American Apocalypse Wastelands (11 page)

Every year the McKinleys got a little more out of control, so people tried to tread lightly around them. If not for the reason that they liked driving on plowed roads, then because Pa and the boys would beat the crap out of you, given the right incentive. Nowadays, not kissing their ass correctly was incentive enough.

It was typical small-town politics played out in the absence of any organized and armed authority to put a to stop it. A few frayed threads of morality and civil responsibility were the only things keeping events from getting really ugly. That and the possibility that what was happening to the local and state governments was temporary. They didn't want to push too hard, since no one wanted to explain to Homeland Security how so-and-so ended up dead, nor who was probably collecting and pocketing the tax money.

Tommy saved the best for last, as far as I was concerned. The nut job McKinley boy had taken a shine to Donna and had begun dropping by her place. He would also come by Tommy's when he saw her car there. After all, they were neighbors. Apparently Tommy's idea of discouraging him had been to hide her car in the garage. So
far that had yielded mixed success. It sounded like Nut Job was not big on
no
. His type never was.

 

We moved outside and sat around on the porch. Night came down from taking her shower smelling good. Real good. It just emphasized how bad the rest of us reeked of sweat.

It was pleasant to see Donna again, but it was also a bit uncomfortable. I was happy that she and Night seemed to be getting along so far. At least there were no obvious claws yet.

They were both Asian, but as Night had reminded me—the last time with a smack upside the head—all Asians were not the same. I was really glad I had choked back what was in my head, which was “But you all look alike.”

Seeing them side-by-side I could see a difference. Night was Chinese while Donna was a Filipina. Different body types and facial features. I was starting to go down some X-rated hallways when Max snapped me back to reality.

“Okay. Since we are together I thought we might talk about what we're going to do.”

Oh, damn
, I could already feel myself going numb and we had just started. I hated meetings. I also was not thrilled about the glare Night was shooting me.
Shit
. I sat up straighter and tried to look interested.

I managed to feign interest for about thirty minutes before I began to get restless. I really did not care about planting grains or deciding which were the best. I'd give it fifteen more minutes and then I was gone. I would deal with Night's hissy fit later. Hey, I never even touched Donna!

“I want to burn the farmhouse and outbuildings,” Max was saying, “which means we're going to have to talk to Mr. McKinley.”

“That should be fun,” I added. That was just to let everyone know I was listening and involved in the conversation. It didn't stop Night from rolling her eyes. She was really immature sometimes.

I left the meeting when they went back to talking about cattle, goats, and chickens. Night and I had the trailer to bunk in. We were sharing it with Ninja, who had the other bedroom. He could charge his iPod but he still had no computer access, other than the half hour or so he could get on Tommy's computer each day.

I didn't even bother to ask Tommy for time on it. I realized I really didn't care if I was on the Internet. There just wasn't anything out there that interested me anymore.

 

I walked across the yard and into the trailer. I suppose I could have found some chores to do but I didn't feel like it. I had figured out pretty quickly the last time I was here that I wasn't a farmer, nor did I want to be. Instead I sat down in the living room and cleaned my guns. I enjoyed doing that. Plus, it looked like I might be using them soon.

At this point I had the shotgun, my Vaquero, and a black powder Colt 1851 Navy revolver. I loved that gun but I was really unsure about it. I had fired it in the backyard a couple weeks before we left. It had been in Jake's armory. I had noticed it and instantly lusted after it, more so than his later generation Colts. Much to my surprise, he had given it to me.

It felt better in my hand than the Vaquero. It wasn't as accurate, nor did it have the range or punch. It also was not a gun you could reload in a hurry. You could supposedly swap out the cylinders, but the only way I saw that happening was if you called for a timeout. Not going to happen in the middle of a shootout.

I had been carrying it in my pack unloaded. Now I decided to load it. It beat digging holes in hard-pack clay. I had to go on the Internet the first time to get instructions on loading. Afterward, I understood why cartridges were such a huge improvement in the technology for killing people. It was obvious to me every time I measured out the powder, loaded the ball, greased it, and set the caps.

I was working on the Colt when Night came in.

“Hey,” I said.

She didn't reply. She just stood there in the door. I raised an eyebrow.

“Max wants to talk to you back at the house in about fifteen minutes.”

“Yeah. Any idea about what?”

“My guess is it's about the same thing that has you cleaning your guns.” She sat down on the couch next to me.

“So what did I miss?”

She summarized and I half-listened while I finished up the Colt. Then she sat there and silently watched me.

Out of nowhere she asked, “Did you fuck your nurse while you were here?”

I had been sitting there, tracing the engraving on the Colt with my fingernail, letting my mind idle when she dropped that verbal bomb. I set the gun down gently on the coffee table and turned to face her.

“No.”

“Would you have?”

Damn
. I really wish she had been content with a simple no. Now I had to decide whether to lie. I may be a lot of things but I am not a liar.

“No.”

I am also not stupid.

She cocked her head, looked at me, and let it pass. “Don't ever lie to me or cheat on me. You understand?”

I nodded my head.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

She kissed me slowly and pulled away. “Go see Max. Your time is up.”

I walked back to the house feeling like I had just gotten married.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Max was waiting for me on the porch, eating peanuts and sitting in the old rocking chair that I liked. I sat down next to him and propped my boots up on the railing. He rocked and I sat for about five minutes before he said anything.

“You know, I don't really like farming.”

“Yep. I don't either.”

“But you got to do what you got to do.”

“Isn't that ‘A man's got to do what a man's got to do'?”

He flicked a peanut shell at me. “I got my lines. Get your own.”

“So, what time tomorrow?”

“Well, I say early, but not too early. Don't want to catch them at breakfast and get them all upset before we even get acquainted.”

“Yeah, that might be counterproductive.”

