When It Rains

by Joel Shaw

  "Shit, why didn't I think of that earlier,” he said.

  Wes looked up at Milton with questioning eyes. Something about the way he spoke told him that he would be in for another rough ride.

  Milton squatted in front of Wes."We gotta move buddy."

  Wes shook his head vigorously, uttering an emphatic "No."

  "I know you’re in pain, man. You probably got a coupla' busted ribs. I guess you got a choice. I can leave you here or you can come with me." In spite of the ominous consequences of his plan, Milton couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face.

  "I'm gonna steal the commander's ride. How's that sound? You know that frankenstein looking mother-fucker that was tenderizing your body? His name is Roland Hanson. I hate that mother fucker. You hate him too, don't you?"

  Wes nodded half-heartedly, wondering if he should join the grinning black man in his scheme or wait to be found and summarily beaten to death by the Swan squad.

  Debate over. “Yes,” Wes whispered.

  "I thought so." Milton grinned. "You can't walk and I can't carry you very far. We have one chance to get away from here safely, and that is by driving away. You with me, Wes?"

  Wes closed his eyes and nodded.

  "This is gonna hurt you, man. I know it. Try not to yell. You can yell later."

  "Here..." Milton grabbed the only thing readily available, an emergency flare from a rack on the wall, sticking it sideways in Wes's gapping mouth. "bite down on it and don’t let go.”

  He looked at Wes and the grin reappeared. "Man, I wish I had a camera. You look like Yosemite Sam with a stick of dynamite in your mouth."

  Wes rolled his eyes, planting his teeth firmly in the waxy, red cylinder.

  “Here we go.” Milton pulled him through the narrow door leading forward, along the catwalk to the front of the locomotive, bounced his ass down the short ladder to the granite railroad bed. A flood of tears streamed from Wes' eyes, but he remained silent. Milton deposited Wes between the rails before peeking around the locomotive. One of the Swans was sprinting toward them. Fortunately, he stopped at the Humvee, grabbed something from the front seat and sprinted back to the cluster of men.

  “This is it, Wes. Let's ride.” He scooped Wes like a child, cradling him in his arms, he jogged toward the rear of locomotive where he stopped for a quick look-see before carrying his groaning package to the Humvee where he opened the door and placed him onto the leather bucket seat. Wes grimaced, his teeth had penetrated the water-proof cylinder, small granules of powder where dribbling from within, spilling down his lips like grains of sand.

  "Hang on, man. We're almost gone." Milton squatted and moved quickly to the rear of the Humvee, focused on the group of Swans in the distance, his shin slammed into the large receiver hitch jutting from the rear of the vehicle tearing skin away to the bone. He managed to muffle his litany of swear words as he clutched his bleeding shin and inspected the obstacle with unexpected amusement. Below the receiver hitch swung two large polished chrome balls. Goose balls. Milton wanted to laugh but dared not. A stream of blood ran into his high-top tennis shoe adding fresh color to the faded canvas. He hopped to the driver's door and slipped in the drivers' seat, enjoying the soft,cool, comfortable leather for an instant. It reminded him of his long-gone recliner...he could take a nap right there and now. Instead, he looked in the rear view mirror.

  Major Hanson was walking toward the vehicle while talking on the phone, fifty yards away and closing. He reached the back of his command car and leaned against it. It was then that he noticed that Wes was gone and began looking around casually as he talked. He didn’t appear to be particularly concerned. No doubt thinking that the injured old man couldn't have gone far.

  What he didn't notice was the uninvited occupants sitting behind the tinted glass of his command car.

  Milton touched the ignition switch, waiting and listening straining to overhear the big goose...

  "That's affirmative sir."

  "No sir, I don't have a final count. There's a hell of a lot of them though."

  "Yes sir, we'll get them loaded."

  "Yes sir. By the end of the week sir. Will do sir."

  "Roger that sir, out."

  The conversation ended. Roland turned and barked.

  "Peters"

  Sargeant Major Peters appeared at the door of the warehouse.

  "You done with the count?"

