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Joel had stayed with the truck since the 60 was still mounted.  Even though the ammunition was under lock and key, KB was still responsible for the rather expensive piece of hardware and had no intention of leaving it alone.  He and Joel had swapped enough hunting stories on the way that he figured Joel could at least strike a menacing enough pose to keep people at bay; and if he heard a shot, he’d be back out before all eight rounds were fired…Joel had one in the pipe after all.

As luck would have it, there were five of the portable band-type sawmills in stock.  They requisitioned a total of three, and all of replacement blades for the brand they were taking.  They also got six more chainsaws, four dozen replacement chainsaw blades, ten clamp-on sawmills for the chainsaws, three dozen shovels, a dozen picks and a variety of saws, hammers, bolts, nails, screws and hinges.  They had most of the hand tools already, but they also had more hands than they were used to.  Having more tools meant getting some of the work done quicker.

“I really wish you guys had cement and cinder blocks.” Joel told the clerk who was helping them get everything sorted out.

“I can’t help you there, but I can help you with mixers.  We just got a shipment of them in on Tuesday.  If you get the premix, you’ll at least be able to mix it.”

“Outstanding.  KB!  Make sure we have room for a couple of cement mixers up there!” Joel shouted up to Kevin over the sound of some jerkoff squealing his tires in the road behind the store.

“Great!  Super!  Fabulous!  I bet those will come in real handy once we get some CEMENT!”  Kevin had really expected to find cement, but couldn’t hold it against them.  After all, they were a Tool and Supply store, not a hardware store.

Joel chuckled, “I’m fairly sure he doesn’t hold you personally responsible.  Then again, I’ve only known him for about two hours, so I’m not absolutely positive,” he told the clerk.

“Wonderful.  I survived almost being run over by a band of looters when I showed up first thing this morning, and being threatened at gunpoint by ‘Peter the Great’, or whatever he was calling himself, earlier this afternoon.  As long as he only yells at me, I think I’ll be ok.”

 “Wait, what happened this morning?”  Kevin was all business now.

“Well, I showed up for work--actually I showed up to grab some stuff, but I’m not going to go into that, ok?  Anyway, I see this huge caravan in the parking lot and they’re trying to jimmy the gates open in back.  They didn’t break any of the windows out front; I guess they didn’t want to attract any attention with broken glass.

“Everybody was still in their cars except for two guys from the first truck and when I yelled at them they jumped back into the truck and tried to run me down.  The whole lot of them took off at that point, which I didn’t understand since I was just one guy.  I went back to my car for about a half-an-hour to make sure they didn’t come back while I was inside by myself and then other folks--people I knew--started showing up and, well, it’s kinda been business as usual, sorta.”

“With maybe one possible exception, early this afternoon?” Kevin prompted.

“Actually, you guys make two exceptions, but yeah--I don’t usually have a gun pointed at me around lunchtime.  Some dude comes screeching in here in a sweet ride, fully restored Mustang.  I don’t know what year but it was smokin’.  I don’t usually go in for the Ford Yellow but this one looked nice.  He hops out and he’s got a pistol hanging halfway between his hip and his knee.

“This guy is so lit it’s not funny.  There’s beer cans rolling around inside the car, and you can smell the hard liquor rolling off him in waves, and I sincerely doubt he’d been burning incense if you know what I mean.  I honestly don’t know how he hadn’t wrapped himself around a telephone pole hours before, truly.

“But before I could smell the booze or see his bloodshot eyes, I made a smart remark about not shooting himself in the foot trying to draw that gun.  Next thing I know I’m staring down the business end of whatever he was carrying--and it looked like Dirty Harry’s .44 Mag--trying to just keep my mouth shut.  I figured I’d said about all I’d needed to say and by then I could see he was so lit that nothing I could do or say at that point would do any good anyway.”  Steve, the clerk (based on his name badge), stopped for a few seconds and closed his eyes.  A sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead and he was visibly trying to calm himself down as he recalled the chain of events of a few hours ago.  When he opened his eyes he was looking towards the parking lot…but seeing something that wasn’t there.

“So this guy, Peter the Great is what he called himself later, says ‘Dumb kid for having such a smart mouth,’ then he put the barrel of the gun to my forehead,” Steve closed his eyes again and took a deep breath.

“Steve, it’s ok, I think we got it,” Kevin said.

Steve went on like he hadn’t heard KB say anything, but kept his eyes closed, “I closed my eyes, and he said ‘Ask, no,
beg
Peter the Great to spare your life,’ and then he pulled back the hammer.  Does a .44 Magnum click three times when you pull back the hammer, Mr. KB?”

“You can call me Kevin; and it depends on the make, son, but yes, it can.”

“Ok.  Then I did the only thing I thought I
could
do.  I begged for my life.” Steve said.  “I didn’t move, but I begged that human shaped sack of crap for my life.  I didn’t grovel, but I begged, and after what felt like a month the barrel wasn’t against my forehead anymore and I opened my eyes.  Dick, I mean Peter, was standing there trying to get the gun back into his holster and once he’d succeeded he looked back up at me and said ‘Yup, smart kid, just needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.’  Then he walked into the store, grabbed who knows what and left.”

“I stood there the entire time trying not to piss all over myself and hoping he would just leave.  He took off about ten minutes later.  I figured I could either go home and have a complete breakdown or try to hold it together for a couple more hours and be around to be of help to some people…and
then
go get very drunk.”

