I noted that Billy spoke with genuine pride when he discussed these concepts. I wasn’t sure how high up he was in his tribal government, but it was fairly obvious that he had some significant skin in the game.
“Anyway,” he continued as he reached out to toss various odds and ends into the cart, “as I continued to push these values in council, I became more interested in ways that I could pursue self-reliance in my own personal life. Because of that, I picked up a thing or two that ended up being useful when the world went to hell.”
“Seems I have some catching up to do.”
“No worries,” he said, offering a light slap to the shoulder. “I have one or two things I can share.”
We went through the store getting more items that made sense. Some of it was picked over but not as bad as I had feared it might be. Common sense stuff like roadside emergency kits were completely pillaged; there wasn’t a flare to be found anywhere in the shop. Other things like tools and replacement parts could be found if they were items not commonly replaced. I probably could have turned that whole place upside down looking for replacement belts for our vehicles and never found a thing, but items like alternators and torque wrenches were still available.
We threw a few more tools into the cart (more wrenches, pliers, channel locks, vice grips and the like as well as a replacement battery each for the trucks. Billy finally found an emergency air compressor in the back of the shop that could be plugged into a cigarette lighter port, and we finished out the plunder with as many tire patch kits as we could find. Things like batteries, flashlights, and so on were simply no go.
Satisfied that we had established a successful balance in need versus capacity, we gave each other a nod and rolled the cart toward the front door of the shop. I picked up the M4, slung it over my shoulder (Billy hadn’t laid his shotgun aside at any point since we’d been in there; he literally slept with its sling over him), and exited out the glass double door.
Directly across from the front entrance was the Dodge truck, backed in with the gate about five feet from the door. To the left of the truck was the van, also backed in. To the right of the truck were two men of entirely questionable nature. They looked rough and ragged, but then we all looked rough and ragged after the fall, so I wasn’t exactly holding that against them. What I didn’t like, what set me on edge immediately, was that they had positioned themselves such that the sun was to their backs and in our faces and they were spread out far enough that they made two discrete targets about thirty degrees apart. Their demeanor suggested a friendly conversation, but everything about their placement screamed ambush.
Billy must have seen it immediately and processed it much faster than I did. When I stepped outside, he had already moved out to the left and positioned the truck bed between himself and our two new visitors. He had his shotgun held loosely in his hand and resting lightly over his left forearm. It looked comfortable, but it would take an idiot to miss the fact that he could have it up and ready in an instant.
For my part, I froze for a beat, grunted, and swiveled my rifle up under my arm and aimed it at their general direction. If they had actually had a firearm ready to go, there would have been ample time to kill me several times over. Thankfully, they had a plan slightly more complicated than simply shooting us full of holes. The one on the right was armed, as far as I could see, with a pistol jammed into his waistband like some sort of gangster. They both raised empty hands when my barrel came up.
“Whoa, whoa, stranger! No harm meant. We’re just passing through, is all,” said the one on the right. I didn’t like his look, and his voice settled the deal for me. He had a weasly, greasy look with an unctuous, assuming little voice that set my teeth to grinding the minute words came out of his mouth. His friend was harder to get a read on; he just stood there silently.
I swiveled my eyes over to Billy, who was in my peripheral view and who, to my shock and horror, put his back to the whole thing and began to focus his attention in the opposite direction. I wanted to ask him what he thought he was doing, but I didn’t want to do so out in the open in front of Weasel and Mum.
“Passing through,” I repeated. “Fair enough. What can we do for you?”
Weasel put on what I supposed he thought was his most winning smile; it was grotesque and unnatural. Mum divided his attention between me and Billy, who had seemed to lose interest in the whole thing. “Nice of you to ask, there, friend. Quite nice. Larry and I couldn’t help but notice that you and your partner had these two outstanding fucking rides here. You look like fellas who have straightened your shit right out. We were thinking maybe you’d be interested in joining forces or maybe just trading?”
Weasel and Larry, then. Fine.
“Joining forces, huh? Just what kind of force are we talking about?”
“Oh, it’s just me and Larry here. Not much of a force, really, but four is better than two, after all, wouldn’t you say?” He chuckled at this, seemingly pleased with his ability to do simple math. He and Larry were both stealing glances over at Billy now, who continued to look down the street in the direction opposite of where I would really have rather he devoted his time, shotgun now in low ready with butt in shoulder and muzzle down.
“Hey, uh, what’s yer buddy looking at, there?” Weasel asked, then louder and directed at Billy, “Conversation’s over this way, bro. We boring you over here?”
“Fucking rude, is what it is,” rumbled Larry. His eyes were dark and nervous and now bouncing back between Billy and me like he was watching an Olympic Table Tennis match.
Getting fed up with the whole stupid scenario rather quickly, I wanted to ask Billy just what he thought he was doing as well. Forcing back my frustration, I kept my eyes locked on the two men with my rifle muzzle up and spaced at the midway point between the two of them and said, “Bill?” I always called him Billy because that was how he’d introduced himself so I strongly hoped my calling him Bill would knock loose whatever it was that had gotten stuck in his brain.
He had apparently noticed, either by my tone or my usage of his name, because he said, “It’s okay, Jake. These two just really want me to turn around. They don’t want me to see…”
I’m going to do my best to describe what happened next without getting it all confused. I remember everything happening at the same time, and I’m not sure I can explain this coherently.
In the middle of Billy’s sentence, the sound of gut shaking explosions thundered off to my left—one blast followed by two additional blasts in rapid succession. After the first explosion but before the second two, Larry raised his hand in the direction of Billy and shouted, “Danny!!” At the same time as that, Weasel reached into his waistband and started hauling on the pistol.
I immediately began to drop into a crouch, swinging the barrel at Weasel and yanking on the trigger. The trigger itself didn’t move and nothing happened—I suddenly remembered that I had the safety on in response to Billy’s instruction from the night before. I cursed (or at least I tried to; it came out sounding like “Fyurk!!!”) and slammed the safety as far in the other direction as it would go. In the meantime, two more explosions detonated off to my left for a total of five.