“And guns, we know that you have guns too,” one of the men added briskly.
Michelle sat quietly as the ATV idled roughly. Walter, still looking at the lady, hadn’t made a sound. A few more moments of silence passed as the utility vehicle’s engine finally warmed up and evened out.
Finally, Walter tipped his hat slightly downward and said, “And . . .”
The lady, with a growing spark of irritation on her face, straightened up and crossed her arms. “And . . . we’ve been talking with some of the others. Most everybody thinks that you should divide up all of the food equally, and make sure that everybody has a way to defend themselves against those horrible monsters.”
“I see. So you and,” Walter nosed towards the two men, “a couple others think that’s the way to go, huh?”
One of the men stepped forward, resting his hand on the lady’s stiff shoulder. “It’s not just us. We’ve talked to a lot of the other people here. Most of them feel the same.”
Ignoring the man, Walter looked up at the lady and said, “I’ll tell you what . . .,” he paused for a moment, tapping his finger in the air toward her, “tell me your name again.”
“Diane.”
“That’s right . . . Diane. I remember now. We’ve got Diane, and husband . . . William?”
Before she could nod in the affirmative Walter continued. “Yes, I remember now, your husband’s name is William and your brother is Colton.”
The trio bobbed their heads in unison as Walter depressed the brake pedal and shifted the ATV into gear. “That is a very interesting idea you have. And you say others share it as well, huh? Well how about we do this . . . once we get a few more things taken care of, we’re going to try and have a nice little ‘sit down and chat’ session with everybody. Probably gonna happen tonight or tomorrow morning. Make sure you bring that up, as well as any other ideas you can think of, and we’ll see what we can work out. In the meantime, there’s about two cords of firewood out there past the chicken coop that need splitting, so if you’re looking for something to do, it would be mighty appreciated.” Walter’s sugarcoated words trailed off behind him as he accelerated the Mule down the driveway.
Thick layers of crush and run gravel crunched underneath the aggressive tread of the ATV’s off-road tires as Walter piloted the vehicle through the switchback. Another quick series of braking and weaving brought them to the long flat stretch that paralleled the lakeside. Ahead of them they both noticed a figure walking slowly toward the shop.
“Do you recognize the clothing?” Michelle asked.
Walter shrugged and shook his head as he replied, “No, and that’s part of the problem. We’ve just been so chaotic the last few days that I can’t keep track of nothin’. Heck, I don’t even remember what I wore yesterday. ”
“Do you mean that you haven’t memorized the jackets that fifty refugees brought with them when they crashed your gate and demanded that you put them up, feed them, and protect them from homicidal monsters?”
Michelle looked away so Walter wouldn’t see her grin as he replied, “No, I can’t say that I have. Smart ass.”
“Well,” Michelle said as she thumbed the release of her holster, “let’s go see who it is.”
Closing the gap took only a few seconds, and the figure, apparently hearing the sound of the approaching vehicle, turned to face them. It was Amy. Walter coasted to a stop about twenty feet away, but kept the ATV in gear as Michelle slid off the seat and stood, her hand still glued to her belt line.
“Amy, is everything all right?” From this distance Michelle easily noted the hastily wiped tracks of tears on Amy’s face.
Amy nodded briskly, wiping her mitten-covered hands across her cheeks as she answered. “I’m fine. I just thought that I would get some fresh air and walk to the shop. Sam’s up there, and we’re still trying to work out some things, schedule wise.”
“You really shouldn’t be walking alone, you know.” Walter indicated with a quick glance up and down the road.
“I know . . . I know, I just needed a little time to myself. Besides,” she said as she patted the left side of her puffy jacket, “I still have this contraption you’re making me carry.”
“Don’t leave home without it.”
“I won’t . . . I promise.”
Michelle inclined her head toward the second bench seat on the Mule. “We’d be happy to give you a ride.”
Amy shook her head slowly, deliberately . . . and then turned her gaze across the reflective surface of the lake. The setting sun was painting fiery ribbons of orange on the choppy water, and barely visible in the fading light was the faint curve of the peninsula where Ravenwood campground sat.
“OK, but don’t be too long, it’s going to get dark soon. We’ll make sure that we give you a ride back though . . . OK?”
Still gazing out over the countless white-tipped swells that decorated the lake’s sunset, Amy replied, “I won’t be long, and a ride back would definitely be appreciated.”
Michelle scooted back into copilot position, and Walter accelerated down the gravel. The headlights on the ATV were just beginning to brighten the road in front of them as they pulled up to the improvised barrier made from an old cattle gate and a set of homemade ‘steel pipe and cement-filled tire’ volleyball net posts. On both the left and right side of the gate, RV’s sat idling.
“Why are they running?” Michelle asked with raised eyebrows.
Walter frowned as answered, “Not supposed to be. Dang it, I told them people not to waste gas . . . that there wouldn’t be any way to replace it.”
