by Z. A. Recht
“Don’t tell me it was the robber,” Krueger said.
“Yeah, yeah, it was,” Keaton said, trying hard not to laugh. “He’s carrying a bag full of cash in one hand and his clothes in the other—only thing he’s wearing is a pair of tennis shoes. So I stop him and he says, ‘What’s the problem, Sheriff? I’m just out for an evening jog.’”
One of the deputies lost control at that point and laughed. “Tell them the best part, Keaton.”
“Turns out,” Keaton went on, “that the guy realized that Ruby would call us and tell us which way he’d gone and what he was wearing—so—so,”—Keaton choked back laughter—“He thought that maybe if he took off all his clothes we wouldn’t able to identify him!”
Even Thomas cracked a smile as the room burst into laughter.
“Oh, morning, Sherman,” Keaton said as he noticed the older man entering the room. “We were just swapping war stories from before the pandemic. Got any?”
“Tons,” Sherman said. “but I thought we’d get to taking care of some business before the day’s half gone.”
“Oh, right, right,” Keaton said. “The weapons—you’re right, come on, let’s get that taken care of.”
The sheriff and Sherman had come to an agreement about the weapons they’d seized from the raiders. Since Sherman’s group was working with a ragtag assortment of firearms, Sherman had asked if they could pick and choose a few from the raiders’ leftovers. Keaton was quick to agree, since his office’s small armory room was now overflowing with rifles, pistols, and spare ammunition.
Keaton led Sherman down the hall to the armory, unlocked the door with a key that hung on a small ring from his belt, and allowed Sherman to enter, followed closely by Thomas, Krueger, and the deputies.
The sheriff’s regular weapons store was neatly arranged along one wall: a rack filled with 12-gauge pump-action shotguns and a pair of high-caliber rifles. Directly beneath that was a pistol locker filled with standard-issue Berettas and outmoded .38 revolvers. Across from these neatly-stored firearms was a hodgepodge assortment of the weapons they’d seized.
Most of the long arms were AK-47 assault rifles, but there were a few hunting rifles thrown into the mix as well for longer-range work. The pistols that had been seized were identical to the ones Keaton had locked away: nine-millimeter Beretta 92FS. Stuffed carefully into a steel locker secured with a padlock were the blocks of Semtex explosives, and on top of that locker lay one of the M-249 Squad Automatic Weapons. Conspicuously missing was its mate.
“Where’s the other machine gun?” Sherman asked, furrowing his brow. “We did get two, didn’t we?”
“Oh, yeah, we sure did,” Keaton said, nodding. “About seven or so this morning Jose and your man Jack showed up and begged it off of us—they didn’t ask for any ammunition so I didn’t see why not. Besides, the way I see it, half of this stuff is yours anyway. Right of conquest and all that.”
“Now what the hell are they doing with a SAW?” Sherman wondered out loud. He shrugged and filed the thought away to be addressed later. “All right, let’s get down to business. Thomas, you have our weapons list?”
“Yes, sir,” Thomas growled, pulling a neatly folded sheet of paper from a chest pocket and unfolding it one-handed. He looked down at it and read off the manifest. “We came in with two rifles, .30–06, scoped. One carbine, Ruger M-14. One Smith and Wesson Revolver, .22. Four pistols, assorted makes, nine-millimeter. One pistol, Cobra, .380. One shotgun, double-barreled, Remington, and one revolver, Smith and Wesson, .357.”
“All right,” Sherman nodded. “Now, how do we go about this switch-out?”
“Well,” Keaton said, rubbing his chin, “I honestly don’t care. Most of this town is self-armed. Second Amendment and all that. And we don’t really need all this firepower sitting in here. I’d say, leave us whatever you don’t want or need and take whatever you think you could use—except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That other machinegun, the SAW—leave that one to us. I’d like to mount it in one of the guard towers,” Keaton said.
Sherman nodded in agreement. “Sounds fair to me. All right, Thomas, let’s get to picking and choosing.”
