by N. C. Reed
“Funny guys, the lot o' ya,” Clay mumbled. “If you're through making fun of my less than stellar standing in the community, are we ready to roll?”
“I still think at least one member of the team should be with you Bossman,” Mitch Nolan turned serious now. “Tandi could stand guard and be there if someone needed help, for instance,” he pointed out. “He's small enough to not be thought of as a threat.”
“Hey!” Maseo protested. “Dynamite comes in small packages, dude!”
“Comes in big crates, too,” Barnes replied. “And I know which I'd be more wary of if I wasn't used to seeing it. Mitch makes a good point Boss,” the former Sergeant backed Nolan's idea.
Clay seemed to think about it for a moment but then shook his head.
“We're already pulling half the crew away from the farm,” he explained. “I'd love to have the help, but it would mean leaving only two in the Humvee. That might not be enough if things go south. And we can't leave this place uncovered, either. Too much at stake.”
Barnes and the others reluctantly nodded their agreement to that, but were clearly unhappy with it. Still, their erstwhile commander had an excellent point; they were too few in number to do more than one thing at the time and still be protecting the farm that was their home. Their families' home.
“Alrighty then,” Clay clapped his hands together. “Let’s get loaded up and move out. I'd like to be back before dark if at all possible. Being out after dark is just asking for trouble.”
-
“I feel like the cream filling in a cookie,” Ronny's voice was muffled as he sat squished between Jake and Brick. Jake snorted in amusement.
“Not our fault you're the runt of the litter, Ronny.”
“I am not a runt!” the older man shot back. “You're just a water buffalo, that's all!” Ronny was tall and wiry with muscle gained from years of operating heavy machinery and working at physical labor for most of his life. Still, crammed between the two oversize members of the crew he admitted, if only to himself, that he looked puny by comparison.
“Well, I'm driving, Gordy is wider than you, and Mom called shotgun, so there you go,” Clay sympathized with his brother-in-law but didn't offer to trade places with him.
Good natured grumbling continued between the members of the party until they were at the edge of Jordan, where the Humvee peeled off from behind them and moved into a place of concealment if not actual hiding.
“Peeling,” Nolan's voice was soft over the radio, the former soldier already in the mindset of a man in the field.
“Roger that,” Clay replied over the small GRMS radio they were using. “Avoid contact if at all possible. We 'll be back ASAP.” Two clicks of the radio were his only answer.
“Turn at the next left, Clayton,” Angela instructed. “Gregory lives on the first road to the right off that road. Fourth house on the left.”
“Yes ma'am,” Clay replied and followed his mother's instructions. Five minutes later they were sitting in front of Gregory Holloway's home.
“Looks okay from here,” Clay sighed. That had been his worst fear other than confronting an armed belligerent with his mother along. That they would arrive and find that someone had already been there ahead of them. The house looked undisturbed however, so Clay backed his trailer into the yard, angled for the front door.
The small frame house looked neat even if it was older, and the yard was nicely maintained other than needing mowing, which most yards this days needed.
“Thank God,” Ronny breathed a sigh of relief as he exited the back seat and theatrically stretched to straighten himself out. “You two seriously need to go on a diet,” he frowned at Jake and Brick.
“Don't be jealous little man,” Jake sneered back and Ronny laughed, punching his younger friend's arm.
“Lummox,” he added before looking at Brick. “You do get I'm just joking I hope,” he told the other big man.
“Sure,” Brick nodded, a small grin on his lips. “You're not the first small man I've met.”
“I'm not small!” Ronny protested, but laughed as he said it, clapping the hulking Brick on the back as he did so.
“Okay, you guys can do the bromance thing later on,” Clay jibed as he used the key Holloway had given him to open the door. “Mom, I'll leave Greg's clothing and personal effects to you if that's okay. No reason to leave any of it behind, either. Get everything. Greg will be with us from now on I'm thinking.”
“That's what I had planned on,” Angela nodded in agreement. “He may as well be family. We take care of family.”
