The tall guard smiled, and it was the last thing Palmer saw before a black hood was brought down over his head. He heard the booming voice again. “Just standard protocol. You’ll get a voucher for your weapons and get them back on your way out.”
Damn. These people weren’t messing around, and Palmer respected them more for it. If he’d just been allowed in without being cuffed and blinded—or having his weapons taken, for that matter—there was no telling what Palmer and Gary would do. Not only that, if they knew where the leader’s HQ was, that would be a major breach of security.
Palmer was led along, hearing a few men’s boots clomping on the ground around him, and endured a strong hand on his shoulder as they walked. He was careful to keep track of what turns they took—a left, then a right, so far. After a few minutes, he was guided up a curb to his left. “Watch your step,” the guard said, and then they helped him up a flight of steps, and a door creaked open. He could tell by the way their bootsteps echoed that they were in some large corridor. Continuing on, a familiar smell hit him—a cross between detergent and piss. They were in a public building, of that much he was certain, and he had just strode by an open lavatory door, apparently. After a few more yards, they hung a right and another door opened.
“Is this them?” came a voice on the other end of a room.
“Yeah,” came the reply from behind Palmer. “This one is Gary, and this one is called Black.” With those last words, Palmer was nudged forward.
“Okay, then. Remove their hoods.”
The hood lifted, and Palmer saw a burly man before him, sitting behind a mahogany desk. He could only assume the man was the town leader—Wyatt Weston. Palmer glanced around the room, and it reminded him of a principal’s office. Were they in the town’s high school?
Before he could open his mouth to speak, the man motioned for them to take a seat. Two chairs were available, and he and Gary stepped forward and sat down in the plain wooden chairs, hands still bound. Palmer felt the sides of his hands scrape against the ladder back of the chair he was in and wondered when they would remove the zip-ties. It would take time, but with the right words, he could probably talk them into unshackling him.
Wyatt steepled his fingers and leaned forward over the desk. “So, what do you know about Brooke?” His lips were curled into a snarl, as if he were ready to jump over the desk and beat the information out of Palmer.
“I heard word out of Winhall that a Brooke Weston is alive and well there. Not sure if she has any relation, but I heard that you were looking for your daughter, so I figured I’d pass that message on to you.” Palmer kept his face neutral. The simpler he kept his story, the less likely he’d be caught in this lie.
Wyatt’s brows knit. “How long ago did you hear that?”
“A few days ago, and the person had a running vehicle, so the information is pretty recent, but it took me a few days on foot to get here, so…”
Wyatt nodded, his features softening slightly. “That’s not far from where she was when the lights went out.”
Palmer kept his gaze fixed on the man. “Indeed, but like I said, the info might be a bit dated. She could have moved on from there, but at least you have a somewhat updated starting point.”
Wyatt let out a long breath. “I appreciate you making the risky journey to tell me.” Wyatt motioned to his guards, who approached them from behind, cutting the ties that bound them. “It’s been hard enough keeping this place secure, but I sent a few dozen men and women down to the state forest, trying to locate her. You are the first person to come with any information.”
Palmer rubbed his wrists from where the zip-ties had bitten into his skin. “I wish I had more information for you…”
Wyatt waved him off, then motioned to one of his guards. “Tell Thomas to get on the radio and try to make contact with Yardley’s team. Tell them to make contact with the folks in Winhall, if anyone is still there, that is.”
“Yes, sir.” The man hurried away.
Wyatt yelled to the man, “And get our guests here some food and water.”
“Thank you,” Palmer said to the leader.
“It’s the least I can do. I’ll get you well fed and rested, then you can be on your way.”
“Actually, about that…Do you need any help around town? Gary and I are willing to work for meals and a place to hang our hats.”
Wyatt held his hand up. “I’m afraid we don’t have any room.”
