35
Tucker, Tarra and Grayson jumped in the back of the truck, quickly taking their seats on the hay and keeping their guns ready in case they ran into more trouble.
Grayson was shaking. He took a deep breath and tried to get control of himself, before anyone noticed. None of this seemed real. He’d actually killed a man.
A man.
A real human being…
Were all those guys really dead? Did this really happen?
His mouth filled with saliva and he repeatedly swallowed it back down. His stomach flipped and flopped. He glanced at Tarra and she met his eyes. His horror was reflected back at him, but she cleared her throat and gave him a steely stare with a subtle shake of her head.
She reached out and squeezed his knee. “We’ll be home tonight. We still have things to do out here.”
Her message came through loud and clear.
Suck it up, Buttercup. Don’t fall apart out here in front of everyone.
Grayson nodded his understanding, and her kindness reminded him that Tina and Tarra wanted to leave, according to Jake. It was now obvious that it was much too dangerous for these women to go out on the road alone.
But he knew if he said that, the ladies would scoff. He had to admit now, they were tough as nails. While he’d yet to see Tarra shoot, she’d handled herself well back there. Most other women would have fallen apart long before now. He was actually impressed with both of them, and they might just need two more guns at the farm—if they could keep feeding them. “Tarra, we would love for you and Tina to stay with us until this all blows over. We might need your help, and we’ll provide you food and shelter until you find a safe way home. Olivia will grow on you, and it’s a big farm. Y’all can avoid her. Will you stay?”
Tarra studied him for a moment. “Yes, we’ll stay for a while. No promises on how long though. Deal?”
They shook hands.
“By the way,” she said. “Way to shoot like a girl back there.” She winked at him.
Grayson took it well—as a compliment, the way it was intended. He nodded his appreciation.
Jake popped the clutch, pulling Ruby through the parking lot toward the exit. Tina rode shotgun up front, both her arms hanging out the window as she provided cover, with Frank and Mickey hunkered down in the back.
Mickey finally met Tucker’s eyes. “What happened in there?”
Tucker glared back at Mickey. “Oh yeah, you two missed the final act of the show, didn’t you? Well, let’s see if I can recap it for you. I nearly got assassinated when you two scuttled off and left me. But, while the gangbangers stood peacocking to Tarra, they got caught with their pants down—well, not really… er… down. Just a figure of speech,” he said, looking at Tarra. “Everybody’s pants stayed up… But then four guys named John, Ralph, Chuck and Pete came in, ready to rumble.”
He paused and cut his eyes at Frank, who had yet to look at him. “I, however, still had a gun to my head while everyone took turns picking a buddy,” he said sarcastically. “Then, there was another gangbanger hiding on top of an isle shelf that no one saw, who was probably about to take dibs on said head, when Grayson spooked him, shot him dead, and then the other four gangbangers took a spankin’ from a more seasoned, ready group. They’re all dead.”
Mickey and Frank were speechless. Tucker shook his head in disgust and turned on his hay bale toward Grayson, putting the cowards out of his sight. He slapped at the knees of his jeans, trying to wipe dirt and tiny pieces of glass off.
Grayson had mercy on Mickey and Frank, and spoke kindly to them. “Look, nobody expected anything like that. I guess we all need to realize this shit is for real now. It’s crazy out here; truly teotwawki. A word of advice, guys… if you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch. I’d recommend no more town runs for you two.”
Mickey and Frank both mumbled sorry to Tucker, and then hung their heads low, suddenly finding great interest in their shoes.
“Who the hell were those guys?” Tarra asked.
Grayson’s rubbed his jaw, his face suddenly ashen. The adrenaline was crashing fast. “Friends of Gabby’s. They saw Ruby and recognized the truck. They also saw that.” He pointed at the gang signs that now practically screamed from the mess of graffiti on the walls of the building as Jake lurched out onto the road, heading away from the store.
“Oh, hell.” Tucker lifted his shirt, wiping the sweat from his face. “So, they knew the store was claimed by the gang?”
Grayson answered, “Yeah, same as we should’ve known. That’s why there’s no one else around. According to them, the smaller gangs had laid claim to anything left around town. But MS13 is popping up now and the smaller gangs are on the run. They’ll probably be here soon, too, and MS13 makes these small-town gangs look like the Peanut Gallery. They’re nuts. Gabby’s friends stopped to warn Jake, not knowing y’all were already in there. When Mickey and Frank ran out, they offered to go in and provide backup.”
Tarra blew out a breath. “They did more than backup. Hell, they took over. Why would they risk their own lives going in there like that?”
“MAG,” Grayson said and shrugged. “And the possibility of more supplies. Tucker’s boys here told them there was only four. Four guys are a walk in the park to them. But it was a good thing I had their six—y’all were wrong about the numbers.” He said the last bit to Frank and Mickey.
“And that means?” Tucker asked.
“Six means watching someone’s back. Like a clock. Six o’clock is behind you,” Grayson explained.
Tucker rolled his eyes. “No. I know that. What does MAG mean?” he asked in an exasperated voice.
Grayson shrugged, trying not to take offense at Tucker’s tone. The poor man had just been through hell. “MAG is a local Mutual Assistance Group for preppers. Ralph—the one with the red beard—started it. He said Gabby had joined up. They all met several times at different locations before all this—that’s how they knew Jake’s truck. For some reason, she’d driven it to the meet-ups back before he took it apart to rebuild it. They had an agreement to help each other, if possible, if ever the shit hit the fan.”
Tarra leaned up to join the conversation. “So that guy, John, is in charge?”
Grayson laughed. “Nobody is in charge. They’re all friends. They played Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide who took lead.”
Jake gunned it and swerved Ruby around another corner. They’d already found out from the MAG group that the doctors’ offices were all looted, same as nearly everything else in town.
Grayson, Tarra, and Tucker held on tightly to the sides of the truck. Mickey and Frank kept their heads tucked down and nearly rolled off their hay bale, desperately trying not to look up at their cohorts again.
Tucker dropped his head between his knees and took several long breaths, all of it suddenly becoming real to him. He looked up and glared at Mickey and Frank with contempt. “Way to have my back, assholes. I could’ve been killed in there.”
Neither man looked up, or replied, but within seconds both of them sported flame-tipped ears.
Tucker shook his head in disappointment. “We owe that group, now. Big time. But I’m not sure we’ll ever see them again.”
Grayson faked a laugh, doing his best not to fall apart. “Oh, we will. Jake told them to meet us back at Tullymore. They’re going to give us a share of whatever they get in that store. Plus, we’re going to exchange maps. They’re somewhere out near my farm. We may need them again—or they may need us.”