Ron approached the back of the car with bug eyes and a fixed smile. He reached the trunk and his eyes fell on an ebony case constructed of hard plastic.
The dealer pinched his chin. “Open’er up.”
Ron grinned widely. “Gladly.” He let his hands slide over the case’s stubby surface, slid his thumbs down, and undid the latches with trembling hands. The latches snapped open, and he slowly lifted the lid and a fresh, plastic smell struck his nostrils, giving him flashbacks of childhood Christmases long since passed. He saw part of the barrel first—a sinister, dark gray—the large, six round chamber and finally the stock. “Oh, now that’s a beautiful weapon.”
The dealer clapped once and laughed. “I told ya’ man, she’s the purtiest. The Six-Pack Attack they call’er, butcha only need one.” A clever smile crossed his face followed by a little wink. “AKA the M32 Multiple Grenade Launcher, they don’t get no badder’n this.” He reached toward the back of the trunk and retrieved a small duffel bag, which he quickly unzipped. “I threw in some extra ammo, loyal customers only. These here, these’re called Hell Hounds.” He lifted a box and opened the lid revealing rows of cartridges, then paused for effect as Ron stared at them, a smile creeping up on his face. “And I ain’t just sayin’ that ‘cause they’re badass. That’s their name. They do about twice as much damage as yer standard forty millimeter grenades, over a thirty foot kill radius, and fly over four-hundred damn yards. They have more explosives ‘n shrapnel in ‘em than flies on a dead pig in summer. They can blow out about any door and take out some small buildings. She’s quiet too, until the explosion anyways. You can do some nasty shit with this puppy righ-chere. And here I also gotcha these.” He reached into the bag and produced two more large rounds. “These here’re flares, regular flares. They’ll light up a whole damn field. They come in infrared too, but I couldn’t get them, sorry.
Besides, you ain’t got night vision do ye’?”
Ron uncovered his mouth with his trembling hand. “It’s okay, these are perfect. Thanks.” Perfect indeed and a big box of cartridges, more than I’ll ever likely need! Yes, this is perfect, better than expected. They shook hands and parted. Ron noticed the man turned on his cabin light as he began leafing through the bills once again, and he hopped in his car and punched the gas, leaving a dust cloud that slowly enveloped the width of the road behind him. The money’s definitely right, but better to put it all behind me.
Ron drove home carefully obeying every speed limit and traffic signal with the biggest smile on his face he could recollect from recent memory. Damn, that was expensive! Damn, this thing’s awesome! Damn, I’m glad that’s over!
He pulled up to his house and scanned the neighborhood. Good, no curious eyes. He grabbed the case and the box of cartridges and quickly walked inside. As soon as he got inside he closed the door and fell into it with a long, voice-inflated exhale. Cassius turned his head sideways and stood at attention. Then Ron walked abruptly past him and marched downstairs to store his new toy in Defcon-1. Once he had that completed, he came right back upstairs and poured a tumbler half-full of Irish Whiskey, swigged it, and poured another. He sat down with the second glass and let out another long sigh, and his eyes sagged as he rested his head on the sofa's cushion. He sipped his whiskey with a tight face, smiling around the eyes. Yes, it was a good day!
Chapter Four
Sitting at home glued to the television, with her cell phone pressed to her ear, Kathleen could not recall when she had last changed the channel other than to see a different news station. At this point the program played in the background while she did other things. They’re just rearranging what we already know now. The male anchors had grown an evening shadow and all of them had droopy eyes set inside dark circles.
Kathleen hit the mute button on the remote and turned on the subtitles and fidgeted with her nails. Her mom had been talking for several minutes straight, and Kathleen had known since she was a little girl that could easily mean her mom was just getting started, especially in the face of stress. Kathleen hit the speaker button on her phone and set it in her lap, but her mom’s voice still boomed out of the tiny speaker.
“You know why they haven’t reported anythin’ new don’t ya?”
“No, Mom, I don’t.”
