American Apocalypse Wastelands (17 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Three days later, Old Guy was finishing the little berm. Ninja and I were building the watch platform on the main berm. Max told us to build the sandbag base and then stop. His logic was that the attack would come after the berm was done but before we had finished hardening everything. The claymores would keep us feeling secure until then. That meant we could expect them tomorrow or the morning after.

We had been practicing with the M-14s. I liked them. They were solid, heavy weapons. Night hated them. They kicked. And what I liked in them were liabilities to her. Ninja turned out to be a pretty good shot. I was too. But Max was the rifle marksman among us. He shrugged off Ninja's compliment with a comment about how he just had more training and practice.

On the morning we finished the berm, Ninja asked Max, “What if they don't come?”

“They will.”

He didn't look very convinced so I added, “Ninja, if they don't come, we will go find them.”

“Okay. Cool.” He grinned.

“Damn, when the hell did everyone turn into bloodthirsty killing machines around here? I thought that was my job.”

“You're not the only one who hates digging post holes.”

I turned to Max. “You know, you haven't shared your plan on how we are actually going to deal with this.”

He looked at me. “That's because I haven't figured it out yet. Don't worry, I'll have something by lunch. Meanwhile you can help me with the addition to the chicken coop.”

I looked at Ninja. He rolled his eyes.
Exactly
, I thought.

We worked until we heard the sound of the lunch bell. We headed back, passing the kids, both of whom were pulling the bell rope and grinning like maniacs.

As I passed them I said, “Great job, guys, but you can stop now.” They did, reluctantly. It also silenced Woof, who was barking like a dog possessed. Damn kids.

We ate lunch. It was bread and some kind of vegetable lentil bean soup. I never asked. I just ate the food and praised it. I learned to do that after watching Night's reaction when Ninja had asked, tactlessly: “What the hell is this shit?” We didn't hang around to talk after that particular meal. We just got the hell out of the house and went back to work.

Max asked for a second bowl of soup, much to Night's delight. I didn't bother to tell her that Max would eat twoday-old, cold roadkill if he was hungry. I was starting to get the hang of this relationship stuff, I thought. Max finished drinking the broth from the bowl. Then he leaned back in his chair and stared at us. We knew it was talking time.

“Okay, here's the plan. I do not want to fuck around and take casualties. This is not a gunfight. This is a slaughter.
My goal is zero rounds fired by them. No mercy. We all on the same page here?”

Everyone nodded.

“After I go through the plan, we will do a walk-through. Oh, but I do have a surprise for them.”

I grinned. “I knew you would.”

“You see those two boxes over there, next to the car batteries? They're airbags, one from a 1999 Dodge Caravan, the other from a Chrysler P/T Cruiser. Those are our improvised claymores. They won't kill them, especially if they are wearing vests. They will, however, inflict a great deal of pain and pin them long enough for us to finish the job. We will kill them.”

Ninja had a pained look on his face. “Max . . . American cars?”

I snickered. Max ignored it. “Yes, Ninja. American cars.”

Ninja shrugged. I thought it was a good point. I guess you go with what you got.

He told us where we would be. “Night, I want you in the basement with the kids. If they get that far, then I know I can count on you to make them pay. Old Guy, I want you outside in a blind on the back hill. Ninja, you've got the back door. Gardener, you get the front. Tommy and I will deal with the trailer trash and sweep the outside perimeter. I want you all to call out when you take them down. If I don't hear from you, Tommy or I will be coming.”

We talked some more about it and went over other possibilities.

Max added, “With the M-14 you can take body shots. Their armor won't help. Remember, what do we do?”

We all answered as one: “Head shots.”

“What?”

This time we answered louder: “Head shots!”

He shook his head sadly. “What?”

We screamed: “Head shots!!!”

Juvenile, I know, but I loved it. I was pumped.

