Outland (World-Lines Book 1) (13 page)

July 11              Omni

Setting up was a breeze this time. The motor homes were on hook-up, so there was no issue with generators or inverters; and they had set up the gate inside, so there was no issue of anyone seeing them in operation. They closed the curtains to prevent snooping.

Once they were ready to go, Matt held up a canvas bag containing boxes of ammo for the shotguns. “We’re going to have a bit of practice when we go through,” he announced. “You need to at least have a feel for using the guns.”

With no further discussion they opened the gate and climbed through. As before, the ground on the other side was higher, so there was very little stepping down involved. As soon as they had all stepped through, Bill and Kevin closed the large gate and opened the small one, about eight feet off the ground. The Outland group looked up to see the camera peering at them from a hole in the air. Erin smiled and waved.

Matt held up the ammo bag. “Okay, let’s do this. First, single shots, just to get used to the kick.”

Each person took a turn firing their shotgun and pumping another round in. Monica squealed the first time she fired. By the third try however, she was massacring trees with a grin on her face.

“All right. Everyone make sure you’re reloaded,” Matt said. As they reloaded their weapons, the forest sounds started to return.

“Now, we’re going to go full
Swartzenneger
. Pump and fire as fast as you can until you’ve emptied your gun. I will stand guard.”

Monica fired first, followed within seconds by the rest of the group. The BOOM BOOM BOOM of three pump-action shotguns being repeatedly fired once again shut down the forest cacophony. Lucy tried her best to burrow into the ground.

The group stopped when they ran out of ammo, and reloaded according to Matt’s instructions, alternating slugs and buckshot. Once they were done, they paused to look around. The area looked like a giant weed-eater had been at work. Underbrush was gone, and several smaller trees had been cut through. The rest looked severely shredded.

“Think we’ll be able to find the place again?” Richard said with a chuckle.

“Okay, people, let’s march. Compass says this way. Monica, got the spray paint?”

Monica held it up in confirmation. Picking up the disassembled pieces of shaker table, they headed toward the creek.

***

The work went a lot faster this time. It took only a few minutes to assemble the shaker table that Bill had built. A small gas engine provided just enough power for the table mechanism.

As they had done on the previous expedition, they figured out which areas of the creek had the best pickings, and how deep they could dig before results petered out. The person on shovel duty dug in a methodical line, using the detritus from each trench to fill in the previous one.

The last expedition had been treated as a sort of
proof of concept
, and they hadn’t pushed it. This time around, they worked with determination and almost military precision. Someone was always on guard duty, but they alternated every half hour or so, so everyone got a break.

Lucy was interested in everything, but didn’t give any indication of approaching danger. As Matt commented at one point, given the earlier practice session with the guns, any potential danger was already making a beeline for the horizon.

***

By the time they decided to pack it in for the day, they had amassed several bags, each larger than the one they’d filled the first time.

“Ugh,” Monica said. “I’m beat.”

“Yeah, but look at the haul.” Matt pointed to the bags of gold, leaning against the table legs.

“Shall we leave the table here?” Erin asked.

“Might as well,” Richard replied. “I doubt it’s interesting to animals. Plus it will smell strange. Worst comes to worst, we still have the manual screens, although I have to say I really like the modern conveniences.”

They made their way back to the clearing without incident. When they arrived, the hole in the air disappeared and the large gate appeared. The weary group climbed through to civilization.

***

Day two did not start out like day one. On day one, everyone had been bright, fresh, optimistic, and ready to go. On day two, a bunch of academics learned the consequences of a full day of unaccustomed manual labor. There were groans of discomfort when the alarm went off.

Bill got up and started making coffee.
Maybe a large pot, this morning.
When the coffee was ready, he called out, “Come and get it!”

Matt moaned, “Can’t. Move. Or. Talk. At. Normal. Rate.”

Bill said, “Dammit, what’d I say to you about treading on my turf?”