“That’s a shame. Gary and I have a way of sniffing out supplies, and we’ve gone on raiding missions before. But if you won’t have us, I understand.” Palmer turned to Gary. “I guess we’ll just head to Nettletown and—”
Wyatt’s eyes narrowed. “Nettletown? What do you know about that place?”
“Just a place we’ve been planning on heading. If it wasn’t for bringing you information about your daughter, we’d be there already. They have a…uh, never mind.”
Wyatt rose to his feet. “Spill it.”
Palmer paused, as though considering his options. He glanced around the room, making a point to lock eyes on the guards’ weapons. Then he looked back to Wyatt. “They have resources there. In fact, if you do any sort of raiding, I’d recommend Nettletown. I hear they have a bunch of supplies, but not much sense to bolster their defenses. It’s a wonder they have any supplies left at all.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Again, just talk on the road. But I won’t know for sure if that’s all true till I do some recon.”
Sitting back down, Wyatt glanced away from Palmer and Gary, deep in thought. He scratched the stubble that populated his chin, then glanced at the two. “I have an idea.”
Palmer remained still. “I’m listening.”
“Tomorrow, some people I trust are heading out with me on a resourcing mission, to Nettletown, of all places. Since you’ll be going there anyway, why not join us for that mission? If it goes well, you’ll get a cut of the supplies we requisition there.”
“What do you think?” Palmer asked Gary.
“I don’t know.” Gary drew out the words, his eyes narrowing just so slightly.
Palmer tried to keep himself from smiling. Gary was playing hard to get, and Palmer was glad he and his sidekick thought so much alike. It was the tactic he’d hoped Gary would use.
To Wyatt, Gary said, “Tell me, why should we join you?”
Wyatt shifted in his chair. “Well, you said you’d be going there anyway. And I’m down a couple men that should have been back by now. I am told Nettletown has more than they need. We don’t. It’s my job to keep my people fed and safe, but not everyone is up to the task, or has the guts, so I can’t just go around asking people.”
“You have to feel them out first.”
Wyatt nodded. “Yes, and I just don’t have time. Not if I want to gather these resources before those greedy bastards in Nettletown do—just to keep us from having them, not even so they can use it themselves.”
Palmer shrugged. “I see your problem, but what’s in it for me? I’d love to help, but a man’s gotta eat, as they say.”
“They do say that. So, listen, if you help us on this mission, I’ll not only give you a piece of the pie, I’ll consider allowing you to stay in town for a few extra days. I know how harsh it is out there, and we have a good level of protection here. It’s hard to find people who understand how much we need to be practical right now, even when it’s unpleasant.”
Palmer glanced at Gary, who nodded and said, “Well, you know how soft most are. Ideals are great, but food is better. At least this guy gets that.”
Returning his steely gaze to Wyatt, Palmer said, “I think we’d be foolish to turn down such a generous offer. Count us in for your ‘resourcing’ mission, Wyatt.”
Wyatt rose and held out his hand, and Palmer and Gary did the same, both shaking the leader’s hand in turn. Palmer felt the man’s firm grip, and though he kept his own grip firm, he allowed the man to crunch down on his hand. He shifted hi
s gaze lower, not allowing the man to know his true nature, that he was also a leader in this new world.
No, Palmer wouldn’t reveal his true nature to this man until he was damn well ready to let his intentions be known. Because as much as Wyatt said he was only doing what he had to, for his people’s sake, Palmer recognized an alpha wolf when he saw one. But maybe the alpha wolf’s dedication to his people could be useful, when the time was right. Everyone had a weakness, and to a man like Palmer, Wyatt wore his on his sleeve.
13
Frank kept glancing in the rearview mirror to the back seat, having no need to keep his eyes on the road since the truck had sputtered out, and Abram thought the old man looked as impatient as he felt. Frank appeared to need no additional fuel for the fire burning in him, so Abram clutched the edges of the leather rear bench seat, knuckles popping from the strain, but kept his expression carefully neutral to avoid feeding that fire inadvertently. There could be an easy fix, as there had been last time, but they wouldn’t know until Owen emerged from under the hood.
