“It’s ok – just a little air in the injectors. No worries. Princess is almost ready.”
The ignition was turned again and the motor came to life and this time remained idling.
Bear and Dublin again joined Imran in the cabin as the others crawled up into the truck bed. Within minutes, as the lights of Wilfrid quickly drew closer, they passed a large, neatly painted green and white metallic sign on the side of the road with the following inscription:
WELCOME TO WILFRID – THE LAST REAL HOMETOWN ON EARTH
XXII.
Imran slowed the transport truck as he neared what appeared to be a checkpoint with two guard stations bookending each side of the road. Two men, both carrying M-16s, held up their hands for Imran to stop.
Imran rolled down his window and offered his all too familiar smile, calling out to each man by their names.
“Hello again, Jackson! Timothy! Good to see you! I have arrived with my guests. They have been invited by the godfather himself.”
The taller of the two guards, Jackson, peered into the truck cabin at Imran, Bear, and Dublin, while the one called Timothy stood toward the back, looking into the truck bed. Jackson was just under six foot, and appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He had a round, cleanly shaven face, with friendly, brown eyes, and small scar that crossed the bottom of his chin. He and his wife had fled the suburbs of Vancouver and took up residence in Wilfrid nearly six years ago. They welcomed their first child, Jackson Jr., into the world just four months ago.
“Nice to see you, Imran! We’ve been given notice to expect you to bring back some friends. Do they have names?”
Imran, still smiling, pointed to his right.
“This is Dublin Meyer, and Bear…from Alaska. In the back we have Mr. Mac Walker, Mr. Cooper Wyse, and Mr. Reese Neeson…of the radio program.”
Jackson smiled warmly back at Dublin and Bear and then looked down at a paper printout that he had removed from inside his winter jacket.
“Ok, thank you, Imran – names all check out. Those are the ones we were expecting to arrive. Say, was there some kind of explosion out there? We saw the flash, but that was it. Then you all arrived here about ten minutes later.”
Imran’s face grew serious.
“Yes – bandits. And they were well armed, Jackson. AK-47’s, and a functioning grenade launcher.”
Jackson’s eyes grew larger as he processed what Imran was telling him.
“Bandits? This close to Wilfrid? AK’s and a grenade launcher? That’s certainly out of the ordinary. I’ll be sure to send a group out in the morning to look over the site Imran, pick up any weapons that are still working. We got double security going, so no worries for now. We’ll be watching out for all of you. Just enjoy your time here at Wilfrid.”
Jackson nodded to the other guard, Timothy, and then waved Imran past the check point. The road past the checkpoint was noticeably smoother, having been recently re-paved. Bright yellow painted lines divided the lanes, and multi-colored plants were spaced out evenly on both sides of the road every forty feet or so.
Imran pointed into the darkness on either side of them.
“This whole area has motion sensors and hidden, in-ground lighting that comes on if anyone attempts to sneak into Wilfrid. The sensors are calibrated so that smaller animals don’t set them off, but a person would. Very good system. I helped design it! Now if you look up ahead, those lights you see that are all in a row…those are actual Boston street lamps from 1954! The godfather obtained a bunch of city surplus containers that were sitting on a barge tied up in Lake Michigan, of all places! He had them delivered all the way back here. There were street lights, signs, bricks, even a couple of false store fronts. It was a remarkable find! Very expensive to transport…but in the end, worth it.”
Dublin and Bear marveled at the world that was revealed to them under the old world lighting of Wilfrid’s meticulously paved Main Street as Imran’s truck passed slowly by Mitchell and Son’s Hardware, the Wilfrid Library, a large, three story, red bricked building with a sign above the massive wooden double doors that read,
“Wilfrid Schools – Great Minds For A Better Future”.
In the back of the transport truck, Mac, Reese, and Cooper were standing up in the truck bed, leaning against the canopy and staring at the same buildings Dublin and Bear were. Mac’s mouth was left open like a child’s on Christmas morning as he stared at a world that reminded him of his long ago childhood growing up in Carville, Louisiana in the 1960’s.
“Son-of-a-bitch.”
Cooper clapped Mac on the back.
“It’s different, that’s for sure. Hell, you’re old enough you’d fit right in here, Mac!”
Mac didn’t bother to respond as he continued to be amazed at how well this modern day Wilfrid had re-created what used to be small town America.
Reese pointed to a row of cars parked outside a brightly polished, silver train car that had been transformed into Mel’s Diner.
“Look at those cars. That’s a Cadillac. And there’s a Buick. The silver one on the end there…not sure what it is, but it’s beautiful.”
Mac followed to where Reese was pointing and smiled.
“That’s a Continental Mark II. 1956. Rare car. And you’re right – she’s a beauty. Back when American-made still meant something. Hell…back when American meant something.”
