There Where the Power Lies (Monster of the Apocalypse Saga Book 2)

by C. Martens

  The question was how to acquire one.

  The man with the pinto had never stolen a vehicle and knew nothing about breaking into one or starting it. But as he thought about it, the answer became obvious. There seemed to be no one to stop him, so he would just find vehicles that still required keys and then break down a door and search for them.

  He remembered a used car lot down the street and a light pickup of several years in age on the second row.

  With the horse watered before he left and then returned to the interior of the store, Emmett made sure the pony would be safe. He did not trust the fence after seeing the dogs digging at the door.

  He checked his pistol again. After reloading the clip, he had just three shells left. Fewer than he had thought. Looking around the store, he added a hand axe with a nylon sheath to his belt. Then a wrecking bar caught his attention. Worst case scenario, if he ran out of bullets, he would go down fighting, and both tools might come in handy as he searched for what he required.

  Now he had a shopping list. Ammo, or a new weapon with shells, and a book on caring for the horse. If he ran into a feed store he would bring back something for Joe to eat. He added a location to his itinerary. A veterinary clinic. He might find something useful there.

  Stepping outside, pistol ready, he checked around the side of the building. No sign of dogs.

  Emmett ran. The small pistol would be no match for a pack, and he had no illusions of the outcome if he had to resort to using the tools against them.

  Taking the truck was easier than he thought. After giving it a cursory inspection to make sure the tires held air, and noticing that the cord was plugged into a receptacle just as all of the others were, he broke the glass of the front door to the building and found the keys hanging on a bulletin board with a yellow tag attached describing it. Piece of cake.

  Climbing in, he checked the charge indicator. Barely registering. Apparently the owner of the lot was too cheap to keep the juice on for a full charge. Emmett considered briefly. The lumber yard, not too far away, had extension cords and a receptacle next to the front door. The list beckoned, and he felt sure that he could make the shopping trip short. Hopefully the truck would make it.

  The sporting goods store was first on the list. Again, Emmett hesitated. He was uncomfortable breaking in, but there were no alternatives. If he had been a local he might have known the owners and contacted them. He was not, though, and he had no idea of other options. The door yielded under the pressure of the wrecking bar, and the glass did not even break.

  Right away there was a blaring noise. A loud alarm, meant to scare off anyone with bad intent, rose in pitch and volume and then descended in an ongoing shriek. The noise shook Emmett, but he moved inside and looked quickly for any signs of the source, and from there the wiring to it. He chopped the connections apart with his axe, and the noise stopped.

  There was ammo behind the counter, visible to customers. He went around the end to the back side and perused the offerings. Finding some .380, he placed all of those boxes on the counter.

  A row of rifles and shotguns above caught his eye. He had not thought about a long weapon and had never used one. The idea appealed to his machismo immediately as a young man. He looked at each, trying to weigh possibilities he knew little about.

  Traveling on the pony, he thought he might use a saddle gun, and there was a lever action similar to those he had seen in old westerns. One possibility.

  A scoped rifle, semi auto, caught his eye. Certainly there was a use for that kind of weapon. Option number two.

  With the pack on his mind, the shotguns became attractive. He knew that scatterguns were some of the most deadly weapons for amateurs to use, especially in short distances. He shook his head. That was all he needed, a third choice.

  The weapons were cabled in for security. The axe handled the issue after he got some good whacks on a hard surface. The cable notched the blade, and Emmett cursed its country of manufacture.

  Finding ammo for each of his three choices, Emmett figured out how to load the shotgun, a 12-gauge pump. He laid the weapon on the counter after filling the magazine with double aught buck. All three types of shell, as well as the two rifles, found their way into the truck’s passenger floorboard. He could make any decision later about which to keep.

  Looking around, he considered what else he could use. He already had his camping gear, and his shoes were in good condition. There seemed to be nothing he needed.

  He was just about to open the door of the pick-up and realized what he had forgotten. His primary intent had been to find a pistol with more fire power and use the little automatic as a backup. The rifles had distracted him.

  There were few options. Most of the pistols were automatics, and he had already determined that he wanted a revolver. The experience in having to work the slide while riding a running horse had told him that he required something else.

  The .38 snubby without a hammer was intended to be a concealed weapon. Emmett knew that barrel length would affect accuracy, so he passed on it. That left two other choices. One was an ancient .45 that looked like something from the late 1800’s. The other was a massive cannon with a sixteen inch barrel. Neither were what Emmett was looking for, but the .45 would do until he could find something better. He picked it up and felt the heft. It was a well-balanced weapon and high quality, although Emmett did not know it from his limited experience handling guns. One of the other things he did not know but was lucky in finding was that it was double action. He could pull the trigger, and the weapon would fire without cocking it. The .45 would serve.

  There were no good choices in holsters, but there again Emmett had no expertise. He found a shoulder holster that the pistol fit into and after some experimentation strapped it on. There was only one box of ammunition, and after loading the six-shooter he pocketed the remainder.

  The morning was early yet. He was making good time, and he had not even considered paying for what he had taken from the store.