When Owen finally did pull his head out, wiping his hands, Abram couldn’t miss the man’s tight-lipped expression.
Damn.
“What’s the situation?” Frank demanded out the open driver’s side window as Owen walked around to it.
“Now that the sun’s up and shining, I can see the problem. The truck’s down like after-Prom panties, and we’re just as screwed.”
Abram blinked. That was unlike Owen. His frustration must be showing. “I’d prefer to know what’s actually wrong with it,” he said, his grip remaining tight on the seat.
“The good news is that it’s not a blown head gasket,” Owen said in monotone. “Short version, the T-stat is blown and needs to be replaced. I should have seen the signs of it when I was under the hood earlier, but I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
“What’s a T-stat?” Abram and Frank asked at the same time.
“The thermostat?” Owen said, voice rising at the end like he was asking a question. “It’s about eight bucks for the part. The coolant refill costs more than the part, really. Needs a torque wrench and a hose clamp, as well, and I’ll need a repair manual in hardcopy to find the proper torque for the screws.”
The sneer in Frank’s voice was as clear as day as he said, “Well damn, son. I’ll just ask the neighbors if they have a spare T-stat for an ’88 F250, and we’ll be on our way. Thanks for your keen powers of observation, you sonuva—”
Owen leaned down to peer in through the driver’s window, frowning. “It’s not my fault you didn’t notice the gauge showing it running hot until we broke down.”
They glared at one another face to face through the side window for three tense seconds, but Owen looked away first, shifting his gaze to Abram. “Once we fix it, I think it’ll be okay. I mean, I don’t think Frank destroyed the engine by not paying attention, and—”
Abram’s hand shot up to grab Frank’s shoulder even before the man turned abruptly toward the vehicle door, either to get out or to punch Owen’s hovering face.
Frank looked over his shoulder, back at Abram, face beet red and twisted into a snarl, but then with a twitch, he visibly fought for control. After a moment, he took a deep breath and said, “Fine. Where do we get a thermostat for this thing you should have noticed, and the tool?”
Owen nodded slowly, biting his lower lip…“That’s fair. Well, the map showed a truck stop maybe five miles away, on a side road. It could have what we need. Or it might not. The other option sucks more.”
Abram forced a faint smile. “Go ahead. What’s the other choice?”
“There’s a little town ten miles to the southwest. I know there’s an auto-parts store there, so it’s guaranteed we’ll find the part and tools we need. But…it’s also a full day’s trip there and back, on foot. The truck stop is only half a day, at most. Maybe hit the truck stop, and then if that doesn’t have it, head to the other place?”
Frank rolled his shoulders back. “You’re a damn idiot if you think—”
Abram squeezed Frank’s shoulder. Hard. “Enough. Taking it out on Owen does not help this situation. Let me think a minute.”
If he were honest with himself, Abram wanted nothing more than to go home that very minute. Maybe they could let the engine cool for an hour, and then limp it home in less time than it would take to get to the truck stop…No. Emma had been right—damn her—and he had to go on. But which way? The worst scenario would be to get all the way to the truck stop and then have to backtrack to the car-parts store. It was possible they’d encounter one on the way, but unlikely. Owen would have remembered it; he was just that type. He remembered the other places, after all.
Frank, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, snarled, “Okay, let’s hit the damn truck stop. We don’t have time for this. I want to get this whole trip over with, the sooner the better.”
Owen looked to Abram, one eyebrow raised quizzically.
Abram took another deep breath, making his head swim. His choice risked wasting time they could ill-afford to spare, and a lot of it, but not as much as the other, worst-case scenario. He let his breath out slowly before saying, “We don’t know how much time we actually have. We do know it isn’t a lot. Every day may be an issue of life and death for us all. Agreed?”
Somber nods from them both.
