Reaper

by Buckhout, Craig

  “Talked to Will this morning,” Frank said. “I guess we ran out of cots last night. He says there’s another one of those storage containers loaded with disaster gear at Almaden Lake. We’re gonna make a run over there later this morning after those rock containers get delivered and grab what they have. I think I also need to get more food.”

  “Really? Didn’t you just buy a bunch of food?”

  “Yeah, I know, but we got another twenty in yesterday and we’ll no doubt get more in today. Plus, I called Costco to see if they had some of those big, number ten cans of tomato sauce, and they said they did, but things were selling out fast. People are buying food and water like it’s the apocalypse. I gave him my credit card number, and he said he’d hold onto a pallet of the stuff for me, plus a few other items. But I think we better get over there and buy as much as we can.”

  “Well, like I said the other day, it’s not my decision, it’s between you, Jessica, and the committee. What’s her feeling on it?”

  “She’s behind it. Gave me a budget.”

  “Okay, tell you what; I’ll grab Steve, and the four of us can go in two vehicles. That way we can get everything in one trip.”

  The lot was packed with cars, so they had to park further away than they wanted to. They grabbed two flatbed carts and made their way inside. The place was jammed with a lot of anxious looking people.

  The man Frank had spoken to met him at the door and ushered them to the back of the warehouse where everyone helped load eight cases of tomato sauce and an equal amount of diced tomatoes onto one of the carts, wrapping them with plastic so the load wouldn’t topple over. They next went to the meat department where there was two hundred pounds of frozen ground beef waiting for them. Frank thanked the man who helped them, and all four started cruising the food isles.

  Everything was pretty much picked over. They did manage to get sixteen large bags of coffee beans, some basic spices — garlic, onion, cumin, oregano, thyme, salt, and pepper — a whole box of Fuji apples, three, twenty-five pound sacks of flour, four of rice, twenty bags of elbow macaroni, and a dozen giant boxes of instant mash potatoes. Will saw a Costco stocker wheeling out a cart full of broccoli and literally fought off half a dozen people to get two full boxes of it. They pushed their carts to the front, and when they paid the twenty-four hundred dollar plus bill in cash, got some pretty strange looks from the people around them.

  Because they had so much, they were escorted to the exit by an employee and were allowed to pass without going through the normal security check ritual.

  As they wheeled their carts out into the parking lot, they became aware of two men following them. Steve and Max dropped back and confronted the pair.

  “You following us?” Steve said.

  The older of the two, a man in his forties wearing a red and green Hawaiian shirt, said, “Whoa, hey, chill, we’re just a couple of businessmen looking for a deal is all. We’re strictly non-violent.” He flashed the peace sign.

  “What do you mean deal?” Max asked.

  “Well, ah, we we’re wondering if maybe you might be interested in selling some of that stuff. You got a lot there, so maybe you don’t exactly need it all.”

  “Now why would you be interested in buying our food?” Max asked.

  “Well, see, we figure this is only the beginning. In a few days, maybe a week or two, when things get really bad, there won’t be no food; or at least not much of it because it’ll be all bought up. So, you see, if we buy a little now, here and there, hold on to it, well, …” he shrugged his shoulders, “you know ….”

  Max nodded his head. “Yeah, I know. But what’s keeping you from just going inside and buying food yourself?”

  “Have been, but you got some stuff there that they don’t got no more of. Tomato sauce and hamburger are in high demand.”

  Max nodded his head. “So what makes you think things are going to get worse?”

  “Just do is all. But it’s not so much if they are or aren’t, it’s what people think that’s important to selling stuff.”

  “And people think it’s going to get worse?”

  “Damn straight. Everyone’s talking about it. Some figure the government will take care of them, so they’re just kinda going with the flow, if you know what I mean. Others think, well, they don’t think the government will do jack for them, and if they’re going to make it, you know, in a survival sort of way, they got to stock up. Those are the ones you see in there,” he said pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

  “So what other stuff are you buying?”

