safety and grabbed it with both hands. I glanced out into the hallway, but there wasn’t anyone out there.
“You won’t get far,” hissed Armstrong, her face a mask of hate.
“We’ll see,” I replied, blowing her a mocking kiss.
Backing out into the hallway, I glanced both directions. Down at the far end of the hallway towards the back of the building, I could see Ms. Copeland, the EMT, peeking around the corner. She lifted her finger to her lips to indicate for me not to say anything. Then she motioned for me to follow her. Not having any better options, I headed down the hallway after her. When I rounded the corner, she was waiting for me looking very apprehensive.
“Are you leaving?” she asked, almost in a whisper.
“That was the plan,” I replied.
“I can show you the way out,” she said, still keeping her voice low. “Will you take me with you?”
“It’s dangerous out there,” I said, pointing towards the wall.
“I know,” she said. “I don’t want to stay here. I don’t like how they treat me.”
“Alright,” I agreed, “but you have to listen to what I say. Let’s get out of here. Do you have anything you need to take with you?”
“I don’t have anything to grab,” she said, shaking her head. “I only had my medic kit when I got here. Most of that is already gone.”
“Won’t they notice you’re gone?” I asked, glancing around the corner.
“Not if we move fast,” she said, nervously. “But we need to hurry.”
I followed her towards the back of the building. I was expecting a connecting walkway that led from the jail to the courthouse. That’s the way we had it at Nathanael County. Then I remembered that Lacland County was much smaller. There was nothing like that in this building. In fact, the jail was actually connected to the courthouse. This was going to be more difficult than I thought.
We turned a corner and headed towards a barricaded set of double doors. Just as we were about to reach them, a figure stepped out of a side-door and blocked our passage. It was the fireman, Randall. Somehow, he'd guessed which way I was going and knew exactly where to cut us off. I resisted the urge to just shoot him and move on. In retrospect, it was the right decision. It probably saved our lives.
"Going somewhere?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.
"I…uh…I…we…," stammered Copeland.
"WE were leaving," I said, tightening my grip on my weapon.
"Hey," he said, holding out his hands. "Don't shoot. I'm not trying to stop you."
"Then I'd kindly ask you to step aside," I said, not quite pointing my weapon at him.
"Look," he said, taking a step back, "Rosewood's an idiot. I don't want to stay here. We'll either starve, or he'll get us all killed. He's a moron for not accepting your offer to join your group. We can't last here, much longer."
"How do I know I can trust you?" I asked, eyeing him skeptically.
"Because you need the help to get out of here," he replied. "I know this town better than just about anyone. Besides that, if we don't get moving soon they'll be coming for you. You seriously don't think they're going to just let you walk out of here, do you?"
"I really didn't think they would," I replied. "I wondered why they agre
ed to give me my weapons back."
"I don't know, either," he said. "Unless they planned on making their move before you could reload. I guess you forced their hand."
A thought struck me so I slipped my weapon on safe, and then looked into the end of the barrel. Sure enough, there was a shell shoved into it, blocking it off completely. If I had fired it, it would have killed me.
"Fuck!" I snapped. "They sabotaged my gear!"
"Follow me," he said. "I know a place we can hide while you fix your guns."
We took the stairs at the end of the hallway and headed towards the doors that separated the jail from the courthouse. They were locked, but not barricaded. We quickly removed the locking bar and peeked through the small window into the hallway beyond.
"The courthouse should be clear," he said. "We sealed it off and shut the doors to it. We don't use it because it's mostly just offices and courtrooms."
"Let's go," I said, heading through first.
Since I couldn't trust any of my guns until I had a chance to check them all, I pulled out my hammer. There was nothing they could do to jam it. It didn't require reloading and never misfired. Once I was sure that the hallway was clear, I motioned them both through. Then we shut the doors and I put a set of handcuffs on the door-handles to keep them from opening.
"Let's move," said Randall.
"You might want to let me go first," I said. "I'm the only one that's got a weapon."
"I wouldn't say that," he said, pulling a pistol out of his cargo pocket.
It wasn't silenced, but it was more than I expected him to have. It would do, for now. We headed down the hallway and down the main stairs. I could see where the front doors in the lobby had been barricaded and there was dried blood on the floor. We ducked into an office and I shrugged out of my pack.
Randall covered the door while I dug out my cleaning kit. It took some doing, but I managed to remove the blockages from all of my weapons. They even blocked the PMR-30's. Both of them had a round in the end of the barrel and the silencer screwed back into place. After clearing the obstructions, I quickly reloaded and readied them. Shouldering my pack, I nodded at my two new traveling companions.
"Ready," I said. "They did a number on my gear, but it's all working now."
Ragnarok Rising: The Crossing (The Ragnarok Rising Saga) Page 28