All Dark

by Boyd Craven

  She turned, pushing me back. “Only reason you broke the law was to help us, and you weren’t hurting anybody. Your mom… She does, but not directly. Little things, mean words, never… Please, can we talk about this some other time?”

  I nodded and backed up for the doorway. Something on my belt hit and I looked down at the radio. “Grandma, if I leave this in here, can you get me or wake up Jess once they start talking on it?” I asked, turning the speaker up and putting it on the counter by the sink.

  “You got it. I’ll run you some food out when I’m done. Going to the barn to work?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said, grabbing the bag of traps up again.

  She gave me nod, so I headed out. Raider followed.

  Tannerite is a binary explosive. The ingredients are simple, but Ammonal was the generic name with a slightly different set of chemicals involved. It would all go boom if mixed properly. The thing about Tannerite and the generics like it is that it took being hit by an object going about 2,000 feet per second to set it off properly. I’d learned all about this stuff in college, where some of the guys in class were into pyrotechnics, making fireworks and planning to do stage show stuff. Still, in chemistry, a lot of work goes into having stuff NOT blow up when you don’t want it to. I could flip that around and make some defensive or offensive things.

  The first thing I did in the barn was find the two cases of jars. They were right where I’d thought they’d be, in a bin near a couple of washers and dryers stacked on their sides, close to where I’d caught Marshall poking around in here. I dragged them into the shine room and hit the button for the LED lights. They came on, driving the shadows away. Next, I went and unlocked the stall where Grandpa kept his chemicals stored, along with an old wooden box. I wasn’t completely lying that Grandpa had a powder room. He had dynamite all right, what the old timers called powder, but he didn’t have very much. A few sticks. It would have to get buried sooner or later; it was old, and the nitroglycerine was settling out.

  I wasn’t there for that though; I was there for the fertilizer that was stored as far away from everything as it could be, in a tin box Grandpa had made himself and riveted. He’d claimed he’d done it to keep the moisture of the floor from getting into the fertilizer, but I knew he was worried about other things splashing on it or coming in contact with it. See, there were some things chemically that were just plain nasty. Ammonium Nitrate and aluminum powder were two ingredients used to make a lot of things that went boom, flash, or would start a fire. They were also pretty mundane chemicals.

  Now that I was thinking the opposite of how I’d learned things, I could think of dozens of ways to use my college education to take common everyday items and—

  “You want a hand with this?” Grandpa’s voice startled me.

  “Sure,” I said, turning.

  He walked over and set down a box of lids and rings on the pile of jars I’d stacked on his chair.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “I’m going to fill a jar three quarters full of fertilizer and use about two tablespoons of aluminum powder. Going to have a hole through the lid with some 5/16 steel tubing, then drop a .22 caliber shell in it. I was working out the rat trap idea, and I think I’ve got it figured out,” I told him.

  “Rat trap? Wait, what are you going to use for a firing pin? If it was a rim fire, I think I know what you’re going to do.”

  “That’s what I was thinking, and it’ll only have to work once… but what about a bead of solder on the bottom of the bar, right over a hole we drilled in the trap, that the makeshift gun goes into?”

  “Why do you need to shoot a bullet to blow things up?” Grandpa asked.

  “You need an impact from something going about 2,000 feet per second to make it light up,” I told him. “Here, grab your hand drill and I’ll go find some brake line or fuel line. I know I have some around here somewhere—”

  “It’s over in the far corner near the spot you wanted to put pigs.”

  Right. I nodded and hurried off.

  It was an ugly duct taped monstrosity when I was done, but it was done. Grandpa had used the unflared side of the tubing to mark a hole where the trap’s bar would come down, and carefully drilled it out. It didn’t have to be perfect, but it only had to work once. I said that over and over, but there was no rushing him. I’d filled a mason jar the way I’d described to him, then pushed the tubing halfway inside it, leaving about six inches sticking up over the lip of the jar. I punched a hole in a lid, and put that down there, sealing the mess up with duct tape. The flared end of the tubing sat in what ended up being a cut out notch on the end of the rat trap. I spent most of my time trying to make a bead of solder in the right spot and was able to get it done when I got the hang of the heat again. To make sure the trap didn’t wobble, I’d duct taped that too, to the tubing, leaving the primer free.