“Then again, we got chores to do and I want to get moving on this as soon as possible. You know how to drive heavy equipment?”

“Nope. Can't be all that hard, pardner.”

He laughed. Then he laughed some more. “Yeah, I'm getting the same vibe. You think you can get your ass out of bed and be ready to go by 0830?”

“Yeah. Leave me some of the peanuts.”

He handed me the rest of the bag, stood up and stretched, and walked back into the house. I swore I heard spurs jangling as he did.

I woke up around 0730 the next morning. Night had already left. We both usually got up around 0530, sometimes earlier. Since I had an appointment I had decided to sleep in. Plus, she had kept me up late. Not that I minded.

I rolled out of bed and hit the bathroom. I spent a little longer than usual. “Look good, feel good” was my motto. I figured it gave me a little more of an edge.

I brewed up a couple cups of coffee and cleaned my guns. No vest and shotgun for this. We didn't want to present an overly threatening appearance and get their backs up right away. I skipped breakfast, just in case. I didn't want anything in my stomach. Plus, I usually was hungry afterward. At the last minute I slipped the Navy Revolver in my belt.

At 0815 I walked over to the house. Max was waiting. He was sitting in the same position I had seen him in last night. I didn't bother to sit down.

“You ready?” he asked. We both knew it was a rhetorical question.

He was wearing jeans, a ball cap, and a long shirt. I knew he had his .45 under it. He looked like he had grown up here. I looked like I always did—like I was from somewhere else. He set his ball cap so it felt right on his head, stood up, and stretched. Well, it was more of a half-stretch. He cut it off when he saw the Navy.

“You got to be kidding.” It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

“Nope. Don't worry. I got a plan.”

“Well, I hope it doesn't include that ancient piece of hardware. Jesus, Gardener. You worry me with this retro shit sometimes.”

We were going to walk to the McKinley farmhouse. Hell, it was less than half a mile if we cut across the fields. The heat wasn't bad this early in the morning. It was probably less than ninety degrees, and the humidity was about the same. I waited until we had cleared the main house area and jumped the fence before asking Max the question that had been puzzling me.

“What's up with your boy, Tommy? I thought he was one of those supermarines.”

“Yeah, good question. We talked around it a bit. The short answer is he doesn't have it in him anymore.” He paused. “It happens.”

“Yeah, that's what I thought. It's no big deal.”

Max looked at me quizzically. “That, coming from you? I'm surprised.”

I laughed. “Damn, Max. I'm not always an asshole. At least I hope not. Look at him. He works hard. He kept himself and his kids fed when it fell apart for him. He keeps a clean house. So he was once a blade—now he's a dust mop. The world needs people like him. Shit, someone has to feed us.”

He laughed. “Gardener, you are such a caring individual. Next thing you know you'll be hugging people.”

It was my turn to laugh. The farmhouse was close enough to make out details now. I loosened the Ruger in its holster and slipped the leather loop off the hammer
that helped hold it in place. “Yep. Time to share the love, buddy.”

 

I had read that when approaching some countries by sea, Japan for instance, you know at about four hundred nautical miles out that you are getting close. How? The amount of trash in the water steadily increases.

It was the same thing approaching the McKinley farmhouse. Not that they were unusual in that. It was pretty common in this part of the world. Everybody over the past few decades had consumed a lot of stuff. On a farm, a lot of that stuff was big, too big to stuff in a trash can. You put it in your own dump or left it where it died.

The house itself was neat, with a well-tended yard. It had been painted white in the past few years. There was a garden, somewhat overgrown with weeds, and chickens running around. They had a nice-sized German shepherd chained to a steel post. He noticed us and started barking our approach to the people in the house.

Not that he had to. We had already been spotted. Two almost young white guys were standing around a black Ford F-150 with its hood up. From what Tommy had told us, we knew we were looking at the McKinley boys.

Even without a description I would have known which one was the nut job bothering Donna. The wife-beater T-shirt and can of Bud in his hand were definite giveaways.
Starting early with the breakfast of champions there, buckaroo
, I thought when I saw him. He was wearing a black semiautomatic pistol in a black nylon holster.

The slow one was as big as he had been described. He wore black jeans and a NASCAR T-shirt. He didn't look like he was armed. Max had overdressed for the
occasion by wearing a shirt with actual buttons and no silk-screening on it.

We stopped about ten feet from them. Before Max could say anything, Nut Job looked at us and said, “What do you two peckerheads want? We don't have work, food, or money.”

“We would like to talk to your Paw if he is home.”

Paw?
I almost busted out laughing. Max had gone hick on me.

Nut Job must have noticed my brief grin. “What the fuck you smiling about?”

His brother chimed in, “Yeah. What you smiling about?”

My God, it's the echo twins
, I thought. But what I said was, “Nothing. Just a nice day, and I am so happy that the Lord has blessed us.”
Want to get hick, Max? I can do hick
.

Slow One yelled, “Paw!” loud enough to startle his rodent-looking brother.

“Goddamn it! Don't yell in my ear, you dumb fuck!” Then to us he said, “What you want with my Paw and what the hell are you wearing around your waist, preacher?”

Just about then Paw stuck his head out the front door and yelled, “Who the fuck are they and what do they want?”

Damn
. This family was already starting to irritate me. I really dislike loud people.

Max said, pretty loud for him, “We want to talk to you and the missus.”

Slow One started to repeat what Max had just said, but his brother punched him in the arm and told him to shut up. Then he yelled it to his Paw.

“Just a minute!” Paw went inside and came back out carrying a shotgun. As he approached us, he yelled, “You are trespassing! You sure as hell better not be selling anything!” He was a big man. When he got to us I could tell he was also one of those white men whose face always looked like they were blushing. “Okay. You got two minutes. Where the hell is your car?”