The next few minutes were spent placing firearms into cardboard boxes and shuffling them around the room as the two parties worked through the armory. Sherman turned all of his group’s pistols over to Keaton, with the exception of the .357, which Krueger insisted he wanted to keep as a backup. The motley assortment was replaced with the bandits’ Berettas. Their ammunition was taken as well—an entire box full of magazines and bullets. Even so, Keaton was left with a surplus of ammo.
Krueger also insisted on keeping his .30–06, a decision Sherman didn’t fight in the least. Krueger was the best shot the group had, and he wanted him to have a long-range rifle in his hands. Keaton must have been feeling generous, because he tossed in the night-vision scope he’d lent Krueger for the night raid. The rest of the longarms were turned over to Keaton, and Sherman took one Kalashnikov for each of his people minus two. He managed to wrangle two of Keaton’s pump-action shotguns, one for Brewster and one for Jack.
“That’ll about do it,” Sherman said, surveying the boxes full of weapons he’d procured and double-checking to make certain he’d gotten ammunition for each.
“One thing left to talk about,” Keaton said, holding up a finger to forestall Sherman’s exit.
“What’s that?”
“The semtex,” Keaton said, pointing at the sealed locker in the corner. “I have to tell you, I have no use for it whatsoever and having it in here kind of makes me feel unsafe.”
“The stuff’s perfectly safe!” Krueger protested. “It’s inert unless you add heat and pressure—then it blows. Hell, you can almost play with it like silly putty—”
“Krueger, if I hear you refer to semtex as silly putty again I’m going to have you on shit details until you can draw Social Security,” Thomas growled, fixing Krueger with a stare. Krueger’s talk fell off and he shrugged, hands in his pockets.
“I was just saying,” Krueger protested, looking a little guilty.
“Just the same, I don’t really want it. Got any use for it?” Keaton asked Sherman.
“No,” Sherman admitted. “I don’t really have anything to blow up. Thomas? Anything to blow up?”
“Nothing at the moment, sir,” Thomas replied.
“I guess we don’t need it, either, Sheriff,” Sherman said. “Sorry.”
“Well, just the same, I’d be much obliged if you’d take it with you. You never know—you might need it down the road and I really don’t want it in my town,” Keaton said. “Hell, you can dump the stuff over the side of a bridge if you want. Call it a personal favor, what do you say?”
Sherman shrugged. “I suppose so. Once the vehicles are fixed up we’ll load it into one of the trucks and figure out something to do with it.”
Keaton smiled and nodded in appreciation. “Oh, about that. I’ll bet you’re probably wanting to see if Jose’s made any progress. I think you’ll be surprised—the guy has a gift. He should be middle-management at Ford, not running some backwater garage in a little town like this.”
“I actually would like to see what he’s done so far,” Sherman admitted. “Though I’ve heard it’s bad luck to disturb an artist at work.”
Keaton chuckled. “We’ll see when we get there. If he’s into his project, he won’t even answer the door—but it’s worth a shot. I’ll meet you out front in one of the electric carts.”
The trip to Jose Arctura’s shop took all of five minutes. Only Sherman and Keaton had come out to check on things. Thomas, Krueger and the deputies had remained behind to pull out the weapons and get them ready for transport.
The shop looked much the same as it had when Sherman had first seen it. It was still half-hidden on a side street, the sign was still humble and two-dimensional, and both garage doors were down and secured. The only change was in the spray-paint
ed message on the facade. Instead of reading “closed” it had been covered over in paint and replaced with “open for business.”
“Well, look at that,” Keaton marveled, pointing at the paint.
“It’s an encouraging sight,” Sherman agreed.
The high-pitched whine and grind of a saw shearing through steel echoed from within, and every now and then a loud boom rang out. Sherman envisioned a sledgehammer hitting steel.
Sherman stepped out of the cart and walked around the front of it to approach one of the garage doors. He knocked politely, and when no one came to answer, he pounded his fist on the metal, causing the door to vibrate. From within, the sound of the saw cut off, and a moment later the side door to the garage opened and Jack appeared, careful to keep the door open just wide enough for him to stick out his head.
“Sherman!” Jack said with a grin, spotting the General. “Good morning. Come by to take a look at the progress?”
“Sure have,” Sherman said, nodding.