“That’s what I said too.” A voice from the left startled Walter and Michelle. Standing up from a reclining position in a camouflaged tangle of dried cattails and reeds, Crowbar Mike approached the vehicle. “But they basically told me to mind my own business, and besides, it ain’t my gas they’re burning trying to stay warm.”
“What the hey,” Walter mumbled as he fished a flashlight out of the glove box recess. Shining the light into the edge of shadows where Mike had come from revealed a well cloaked oblong object.
“That’s a damn good idea, Mike. Warm?”
“Too warm, especially with these coveralls.”
Michelle stood and followed the beam of Walter’s light. Concealed a few steps off of the driveway in the winter-browned and dried remains of high weeds was a waterfowl ground blind. Essentially an insulated coffin-like cloth box, the roof could be quickly popped open to allow a duck hunter to sit up and fire.
The door on one of the RV’s creaked open, and two men stepped out. One of them, a middle aged man with a head full of prematurely gray hair, elegantly styled and moussed to the point where it looked plastic, walked straight over to Walter and thumped his hand on the hood of the Mule.
“Just the man I was looking for,” he said with a curt nod.
“Simpson, right?” Walter said.
“Thomas Simpson, yes . . . and that’s Mr. Lancaster . . . Howard,” he indicated with a toss of his head toward the second man who stood by the RV. A rather large-ish band aid was plastered across his nose.
Michelle moved around the ATV and stood next to Walter, positioning herself as the ‘monkey in the middle’ of the line that stretched between Walter and Mike.
“Tom, what can I do . . .”
“Thomas please,” the man interrupted and corrected Walter.
Walter stood silently for a moment, and Michelle could sense his rising impatience. Hers was beginning to reach its limit as well.
Ignoring the request, Walter replied, “What can I do for you?”
“Several things actually. Why don’t you come in to the Northstar where it’s warmer and we can talk about it in a more civilized environment.”
“Nah, I’m good right here, but I also got to tell you that I ain’t got a lot of time right now, so make it fast. Please.” Walter had paused for the space of two heartbeats before he added the ‘please,’ an obvious assessment of where he felt the priori
ty of this conversation stood. The gesture wasn’t lost on anybody.
“Fine then, right here and right now. Howard and I, and several others have been discussing certain options that may have been overlooked since we evacuated the campground. Our assessment is that the security . . . policy . . . that is being implemented is severely lacking.”
“I agree,” Walter chipped. Michelle caught the quick flash of surprise pass over the face of the gray haired man.
“Well then,” the man continued, “we feel that, as a precaution against another incursion of the . . . sick people . . . there should be at least a dozen heavily armed and capable men on patrol at all times. In addition to that, since Howard and I have volunteered the use of our campers for gate duty, we should receive another stipend of gasoline. Fifteen to twenty gallons per vehicle should get us through the rest of the night, possibly even through lunch time tomorrow.”
Michelle’s proximity to Walter was enough to note his sudden, sharp intake of breath, and the subsequent clack of his teeth as he bit down his words. Before he could reply though, Mr. Lancaster chimed in.
“Speaking of food, we were told to expect dinner soon, and as I’ve already mentioned to one of those girls, neither my wife nor myself prefer rice. And the meat that was served at lunch, which I feel I should also mention was nothing more than the reheated leftovers of breakfast, was both tough and gamy.”
Michelle flushed with disbelief and anger at the man’s words, but Walter, apparently sensing her irritation rising, took a sliding sidestep and positioned himself in front of her.
“Mr. Simpson, Mr. Lancaster, I appreciate your information about the security situation here, as well as the problem with fuel and food. And while I sympathize with your issues, for right now we’re doing the best that we can with the limited, very limited . . . resources we have.”
A soft chirp emanated from Crowbar Mike’s coveralls.
Mike fished out the Fish and Wildlife radio and mashed down a button, illuminating the display a pale yellowish-green. “Battery meter is down to one bar. It started chirping about an hour ago.”
“We need to get you a new set then,” Walter said.
“And that is another issue,” Mr. Simpson began, “the batteries for our radios are down to about fifty percent. With all the kids talking back and forth it’s going to wear that down pretty fast. In addition, my lantern uses six of the “D” sized batteries, and I have generously lent it to the main group up at the store. I’d like to see about getting some spares for that as well.”
“What radios are you talking about?” Walter asked.
“I brought four of the little outdoor walkie-talkies with me when I left the city. Again, I have generously donated those so the children and the women up at the store can keep in contact with me . . . and each other.”
Mr. Lancaster stepped forward, and with a brief, uneasy look at Mike, addressed Walter. “There is another ‘security’ matter that needs to be dealt with. How are we supposed to see at night? I realize it’s currently clear, and the Moon will provide some residual light, but I think we should leave the headlights of both of our RV’s on all night, hence another reason for additional fuel.”
Mike’s gruff monotone cut in, “We’ve had this talk. You turn them on before they’re needed, and I bust em’ out.”