“Right,” Clay grinned at the familiar saying. “Gordy, let's you and me find that safe Greg was bragging about. Ronny, Brick, Jake, there should be a locked storage unit out back,” he handed over a ring of keys with one singled out from the rest. “Take a look inside. We may need to move the trailer around to get that stuff. If so, go ahead and move the truck Ronny, and we 'll stack what we're getting at the front door. Wait and let us see if that safe is much to lift, though. Might as well get anything heavy while the trailer is backed up to the door.”
“Good deal,” Ronny took the keys. “I 'll go take a look and see what we're dealing with. Back in a minute.”
“Gordy, let’s take a look at that safe.”
-
“Wow,” was all Gordy could manage.
“No kidding,” Clay nodded agreement, a low whistle escaping his lips. “What the hell does he have in here?”
“What couldn't he have in something like that?” Gordy asked.
Greg Holloway's safe was closer to being a safe room than a mere gun safe. Clay could only image what was inside.
“He says everything in there is packed so that we don't have to unload it to move it,” Clay mentioned. “But. . . good thing we brought Brick and Jake.”
“There is no way we can move this ourselves,” Gordy hated in his soul to admit. “Jake and Mister Brick might, be we can't,” he added after testing the safe's weight by trying to push one side up on the other.
“Move aside small fries,” Jake laughed as he entered the room. “Where is this safe that's making you two moan like-damn!” Jake's ribbing came to an abrupt halt as he eyed the massive construct. “Damn, Greg,” he whistled the same way Clay had. “What the hell does he have in something like that?” seemed to be the question of the day.
Six feet tall, four feet wide, three feet deep, with a ship's wheel on the door, the massive safe took up a good portion of the small master bedroom's closet.
“We 'll have to take the closet doors down,” Jake sighed. “And I bet this thing is bolted to something under the house, too.”
“No, through the wall,” Clay shook his head. “I asked about that. He's got threaded rods running through the wall to steel plates in his laundry room. We have to move the washer and dryer to get to them, but we don't have to go under the house.”
“Well, I'd say we 'll be a minute with that,” Jake sighed. “You and Gordy take care of undoing the bolts while Brick and me go help Ronny I guess?” he asked Clay.
“Works,” Clay nodded and sighed. “I really didn't picture this being a big deal, but seeing this makes me wonder how many bolts and plates are on the other side of this wall.”
-
“You have got to be kidding me,” Gordy groaned as they wrestled the washing machine away from the wall.
“Good grief,” Clay moaned in agreement. “I know he's a cop but. . .this really seems like overkill.”
Half-inch steel plating crisscrossed the wall behind the appliances of the small laundry room. Twelve one-inch bolts protruded slightly from the plates, with nuts and lock washers securely holding them in place.
“We're lucky they aren't welded in place,” Gordy snorted. Clay instantly slapped the back of his nephew's head.
“Don't jinx us, moron!”
“Sorry,” Gordy snorted, rubbing his head. “I 'll get a wrench and start on the bolts. You know we're going to have to open this thing thoug
h,” he added as he started out. “We 'll never get that thing loaded with those bolts sticking out the back.” With that he disappeared into the house on his way to secure a wrench. Clay thought about what he had said. As realization dawned on him, Clay had to shake his head. Gordy was right.
“Damn.”
-
“Good Lord,” Gordy breathed as he looked at the small arsenal laying out on the bed. Clay had emptied the safe while Gordy loosened the bolts. This was his first look at the contents.
“Yep,” Clay nodded. “Old Greg is a gun nut.”
“This from a man who has a machine gun on his truck,” Gordy observed, picking up the largest of the guns to examine.
“I need that machine gun for work,” Clay defended himself lamely.
“What in the hell is this?” Gordy asked.
“Gordon Robert Sanders, you watch your language!” Angela's voice boomed through the house, startling both men.
“How does she do that?” he asked Clay softly.
“Don't know,” Clay admitted. “She could always do it. And that there is a Grizzly LAR Big Boar. It may have a model number but I don't know what it is. A single shot fifty caliber rifle. Punch your lights out at a mile or so in the right hands.”