  To set it off, I’d set the trap, run a trip line or pull line to the bar trigger. It’d snap shut and then…

  “One problem,” Grandpa said.

  “What’s that?” I asked him.

  “Cut the tape off the lid and pull the damned tube out,” his voice was harsh.

  “Why?” I asked him confused.

  “This bomb of yours has a hair trigger and it’s about the most harebrained but dangerous thing I can think of.”

  “What?”

  “How many times do you accidentally set off a mouse or rat trap when you’re trying to put it down?” he asked.

  I always did… and then I saw what he was getting at. Just because I could make it into a simple and cheap bomb, it was as much a risk to me setting it, as it was to anybody else who tripped it. Also, without adding anything to it, the glass would work as the shrapnel, but if I really wanted to be nefarious about it I could add in rocks, nuts, bolts, ball bearings... My imagination spun ideas around my brain.

  “You’re right,” I conceded. “I’d never make a good mad bomber; this would have blown me to hell and back.”

  “If that stuff explodes the way you say it does, how about making a safer and easier way to set off the bullet?”

  “What do you have in mind?” I asked him.

  “Get me the map gas torch; I’m going prospecting in the trash bin. You got more of that steel tubing?” he asked, already moving off.

  “I do…” I answered, hesitantly.

  “Good, you’re going to need it!”

  “Westley,” Grandma’s voice called from outside. “Breakfast.”

  “You coming?” I asked him, brushing my hands off on my pants.

  “No, you go inside, clean up, and have a good sit. I already snagged a couple of your boiled eggs,” he said with a grin. “I’m a tinkerer like you, or at least I was. I got me an idea or two on how to do this. Oh, and make sure you leave the solder. I’m going to need it.”

  “Ok, Grandpa.”

  “Oh, and get me some more of that tubing before you take off. I’m going to need a lot of it.”

  “For what?” I asked him.

  Grandpa just laughed, rubbing his hands together. It was unsettling and, when it became apparent he wasn’t going to answer, I went inside.

  9

  Grandma took one look at my hands and how sweaty I was and refused to give me food until I cleaned up. I headed into the bathroom and made sure I had my towel and stripped. I was going to have a quick cleanup today. I didn’t heat water for a bath yet. We’d suspended a bucket from the ceiling of the bathroom by a lightweight chain from three hooks, terminating into one that hung from the handle. The bucket had an outlet on the bottom as this was one of our former smaller scale brew buckets. Push the button for the outlet, air temperature water sprayed out. Get yourself wet, lather up, then rinse yourself off.

  I did that and then considered things as I sat looking in the mirror. I needed a shave. The door pushed open, and Raider stepped in, his tail wagging. I opened it up more, and he walked inside.

  “What are you doing, buddy?�
�� I asked as he inspected the bathroom then spun around and walked out.

  “I think he was showing me where you were,” Jessica said, rubbing her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, did he wake you up?” I asked.

  “No, your grandma did. Said breakfast was almost ready.”

  I could smell it. Her sourdough was already legendary in my mind, but it smelled like she was toasting it. What was she making?

  “Said I needed to get cleaned up, but I didn’t know it was occupied. I just followed—”

  “The little traitor,” I said with a grin, making sure my towel was tight. “I was going to shave real quick but you can have the bathroom if you need it.”

  “Thanks.”

  She looked absolutely tired, her hair mussed, her eyes dark from going a day and a half without rest, but she was still one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen.

  “Can you bring my pack back to me?” she asked, starting to strip.

  I didn’t want to be a perv and watch, but I paused for about half a second longer, before she made a rude gesture at me. Grinning, I walked out of the bathroom, Raider at heel. I got her pack and saw Grandma roll her eyes as she noticed me in a towel.