“It’s a conspiracy. The government knows what’s happenin’. But, they’re not tellin’. They can’t have riots breakin’ out if people panic. They tell the news what to say and what not to say.”
Kathleen rolled her eyes. “Mom, you’ve been sayin’ that kind of stuff for years, but I still don't believe there's anything sinister going on that simply doesn't care if people die.”
“Well, that’s where yer just plain wrong. To pretend the government is going to prioritize you and me, the people, when the chips are down?” She grunted a laugh.
“I think you're confusing clickbait with a grand conspiracy to manipulate the world, or something.”
“Ah never mind, it's been goin' on for years. Get old enough and you might notice a thing or two.”
Kathleen let out a sigh. “Okay, are you and Dad all right?”
“Yeah we’re holdin’ up.”
“You gonna hide in the basement when the asteroid hits?”
“As good a place as any I s’pose, it’s underground, so it should be safe.”
“You know our offer’s still good. You can come here if you want.”
“No thanks, we’re too old to be movin’ cross states with panicked people everywhere. It’s here or nowhere darlin’.”
“All right, well we’re gonna call and check on you as soon as it’s over. Just do as the people on the news have advised until we get there okay.”
She let out a laugh that broke into a cough. “Listen to those morons! They’re probably leakin’ information that’ll get us all killed so the National Guard won’t have so many people to worry about.”
Kathleen shut her eyes and covered her forehead with her hand. “Okay Mom, I have to go. I’ll call you again soon and make sure everything’s okay.”
“Be careful and protect that baby. Love you.”
“I will. Love you too.”
“Bye.” The speaker clicked as the call ended. Kathleen exhaled and realized that she had been holding part of her breath through most of the call. Wish she’d listen to me for once, dammit. She turned the volume back up on the TV and continued watching. As she sat there with her lips closed and mouth turned down, her ennui mirroring that of the news anchor’s, Jackson came bursting through the door.
“We’re all set. I’ve got weapons, a shit-load of weapons. If anybody tries to loot this place, we’ll send ‘em to hell.” Jackson gabbled with a wide smile.
As he set down a large bag and unzipped it, Kathleen peered in and looked at the contents, and her eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure we need all this? My God! What the hell is that? Is that one of those Russian guns, an AK…four…somethin’?” Kathleen looked up at him with eyes narrowed to slits
Jackson pursed his lips and looked away. Oh great! Here it comes. I knew she agreed too fast to this. She must have been in shock. I just bought this stuff, and here she comes to cut me down. He used his affectionate nickname for her, generally used to assuage touchy subjects, and spoke softly. “Kat, we need these guns. Do you know what can, and probably will happen around here when that thing hits? A lot of people have rolled in here this week in RV’s and everything else. How long do you think their provisions will last? The grocery stores have nearly gone empty except for canned tomatoes and some damn peaches. They even sold out of SPAM. What do you think all those people will do when their food runs out, look for some fruit on the trees? They’re probably already sittin’ there thinkin’ about how much more comfortable we look perched up in all these houses, and how, in all fairness, we should share. If we gave anybody help do you think they would just say thanks, and go away?”
“Jacks….” Kathleen tried to cut in.
However, Jackson pressed on right over
her. “Kat, have you ever seen desperate people? People who will do anything to survive? Remember when I visited India?”
She rolled her eyes up and turned her head away. “Oh God, here we go again. You were in a resort! You didn’t even go out into town and deal with all the begging children and pickpockets.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Oh yeah that’s right, as I recall you drove through town in the rickety protection of a tour bus watchin’ as beggars were left in its wake coughin’ up dust. Is that the dangerous trip you’re talkin’ about?”
Jackson turned his head as away a hint of a smile crossed his face that he immediately forced down. Good, got her off track. “Well, I didn’t have to stand there and get mobbed to see it. Some of those people looked more like animals than humans, eyes fixed on their prey and the pack mentality. Take a group like that and they can just run you over to get to somethin’. They’ll all do it together out of desperation. Just seeing it once is enough thank you very much.”