“Well,” Jack replied, an impish look crossing his features. “You can’t.”
“Can’t?”
“Can’t,” Jack repeated. “It’s a surprise.”
“Surprise? I just wanted these damn things fixed up—tell me the truth, you’ve got them all torn up in there, don’t you?”
Jack looked guilty for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Sherman to pick up on it.
“You did!” Sherman said, pointing an accusing finger. “You’ve been taking the trucks apart! Oh, come on, Jack, we’re supposed to be getting them put back together, not the exact opposite!”
“If you want to make an omelette you have to break some eggs,” Jack said in his own defense. “Trust me, Frank, this is going to be worth it. Give us another day in here. Jose’s already got both engines running and they’re purring like a cat in a lap—now we’re just making a few modifications. Twenty-four hours, General. Twenty-four.”
“Keaton tells me you and Jose wrangled one of the M-249’s from the armory this morning,” Sherman pressed. “You want to let me know what that’s about?”
Jack grinned once again. “Twenty-four hours, Frank.”
Jack shut the door in Sherman’s face and the older man could hear the sound of deadbolts sliding into place on the other side.
Sherman was left standing in the alley facing the shut door. Behind him, Keaton sat up on the cart, biting on the end of a cigarillo and chuckling.
“A few hours with Jose and your man Jack is already starting to act like him.”
“Can’t say I’m not curious,” Sherman said, still eyeing the closed door in front of him. “I guess we’ll just have to give them their day. In the meantime, we can get ready to hit the road again.”
“Did you give any more thought to my offer?” Keaton asked from the cart.
“What, about staying?” Sherman asked. “I’m still set on getting to Omaha. I let my people know, though, so they’ve had a night to chew it over. I asked them all to meet me at Eileen’s for lunch to discuss the matter.”
“Well, it’s coming up on noon now,” Keaton said, glancing at his watch. “Want me to take you over there?”
“That’d save me a walk,” Sherman agreed. “I’d be much obliged.”
“Hop in,” Keaton said, settling back down into the driver’s seat. “I’ll drop you off.”
Eileen’s was mostly quiet; only a couple of the locals had come in. Most of them were still at home, either sleeping off the effects of the party or relaxing. Sherman’s group made up the largest bunch of customers, and Eileen was kept busy with them. They weren’t drinking much of her bitter beer, but they weren’t shy about ordering food. Eileen had a working kitchen in the back of her bar, complete with a jury-rigged woodstove oven. Most of the group were busy eating fresh scrambled eggs and sliced ham when Sherman entered and joined them.
Denton signaled for Eileen to bring Sherman his breakfast, and she vanished into the kitchen to fill the order. Sherman sank into his seat with a sigh and folded his hands on the table.
“Well,” he started, “we have quite a bit to discuss today.”
“Fire away, Frank,” Denton said around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.
“First of all, I wanted to see how our wounded are doing. Gentlemen?”
Ron and Brewster swallowed their mouthfuls of food before commenting.
“Hand’s doing fine, General,” Brewster said, holding up his bandaged hand. He then pointed to the taped gauze on his cheek. “The nurse down at the clinic said the hit on my face’ll leave a little scar but other than that, I’m in good shape.”
“My leg still hurts like a bitch,” Ron said. His crutch was leaned up against the table next to him. “Apparently it’ll be a while before I can walk on it properly again. In the meantime I’m going to have to rely on the crutch.”
“But it’s healing?” Sherman pressed.
“That’s the verdict,” Ron agreed. “Healing nicely; it’ll just take a little while before I’m back up to speed.”
“What about you, Thomas?” Sherman asked, looking over at the Sergeant Major. Thomas hadn’t made much of a fuss over his wounded arm. He’d allowed Rebecca to bandage it, and accepted a shot of antibiotics, but then simply donned a long-sleeved camouflage shirt over the gauze so the wound was invisible to the casual onlooker.
Thomas looked over at Sherman. “Arm’s doing fine, sir.”
“No pain, aches, anything like that?”
“No, sir.”
Sherman grinned. “Don’t lie, Thomas, it sets a bad example. We’ll need you in your best shape out there. If you’re hurting at all, get a shot of local anesthetic at the clinic.”