  “Well, think about what you use all the time; TP, soap, all kinds of food, cooking oil, coffee, booze, that’s a good one, bullets if you can find ‘em, batteries, bottled water, just whatever anybody wants, and if we had a way to store it, gas and diesel. So, you want to sell some of your stuff?”

  “Nah, not interested in selling anything, but if you have a number, maybe we might be interested in buying.”

  “Yeah? Well, ah, …” he started patting his pockets, “I don’t got nothing to write it on.”

  “Just say it. I’ll remember it.”

  The man provided his phone number.

  “Okay, maybe we’ll call you. You can take off now.”

  “Oh, right, okay, maybe we’ll see you around then.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Their next stop was right down the street, Almaden Lake. Contents wise, the disaster storage container there was almost an exact duplicate of the storage container at the substation. Between the two vehicles, they were able to get all fifty cots loaded and strapped down.

  Looking like a caravan of gypsies on vacation, they cut over to Santa Teresa Boulevard and turned south, where they picked up a residential street named Curie that traced the foothills. It was their plan to follow this street all the way to San Ignacio and from there to Great Oaks Boulevard, which would take them back to the substation. As they drove, without any particular plan or purpose on their part, Max and Steve were in the front truck, with Frank and Will following.

  Approaching the intersection with Applegate, Max noticed a lone man standing in the street. The man turned to his right and waved his hand but continued to stand where he was. When they were about half a block away, Max could see he was a Hispanic male wearing a blue shirt, long baggie shorts, white socks pulled up to his knees, and white tennis shoes.

  Even though it had to be obvious to this person he was standing directly in Max’s path of travel, he wasn’t moving. That’s when Max got that first little twinge that something wasn’t right. So he slowed down, finally stopping in the middle of the street, about sixty feet away. At the same time, both he and Steve started looking left, right, and behind them.

  “What the hell?” Steve said.

  No sooner did those words leave Steve’s mouth, than a blue Chevy Monte Carlo pulled out into the intersection from Applegate, blocking the road.

  Max immediately backed up, signaling Frank out his open driver’s window, to do the same. Frank got the message and started backing rapidly, but after only a short distance, came to a stop. In his side view mirror, Max could see a second vehicle blocking the street behind them and the doors on both sides of that vehicle opening.

  Looking front again, Max saw the male who had been standing in the street, walking rapidly toward him, gripping a pistol in his hand, pointing it gangster style right at them. Behind that suspect were two others, also armed, trotting to catch up.

  “I got front, you take back,” Max said with a degree of calm that didn’t fit the circumstances.

  In the next instant, both he and Steve were out of the truck. Given the circumstances, Max dispensed with the usual BS demands for surrender. Instead, he just unloaded on them. His first round caught the nearest suspect ten X, right in the chest, putting him out of the fight …and out of everything else for that matter. This caused the other two to scatter, but it didn’t dissuade them from taking shots as they ran. They were moving, though, and M
ax wasn’t. He had a nice, firm, well-planted, two-handed stance.

  He hit the next one in the hip or thigh as he presented a side view, spinning him around and causing him to go down to one knee. The third shooter, in the meantime, threw his gun arm backwards as he ran, and fired wildly, three or four times, as he moved toward a parked car. One of his bullets went through the truck’s windshield at such an angle that it skimmed Max’s back, high up, just below the base of his neck.

  Max shifted his attention back to the wounded shooter, the closest threat, but he’d already discarded his weapon and was limping away. Turning back to the guy behind the car, Max saw him pop up, fire a shot that went up into the trees, and drop back down again. In response, Max fired twice, just over the top of the parked car’s hood, and then dropped down onto the asphalt. Laying on his left side and sighting under the truck, he shot the third suspect in his left knee as it rested in the gutter just behind the front wheels of the parked car.