  Breaking the chain on the front gate of the feed store and then the glass of the door, Emmett ducked under the push bar and entered. He carried the shotgun and felt pretty good doing it. The dogs had freaked him out.

  There were some books and a rack full of magazines, all oriented toward horses and other livestock. He concentrated on the books that had to do with veterinary care. For the most part they were disappointing. He had to do better.

  Making a quick search of the facility, both to make sure he had not missed anything and to find something to feed Joe, he ran into the manager’s office. The woman was a horse fanatic. She kept a small library above her desk, and Emmett almost missed them. If there had not been a fencing tool with padded handles holding down some papers on the desk, he would have passed by. Instead, he entered and picked up the tool. It was nicer than the pliers he had, and as he stuck it in his back pocket, he looked up and noticed the title of one of the shelved books. After a quick skim of the indexes and a couple of chapters, several of the books filled Emmett’s arm.

  With the books on the seat of the truck, the young man reentered the store and moved to the last aisles that he had missed. He was in a hurry now that he had the books, but he was here and unlikely to return.

  The last aisle contained tack and leather goods, but what caught Emmett’s eye was a display above. There was a pack saddle. In thinking of his pony’s hooves and the fact that they were unshod, he realized that perhaps he should reconsider how he used the little gelding. A light pack would be better than a man and a heavy saddle. Emmett could walk. He found a short ladder and took it down.

  The feed store was complete and well stocked for a small outfit. Part of a small chain that was largely successful and soon to be bought out by a large competitor, they kept a good inventory, even items that were marginal sellers. There was a scabbard for a rifle, a good stout halter with a long lead line, and a new lariat that joined the pile.

  Carrying his acquisitions to the front door, and mak
ing several trips, Emmett suddenly realized what was in the glass case next to the front door. An area that the manager had set aside for customers to use held a bulletin board filled with notices and business cards. Below that stood a curved glass china cabinet with used items on consignment. There was a belt and holster inside. Emmett almost broke the glass before trying the door. It was unlocked.

  The way the belt fit Emmett and the .45 fit the holster seemed to be a fortuitous coincidence. But the weapon had once been at home in this holster, and the man that owned it was similar in build to the new owner. Emmett was unaware of that, of course, but he appreciated that the ill-fitting shoulder holster could be discarded.

  The way the outfit felt against his thigh, with the thong tied at the bottom, made the young man consider the cowboy boots against one wall. He was not ready for that, though. The light hiking shoes he wore were too comfortable. As he drove around to the rear of the store, he thought about the boots.

  In back there was the remainder of a once huge stack of small bales. Two of them almost filled the back of the little truck, and Emmett knew where the hay was if he needed more.

  By now it was midafternoon, and Emmett was hungry. He opened a can of stew, and ate it cold inside the manager’s office as he read a chapter on hoof care. What he found was frightening and at the same time hopeful.

  The gist of it was that the injury was not as bad as Emmett imagined, and as long as he kept the pony from making it worse, there was little to worry about. There were procedures that seemed simple and something he felt confident in figuring out. The materials he needed were likely to be right here in the store or in the grocery that he already knew of.

  Sure enough, he found a display with boots made for use on horses and the epoxies that he would require to attach them. The tools, a hoof pick, rasp, and nippers, were all on an end cap. Without considering the reasoning, Emmett chose the cheapest as though he would be paying for them. The only thing he did not find was hydrogen peroxide. A trip to the grocery was in order.

  Cancelling a search for vet supplies, Emmett drove directly to the market. He parked as close to the door as he could, just outside the barriers.

  The pistol felt comfortable on his hip as he approached the doors. He left the shotgun in the truck.

  Just as the automatic doors triggered, he noticed the prints. Dogs had been in the store. The tracks only showed coming out, and they looked to be made in blood.

  The doors closed as Emmett froze.

  Thoughts coursed through his mind. Why would the dogs only now be in the store? Surely they would have smelled the rotting meat, and the doors opened automatically. But there were a lot of rotting meat smells. How would this store be any different from the houses of their former owners? The dogs must have back-tracked his scent to the doors, and when they opened, hunger gave them the courage to investigate.

  Retreating to the truck, Emmett considered whether to go shopping or not. Concern won out as he thought of the little pony that needed him. He picked up the shotgun and chambered a round.

  Reading the signs above each aisle, Emmett avoided going to the back. An area designated for medical products yielded a couple of decent sized bottles of peroxide, and he exited quickly. Better to avoid knowing if there were dogs in the store.

  Pulling the truck up to the front of the lumber yard façade was a relief. The red indicator warning light on the dash had been blinking soon after leaving the feed store. The truck needed a charge. Emmett wondered how long the grid would stay up. He had no way to tell, but he thought about it and thanked “whatever” as he plugged the truck in.

  Joe was glad to see him, and he was even happier to see the hay. He ate contentedly from one of the bales after the wire ties were removed, and it was placed next to the sink in back. The foot seemed to be sore, and he limped slightly, but the split was still only at the bottom. Emmett tied him closely so he could not move about and aggravate it.