“We can’t go to the truck stop,” Abram said. “If that doesn’t work, we cannot afford the time it would take to backtrack just to get right where we started, here. We’ll go to the auto-parts store.”
Frank started to say something.
Abram cut him off with a chop of his hand through the air. “No. You mean well, but we can’t afford to take the easy path and hope. We go with what we know. Get the packs out and pack up what we can for a hike. We can spare a day. We cannot spare three, if the other idea were to go sour.”
With that, he unbuckled and climbed from the truck, then hopped up onto the back wheel and into the truck bed. A small part of him wanted to say screw this and head home instead. There was no guarantee they’d get hit by organized bandits, after all, and if they did, he’d die on his own land, with his own family.
Only the image of his daughter, getting gutted like poor Joshua had, prevented him from turning around instead of carrying on. It was one thing to consider his own death, but quite another to resign his family to that without a fight.
So, they’d fight—until the end. Right now, that meant a long walk to an auto-parts store.
Gary shook Wyatt’s hand, feeling his firm grip. Turning around, he saw one of the guards holding the black hood and approaching.
“If you don’t mind,” said Wyatt, “you’ll need to wear the hood till you’re in the commercial part of town. We run a tight ship in the parts you’re in now.”
Gary nodded. “Understood.” He allowed the guard to put the hood over his head, but unlike on the way in, they didn’t secure his hands behind his back with zip-ties. Apparently, they’d won their trust enough that they figured that wouldn’t be necessary. Either that, or Wyatt figured several guards armed with rifles was enough to ensure two unarmed strangers behaved.
“And Black…Gary,” came Wyatt’s voice, “remember that you’re new here, and so we’ll be watching you closely. No offense, but we’ve had some…incidents.”
Black’s feet scuffled against the floor a few feet away. “Incidents, huh?”
“Yeah. Let’s just say all the bad apples seemed to come out from the woodwork when the lights went out.”
Gary held his tongue. If he weren’t mistaken, these people were raiding towns and stealing from others, no matter how the guy tried to justify it or what they called it. Resourcing, indeed. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. If anyone were bad apples, it would be the people in this town. He shoved aside the memory of a man’s blood on his hands. That had been needful. These people had enough already; none of them looked like they were starving, yet. It was different.
Radio st
atic came from behind him, and then Wyatt’s voice. “Have Danny meet them in CC Proper. Show them around and such.” Then his voice boomed. “And you, you know the drill.”
One of the guards spoke up. “Yes, sir.”
Out of the office they went, guided by strong hands. They turned through the corridor, past the piss smell they’d passed on the way in, and then out into the fresh outdoor air. They were aided down the stairs in front of the school and turned right, heading down a street, then a left. Eventually, the guards told them to stop and removed the hoods. One motioned to the bustling town before them.
Gary glanced down the street. On either side of the road, near the curbs, large booths and fold-out tables were set up, like something out of a swap meet. A few ten-by-ten canopy tents in various colors had been erected, ensuring the wares beneath were protected from any sporadic rain. Squinting, he could see that some of the brick-and-mortar stores housed in the buildings that lined the road were operational, and like their pop-up counterparts, they had armed guards flanking the entrances. Perhaps these men guarding the places were family members of the store owners—many stores on a main strip like this were mom-and-pop before the lights went out, and Gary imagined the moms and pops here remained vigilant, ensuring their stores weren’t looted.
What surprised Gary the most was the sense of normality here. Though they had been thrust back into the Dark Ages, while retaining needs borne of the Industrial Revolution, this place exuded a sense of calm. Order. It was like the solar flare had never happened, and life had gone on.
Of course, that hadn’t been the case. The CME had happened, but it was how these people had reacted to it that made all the difference. That, and the luck that this town had a water barrier on three sides, making the bridges easily defensible. But what kind of fortification did the town have on its eastern side, where a river wasn’t acting as a deterrent? Whatever they had set up, the topography had allowed them to focus most of their defenses on that side of town.
EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem Page 9