  The third suspect screamed, swore, shoved his pistol over the top of the car he was hiding behind, and fired again.

  As all this was going on, Max could hear gunfire behind him, a great deal of gunfire in fact, that suddenly went silent.

  At this point, Max went to a squat and yelled at the third suspect, telling him to stand up with his hands showing. This got another round of cuss words in response. Max was just about to try the bullet under the parked car trick again, when he heard two very loud gunshots. He looked over the hood of the truck and saw Frank standing near the right rear corner of the parked car, pointing his magnum.

  Frank was soon joined by Steve who said, “Dude, I gotta get me one of them things,” referencing Frank’s .357 revolver. “How’d you ….”

  Max yelled, “Hey you guys, I know that was fun and all, but I don’t particularly want to stand around and get shot at anymore.”

  “Now, what kind of an attitude is that?” Steve said shaking his head. “You gotta learn to enjoy life, man. You know, live a little, drink the wine, dance to the music, and all that sort of stuff.”

  They took a few seconds to snap some cell phone photos and collect the firearms before everyone piled into the trucks, drove up onto the curb and around the Monte Carlo, and gassed it out of there. In his side-view mirrors, Max saw two bodies in the street in front of a lowered SUV, apparently the ones who had attacked from the rear. The image sparked the thought, we killed two yesterday and four today. Most cops go thirty years without even shooting at anyone. Never in a million years would I have imagined things could get this bad.

  It wasn’t until they were just about to the substation when the adrenaline wore off enough that Max began to feel the pain along the back of his shoulders. Steve, seeing him squirm in the seat in an attempt to get comfortable, looked over and saw the blood on his back.

  “Hey dude, you’re bleeding. Pull over a sec so I can check it out.”

  “I’m okay. It can wait ‘til we get home.”

  Steve used his phone to call Myra, who was at the substation, and let her know Max had been injured. She and Dr. Patel were waiting for him when they arrived.

  “I’m all right,” Max said.

  “I’m not looking for your opinion,” Myra said, cutting his shirt off.

  Max smiled and kept his mouth shut until Will, who was looking over Myra’s shoulder as she examined Max’s wound, said, “Hey, if I’m going to hang out with you guys, you’re going to have to teach me to shoot. It was definitely no fun just sitting there and not being able to shoot back.”

  Max started to turn to answer him, but was stopped when Myra slapped the back of his head and said, “Hold still.”

  Will’s comment was worth consideration, though, Max thought. Here I am, asking some of the residents to help out with security, which puts them in danger, as the shootout at the gate proved, but not equipping them to defend themselves. That wasn’t fair or smart. People have the right to protect themselves.

  From the conversation that was going on between Dr. Patel and Myra, he got the impression they weren’t particularly worried about his wound.

  Eventually, Myra told Will to get up, he was sitting on the tailgate of his truck, and walk with her to the prisoner processing center, which she’d converted into the infirmary. As he stood and she hefted her trauma bag onto her shoulder, she said, “You’ll survive your wound, but I’m not so sure you’ll survive the treatment. Don’t you know how to duck?”

  “Hey, there were five of ‘em, and it went down fast.”

  She took his arm and pulled him close. “That really wasn’t a question.”

  To his back, Steve said he’d call it in to the department.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  June 23rd

  The bullet had cut a groove in the skin over the muscle above Max’s right shoulder blade, just missing his spinal column, a point Myra felt worth mentioning to him at least ten times already. But he did have to admit, he was lucky once again, though the pain was no small matter. It made some simple hand and arm movements a very unpleasant experience.

  He found Steve, Beth, and Gavin at one of the tables in the break room, eating breakfast.

  “Well here he is,” Beth said. “I hear that bullet almost hit your spine.”

  Max shook his head and wondered if he was gonna hear this shit all damn day. “It wasn’t that close,” he muttered.

  He pulled out a chair, winced at the pain, gingerly sat down, and turned his attention to Steve. “I want to start training some of the non-sworn to shoot …and when to shoot.”

