“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Mr. Lee’s English was perfect and without accent, but the sarcasm was practically dripping as he smiled.
Walter cut in. “As I mentioned, I’m going to get rid of those bodies. Most of them I should be able to scoop right up with the loader bucket. Bernie is sending down some lunch. After you eat, I’d suggest a hot shower and a long nap.”
“I’ll take the lunch, but give my hot shower to them.” I nodded toward the playing children.
Walter kept his expression neutral as he replied, “Just wait until after lunch before you turn down the shower.”
I nodded slowly but said nothing, and that must have sparked his curiosity. “You’re not going to take a nap, are you?”
“There’s something else I have to do.”
“Right now, or are you going to wait until after lunch?”
“I’m going to eat first.”
He nodded, holding my eyes with his for an extra moment before turning and heading outside. C.J. and Mr. Lee followed at his heels.
My five minute wait for lunch turned into about twenty minutes, and then both the tractor and the Mule showed up outside. Bernice, accompanied by Glenda, brought in one of the cast iron Dutch ovens and set it on the stove. Several bowls appeared, and in short order I was working on my second helping of maple syrup drenched oatmeal. There was still plenty left in the pan, and by the time I had washed my bowl in the sink, Walter, Mr. Lee, and C.J. had finished up with the tractor and were back inside. All three of them made a beeline for the oatmeal. After they’d eaten, Walter called Thompson and Rebecca down from the crow’s nest.
“No guards?” My raised eyebrows accompanied the question.
“Scott and Dave are out there.”
I closed my eyes and tried to sort through the myriad of upcoming preparations, but had hardly gotten started when Walter cleared his throat. “I’ll make this short and simple. I’m shutting down the store.”
Several looks of confusion and disbelief flooded onto some of the gathered faces, mine included. Before I could say a word, Walter shook his head and continued. “Now hear me out for a second. Yesterday we had a lot of people here . . . most of ‘em only stayin’ until something better came along. Leastwise something that they thought was better. I don’t think it was, and judging from the fact that you’re still here, neither did you.” He looked around the room, stopping his gaze on BB’s mother. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to say that I don’t even know your name.”
“My mom’s name is Leah,” BB answered, “she can’t talk.”
BB’s mother flashed a series of hand gestures—sign language—toward her son, and after a moment he spoke again. “She says that she’s very thankful for all that you’ve done for her family.”
Walter nodded at the boy and said, “Tell her that . . .”
BB shook his head and sighed, “She can hear fine, she just can’t speak.”
Walter paused, and then nodded again in their direction. “Sorry, my bad.” He looked around the room, stopping briefly to pass some unspoken communication to Bernice before continuing. “As I was saying, I’m closing the store. We just don’t have enough people to keep posting guards up on the roof, and that’s not fair to you—or to the people who would be pulling that duty. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to invite you . . . everybody . . . to stay up at the house.”
“I thought you said there wasn’t room . . . or enough food, sir.” The question came, surprisingly, from BB.
“Well, we’ll have to make some changes in where everybody will sleep, but I believe we can do it. And besides, young man, if I didn’t extend this invitation, my wife,” he inclined his head towards Bernice, “has promised to use my skull as a testing ground for her rolling pin.”
Leah signed again and BB translated. “My mom says she is very grateful for your offer, but she doesn’t want to be a burden.”
This time, Walter looked directly at Leah as he spoke. “Ma’am, I’m not the most eloquent speech maker in history, but I’m pretty sure that I know good people when I see them. You would be doing me a favor by staying at the house, and I’d appreciate it if you . . . all of you . . . accepted my offer.”
They did, and as soon as Thompson had finished scraping the last fleck of oatmeal from the bottom of the Dutch oven, preparations were made to shift everybody up to the house.
I was still squatting against the wall trying to force my mind into organizational mode when Walter tromped over.
“Got a minute?”
I pushed off the floor and stood. “If you don’t mind talking and walking, I’ve got several.”
He dropped his arm and gestured toward the door. “Lead the way.”
I walked outside and turned left, heading for the office. When I got there, I unlocked the door and went inside. A click behind me told me that Walter had relocked it.
“Going to see your hairy monster?”
“Yeah. That and to try and get my head straight.”
As we passed by the old refrigerator, he opened it and grabbed two bottles. I went down the hall and through the door to the executive conference room. Max was standing on top of the picnic table, eye level with me. The body language in his posture said that he wasn’t happy—at all—with his recent and frequent confinement. I couldn’t blame him, and spent the next few minutes rubbing his cheek pads and ears, trying to convince him that it was going to change. I’m not sure that either of us were totally convinced by my words, though.