  There had only been one package of epoxy in the feed store, and Emmett knew that he would need more as the hoof healed. The store they were staying in, being oriented to home repair, should have other epoxies. Searching the shelves and racks, he quickly found a display with several.

  The night was spent with the horse inside once more and the door locked.

  The dogs made no reappearance, and Emmett wondered if they had filled their bellies at the grocery store. There was plenty of rotten meat. He thought it would have been nice if they had gotten ptomaine poisoning, but he knew dogs would gain weight on what would kill a man.

  As Emmett prepared a hot meal on the electric plate in the break room, he thought about the dogs. He liked animals and had a puppy that he loved as a child. One of the great tragedies of his young life was when the dog disappeared. As he thought about them, he had some sympathy toward the former pets, but he recognized that they would be far too dangerous in a pack to approach and try to win over. He considered trying to trap one and thought about the effort it might take to rebuild a relationship with a feral animal. In the end, he decided to forget it. The dogs did not deserve their circumstances, but he had other priorities.

  As Emmett sat down to eat, he opened one of the books to read about the care of horses. It was late when he woke and realized he had fallen asleep in his chair.

  The next day would bring the necessity of dealing with the hoof. Until then, he needed to get some sleep.

  Chapter 20

  After a week of reading equine care books in the lumber yard building, his off time spent driving around and looking at what he could find, Emmett settled on an old estate in decent repair just outside of town. He had found horses there in a pasture that was cropped over and let them into the adjoining paddock.

  One of the reasons for the move was to protect his pinto. The book talked about “hardware disease,” and Emmett realized that the lumber yard was a likely place for the gelding to pick up a screw or nail while he ate his hay or foraged in the weeds of the yard.

  Just as Emmett was preparing to move Joe, the dogs reappeared. The big feed they had at the grocery must have worn off. Reluctantly, Emmett resolved to shoot whatever ones he could until the others ran off. Then he remembered how they had picked up his scent and followed it to both the market and the building he now occupied. He did not want to lead them to the new location. The dogs had stayed contained in the comfort zone of the neighborhoods, their territory, but sooner or later they would have to find food sources. Or tear each other apart. There were at least two with what looked like severe gashes. Another favored a leg. Feral life appeared to be brutal.

  The lumber yard fence gave Emmett an idea. He could trap them and leave. They would eventually dig out, surely, but by then he and the pony would have moved on.

  Then, just as before, there was another moment where Emmett came to mature and understand the realities. If they dug out, even several days later, they could and probably would use their noses to pursue him. That was why they had shown up the first day, and that was how they found the market, using their noses to follow him. Emmett suspected that with the find of decayed meat, the dogs related him with food. Not a good thing.

  When the dogs disappeared from sight, he stepped outside and looked around the corner of the building. Turning around, Emmett found four dogs coursing toward him fast. Emmett made it to the door and watched them from inside. He wondered where they had been hidden as they milled around and scratched at the door.

  There was only one thing to do. He had to trap and kill them. The pinto could not convalesce with the dogs being a threat.

  Hating the idea but not seeing any alternative, he devised a way to lure the dogs into the fenced area and close the gate.

  The little truck left the dogs behind, and soon Emmett returned with frozen meats from the enclosed freezer cases in the market. He had time, so he set them out to thaw in the sun and unwrapped several to bake in the warm autumn day. After a week the pile was starting to show maggot activity, and the stench was overpowe
ring if he was downwind.

  Appearing at random times, the dogs started to pace and test the fence. Now the meat was ripe, and so were they.

  Emmett had found the keys to the store, and one was the key to the lock on the gate. Careful to be sure that there were no animals close, and keeping an eye peeled, he opened and swung the gate wide. Then he used a bowline knot to tie a long piece of cheap rope to the gate. He spliced on three more ropes as he retreated to the building.

  The four dogs that had pursued him from cover were the first to show up. They got to the gate and hesitated. One entered, slinking on its belly. Then another followed. The other two followed just as two more dogs showed up. Emmett wondered if they had some kind of communication as the rest showed. They seemed to know about the sudden availability of food, even though they were divided from each other and scavenging separately. Maybe it was the noise as they fought over scraps taken from the huge pile. In less than twenty minutes Emmett judged that all the dogs were inside the fence. He tugged the rope quickly, hand over hand, and the gate closed.

  The dogs had mixed reactions. Most concentrated on the meat, while a couple of them fought, unaware of the gate closing. Two faded back into the small piles of lumber that remained and paced the fence. Two charged the gate as Emmett latched it.

  He shot at them first with the .45. The others ran to the rear of the enclosure, but there was not enough cover to hide them well. Emmett, using the rifle with the scope, dispatched the ones that showed themselves. After several misses with animals that hid effectively, he quit, leaving the gate latched. The dogs that remained had the water in the big sink, the pile of rotting meat, and their compatriots to chew on. Maybe it would keep them from digging under the fence for a while. In any case, there were few left to cause problems.

  The foul taste in Emmett’s mouth made him want to throw up. His consolation was that he felt sure that he could expect to be safe now.