Then Max showed us the improvised claymores. Each one was in a brown cardboard box. Wires ran to a battery and a simple switch. Complete the circuit and the bag exploded, hurling steel ball bearings, glass, and rusty metal bits into their faces. If it didn't kill them, I figured tetanus would.

After that, it was just doing the walk-through and getting ready.

 

It was still dark when I took my post, sitting at an angle to the front door. Max had explained how they would enter. “The first one is going to come in low and move to his right. The other one will stay high and step directly in. Shoot the low one first.”

So I sat there waiting. It was quiet. I could hear Ninja near the back door, shifting his weight in a chair. It creaked. I amused myself by exercising my fingers.

My hands felt stiff. Probably from all the pick-andshovel work. I didn't like that. It could mess up my timing and speed with the Ruger. That could be fatal. Fatal was bad. I was tired. Working outside really wore me out, especially in the heat.

I woke up in a hurry when they came through the door. Jesus, they startled the shit out of me! Luckily—and that's what it was—luck, I clicked the claymore switch.

They were dressed all in black with masks, just like in the movies. Their eyes were very white in the dark. The
low guy was just swinging his gun around to center on my head when the airbag blew. His eyes were just starting to widen when the metal and glass reached him and his buddy. It shredded his face. Literally shredded.

I leaped to my feet. I didn't even think about the M-14. Actually, when I jumped up it had dropped to the ground. If I hadn't been deafened by the blast and the first guy's screams of anguish, I might have heard it clatter. The blast from Ninja's claymore didn't help. Instead, I reached for the Ruger. It had never failed me and it was what I knew best.

I shot the trailing guy once in the head and cocked the hammer while I swung back to catch the first one in. He had dropped his handgun and had both hands pressed to his face. He was trying to hold a large flap of skin in place that had been almost completely sliced off his face. I remember seeing a nose where there shouldn't have been one He was bleeding, a lot. Or maybe he was having an
Oh, shit
moment. I don't know, and never will, because I blew his brains out right there. I remember thinking,
Oh, damn. Going to have to prime these walls before we repaint.

I yelled, “Clear!” Then I turned and scuttled quickly toward the back door. My mind had registered the sound of Ninja and his M-14. It had also picked up the sound of a handgun being fired. That was not good. I was going to be really pissed if Ninja got himself killed.

I yelled, “Ninja!” as I rounded the corner into the kitchen. He was crouched in the doorway leading outside. His face was splattered with blood. He had his rifle locked into his shoulder and was tracking something. Next to him was a sprawled black-clad body.

I was about to yell, “Where's the second?” but I didn't want to mess up his concentration, so I grabbed a piece of wall to put my back against and froze in place. The boom of the Barrett was punctuated by a body going rapidly backward, past the open door. Well, now I knew where the second guy was.

Ninja looked back at me. “Hey.”

I didn't like the tone of his voice, so I asked, “You okay, Turtle?”

“Yeah.” He grinned for a second. It disappeared. “I didn't want to shoot him in the back.”

“That's cool. Don't go darting out that door yet. I don't want Old Guy removing the top of your head in front of me.” He nodded. “Hang on. I'll be back.”

I went back, grabbed the M-14, and holstered my Ruger. No way did I want to listen to the shit I would catch from Max if he found out I had run off and left it behind. While I was doing that I heard the
zip-burr-r-r
of an automatic weapon followed by the heavy return of at least one M-14. It sounded like the trailer boys were a little off on their timing.

I yelled, “Clear” from the kitchen, since Ninja had forgotten to. I stuck the barrel of the M-14 out the kitchen door and waved it a couple times. Then I slapped Ninja on the back and said, “Let's go!”

I darted out the door, moving low with Ninja right behind me. We were going to have to circle the back end of the house to see the trailer. I went out at an angle until I had a clear view of it, and dropped to the ground. Ninja had gone past me to crouch behind an old oak tree that shaded the house.