  "Yes sir, there are 115,740 pallets of 20oz. bottles,” Peters replied. “There are sixty cases per pallet at 24 bottles per case. That's...ahhh...fourteen-hundred and forty bottles per pallet....twenty ounces per bottle...times....divided by thirty-two...that's...nine-hundred gallons of water per pallet? Is that right? Times...about..one-hundred and four million gallons of water? I'm not sure about my math sir, but we got a whole lot of water in there."

  “Fuck the math, it doesn’t matter. Koch wants all of it.” Hanson said flatly, then grinned. “That ain't gonna happen. I want you to unload that bottling plant and set it up inside. Start bottling the water in the cisterns ASAP. I want this train loaded with as much bottled water as she’ll hold. Koch wants to see this train in KC by the end of next week. I want it rolling south in two days. You got that?"

  "Yes sir."

  “And another thing...”

  “Sir?”

  He cocked his head toward the end of the train. "Strip those guys and plant them somewhere. Plant them deep, I don't want to smell them anymore."

  "Yes sir."

  "You're in charge, Sergeant Major, I need a drink. I'll see you back at camp."

  "Yes sir." Peters clicked his heels and turned to go. Roland reached for the Humvee door handle, then paused.

  "Peters."

  "Yes sir."

  “Find Clayburn and stick him in the same hole. Bring his car back to camp."

  "Not today you goose steppin' mother fucker." Milton yelled as he pushed the ignition button, the doors automatically locked, the mighty engine roared, the dual exhaust rumbled, Milton shifted into reverse, activated the four wheel drive, and jammed the accelerator to the floor. The enormous Humvee lurched rearward, slamming into the first of the four mini-vans, driving the receiver hitch through the radiator while pushing the van backwards into the van next in line and the next and the next. Milton rotated the wheel slightly ramming the intertwined vans, like shopping carts, against a concrete loading dock.

  Major Hanson was slow to react. He had jumped backwards and stood dumbfounded and motionless as Milton used his command vehicle as a battering ram.

  Milton was smiling as he shifted into drive and steered for Roland, hitting the goose as he was turned to run, snapping his left leg in several places beneath the seventeen inch tire. He heard Roland scream. His screaming sounded good. Milton opened the windows and laughed loudly as he spun the tires, spraying dirt and rocks across the fallen man before careening around the corner of the warehouse, across the field and until the tires hit the broken pavement on County 23 toward town. The chrome goose balls bounced and sparked on the high spots in the rough road.

  Wes was grinning through his pain.

  “Yeeeeehaaaa,” was all that Milton could say.

  #

  ROLAND'S BROKEN LEG

  Roland had never felt such pain in all his miserable life. He took one look at his shattered leg and passed out. His tibia had pierced his black pants in two places, jutting skyward like a broken antler. His men dropped what they were doing and hustled to his aid.

  Peters was first to arrive on the scene, and he quickly took command and screamed for their medic. His gaze fell on group of men trying to suppress their glee at the sight of their fallen, tyrannical, commanding officer.

  "Sanchez, get over here and take a look at this leg."

  "Davis, see if any of those vans will start. Jones, you and Malco rig up a stretcher, we gotta get the Major back to the infirmary ASAP." He then turned his attention to the medic who was examining the Major’s leg.

  "What do you think,
Juan. Can you deal with it?"

  "It don't look good sarge. I never dealt with anything like this. He needs to be evacked to a hospital."

  "Listen up dumb ass. We don't have no hospital. You gotta do something for him."

  "I could give him some morphine for the pain. That's it’s sarge.

  “Do it.”

  "It's back at camp, sarge. I didn't bring my kit along."

  "Shit. Hey Davis, are any of those vans gonna run?"

  "Not without some work, sarge,” Davis said, “they’re pretty well fucked up."

  “Goddamn Son of Bitch. Did anybody see who was driving the Humvee? Was that old man in there? Shit. Davis, see if the keys are in the old man's car. If they are, take Sanchez to camp to get his kit. Bring some food back here, too. We're gonna' have to stay here until I can get this mess sorted out. Don't worry about water, we have plenty of that."