Imran turned off of Main Street and onto what the signage indicated was Acorn Drive, which was clearly a residential street that had meticulously maintained yards upon which large, equally pristine, two-story Craftsman styled homes stood with warm glowing lights peeking out through lace-curtained windows.
“This is one of our better neighborhoods. Beautiful homes here. Very nice street, and close to the school.”
Dublin was peering intently at the yards, her experience and love of plants telling her something was not quite right with the uniformity of the grass, shrubs, and trees.
“Imran – is that grass real?”
Imran gave several quick shakes of his head.
“Oh no…too cold up here most of the year to grow grass, or most plants outside…what you are looking at is all artificial. Even the trees are fabrications. Very good fabrications…but fabrications nevertheless. People do like to add or remove plants though, or change the color of the grass a little…you know, personalize their yards that way.”
While Dublin was impressed with how realistic the grass and plant life looked, she would much rather be able to work real earth, and grow real things in that earth, as God had intended.
“What do you do for food, Imran? You must have some kind of greenhouse facility?”
Imran smiled again and nodded.
“Yes we do! Twenty thousand square feet of growing space. Every kind of edible plant you could imagine! It is owned by the same family that owns the Wilfrid Market. Very nice people. Hard workers.”
Imran slowed the truck down and turned right into the very last home on Acorn Drive. A single porch light illuminated the driveway and walking path to the home’s covered porch entry that was framed by two very large, white, square pillars.
Bear peered through the truck windshield toward the house and then looked over at Imran.
“What are we doing here?”
Imran was already opening his door to step outside onto the home’s flawless, red bricked driveway.
“This is the Wilfrid Guest House. You will be able to stay here for as long as you like. Rest. Clean up. Have something to eat. There are five fully furnished rooms, three bathrooms, a fully functional and stocked kitchen, a formal dining room, living room, study, and music room. This used to be the godfather’s residence – and he loves his music. I will be back here tomorrow at noon to pick you up and take you to the godfather.”
Mac, Cooper, and Reese had already stepped down from the truck bed and were standing next to Imran. Mac looked toward the stained wood front door and gave an approving nod.
“Sounds good to me, Imran. We
just let ourselves in and have at it?”
Imran nodded.
“Yes! Let me help you with your things.”
After the packs had been removed from the back of Imran’s transport truck and brought inside the house, Cooper stood with Imran on the covered porch as Brando sat next him.
“Brando’s staying in the house with me, high dollar carpets be damned. You know that, right?”
Imran looked down at Brando with warm affection.
“Of course, Cooper. You don’t need to ask that. Brando is always welcome here.”
Cooper peered out toward the street, and then beyond the lights of Wilfrid.
“How safe are we here really, Imran? Is that Muslim invasion, uprising, whatever you called it – is that really gonna happen? Never heard of bandits doing business so close to Wilfrid before. Thought they had too much fear of the godfather for that. Tells me things are different out here now than they used to be.”
Imran glanced back inside the house where the others were organizing their packs and looking at the food in the kitchen before he whispered his reply to Cooper Wyse.
“Have things changed in that regard? Yes. Are we still safe here in Wilfrid? I believe we are as safe here as anywhere right now. The godfather is aware of the threat. He has taken precautions.”
Cooper rolled his eyes just slightly at Imran’s assurance the godfather had things under control.
“You mean that increase in patrols or whatever? You really think that’s gonna keep a few hundred, or maybe a few thousand, of those Muslim fanatics out there from running up here with guns blazing? Hell, Imran, you saw it. Those bandits had a damn rocket launcher! And AK-47’s! Something’s brewing. Something big, and you and I both know, this place has to be very high on their target list. The godfather has made it very clear for a very long time how much he hates the Muslims.”
Imran’s tone betrayed a hint of frustration over Cooper’s words.
“For good reason he hates them. We all do. They are animals. Bloody, brutal, animals, brought here to create the very chaos we now live in. Do not underestimate the godfather’s determination or his preparation, Cooper. You don’t know him – I do. He is well prepared. There are things I will not…that I cannot tell you on that. But if we are to defend ourselves against the Muslims, you will know then just how prepared we are. Wilfrid is a place of safety for everyone who calls it their home. For now, that includes you and your friends, so be appreciative of that fact.”
Cooper smiled down at his business partner.
“Oh, I appreciate it just fine, Imran. I’m just worried you all have grown soft here. I don’t want to find out, if things really do get as ugly as I think they might…I don’t want to find out that all this preparation you’re going on about now is as fake as the grass that’s not growing in this here yard.”
Imran extended his right hand toward Cooper.
“Goodnight, Cooper. I will see all of you again tomorrow at noon.”
Cooper took Imran’s hand into his own while staring into the smaller man’s eyes.