Walter stood in the doorway and offered me the tribute of Dr. Pepper. I took it, instinctively opening the cap in a Pavlovian response. He took a sip of his own soda; some generic version that I couldn’t quite make out the label of behind his hand.
“Is now a good time?” he asked.
I’ve never been a fan of beating around the bush or mincing words. It’s a habit—one of many—that I picked up from my uncle. “I’m sorry Walter, but Marty is gone.” I gave that a few seconds to sink in as I struggled with the decision for my next words. They came out soft and steady, almost as if someone else was speaking them.
“I shot him.”
Walter’s face remained stone except for a slight bob. “Tell me.”
So I did. I gave him the whole story from the time we entered the campground to the time we crash landed in the lake. When I was finished, he walked toward me and put his hand on my shoulder. I could see a single wet trail from the passage of a tear on his left cheek.
“You did the right thing, Eric, and I’m grateful that you had the guts to pull the trigger.”
I said nothing . . . just nodded . . . and he turned and plopped down on the bench seat beside me, earning him a low grumble from Max.
“Max, hush.”
We sat there in quiet reflection for several minutes as the fine particles of dust danced and swirled through the shaft of sunlight that angled down from the window high on the wall.
“You’ve been through a lot in the last few days. Take an old man’s advice and stand down for a bit. Get some rest.”
“That’s not going to happen, at least not anytime soon.”
“Do you want to tell me what you’re thinking?” I had known Walter long enough to know that wasn’t a question.
“I want you to keep it to yourself, at least for a little bit.”
He said nothing, but gave a slow dip of his nose.
“There are two things that I need to do . . . one, really, but in order to do that and have the best chance of . . . surviving . . . there’s something else I need to do first. And if that isn’t enough, I’m going to need your help.
“Anything you need, I’ll burn down the world to make it happen.”
“I know.”
He sat on the bench, perfectly still, as he waited for me to speak.
“Michelle and I are going to make a run to Devils Lake.” I watched as his eyebrows arched upwards, crunching his forehead into a series of wrinkles at the same time as the corners of his mouth dropped. “Ther
e is a chance that her mother made it to her dad’s cabin before things got out of hand. I’m not letting Michelle go alone.”
He grunted and shook his head. “You . . . and her . . . need to think this through. That lake is the vacation spot for thousands and thousands of people every year. It’s also one of the first places that people might think of as a safe destination outside of the cities. It could be crawling with sick people.”
“Yeah, I know, but that doesn’t change my decision . . . maybe my tactics and planning—but not my determination. I will not,” I slowly and heavily emphasized those words, “let her go alone. And you know she would.”
“I know.”
I stood and stretched, flexing myself sideways to ease out the beginnings of a cramp in my rib cage. “However, before we go there, I’m heading to the cabin. Don’t get me wrong, I greatly appreciate the M2 from Uncle Andy and the accessories from you and Bernice, but there are a few other things at the cabin that I want to take with me when we head to Devils Lake.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Shortly. For the cabin, I mean. I know that every second counts, but I want to give some serious consideration to our plan. So, my goal—right now, anyhow—is to leave the day after tomorrow.”
“You should take some more people with you.”
“I thought about it, but that’s not the answer. I’ve got an idea creeping around in the back of my head, but it shouldn’t really depend on additional firepower. If that’s what it comes to, well, then we’re probably SOL. Besides, you may need as many people as you can get right here. We must have wiped out the majority of those things at the campground, but there may still be some left.”
“What do you need from me?”
“I’ve got a list already started . . . in my head anyhow. I’ll work on the rest of it later today. Keep a radio with you—we’ll figure out a private channel—and I’ll contact you later. There is one thing I’d like to know right now.”
“What’s that?”
“Michelle said that you gave her and Uncle Andy a Ruger pistol with a suppressor.”
“Yep, they took it with them when they went to Fort Hammer.”
“I’m guessing that it’s sitting in my uncle’s pickup truck at the cabin. What I’d like to know is if the threads on the suppressor will mount up to the threads at the end of my 10/22 barrel.”
“Is your barrel threaded?”
“Not the one that’s on there right now, but there’s a threaded stainless steel barrel sitting in the safe at the cabin. I ordered it from Tactical Innovations with the faster 1-9 twist ratio so it would stabilize the heavy Aguila SSS ammunition.”
“What’s the TPI?”
“Threads per inch are one half by twenty-eight on the stainless barrel.”
“That’s standard. The suppressor on the pistol is a Sparrow model by SilencerCo. Probably one of the best ones out there. It’ll match up to your barrel like a glove.”
“Can I borrow it?”
“Only if you promise to bring it, and both of you, back.”
“I’ll try.”
