That someone was still here, somewhere.
They stepped around the side of the office section and saw a bay door wedged open with a cinder block. Trunk pointed to it, and they moved to the door. As Trunk and Backfire held semi-automatic pistols up, aimed at the space behind it, Smalls raised the door, surprising the three people inside.
Trunk winked and smiled at the pretty woman who wore her jet-black hair in a high pony tail. She was sitting on the back of a car, watching two other men huddled tight, squatted down beside another car removing lug nuts from a wheel.
The older mechanic turned a lug wrench. “This is how you do it the old-fashioned way,” the wiry, whiskery man huffed while turning the wrench. He wore a short, salt & pepper-colored beard, and dark sunglasses on top of his head. Ropey muscles bulged as he loosened the lug nut easily.
The woman gasped and then yelled, “Nick!” Backfire turned and pointed his gun at her.
“Stay where you are, boys,” Trunk said, aiming his gun at them. “Just got a few questions for you.”
The men turned around in surprise, their eyes wide, and raised their hands, Nick still holding a lug wrench in the air. They were on their knees. Nick was especially surprised to once again see the same biker that had asked him about Jake’s part for his truck.
He’d lied to that man.
Trunk gave them his winning grin. “I remember you.” He pointed to Nick. “You said that truck was… yellow, was it? Can’t remember. But I do recall you said it wasn’t red. Ammirite?”
“It wasn’t red,” Nick lied again.
“I think it was. I think you’re lying to me—again.”
Nick stood his ground. “I’ve got a few customers that have that model truck. It’s more common than you think. The one you asked me about wasn’t red,” he said firmly, fudging the truth.
The younger mechanic looked at Nick out of the corner of his eye, frowning at the older man.
“Okay. I’m not asking you again, then.” He pointed his gun directly at the younger mechanic. “I’ll start over with you. Have you seen a red, 1957 Chevy truck here before… and before you tell me a lie, let me tell you… I don’t take kindly to liars,” he warned, and leaned down, squinting one eye and putting the younger mechanic in his sights.
The young mechanic flinched, and nodded.
Nick elbowed him.
Trunk raised his eyebrows. “Is that a yes, then?”
The mechanic nodded again and Nick glared at him.
Trunk laughed. “See, here’s a man who doesn’t want to eat a bullet. Smart man. Does it belong to the husband of a woman who has a twin sister?”
The young man nodded again, and Nick’s jaw nearly hit the ground. Jake was his friend, and these men were definitely not friends of Jake’s. These men were trouble, just like he’d thought the first time they came through. But he kept his mouth shut. They’d have a hard time finding Jake out at Grayson’s house in the country.
Trunk lowered his gun a tiny bit. “Thank you for being so cooperative. One more question, and we’ll just be on our way and nobody has to get hurt. It doesn’t look like you have anything else here we need anyway—unless the pretty lady wants to take a ride with us?” He looked over at Rena and raised his eyebrows.
She slowly shook her head.
“S’kay. We’ve got all the woman problems we can handle right now,” Trunk said and laughed. “So, last question. Where does this Jake live?”
The young mechanic was singing like a bird. “He lives in Tullymore Subdivision off highway 9, but he’s not there right now. He’s at his—”
“—oops,” Nick said, as he lost his balance and fell over, pinging the young mechanic in the forehead with the wrench, and then trying to catch him as he slowly toppled over. “Damn, kid. Did I knock you out?”
The kid was out like a light.
“My bad,” Nick said, and frowned at Trunk. “He was about to say Jake and his family have gone off to his mother’s house in Georgia, last we heard.”
Trunk scowled at Nick. “Really? They’re gonna drive from South Carolina to Georgia? Seems a long way to go with a gas shortage. Where’d he find that much gas?” He eyed Nick suspiciously.
“Look around. Every gas cap on the lot is open. I gave it to him. Traded him for a gun… which I don’t currently have on me, obviously.”
What Trunk didn’t know was they all three had guns there. But they’d let their guard down and the guns were out of reach—and hopefully out of sight.
Trunk stared long and hard at him. “You know, I think I smell a lie. But I got what I came for. Now, I’ve got places to go, and people to see.” He smiled. “So, thank you, kindly.” He backed up, his gun still on Nick and the mechanic, who was just coming around. Slowly, he and his guys retraced their steps, keeping their pistols pointed at the door until they were out of sight.
They jumped in the truck and took off.
Trunk and his boys blazed through Tullymore. Backfire and Trunk were in the back of the truck, sitting cramped among Elmer’s food and supplies, while Smalls drove.
They were shooting at anything that moved…
Anything with four legs that is.
It had only taken a moment of looking down the barrel of Trunk’s gun for the two teenagers at the front entrance to let them by. The boys ran off into the trees in fright, nearly pissing their pants, and Smalls drove through the suburban neighborhood while guns blazed from the back.
Bang
A dog yelped and fell to the ground, its owner screaming and running for the house.
“Got one!” Trunk yelled in delight. “Keep driving, Smalls!”
Smalls moved slowly through the streets, gritting his teeth at his boss’ savagery; he loved dogs.
Bang
Another dog fell in a heap, still barking weakly at the trespassers.
Bang
A cat flew up into the air, not of its own accord.
“I tawt I taw a puddytat,” Backfire yelled.
“What the hell are you doing?” a man screamed and raced for his children. He scooped up the two toddlers and ran toward the house.
“Not taking any kids today, sir!” Trunk yelled back.
The man looked over his shoulder in terror as he ran.
They drove on and turned a corner, as children and adults scrambled in fear behind them.
Two dogs stood barking in the next yard, the hair on their backs standing at attention.
Bang
One dog fell. One ran.
Bang
The second dog slid to a bloody stop in the grass.
“Got a double!” Trunk yelled.
An air horn blasted three times and men ran out of houses like ants… armed with mostly make-shift weapons.
But it was too late.
Trunk and his guys skidded to a stop at the house next door to Curt, finding two boys playing basketball. Trunk jumped from the truck and stood between them, his tattooed arms slung lazily over both of their shoulders, a pistol hanging from one hand, while the boys stood nervous and still on each side of him.
Backfire stood with his legs apart, his gun in the air at ready, flashing it around for all to see.
Smalls kept the truck idling, but had one arm hanging out the window, pointed at the boys as well.
“Nobody fire,” Curt yelled needlessly to his people. The few that had guns held them as though they were afraid of them. Most of Curt’s group were anti-gun before the grid went down—probably rethinking that position about now—and instead were armed with an axe, or a pole removed from various yard tools, or a knife.