“We aim to be out of here before long, Imran. Make sure the godfather understands that, ok? We ain’t some new goods that have arrived here for him to use. I appreciate the hospitality – but we have our own mission. Places to get to as fast as we can, and I don’t intend to let anyone stop us from doing that. For the first time since they killed my family, I feel like I got a real chance to help make things better with this world. I’ve been waiting a very long time for that, and nobody is gonna keep me from helping make it happen.”
Imran stepped back from Cooper and nodded.
“I know that, Cooper. I know how much you want to help with the mission to get yourselves to the priest. I am helping you with that too. I give you my word.”
Cooper sensed the sincerity in Imran’s voice, and the concern in his eyes.
“Your word is good enough for me, Imran. Always has been.”
Imran turned to walk down the steps of the porch, his right hand waving behind him.
“Goodnight, my friend. Until tomorrow.”
Cooper Wyse watched as the transport truck backed out of the driveway and onto the street, and then slowly drove off into the night. His eyes again travelled off into the darkness well beyond Wilfrid.
This whole place and everyone in it was in danger. He didn’t know when, or how, but something was coming. Something big.
XXIII.
Bear was already scavenging in the kitchen for a meal. As promised, both the fridge and pantry were stocked with meats, breads, eggs, vegetables, fruit, and even a gallon of vanilla ice cream in the freezer.
“Ok, I’m cooking up some eggs, bacon, and toast. I know it’s dinner time, but I’m craving breakfast. That ok with everyone?”
Mac told Bear fine, as he walked out of the pantry with a six pack of bottled Budweiser.
“Look at this! They got Bud! Man, I haven’t cracked one of these open in almost twenty years! How the hell…they must be brewing their own beer here and re-using the old bottles. It wouldn’t keep that long.”
Mac opened a bottle and brought it to his nose as a slow smile worked its way to each side of his face.
“I’ll be damned. Sure smells like what I remember.”
The bottle was then brought to his mouth as Mac took a small sip, letting the beer sit on his tongue for a moment.
“I don’t know how they did it – but boys and girls, that there is Budweiser, and I know for a fact the last bottle of that stuff was brewed years ago. Beer don’t keep much past a year, so they got to be brewing it new somewhere, and that sure as hell tastes like a Bud.”
Bear grabbed a bottle from the six pack and opened it up, throwing the beer back in one large gulp until two-thirds of it was gone.
“Yup. Tastes like beer. Need to put it in the fridge though. I like mine cold.”
Mac took the open bottle, and another unopened one, and walked to the living room where he offered the second bottle to Cooper, who was starting a fire in the large fireplace that was the centerpiece of the room. Brando had already laid down in front of it in anticipation of the heat.
“Why thank you, Mac, don’t mind if I do.”
Both men sat down in matching pale yellow chairs. Cooper slowly ran a hand along the fabric.
“These aren’t reproductions – they’re the real deal.”
Mac took another sip of beer and looked down at his own chair.
“Yeah – they’re chairs. Seem comfortable enough. What of it?”
Cooper Wyse continued to look closely at the chair’s fabric.
“These are actual chairs from the 1950’s. Scandinavian design. These were the chairs of choice for the upper middle class back then. Pretty rare thing to see a set like this in such good condition. Goes with the theme of Wilfrid though, doesn’t it? They’ve re-created a world that hasn’t existed for over eighty years.”
Mac tilted his head and looked at Cooper as if he had suddenly turned into a dancing chicken.
“Now how does some horse training cowboy rancher from Juneau know that much about a goddamn piece of furniture?”
Cooper leaned further into his chair, stretched out his legs in front of him, lowered his hat over his just closed eyes, and took another drink of beer.
“I read a lot. And I make a living, at least in part, tracking down and delivering stuff people want, and from time to time, that includes certain types of furniture.”
Mac waved a dismissive hand in Cooper’s direction and finished off his own beer.
“To each his own. Whatever floats your boot-wearing boat, Coop.”
Cooper smiled, his eyes still closed.
“Amen to that Mac. To each his own…”
Reese and Dublin had ventured upstairs, marveling at how clean every inch of the home was. Every throw rug over the dark wood floors was immaculate, every piece of trim without a scratch. Each of the five bedrooms was a different shade of either yellow, or blue. The largest of the bedro
oms was downstairs and had its own adjoining bathroom. The second largest bedroom was upstairs and it too had its own private bath. The three remaining rooms upstairs shared a hall bath.
Dublin walked into the larger upstairs bedroom and sat on the steel framed queen sized. The walls were a light blue, and a large window overlooked the driveway below. Reese sat next to Dublin, put his right arm around her, and gently squeezed her shoulders.
Military Fiction: THE MAC WALKER COLLECTION: A special ops military fiction collection... Page 112