Kathleen stifled a yawn. “Ugh, I'm tired. We’ll talk about this later. I'm gonna take a nap.”
Jackson extended his hand and helped her stand up. “I think we might do best to board up the house too, at least fortify some parts, just in case.”
“What has gotten into you? You act like the end of the world has arrived. The asteroid lands halfway ‘round the planet. We’ll probably feel a slight tremor, like an aftershock, maybe some ash and debris carried in on the wind, and that’ll probably be it.”
Jackson stopped and planted his hands on his hips. “You just don’t get it do you? We’re not in danger because of the asteroid. Like you said, it doesn’t land anywhere near here. It’s the people!” He threw his arms forward, hands splayed open, and let them drop again to his side. “There’s gonna be damage all over the world, and there’s a good chance that this is a safe zone, so migrants and the displaced are gonna keep showin’ up here. When that happens our crime level will go up. Watch, you’ll see. Haven’t you noticed how many people have come into town already? And what do we do, just move? Where’d we go? The entire country, the parts worth livin’ in anyway, will probably all have the same problems. I’m gonna check down at the police station later and see if crime isn’t already on the rise. Maybe then you’ll believe me.”
Kathleen stabbed the air with her finger. “You’re paranoid! If you go to the police tomorrow, you’re sleepin’ on the couch. You don’t honestly think it’ll take anything more than a shout to scare someone off if they’re snoopin’ around here, do ya’? And you better hope we can pawn this damn stuff off and get most of our money back when this thing blows over.” She whipped her finger out of the air, walked into the bedroom, and slammed the door.
Chapter Five
The beginning of the week had looked like a circus with people buying supplies and stocking up as fast as possible, but the end, the day before impact, looked like a condemned fairground everybody forgot.
On the outskirts of town, nestled in the hills, Jack Fondry sat on his porch dragging the edge of a fixed blade, camping knife across a whetstone. He had short, gray hair and a bushy, erratic beard of the same color. His deep, blue, swallowing eyes, resembled the ocean on a calm day and spoke without moving in much the same way. The lines on his face drooped ever so slightly and seemed to peak at the floor in disagreement with his stoic facade. He studied his meaty hands, built up from a lifetime of manual labor. They trembled slightly belying his quiet reserve, and he quickly busied them again honing his blade.
Jack saw all of the migrants coming into town and felt deeply troubled. It bothered him that no one called them that. Most people called them refugees or The Displaced. It’s not a war. Refugees and displaced people leave homes behind by force. These people moved. They showed up and pitched tents, and they're sleeping in vans or RV’s. Some people are even making do with less in campgrounds and forests. They resemble refugees, but with no conflict to qualify that term. They migrated. Now watch the whole place go down the toilet! He mumbled to himself as the blade scratched across the stone. “Nobody’s gonna know anybody anymore, they’ll trash the place and leave. Damn freeloaders.”
Jack could remember, like it was yesterday, the time when he got home from school and his father stood in the family room waiting on him. Jack dropped his backpack on the floor and looked his dad in the eyes. “Everything okay, Dad?”
He nodded and stuck out his hand. “Come here. It’s time I show you somethin’.” He fished in his overalls pocket for his keys and unlocked the cabinet—The Cabinet. The cabinet that always stayed locked. He reached inside and pulled out each of the family guns, several rifles and a couple revolvers, and lined them all up on the couch. “Son, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen these, I know. Heck, yer probably more disciplined now than me with a rifle, better shot too, but I thought it was time to explain somethin’ to ya’ the same way my father did with me.
Jack sat down and leaned forward. “Okay.”
“Guns’re violent, Jack, but they’re not for violence. These firearms are our servants, and they’ll do exactly what we tell ‘em to do. So it’s up to us to make the right decisions with them, and at the crucial moment that can be a lot of responsibility all at once. One day all these will be yours, and you'll probably buy more just like I have.”