We talked a little more, and then he got up to leave. I followed with Max, but called out before we’d gone five steps. “One more thing. I’m not sure if Michelle is going to the cabin with me. It might put her in a difficult situation, given the memories she may be holding of what happened there, so if she doesn’t go with me, don’t let her leave for Devils Lake until I get back.”
I could see the wheels turning as he considered the unlikely possibility that he’d be able to prevent her departure if she set her mind to it, but he nodded and said, “I’ll try.”
So, shortly before 1:00 PM I was up at Walter’s house, heading down the hallway for the promised, and much needed, hot shower. It felt so good I wanted to stay there for the rest of the day. As it was, I settled for a good ten minute soaking. When I got out I found my BDU’s had been washed and dried, and were folded outside the bathroom door along with several of my shirts. Most of my clothes were still at the cabin, so I went with a long sleeve thermal base layer topped with my Tennessee sweatshirt. My next stop was the door to the bedroom where Michelle was napping. A few soft taps on the door accompanied her name.
“Michelle.”
There was no response, so I quietly cracked the door open. She was lying there on top of the bedspread, dressed in an old fashion, button down flannel nightgown. It practically hung in drapes off of her lean, lithe form, and her hair was splayed out in a giant fan-shaped pattern that looked like she had tossed her head through a series of wild convulsions before going to sleep. A pair of miniature headphones were covering her ears, and I could hear the faint treble vibrations as the music sprang forth. I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. Her eyes stayed closed, and she gave a small wheezing snore. I sat there, just watching her breathe for at least five minutes. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve been with a lot of women—some rather plain, others pretty cute, and still others pretty dang . . ., well, pretty. But as I sat there looking down, it just stunned me how absolutely gorgeous Michelle was. I reached down and gently touched her hand, and then her eyes flew open with a yelp and she practically clobbered me with her other hand, the one holding the hard, plastic MP3 player.
“Ouch!”
“Eric, what the heck are you doing? I could’ve killed you.”
I touched the area of my jaw just below my left ear and felt a little dent in my skin from the corner of the MP3 player. “Yeah,” I added with a wince, “that music you listen to is deadly.”
“Not that,” she moved her pillow, revealing the Glock underneath, “this.” She groaned sleepily and flopped back down on the bed.
“That’s a . . . nice . . . nightie.”
“It’s one of Bernice’s.”
“I thought it looked a little bit large. Just a bit though.”
Her eyes narrowed and she mumbled a quick “thanks a lot” before rolling over on her stomach. I reached a hand down and pressed into her shoulder blades, twisting my wrist back and forth and earning a muffled “Uhhmmm.” She shifted underneath my hand, flattening out and stretching her arms under the pillow. I continued to rub her back in small circles, and then walked my fingers up to include her neck and the base of her skull.
“Do you remember where my Glock is?”
“Under your pillow.”
“Yeah. I just want you to know that if you stop rubbing, I’m going to shoot you.”
“Well, I don’t want that.”
She laid there, sprawled and relaxing as I worked at the muscles in her upper back and neck. “I need to talk to you about something.”
I felt her immediately tense up. “Relax,” I said, “just relax.” She didn’t.
Michelle spun underneath my massage until she was face up. “What?” It was a single word, but her tone conveyed everything from curiosity to fear, doubt, hope, and apprehension.
“I promised you that we’d go after your mother, and I meant that. However, before we go, there’s something that I need to do . . . probably alone because of the . . . circumstances.” I stumbled over the words as I finished. Her eyes shifted from wide open uneasiness to slender windows of confusion, but she said nothing.
“Michelle, I need to go back to the cabin. I don’t know what kind of . . . memories . . . that may trigger for you . . . with what happened . . . and what might have happened.” I paused, hesitatingly tripping over my own tongue as I searched for the right vocabulary . . . the right empathy. She pushed herself into a sitting position; her eyes never leaving mine as I bumbled forward. “What I’m trying to say is that I want you to understand . . . that I understand . . . that Uncle Andy’s cabin might not be the best place for you. Because of the memories.”
Still locking her eyes with mine, she scooted on to her knees and pulled my face close. Then, it was my turn to be confused and she tilted forward and kissed me. It was probably the best kiss I’ve ever had in my life.
When I recove
red, she was seated Indian style on the bed, staring over at me. The fire in her green eyes was blazing intensely, like looking into twin emerald suns. “Wow . . . that was . . . nice.”
She smiled, “There’s more where that came from. I’ve been saving them up for you.”
“I’ll take them, but what was that one for?”
“Because you care enough to try and relate to me on a much deeper level than just what’s on the surface.”
I gave a weak smile, still somewhat confused by her reaction. Not that I was complaining. At all.
“So,” I began, “I’ve got to go to the cabin and pick up a few things. I’m going to take Max, and we should be back before dark, or maybe a little bit after.”
Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending Page 35