  “The furry mutt let her in,” I explained, “I’m just going to drop this off for her.”

  “Uh huh. If you two wait too long to come eat, I’m going to feed your sandwiches to the dog here.”

  She wasn’t making an idle threat. I hurried to the bathroom, holding the towel in one hand, the pack in the other. I knocked twice, then cracked the door and shoved it through.

  “That my pack?” I heard Jessica ask as the water hit her behind the shower curtain.

  “Yeah, setting it by the toilet. Your towel from last time is hanging up.”

  “Thank you, and if Grandma feeds my sandwich to the dog, I’m going to be upset,” she said, though I could tell she was smiling by her tone.

  “Then hurry up,” I told her and closed the door quickly.

  I dressed even faster than I imagined I could. The view of myself in the mirror showed that I had gotten leaner than I remembered myself. It hadn’t happened overnight, but over the course of weeks. The far-ranging effects of the power going out had trimmed off the small bit of fat I’d had on my frame. No more was I taking my truck everywhere, that was too loud. I was walking or using my bike to keep noise pollution to a minimum. My clothing had started fitting a little loose, but that was what belts were for. I ran a quick comb through my hair, then headed to the table.

  Grandma had just put the percolator on the pot holder. The coffee was still perking, the boiling water spurting up into the bulb on top. The holder kept the kettle from melting Grandma’s plastic table cover. I grinned at the sight. She’d made two squared off loaves of sourdough at some point yesterday and had sliced and toasted half a loaf of it. She’d made half a dozen egg salad sandwiches, steaming hot.

  “You going to wait for Jessica to eat?” Grandma asked.

  “That would be polite, wouldn’t it?” I asked her.

  Grandma rolled her eyes, and I had to fight back a grin. She’d set the table for four, though I wasn’t sure that Grandpa was going to be joining us. I’d heard no explosions or gunshots from outside, and my furry threat detection machine was wagging his tail furiously, so I knew nothing was amiss. I sat down and poured myself a cup of steaming coffee before stacking my plate with two sandwiches that had been cut diagonally. Grandmas never change.

  “You going to leave some for her?” she asked.

  “Half, I left her half?” I pointed out, wondering why that wasn’t enough though, there were actually four left.

  “Boys,” she said to herself and turned to the sink.

  I rolled my own eyes and took a big bite. It was ambrosia. Raider whined piteously, though I knew he’d already eaten. Knowing I was risking dog farts, I grabbed a slice of bread, then squeezed and wiped some of my egg salad on a piece and held it down for him. Three bites later, it was gone. He started licking my hand in appreciation. Grandma was staring at me when I looked up, so I wiped my hand on my shirt and popped the piece of sandwich I’d started on into my mouth. She was about to say something when Jessica walked in.

  She had put on a fresh pair of jeans and a tank top, but she had my white button-up on again, the one she’d only worn for an hour or so yesterday. It was open in the front, but the back was damp from her hair, which had been braided quickly. She saw the food, her eyes going wide. She looked at me, and I motioned for her to sit next to me. She pulled out a chair and then looked at my plate. I handed her a sandwich half from my plate and started in on another one.

  She took a bite and made an exaggerated sound, her eyes looking straight up.

  “How did you make this mayo?” she asked, through a mouthful of food.

  I was going to answer, but I also didn’t want to risk a smack to the back of my head while my mouth was full. Death by choking on egg salad was big on my list of nopes today.

  “Raw egg, cup of oil. Mix in some salt, seasoning of choice and whip it up,” Grandma said, matter of factly.

  I kept eating and handed Jessica another sandwich half off my plate. Raider pushed his way between us and was making a whining sound, putting his snout on Jessica’s side.

  “Grandma, this is amazing,” she said, stealing my coffee cup and taking a sip.

  I grabbed another cup to the right of me and re-poured myself a cup, so I could have my own.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Sometimes the old ways are the best ways.”

  “I don’t know if making food like this is the old ways, but it’s better than anything I’ve ever had or made myself,” I told her seriously.

