When it was clear that Elizabeth was staying with the vehicles on my order (something she grumbled about quite a bit), it became apparent that someone would have to stay behind with her. Jake volunteered for this, which made me nervous at first. He did not strike me as a bad or evil person, not like the others I’d run into, but he still scared me. He struck me as a dangerous person. It was him, after all, who had put the knife and gun into my hand and effectively absolved me of any social guilt within the group for what I might do to James. Then again, it occurred to me that I had taken Jake up on his offer; opting for the knife in the end and using it slowly (thankful that Jake had so effectively gagged him—I learned later that he had taken Lizzy several yards away as soon as he left the trailer to ensure she couldn’t hear). Thinking about this, I realized that I was actually confirmed to be every bit as dangerous, if not more dangerous, than Jake. It was this knowledge plus the fact that he hadn’t known of Elizabeth’s existence when he came to help me that informed my decision to agree with the arrangement. To my surprise, Lizzy was totally fine with it as well.
As we approached the edge of Cedar City, we saw that the 15 was not as bad as we had imagined. We very well could have navigated our way in for at least a few miles and then gone off the main road if we found ourselves blocked. Even so, we held to our original plan and swung up Cross Hollow. Rolling down the middle of the city felt too exposed to all of us—as though we were just asking for trouble.
We pulled off the road just before the 56 and parked in the shade of a factory on the southeast corner, putting ourselves between the factory and the main area of the city. Jake said, “Let’s get you outfitted,” and got out of the truck. He started walking over to the rear of the van, where Billy already had the doors open.
“Wait here,” I told Lizzy and got out to follow.
As I was just approaching the rear of the van, Billy was already slamming the doors shut and locking them. Jake came around with what appeared to be a very heavy black duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He settled it onto the ground between us, and I could see that it was large enough to hold a full-grown man. On his other arm, he had a couple of black vests. He held one of them up to me, tsked, and shook his head.
“This might still be too big for you. This is really a shame. It never occurred to us to look for feminine-sized armor.”
“We’ll keep an eye out in the future,” Billy said. “I think we can make that work on her. We may just have to duct tape it instead of using the Velcro.”
“What is this?” I asked.
“Ballistic armor!” Billy said, happily. “Good stuff. Probably not good for high-powered rifle rounds but it’ll stop handguns and knives.”
“It’s the same stuff I was wearing when what’s-his-name shot me,” Jake said as he squatted down and unzipped the duffel. He reached inside and pulled out a rifle the likes of which I had never seen before. It looked like a space gun from a science fiction movie; I felt as though I had seen Sigourney Weaver use one to blow the face off an alien at some point. Impressive didn’t convey half of what I felt when looking at this thing. What first struck me when I saw it (the thing I appreciated the most, really) was how small it was. The rifle from before that I had been lugging around always felt big for me. I had never shot a rifle in my life before all of this started, and a long rifle like that M16 just felt clumsy in my hands. The kick wasn’t that bad; I just couldn’t keep it steady.
This new thing that Jake was holding out to me was easily half the length of the M16.
“What on Earth is this?” I asked as I took it from him.
Billy answered. “That is an Israeli-made IWI Tavor X95 bullpup rifle. The Israelis were using the earlier variant of this in their military; the X95 was just starting to get some real popularity here in the states when everything fell apart. You didn’t see a lot of them around because they were so damned expensive and a lot of people hate on bullpups. Even so, these things are great for tighter control and close quarters.”
I looked over the top of the gun. There was a little window mounted on top. When I looked through it, I could just see a red dot that moved around on the screen as I shifted my gaze around from side to side.
“That’s a red dot optic,” Jake offered. “I don’t really know how to set them up, but Billy managed to get it zeroed at about a hundred yards. We played around with this thing for a few hours after we picked it up. This was shortly before we found you.”
“They’re really cool,” Billy added. “You don’t have to get the gun lined up with your target the way you would if you had regular iron sights. If you can see the dot through that window and it’s on your target, you’ll hit your target. Even if the dot is way over to the edge of the window—if you can see it, that’s where the bullet is going.”
“Where in the actual hell did you find all this stuff?” I asked. They both became quiet at this question, going from excited twelve-year-olds to circumspect poker players instantaneously.
“Here and there,” Billy finally said. “We got a bit lucky in Vegas.”
Jake scoffed to himself and nodded.
Changing the subject, Billy said, “Look, I want you to put that vest on under your clothes, okay? Just go over there around the side of the building or something and pull it on. When you come back, I’ll tighten it up with the tape if it needs it… your waist is pretty small, I’ll just go get the tape now. Should probably put a flannel on you, too, to help hide the edges.”
Handing the dangerous looking little rifle back to Jake and slinging the vest over my shoulder, I asked, “Why under the clothes? What does that matter?”
“Two reasons,” Jake said. “First, Billy read about some shit-hit-the-fan situations in other third world countries once upon a time. It seems that people outfitted with the best gear tended to get ambushed by marauders far more often than guys just roaming around in jeans and sneakers with beat up backpacks. This included soldiers loaded up in tactical gear. The less savory of the world see all that fancy looking military stuff, and it doesn’t deter them at all; it paints a big target for them that says, ‘this person right here has way better equipment than you, and you should come take it.’ It’s counterintuitive, but the truly bad people of the world tend not to be intimidated by the sight of GI Joe, especially when those bad people are moving in numbers.”
“What’s the other reason?” I asked.
Jake cleared his throat. “Yeah. Well, if you have to get shot, we want them to shoot you in the vest where you’re protected. If they see you wearing a vest, they’ll shoot you somewhere else, like the head. So, just hide the vest.”
His words had a sobering effect. I walked off to find a relatively private place to put the gear on.
It turned out that it was a little loose after all. Billy got down on his knees in front of me while I lifted my shirt up to my ribs; high enough for him to wrap the sides down tight with duct tape. I felt the shoulders bunching up slightly around my neck when he finished, but the fit was still much better now than when I first put the vest on. I was amazed at how light it was. I was assured that the heavy duty stuff was not as comfortable.
The Tavor was handed back to me, this time with a sling attached to a little swivel at the back, which Billy helped me to pull over my head and adjust the length. He had me shoulder the rifle a few times to ensure that it was all comfortable and that I could get a good view through the optic. He left to rummage around in his baggage for a flannel shirt.