  He searched Roland’s pockets for the satellite phone but didn't find it. "Goddamn it. Hey anybody got the commander's phone?"

  "It's right here sarge." Zeek held the crushed phone in his hand. "Looks like it got runned over."

  "No shit, Caruso.”

  Davis yelled from the north end of the warehouse. "The keys aren't in the old man's car, sarge."

  "Oh my god. What a mess...Come on, let's get the major inside."

  "Davis, you and Sanchez start hoofing it back to camp. Tell Whithers and Samuels what happened out here. They're gonna have to stand guard until we return. Get back here with the morphine. Goddam it. I hope he doesn't wake up before you get back."

  #

  MILTON AND WES ESCAPING

  Wes was trying to communicate with Milton as they hurtled over the road in the monster Humvee. The jarring ride was causing him excruciating and, he thought, unnecessary pain. He tapped Milton's shoulder and flapped his left arm like a windshield wiper, palm down, hoping Milton would recognize the universal sign for ‘slow down.’

  Milton got the message and backed off on the accelerator to a more appropriate speed for the pitted highway. He was ashamed to admit that he had once again succumbed to panic. He pulled off the road into the Plaza West parking lot and killed the engine.

  "Sorry about the rough ride, man." Milton studied his passenger. He didn't look well. Blood stained the leather headrest behind him. His white shorts were stained in the crotch and smeared with dirt. His silk, blue and white Hawaiian shirt was torn along the seams and missing several buttons revealing his matted, white chest hair. His face was dirty and tear streaked, his knuckles bleeding, his white deck shoes bore the scars of being dragged several yards through the dirt. He almost looked as disheveled as Milton.

  "What's your name?"

  "Wes Clayburn."

  "My name is Milton Webber. Nice to meet you, man."

  Wes held his ribs tightly while he spoke, “Thanks for your help. I thought that man was going to kill me."

  "He was. Didn't you hear him?"

  Wes shook his head. "I was busy praying."

  "I guess your prayers were answered, man."

  "Yes. Thank you. Thank you.”

  "I had to do something,” Milton said, “I could't let him beat you to death.” He paused for an instant and suddenly his face lit up.

  “He took a pretty good lick at the end. Did you see me hit him? That’s what I call payback.”

  Wes slowly shook his head.

  "I was trying to run over the mother fucker, but he managed to run a little before I snapped his leg. Snapped it like a goddamn chicken wing. That mother fucker is in some serious pain right now. I can guarantee that....how you doing, man? You in much pain?"

  Wes managed a thin smile. "Not as much as Hanson.”

  “What? You know that asshole?"

  "No. We had just met."

  "What were you doing out there, man. What's with the train and the dead guys? Where'd all that water come from?"

  Wes wasn't sure how much to reveal to this man. Where had he come from? What was he doing out way the hell out here in this ghost town? Where was he taking him? First things first.

  "Where are you taking me?" Wes asked.

  "That's a good goddamn question, Wes. I have no idea. I was just trying to get away from the goose squad. Where would you like to go? You have any friends around here?"

  "No. Nobody."

  Milton looked closely at Wes."What the hell are you doing here, man? Seriously."

  Wes had to offer some explanation, but he didn't have to tell the whole truth. Maybe he could get out of this predicament and still cash in.

  “I’m here on business."

  "You doing business with Homeland Security?”

  Wes was suddenly frightened and confused. William had never mentioned Homeland Security. "What Homeland Security?"

  "Those men in black, man. They are Homeland Security agents. Didn't you know that?"

  “Who told you they were Homeland Security Agents?”

  “They did.”

  “Of course. I understand now. But you have it all wrong. Those men back there were sent by the man I’m doing business, or was doing business with I should say. Those men are here

  to help load the train. They work for...”

  "Sent from where,” Milton interrupted.

  Wes suddenly realized he didn't know a thing about those men. William had not been specific. He had no idea where they came from or what they were doing here.

  "I don't know."