  Hunger does funny things to people. It makes bland food taste fantastic; it makes lightly flavored water taste like nectar. I’d been hungry, almost starving, at a couple points in my life. I knew for a fact that both Grandma and Grandpa had gone without meals a time or more to make sure I had enough. This wasn’t hunger talking, this was Grandma’s mastery in all of its glory. She made country cooking on a woodstove an art form.

  “Has the radio gone off?” I asked, grabbing another sandwich half from the pile in the middle of the table.

  Jessica’s eyes got big, and she slapped at her side unconsciously.

  “Nope. Just making these funny little ticking noises.”

  “Can I see it?” Jessica asked.

  Grandma brought it over to her and she put it on the table, food forgotten for now. Grandma sat down across from me and grabbed two sandwich halves and poured herself a cup of coffee as Jess played with buttons, twisted a knob, and then punched in some numbers on the front.

  “This is J,” she said, “Any word?”

  “All is silent,” a feminine voice came back over the radio. “Far eyes found a group in town, going through the grocery store and trying to get into the bank. Had a party, now sleeping it off in the middle of a ring of trucks.”

  Her mom?

  “Good to know. J out.”

  “Bear out.”

  “Momma bear?” I asked her.

  Jess turned a little red in the face and nodded. “You wouldn’t have been able to hear anything on this handset without the code. The signal’s encrypted. In the old days, that was illegal, probably still is, but none of that matters now.”

  “Well, no news is good news, right?”

  Raider went stiff between us and started growling. All three of us went rigid and I started to get up, Grandma as well. I motioned for her to sit and walked to the door. When I’d gotten dressed, I’d put my pistol on my hip out of habit. I reached for it slowly. I heard a click behind me and saw Jess had followed, and had pulled the charging handle of her AR. I nodded and turned back to the window. A male figure slunk out of the tall weeds, approaching the barn, and slipping inside.

  “You know who that was?” Jessica asked, her breath hot on my neck.

  “No, and Grandpa’s out there tinkering with stuff,” I said, suddenly going c
old.

  “Will your dog stay silent?” Jessica asked.

  “Sometimes. Raider, no barking, be quiet; Grandpa depends on this.”

  Raider chuffed from about three feet behind me. I didn’t know why I trusted that he understood me, but in the heat of the moment, he always seemed to. I opened the door slowly and, when I didn’t see anyone coming from the woods or tall grass, I slipped out.

  “You stay in here,” Jess said behind me.

  Whether or not she was talking to Raider or Grandma, I wasn’t sure. I heard the shotgun’s pump action being half worked, checking to see if it was loaded, and surmised it must have been Grandma. I walked quickly, zigzagging like a deer would, toward the barn. Noticing him making it to the barn door took maybe ten, fifteen seconds. Nerves and adrenaline would do funny things to a person’s perception of time, and I noticed that my vision was starting to dim around the edges. I knew what this was and knew people from the military knew how to avoid this. I would have to ask Jessica about this someday as it would be helpful in more than poaching when buck fever kicked in.

  “Cover right, I got left,” Jessica said from my back left. “Raider, wait for Wes.”

  Gun in my right hand, I grabbed the swing door in my left, my right bracing it, and pulled it open roughly on its oiled rollers. Two figures stood up straight, startled at the sudden sound. My pistol went up covering everything from twelve o’clock to three o’clock. Jess was next to me, her carbine sweeping twelve to nine. I recognized Grandpa right away, and my aim turned to another figure who was putting his hands in the air as a furry bullet ran between Jessica and me. An inarticulate scream came from the figure as Raider latched onto his leg without slowing, and took the man down, turning him with the momentum.

  I holstered the pistol as I moved, not wanting to call off the dog yet. I hadn’t seen a weapon, so over whatever it was Jess was yelling, I literally jumped onto the figure, straddling their side as they protected their delicate bits from the bite of the furious Shepherd. Raider broke off as I pulled the man’s hands away and then froze.