  “You’re gonna get some pushback on that from Godfrey; city liability and all that stuff.”

  “I’ll just have to deal with it is all. It’s just that, well, think about it a second. In a short period of time we’ve been involved in two shootings, three if you count the mall, no, wait, four if you count the deal at Raha’s house. Close by we’ve had a bombing that took out a power station, a firebombing that destroyed a federal office building, and a shootout between rival gangs in a shopping center parking lot, injuring bystanders and a cop who was just looking for a damn cup of coffee. The way I see it, we can put bulletproof barriers all over the place, fences, cameras, all that stuff, but it still comes down to we’re not going to be able to keep people completely safe. And it seems to be getting worse. Plus, we’re asking non-sworn to supplement sworn, trained personnel on security details so we have twenty-four hour coverage. It’s not fair to the non-sworn they can’t protect themselves.”

  “Hey, you don’t have to convince me. I’m just saying Godfrey is going to use it to try and get to you.”

  “I know. You up for taking the lead on it?”

  “You know me and shooting. Sure I am.”

  “In that case, I want to be in the first class,” Beth said.

  Steve looked at his wife, covered Gavin’s ears, and said, “Babe, that’s just about the sexiest thing you’ve ever said. I think I’m getting a woody.”

  She shook her head. “Sometimes I don’t understand how your mind works. How do you put sex and shooting together in the same thought?”

  “If you were a man, you’d understand.”

  To get things back on track, Max said, “The first thing is, we have to pick, say five to ten people who we can trust to act rationally. Will already expressed an interest, and we can certainly trust him. Louis clearly knows his way around firearms, so won’t need much more than a tune-up. Jessica says she’s gotten some hands-on from her husband. And Frank, he could probably teach the class. So with Beth, that’s five already.”

  “We’ve got the indoor range, too. We could do everything right here. Maybe even throw in some building-search training.”

  “Worth a try.”

  Over the PA system; “Max Calloway, if you’re in the building, they need you at the front gate. Max Calloway, please respond to the front gate.”

  As Max and Steve approached the front of the property, they could see half a dozen people on the inside of the fence fa
cing an equal number on the outside. The only thing was, the people on the outside arrived in marked DHS vehicles and wore uniforms.

  As they neared, Max could hear one of the uniformed visitors saying, “I don’t see what the big deal is. We just want to look around. We didn’t even know anybody was here.”

  Maureen Cooney, who again was one of the on-duty — off-duty sworn officers working security, and who had a carbine on a single point sling hanging at her side, said, “If you didn’t think anyone was here, how’d you expect to get in?”

  “Well, I don’t know, I guess we just figured the gate would be open. I still don’t see what the big deal is. We’re cops, just like you.”

  Walt Briggs, who was standing off to the side, said, “You ain’t anything like us, man.”

  The uniformed DHS officer who was doing all the talking, a short man in his early fifties, who had very close-cropped hair, and was built like a whiskey barrel on steroids, squinted at Walt and asked, “And who exactly are you?”

  Before Walt could answer, Max moved to the front and said, “What’s up?”

  Without taking her eyes off Barrel Boy, Maureen said, “They showed up a couple of minutes ago wanting to check the place out.”

  “So why do you want to check the place out?” Max asked. He noticed the name Calhoun stenciled on the man’s uniform shirt, along with the double bars of a captain on his collar.

  “And who are you?” Calhoun asked.

  “Max Calloway. Why do you want to check the place out?”

  “Max Calloway. Max Calloway …the ballet dancer, Max Calloway …the short-order cook, Max Calloway who exactly?”

  “Max Calloway, the guy who says who can come in and who can’t. Why do you want to check the place out?”

  As he said it, Max became aware of more people crowding in behind him. At that point, a completely irrational thought came into his head; what if the DHS opened fire on us. As soon as he thought it, he pushed it aside.