“Sight. Returning. Brain. Rebooting,” Matt muttered.

“Will you shut. The fuck. Up,” came from Richard’s bed.

Maybe two pots.
Bill laughed and poured several cups of the elixir of life.

He then walked over to the other motor home and banged on the door. “Time to get up,” he called out.

“Get Lost.”

“Fuck off.”

“Coffee’s ready,” Bill replied.

“Be right there.”

“I love you.”

Bill smiled.
Much better
.

***

It took two more pots of coffee before everyone had managed to sufficiently caffeinate themselves. Matt got up and organized the weapons and ammo. He paused to look at the other three explorers, who were still looking less than enthusiastic.
I hope they don’t shoot their own feet off today.

The team departed a little later than the previous day, but since they didn’t have a shooting session, they ended up at the creek-bed at about the same time. There, they discovered that stiff and sore university students don’t work as fast as fresh and healthy ones. Frequent rests were required.

During a rest break later in the afternoon, Lucy started barking. The four looked up and realized that they were facing a small pack of dire wolves. Without the gun session that morning, wildlife hadn’t been driven from the area, and some of it was now interested in a potential meal.

Big mistake. Four sore, cranky, tired potential meals took exception. Without preamble, discussion, or hesitation, four pump-action shotguns cut loose. BOOM BOOM BOOM. Several wolves fell over in the first volley. One wolf all but disintegrated.

Monica yelled, “Rate of fire, motherfucker!” while continuing to pump and fire.

Matt managed a smile, recognizing the reference.
Bill would be proud
.

Lucy, as usual when shooting started, was trying to emulate a gopher. The few wolves still standing after the initial rounds took off at full speed.

Matt realized that emptying all the weapons at the same time might not be a good idea, so he stopped with several rounds left. Monica stopped early as well, stretching her gun-pumping arm and grimacing in discomfort. They were all left panting, looking at the carnage.

“Well, that was not well thought out,” Matt said. “The area is now covered in blood, and it’s going to attract more predators and scavengers. We may be done for the day.”

“That’s fine by me,” Erin said. “I think I’m done anyway.”

They went over, donned their packs, then turned to look at the shaker table.

“About a hundred bucks to build,” Richard said. They looked at the bags stuffed with gold. “Nawww,” Richard said. As one, they turned and headed off, leaving the table in the clearing.

"The chance of that happening in our lifetimes is exceedingly insignificant," said Cervelli, a scientist with the Yellowstone Volcano Observatory.

— Reuters. “Scientists Dismiss Claims that Yellowstone Volcano About to Erupt.”

July 11              Richard

“Well, son of a bitch,” Richard said, with awe in his voice.

They had brought an accurate scale this time. Weighing the haul had produced a grand total of just a shade over thirty pounds. “That’s, uh…” Matt worked the calculator on his phone. “A little under $450,000. Same assumptions as last time,” he added, looking at Richard.

“That’ll do, pig. That’ll do,” Bill said.

“Have we exhausted the strike?” Kevin asked.

Erin shook her head. “No, Kevin. There’s a lot of uncertainty about how much was extracted from Deadwood, of course. But within an order of magnitude, we could probably get fifty million out before we had to start using serious extraction methods. Then we could always just go to the Homestead lode and start digging.”

Matt added, “And if we ever came close to exhausting that, Pike’s Peak is about the same drive from home.”

“So you’re saying money is no longer an issue,” Kevin finished, his voice shaking a little.

“Ah, yep,” Erin answered.

“I can’t stop smiling,” Bill said. “My face is starting to hurt. Make it stop!”

“Okay, let’s get serious for a second,” Richard said. “We still have to cash this in. We’ll spread it around a little more this time, which means more driving. I’ve got a total of thirteen places we can do that. That’s still around thirty-five grand at each service. I’d like to bring about half that to the places we’ve already been, and more to the places we haven’t. I’ll work it out in more detail later.