“If you can lift it,” Gordy snorted. “This has got to weigh like twenty-five pounds!”
“Closer to thirty,” Clay nodded. “Man's gun,” he grinned. “No idea what Greg's doing with it,” he added with an evil chuckle.
“Don't kick a man when he's down,” Gordy chided with a laugh.
“He'd do it to me,” Clay defended. “Come on and let's wrap these things up or store them in his carriers and get them loaded.”
-
“Good God!” Ronny exclaimed, seeing the Grizzly rifle. Out of nowhere a plastic coat hanger hit the top of his head.
“No taking the Lord's name in vain,” Angela said calmly, not even having bothered to stop what she was doing.
“How does she do that?” Ronny wondered, not for the first time.
“Got me,” Gordy just shook his head.
“Greg has an arsenal in here and an armory out back,” Ronny snorted.
“What do you mean?” Clay asked.
“Well, there are about thirty military ammo cans and I checked about half. All are ammunition. Then there are about three dozen lockable storage tubs and at least as many that don't lock, and even more five-gallon buckets. Those are sealed somehow but the labels on them identify them all as having food.”
“I guess Greg wasn't kidding when he said he wasn't sheeple,” Clay exhaled. “He's ready for a civil war sounds like.”
“What does 'sheeple' mean?” Gordy frowned. “Is that a real word?”
“It's a made up word for a real problem,” Clay explained. “People who are like sheep and can and will be willingly lead to the slaughter. People who will always trust in the government to do what's right and protect them from everything.”
“Ah,” Gordy nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Anyway, how long to load?” Clay asked his brother-in-law.
“We're done,” was the unexpected reply. “Those two waded through there like it was nothing. I already backed the trailer into the front door again.”
“Nice,” Clay was pleased. “Tell Jake and Brick to get in here then,” he ordered. “Sooner we can get all this loaded, sooner we're on our way home.”
-
They were wrestling the safe onto the trailer when Ronny cleared his throat.
“Clay, we got company,” he said softly. “Armed and angry looking company at that,” he added. Clay peeked around the back of the trailer to see two women and one man, all carrying shotguns, coming their way.
“Do you know them?” Clay asked.
“Woman on the right is Thelma Haskins,” Ronny told him. “Seen the other two but I don't know them.”
“Go get mom,” Clay ordered. Ronny nodded and headed inside.
“What is it you people think you're doing?” the lone man demanded, his shotgun pointing in Clay's general direction.
“We're gathering my best friend's things to take to him,” Clay replied. “He was injured two nights ago and will be staying with us for a while. He asked us to get his gear and clothes and bring them to him. Since we got the room for it, we're doing it. Man likes to have his things around him,” he shrugged.
“And just who are you?” the unnamed woman demanded snidely.
“I'm Clay Sanders, ma'am,” he replied evenly. “Gor-”
“The one who killed them at the diner?” The woman that Ronny had identified as Thelma Haskins asked, frowning.
“Ah, yes ma'am,” Clay sighed. “I am.”
“You got any proof of what you said?” the other woman shot Haskins a glare as she tried to get the discussion back on point.
“Nope,” Clay shook his head. “Well, I got Greg's keys he gave to me,” he amended. “Don't know if that's proof though,” he admitted.
“It ain't,” the man growled. “Give me one reason I don't sho-”
“Maxwell Carter, why are you pointing a gun at my baby?” Angela Sanders' voice cut the man off sharply.
“Mom, I'm not a baby!” Clay objected, despite the situation.
“You're my baby,” Angela replied tartly. “That's all that matters. And Max, I'm waiting to hear your reason for aiming that gun at my son. And you too, Louise.”
“Thelma and Louise,” Clay murmured to himself as he shook his head. “What a day this is turning out to be,” he sighed.
“Angela, what are you doing here?” 'Louise' demanded, her tone surly.