Jack frowned and looked up at his father. “Dad?”
“Just listen. We have these rifles for hunting, and you already know the rules of the forest. But I haven’t taught you yet about having a gun at home. There’s a rule the police go by that says: don’t draw your gun unless you intend to use it. It’s true and the same goes for guns at home. You should never even think about one of these in anger. If you do need one for home defense, it should be something serious, life threatening; then it's okay. You should be protecting something. Got it?”
Jack scratched his head. “Yeah, Dad, I got it.”
His dad smiled. “Okay, just so long as you know.”
Jack smiled as he swished his blade again. I wish you were here now, Dad. He looked down at the knife in his hand and examined the blade’s edge. Normally he wouldn’t think twice about holding it, no big deal. However, today he contemplated what it could do to another person, and his hand trembled. Forty-nine years of life, and he never had to deal with anything major that he did not like about his country abode, until this.
He regularly attended town meetings and occasionally, along with other concerned citizens, dealt with minor issues. The highlight of their month was going to town hall and treating small problems like critical ones, but the night before had been different. They had just had a heated debate over Scupper’s future in the midst of crisis. As serious as the matter was Jack could not push away the smile that rose on his face as he recalled Ole’ Jimmy Smith’s contributions.
“There’s people here who’re up to no good, mark my words, no good!” He had held up one crooked index finger throughout his entire rant. “I’ve seen ‘em eyein’ other people’s stuff, sizin’ up the town. I’m tellin’ ya’, what we gotta do is contain ‘em in a fenced in area. It’s the only way to be sure they won’t do us any harm.” Halfway through his speech Jimmy’s wrinkled eyes had shot wide open and stuck there refusing to come down.
Frank McCabe sat in the center of the council that oversaw the proceedings. His brown eyebrows had gone flat as a board as he listened. When Jimmy finished, he clutched his gavel and mashed the hammer into his palm. “All in favor of corralling and incarcerating the town’s refugees say aye.” He scanned the audience and saw people crossing their arms and leaning back in their seats with sideways glances, concealing smirks behind cupped hands. Jimmy Smith still stood, looking around the room as people lowered their heads and looked away. Frank waited for a few quiet seconds with the gavel raised. “Moving on,” and he dropped the gavel with a sharp snap.
In the end they realized that regardless of their desires nothing would happen unless the National Guard or state police came in and mop
ped up, and that was not very likely in a tiny, rural town bordering the mountains. As the meeting pressed on, a few people stormed out, faces red and fists clenched. Everybody loved the town, and it was not the first time they could not agree on what was best for it.
Jack could not get the mood of the meeting out of his head. It was not like other meetings where people came with ideas and shared opinions. A dark cloud seemed to hang over the room the entire evening as people shared stories about property damage, vandalism, or robbery.
Bitch, bitch, bitch, nobody had any solutions. Now I’m stuck here like a hermit! Who will even know if I die? Jack had never married, but enjoyed spending time with family until his last close relative had died the previous summer, another life claimed by the Opioid Crisis. He only had some distant cousins left several counties away, not much. He had friends around town, but they all had families of their own.
He looked up with a start as gravel ground off in the distance. Through the gaps in the trees he spotted a truck outside his yard on the side of the road. Doesn’t look familiar. Quickly, he sheathed his knife, clipped it on his belt, and pulled his shirt down over it. Then he stepped inside and locked the door. He leaned on it and looked over at his rifle leaning on the couch. It seemed to gleam in the sunshine flooding through the front window, more than usual, almost calling him, but his dad’s words echoed in his ears. He shook his head. No reason to be rude. They might just have to change a flat tire. He hurried over to the window and looked, moving his head from side to side to try to catch a glimpse through the trees. He could just make out some slight movement around the vehicle that looked like two men standing and talking. Jack shook his head and grunted. “I don’t like this.”
The Inroad Chronicles (Book 1): Legion Seed Page 5