“And I told you that if you take one swing at my vehicle with that crowbar I’ll shoot you down,” Mr. Lancaster huffed.
“You turn on those headlights, and anything . . . any ‘THING’ . . . within a mile is going to come straight towards it,” Mike replied, a slight edge now in his voice.
“The campground is miles . . .”
Walter cut him off with a step forward. “Hold up a minute gentleman, we have enough problems without fighting each other. Now supper is supposed to be here in less than an hour, and after supper we’ll try and get some of these things squared away. In the meantime, let’s leave the headlights off and keep the attitudes in check, OK?”
A moment of silence passed before Mike spoke, “Yeah, that works for me.”
Another hushed pause slipped by before Mr. Simpson replied, “Fine, after supper then.” Without another word he turned and reentered the camper, Mr. Lancaster hot on his heels.
The last rays of sunlight were slipping behind the horizon as Amy walked up. “Problems?”
Walter nodded at her, and then stepped close to Mike, speaking soft enough so that anybody inside the RV’s couldn’t hear. “We’ll get you some batteries in a minute. In the meantime try and ignore the ’Ken doll’ and his buddy.”
“They’re both . . .”
He was cut off by Amy who whispered, “Spineless assholes.”
Mike broke into a smile at her choice of words. “Yeah, that about covers it.” Turning towards Walter and Michelle he added, “But they’re right about us needing some changes.”
Walter met briefly with each of their eyes before murmuring, “Oh, I think there’s going to be some changes around here. Very soon.” Turning towards Mike, he continued, “And I’d really like you to accompany us right now, but as much as I’d like that, I need you here even more. And just a heads up—I’d expect to see a sedan coming down from the house pretty shortly.”
“I got this . . . just don’t leave me hanging too long.” He turned and stepped off of the driveway into the weeds.
Without another word, Michelle walked forward, unhitched the gate and pulled it open. When Walter had driven through, she closed and latched it. Inside the left-hand RV there was a brief flash of a cigarette lighter, followed by the faint red glow of a drag. Michelle could feel the unseen eyes upon her as she stepped towards the ATV.
They traveled the last twenty yards or so of driveway proper before entering the large gravel expanse of the marina’s lot. To the left Michelle could see the corner of Ghost Echo Lake, and the forty-five foot wide, double capacity boat ramp that sloped gently into the dark water. To the right, visible in the dim early evening light as well as her memory, was the marina itself. Not so much a marina in the true sense, it was more of a collection of five buildings that catered to the various functions of the business. Closest to the highway was the ‘L’ shaped, cement block building that held the combination general store, bait shop, and gas station all in one. Moving away from the highway around the store brought you to the building that Walter called his office. Also made out of cinder blocks, it was the location where they had shared that wonderful meal just a few days ago . . . before everything went to hell.
Walter turned the wheel right and drove past the office. A rapid fire zigzag left, and then right put them between the huge boat storage warehouse and two smaller buildings. The warehouse, Michelle estimated, was almost 120 feet long, and maybe a third of that wide. Built ‘pole barn’ style and covered with prefabricated sheets of galvanized sheet metal, it was the newest building on the property. Of the two buildings on the left, Michelle knew that the one farthest away from the store held the large tank of propane. The other one she wasn’t sure about.
“This is crow’s nest to donkey, do you read?” The three Fish and Wildlife radios, one on each of the ATV’s occupant’s belts, crackled to life simultaneously.
Walter pulled the radio off his waist, keyed the button and replied, “It’s mule, not donkey, Thompson.”
The mirth in Thompson’s voice was evident as he transmitted back, “Yeah whatever. I’m just makin’ sure that it’s you down there. Can you . . . uh, hold on a second . . .” Thompson kept the button depressed, and the faint sound of paper shuffling could be heard. “Yeah, um, can you 10-61 at this time?”
Walter looked at Michelle for help. “I didn’t bring my cheat sheet, what’s he asking?”
“He’s asking if it’s OK to talk, in other words, he wants to know if you’re surrounded by people you trust to hear whatever’s going to come over the radio next.”
“What’s the correct jargon for telling him that I’m with two suspicious females?” The milliseco
nd of dead silence was interrupted when Amy kicked a shoe-full of gravel at his shins.
Walter danced, dodging the shrapnel and waving his hands. “I was kidding, I was kidding,” he laughed.
Michelle bit down her own amusement as she pulled the radio off her belt. “Thompson, this is Michelle, Amy and I are with Walter, but go ahead and switch to PC four.”
“Roger that, switching to priority channel four.”
Walter keyed the access code, and then pushed the channel select arrow until it stopped on four. A moment later Thompson’s voice came across.
“Old mule, do you copy?”
Even in the dim light Michelle could see Walter grinning as he shook his head. “It’s just ‘mule,’ Mr. Thompson, not old mule, stubborn donkey, or ill tempered ass—all of which you’ve called me in the last twenty-four hours over this radio.”
Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending Page 5