“Meanwhile, I think a dividend is in order. Maybe ten thou each, just for pocket money?” Richard looked around. Every head was nodding vigorously.

“All right,” he continued. “Now back to your regularly scheduled laughing and frolicking.”

People let out whoops.

Monica started waving her arms in the air and dancing. Richard’s IQ plummeted.

The FAA has issued a directive making the area within two hundred miles of Yellowstone a no-fly zone for commercial airline traffic. Airlines are scrambling to re-route their flights, and are promising customers that they will refund any tickets on request.

Government agencies have reported a dramatic increase in chatter on known terrorist channels. They have announced that they are issuing warnings about possible attacks in undisclosed locations.

“Extremist groups see the Yellowstone activity as a direct message from God, and are using it as a rallying call,” said one unnamed source.

July 13

Lem

Lem considered his options. That was two ridiculously large assay submissions within a week, both by kids who had no business being in the business. So to speak. This kid had given some lame explanation about a group expedition and pooling their finds, but Lem knew BS when he was being showered in it. He’d made a note of the kid’s contact info, and he retrieved his notes from the earlier visit.

Andy always paid well for useful information. This could turn into a weekend in Vegas for him if it turned out to be something. He thought for a few seconds, took a breath, and picked up the phone.

***

Andy

Andrew Petrelli put the phone down, and considered the information he’d been given.

Andrew and his associates were minor members of the local underworld. In this modern era of street gangs, they were old-school. They’d managed to leave the big city at a good time (for their health, of course) and had taken up residence in Lincoln just when there was a power vacuum due to a police sweep. Once they were in, they were hard to remove, and Andrew’s reputed Italian heritage made others reluctant to confront him. If pressed, Andrew would point out that he had never claimed to be a Family member as such, but if people insisted on making assumptions, who was he to correct them?

The three of them, Andy, Bluto, and Charles, made a living off the usual low-level stuff: stolen goods, drugs, prostitution, and the occasional bit of strong-arming and extortion. They would never get rich, but it was a living. And the people who had urged Andy and his friends to leave their former location seemed disinclined to follow up as long as they stayed gone.

Andy looked somewhat like a Mafia Don, or at least the TV version of one. Impeccably dressed and manicured, the effect was marred by a gut that tended to hang over his belt.

“Gentlemen, I think we have something interesting here,” he said.

Charles and Bluto looked up from their card game.

Andy relayed what Lem had told him. “I think we should send a gift his way. This sounds like it could be very lucrative.” He handed Charles a slip of paper. “See what you can find out about these kids. Lem said they seemed naïve enough that they might have given him their real addresses.”

Charles took the note without comment, read the contents, and placed it in a billfold.

Charles was large, black, and impressively bald. The baldness was a fashion choice. As with many shaven-headed men, he felt it made him look more dangerous. In his case it served to offset his habitually thoughtful expression. Although Charles was capable of violence when the job demanded it, it was a choice he made with reluctance. He’d taken flak from Bluto about it many times in the past.

“Can we just
squeeze
it out of them?” Bluto asked.

Andy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and if they’re legit, they run straight to the cops. Good thinking,
Trevor!
”

“
Don’t fucking call me that!
” Bluto did not like the name his mother had given him. It had resulted in many beatings in school, until Trevor had hit puberty and gone from the smallest kid in his class to the largest by a significant margin. The joy he’d gotten from extracting payback had strongly influenced his subsequent career choice. Unlike Charles, violence was Bluto’s first choice.

Now as an adult, Bluto was a very large man—not muscular, just big. A shade over six feet tall, thick and round, he had long black hair and affected a scraggly beard. Andy suspected he was trying to look like the eponymous cartoon character, but had never bothered to ask.

“Be that as it may,” Andy said. “Keep it clean, very light touch. If there’s something we can use, perhaps we can sell them some accident insurance.”

The three smiled at their shared joke. Bluto in particular liked selling accident insurance as much as he liked squeezing.