“Gregory was hurt two nights ago trying to do his duty,” Angela informed the woman flatly. “He managed to make it to our farm before he passed out and we're caring for him until he can recover. He wanted his things, so we're gathering them up. Gordy dear, please put this on the trailer,” she handed a suitcase to her grandson. “Thank you, sweetie,” she added as he took the bag.
“Welcome Gran,” Gordy nodded, taking the suitcase and loading it up, disappearing from view.
“I'm still waiting for that explanation,” Angela turned her gaze back to the three newcomers. The man lowered his shotgun at that point, looking a bit shamefaced at not having done so already.
“Sorry,” he told her. “We been trying to watch out for the neighborhood,” he explained.
“Smart move,” Angela nodded, surprising him. “Especially now that Gregory won't be here. As word of that gets around it may embolden lower life forms to try and steal or commit other crimes.”
“Lower life forms?” Clay mouthed at Ronny who just shrugged helplessly.
“We still don't know that she's here just because Holloway asked her to be!” Louise all but snarled. “And besides that, whatever is in that house belongs to this neighborhood, not to her!”
“Louise Fleming, are you calling me a liar?” Angela's voice was deceptively calm. “Right here in front of my son, son-in-law, and grandson? Here in public even?”
The other woman's face flushed but she didn't back down.
“We aren't letting you take all that stuff away from us!” she hissed angrily, hefting her shotgun again. At this point Clay had seen enough and stepped from behind the trailer again, this time with an M-4 in hand which he had pointed directly at 'Louise's' head.
“That's about enough,” he said, his voice quiet but carrying. Behind them Gordy cleared the action on his own M-4, causing the three to start as they turned to see him standing there. Ronny did the same from beside Clay, moving in front of Angela and shielding her with his body, his action returning the attention of the trio of interlopers to the front.
“We ain't taking anything away from you,” Clay said coldly. “This ain't yours to start with. It belongs to Greg and he wants it. He was shot twice two nights ago and barely made it to my place alive. He was still doing his job after everything that's happened and damn near died doing it. Gathering his things for him seems like little en
ough to do to pay him back for that. And you better start pointing them shotguns somewhere else or you won't be pointing them at all ever again. We've been plenty patient with this, but my patience is worn out.”
Stunned into silence by the sudden change, all three did as ordered. Gordy gathered the shotguns and unloaded them, setting the guns and ammunition aside for them to retrieve later on. Angela stepped back in front at that point.
“Now that we can be civilized,” her tone was cool, “care to explain your attitude? Start with how you came to think Gregory's belongings are now somehow yours?”
“We decided not to let no one take anything out of the neighborhood because we might need it,” Louise replied, still surly despite the change in her situation.
“So even though it belongs to others, if you need it you take it. That about it?” Angela's tone told the trio what she thought of that.
“It's not just us,” Thelma's voice was much less ugly of tone. “After the fire in Peabody we set up a shelter at the Baptist church in their gym and school. A lot of people were left homeless by that fire, some of them with just what they had on and nothing else. We decided that we'd take from empty houses to try and take care of them. That's all.”
“Commendable thinking if a bit communist,” Angela replied. “Unfortunately for you, Gregory is still around and wants his belongings. We intend to take them to him, so that should end this discussion. Of course, knowing how poor in spirit you are, Louise, I suspect if he's ever able to come home he might find you've burned his house down for spite.”
The shocked look on the other woman's face betrayed her, as that was exactly what she was thinking about even as Angela spoke.
“I figured,” Angela snorted delicately. “Now. How many people are you caring for? And what is their condition?”
“Mom,” Clay tried to interject softly but Angela shushed him.
“Clayton, I will not leave people to suffer if I can help,” she told him flatly. “I can't do much that is true, but what I can do, I will. That will be enough of that,” she added primly. Clay hated that tone of voice his mother used. Hated it. It meant 'I have spoken and no further discussion is desired'. Everyone in the Sanders' family knew that tone, and Gordy and Ronny both sighed deeply and shook their heads sadly. Actions that Angela ignored.