Thomas looked left and right at the group, almost embarrased to have to admit such a thing. “It’s a bit sore, sir. I’ll stop by the clinic later.”
“Excellent. Now, on to item number two. This is the big one,” Sherman said. All eyes turned toward him. “Have you all given some thought to Sheriff Keaton’s offer?”
“What, about staying in town?” Brewster asked around a mouthful of ham. “No offense to him, but fuck that, I’m headin’ on to Omaha. I haven’t come this far just to stop here.”
“I’m in, too,” Denton said. “Been with this ragtag group of screwups since Suez, and I’m not leaving now.”
“Who the hell are you calling ragtag?” Krueger asked, narrowing his eyes at Denton. He looked back over at Sherman after a moment. “I’m in. I’m going, I mean. You could use me out there.”
“Very good,” Sherman said, nodding. “Mitsui?”
The Japanese man recognized his name and looked up from his food, a wide-eyed expression on his face. Jack was his usual translator through hand motions, and the contractor was truly feeling the language barrier. He was a clever sort, however, and figured from the context of what he’d just seen that he was being asked whether he was going or staying. He called on his meager supply of English to answer.
“Yes. I go,” he said. “Omaha to go.”
Sherman nodded and moved on down the line. “Ron? Katie? What are you thinking?”
There was a moment of silence as Ron and Katie looked at one another, then back at Sherman.
“We’ve talked it over, Frank,” said Ron. “We’ve decided we’re going to stay.”
“You’re not coming with us, man?” Brewster asked, a pained expression crossing his face. “We’ve come all the way from Oregon with you two. You sure you don’t want to finish up the trip?”
“Yeah, we’ve looked at it from all the angles,” Ron went on. Katie nodded silently in agreement with him as he spoke. “With my leg I’d just slow you down out there. Plus, we’re not looking for anything more than a safe place to settle down and get on with our lives. We’re thinking maybe this is the place we can manage that.”
“I don’t really want to stay behind and leave all of you,” Katie said, speaking up for the first time, “but it really is the best thing we can do right now.”
“That’s just fine,” Sherman said, sighing. “I hate to lose you two, but I wish you the best of luck here in Abraham. I’m sure they could use you here, too.”
“What about Jack and Mbutu and Rebecca?” Denton asked. “Where are they?”
“Jack’s over at Jose Arctura’s shop,” Sherman said, “working on our trucks, and Rebecca’s still at the clinic with Mbutu treating the wounded. I’m pretty sure they’ll want to come along—Jack and Mbutu, anyway, I’m not so sure about Rebecca.”
“She has seemed pretty uptight recently,” Denton said.
“Ever since the Ramage,” Brewster agreed.
“We’ll ask her and the others when we see them,” Sherman said. “For now, let’s just enjoy our breakfast. We’ve got another day here before we have to move out.”
Eileen appeared at Sherman’s elbow with a plate of food for him. He moved to the side to allow her to place the platter in front of him and dug in with the gusto of a hungry soldier once she’d left.
“So what are Jack and Jose doing to the trucks that’s taking so long?” Denton asked.
“I’m not sure,” Sherman said, slicing up his ham. “They’re being a little secretive about it. Wouldn’t let me see inside; said to come back in twenty-four hours. I have to admit I’m pretty curious. Keaton says Jose’s got a bit of a gift with mechanics and we all know Jack’s had experience with construction and the like. I’m wondering just what they’re adding or removing from those trucks of ours.”
“Just as long as they’re road-worthy, I won’t be complaining,” Brewster chuckled.
March 11
1023 hrs_
Several of the townsfolk, including Mayor York, Sheriff Keaton and Deputy Willis had shown up to see off Sherman and his group. The previous day had been spent rounding up supplies, most of which had been happily donated by the citizens of Abraham. Thomas stood off to one side with a sheet of paper taking inventory. A lot of the donations included fresh vegetables and crusty, home-baked bread, and Thomas was already listing them in his head as perishable—the survivors would eat well for their first few days on the road, then it was back to canned rations and other unperishables.