  "I know what they are doing here. The first time they showed up was thirteen years ago. They said they were Homeland Security agents acting on orders from Washington to secure a water resources for the Federal Emergency Water Reserve. They were investigating our water in our quarries. The first time they came, they ran a few tests then left, but promised to come back...and they did. They came back a year later with two train loads of materials and equipment and built a fence around our quarries, built domes over the quarries, built barracks, cafeteria, power plant, and a water treatment facility...like they owned the place.

  Wes was trying desperately to make sense of what Milton was saying. These were William Koch's men; they took orders from him. They were not government agents. If William had millions of gallons of water under his control, he didn't need the water in the warehouse as badly as he claimed to. Was he trying to...of course he was.”

  "Those men aren't from Homeland Security. Those men work for William Koch Junior, a business acquaintance of mine whom rules Kansas City."

  "Just a second." Milton got out of the SUV and walked to the front, unfurling one of the limp white standards revealing the iron-on logo. "What's this look like to you?"

  "It looks a swan; a black swan."

  "I thought it was a goose. It damn sure isn't a Homeland Security insignia is it?"

  Wes shook his head. Milton slid behind the wheel and started the engine. He saw Wes cringe. "Don't worry, I'll take it easy. Let's go see if we can find some of my friends. They should know about this." He proceeded slowly in the direction of DB Searles.

  #

  Chapter - AMBER,SHEILA,REDWING MEET FAYE

  Faye had been watching the train's arrival from her rooftop. She had mixed feelings about it. She naturally wondered what it was bringing to town and quickly surmised that it carried more supplies for the Homeland Security agents stationed at the Water Reserve. Nevertheless, it was nice to see some activity in town. As she turned toward the stairwell she noticed a black dot on the horizon. It didn’t belong there. If it was moving, she wouldn’t have taken note. HSAgents regularly patrolled the local roads, but the dot wasn’t moving. She reached for her binoculars, the dot moved. She managed to focus on the silhouette of the dot before it disappeared over the horizon. Nothing clicked...a stranger for sure...on a two-wheeler...that was unusual...likely looking for someone... Her calculus was interrupted by a pounding coming from downstairs. She grabbed her semi-auto shotgun, making sure it was loaded as she descended the stairs, through the fire door into the restaurant, reaching the fr
ont door in record time. She chambered a round, flipped off the safety, ready for any surprise. She looked through the peephole she had drilled in the front door and could see one filthy individual standing outside. It could be female or male, it was hard to tell.

  "What do you want?"

  "We just got into town. We want to talk to someone that lives here. Anyone."

  "Why?"

  "We're looking for someone." Another voice, harsher,louder, older. Two people.

  "Who? I know everyone in town."

  "I'm looking for my brother. His name is Leland Cooke. Do you know where we can find him?"

  "Who's we? I only see one of you." Faye craned her neck trying to see the other person, trying to verify the count.

  Amber pulled Sheila to her side and pointed down at Redwing. “We three. See?"

  "Just a minute." Faye worked the bolts of the locks and took three steps backward as she swung the door open, leveling the barrel of her shotgun on the nearest target.

  "Stay right there." She barked. She was nervous. She was shaking. Adrenaline. "Let me take a look at you." She studied the two women. “

  Where did you two...three come from?”

  Amber and Sheila pointed in the direction of the tracks. “We rode the train.” Amber said.

  "You...what? A train? The train that just came into town?”

  They both nodded. Faye was astounded. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Her mind raced. Why not. Could she ride the railroad to see her kids? Wow.

  Amber was tired of standing on the concrete sidewalk. Just let us in.

  “You could say we've been riding the rails. It's a long story.” It seemed like a lifetime to her.

  Faye forced herself to focus on the moment. “Huh? Oh, sorry about that, I got lost for a second. Then she remembered. Was the mystery lone rider with them? May as well get right to the point.

  “Who came with you?”

  Amber and Sheila were confused by the question. Sheila spoke first.”No one...as far as we know.Why? You’ve got me real curious as to why you would ask us that.” At that instant she knew they had been sloppy and careless during their journey and had seldom checked the back door. She knew they were fortunate to have arrived safely. Damn lucky.