Max, moving at a crouch, was headed toward us. Tommy was barely silhouetted against the side of the trailer, where he was crouched and covering Max. They both saw us at the same time. Tommy didn't move.

Max made it to the kitchen door. He pointed at Ninja and then the door. Ninja ran and ducked inside. Max said something to him and then signaled to me. We were going to sweep the area. Ninja would stay behind to cover the house. Old Guy was still out there covering us.

We began moving leapfrog fashion until we had swept our perimeter. Max signaled Tommy and me into him when we reached the dirt movers. He was still staying low and alert.

“I'm going out wide. I want to make sure we don't have anyone in the woods. Tommy, I want you to move toward the neighbor's old house. I want their vehicles. If you find them, drive them here, and put them in the garage for now. If they left anyone behind to watch, put them in the trunk. Gardener, get Old Guy to dig a hole and bury the bodies.”

He didn't need to tell me to strip them. This wasn't our first time.

Tommy looked at me. “How're my kids?”

“Untouched.”

He nodded.

Max said, “Good work, guys. We got to move, though.”

We did. We disappeared them. The bodies went into a hole right outside the front of the main berm. We covered them with a layer of dirt to hide them from prying eyes in the sky, while we dealt with the SUV they'd come in.

The SUV sat in the garage until it was time to whack it. We had a piece of equipment with an end like a claw; it smashed the bejeebus out of the car. Then we pushed it on top of the bodies. We did a pretty good job of minimizing the time that anything identifiable was out in the open. It wasn't perfect, but sometimes perfect isn't possible. Only fast was.

First, though, we harvested their weapons and body armor. The body armor was good quality and easy to clean. I volunteered to hose it all down and hang it in the garage to dry.

The rule was, if you killed someone, you got to keep what they had. I donated the armor from the guys I shot to the house armory and gave Night the handguns. My plan was to sell one of them around Christmas, so we would have some spending money of our own.

CHAPTER TWENTY

It was after lunch when I rode with Max into town. I was to be introduced to the town council, who was going to vote on whether or not to contract with us to provide law enforcement services to the community.

“You really think they will, Max?”

“Sure. We are cheap. All I asked for was half-priced meals at the diner and an equipment allowance. They have one functioning car left, the old police building, which has two holding cells, and not much else. Once we get done with the formalities, you'll get to meet our deputies. We will find or make some uniforms, and we'll be set.”

“Anything I need to know for the meeting?”

“No. Just be brief if they ask you anything. Tell them you consider it an honor to be asked to serve the community. Hell, you know what to say.”

“So who is on this town council? Anyone an asshole?”

“No—kind of amazing that way. The head of it is the pastor at the First Baptist Church.”

I had to raise an eyebrow at that.

“No,” Max said, “he is actually all right, at least so far. I think he's worried that if his flock leaves town for somewhere safer, then he'll have to get a real job.”

“Yeah. Who else?”

“Shelli from the diner; Bob the builder, except he doesn't build anymore; and an old lady who is on it because, as far as I can tell, she has nothing else to do.”

“Okay. So does our half-priced meal at the diner include dessert?” I liked dessert.

“It should. If not, I'll add it to the contract.”

“Then I'm good with it.”

The meeting was held in the town hall. It was an old, redbrick building with white pillars and chimneys from when they heated it with fireplaces. An engraved sign on a post in front let you know exactly how old and historic it was. They had unlocked the front doors for the meeting.

It was quiet inside, and a faint film of dust covered everything. We walked through the unmanned X-ray and search area without stopping. I was getting a strange vibe—a “hum”—from the building. I got it from every old building I walked into, especially ones that had been open for public use for a long time.

The chamber where we met looked like it had been renovated fairly recently, probably during the boom. Nice wood paneling, red velvet upholstery, and marble floors. The only spoiler was the brown water stain on the ceiling that had not been fixed. The paint around the edges of the stain was already starting to curl. Either the roof had leaked or a large squirrel had taken a piss up there.