Chapter Eighteen

KB shook his head.  “Even New Orleans took three full days to begin to falling apart after Katrina.  Ok, can you remember anything else about either the caravan this morning or this ‘Peter the Great’?  I need to let higher know about what’s going on, and if there’s already folks running around like they own the place, well…”

“I didn’t get a real good look at the caravan folks but I remember that one of them had a birthmark on his face, um,the right side.  He was a passenger in the truck.  It looked like a footprint on his face.”

“It just gets better and better.  I guess we weren’t the only ones to lie about where we were going,” Joel said.

“Ok, I’m lost.  What have I missed?” Kevin asked.

“It’s a group we ran into yesterday morning,” Joel said.  “The guy with the birthmark’s name is Earl, or at least that’s what one of the other guys called him.  They said they were headed south and instead they came due north.  Of course, we lied about heading east because we didn’t want to be anywhere near them.  It’s a little bit of a story but the long and short of it is that the two we met gave everyone, especially the women, the creeps.”

“Ok, Steve, go on.  Anything else about Pete?” KB asked.

“Not really, about 6 foot, sandy brown hair, stud earring in the left ear that looked like a lightning bolt.  Pretty average really.  Nothing really remarkable, sorry.” Steve said.

“Nothing to apologize for.  Remembering anything about him at all is more than most people would have done, especially under the circumstances.  Let’s finish up here, and head back.  You going to be OK Steve, you have someone to go home to?  You really need to not be alone for a couple days.  Even roommates to get drunk with is better than being completely alone at this point.” Kevin didn’t want Steve to just freak out all by himself if he could help it.

“Yeah, I do.  My girlfriend and I live together.” Steve said.  “I think I’ll be OK.”

“Well, I’m not your dad.  I can’t force you to do anything, but please trust me--today is going to stick with you for a while, a long while, so don’t try to downplay it.”  KB said.  “Don’t let it rule your life, but don’t underestimate the effect it’s had on you either.”

“I appreciate that, I really do.  I’m sure I won’t know how much for a while.” Steve shook himself and looked at Kevin, “Ok, let’s get the portable cement mixers loaded.”

…

Once they got back on the road, Kevin called in to the Advance Area and reported to Sergeant Ramirez.  “We don’t really have much on this Peter the Great and we don’t know anything about the folks Eric’s group met yesterday other than that they weirded everyone out.  We do know it’s already hitting the fan, though.  Over.”

“Roger that.  I’m going to pull in Chuck, Eric, Sheri, Karen, and Rachael.  I want to talk to all of them again about that group from yesterday.  Report in to Top and I’ll debrief you and Joel when you get back, Ramirez out.”

It took five minutes to get the First Sergeant on the radio back at the Armory, as apparently she felt the need to get some sleep at some point in each forty-eight hour period.  “I’ll have 1
^st
Eng. bring a couple of 7-tons and pull-trailers when they pull out and have them make pit stops at the local big box stores.  They usually have pallets of ready-mix cement and cinder blocks.  I won’t have them waste weight on actual bricks.  What I wouldn’t have given for an actual defensible position to begin with.  How much of what we’re doing is going to look like empire building and our own little land grab--which technically it is?”

There was a pause while Mallory looked over something on her end.

“1
^st
Engineering won’t be leaving until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.  You’ll need time to finish at least minimally settling in and it doesn’t make sense to have them plan on the fly when we still have facilities we can use here.  You’re going to have company tomorrow night, though.  A little less than doubling what you’ve got now since almost everybody coming next is single or newly married.  Far fewer dependents coming along this time.

“I need to coordinate back on this end.  Call Ramirez back at--I’m gonna kill him for using that name over the air where people could hear it and start using it--‘Promised Land’, and let him know.  Jensen, out.”

“He is so screwed,” KB chuckled.  “She might calm down after she’s gotten some sleep; then again, she just might start thinking clearly enough to come up with ways to really make him suffer.  Wonder if she’ll start calling him Moses?”

Kevin never got a chance to call back to the advance area, however, as the radio squawked just then.  After authenticating, it turned out Ramirez needed to confirm a couple of things himself, first.  “I need verification on the make, model, year, and color of ‘Peter the Great’s’ car.” Kyle said.

“We can verify, second hand, Ford, Mustang, Yellow.  We cannot verify year however, as the closest we can come is fully restored and terms like ‘pristine’ and ‘cherry’.  Terms that would lead us to believe it was a vintage year and not recent.” KB replied.

“Good copy, can you verify description and distinguishing marks?” Kyle asked.

“We can verify, second hand: approximately 6 foot, possibly a little taller, sandy blond hair, stud earring in the shape of a lightning bolt in left ear.” KB said

“Roger that, I read you: approximately 6 foot, sandy blond hair, stud earring in left ear in the shape of a lightning bolt.” Kyle responded

“Good copy.” KB answered.

“This is ‘Promised Land’, hold one.”

“What’s going on, KB?” Joel asked.

KB shrugged. “Heck if I know, but it sounds like they’ve got some tentative ID on the guy and they want us to verify everything before they go any further with the ID process.”

“Joel, this is Chuck.  It sounds like they ran into Pete from the dam--the guy who was going to high tail it to Oklahoma as soon as he could get home to his truck.  The fact that he hasn’t chosen to begin that little trip quite yet is possibly more than just a bit worrisome.  Kyle wants to have a war council when you guys get back and start thinking of contingencies for when we run into these groups.  We know about a couple now but heaven only knows how many more there are.”

“Sounds like a plan, although I probably shouldn’t say that.  Plans up to this point haven’t worked out all that well so far.”

Chuck laughed, “See you in thirty, Promised Land, out.”

By the time Joel and Kevin got back they’d been telling each other hunting stories for half an hour.  One thing that both of them could respect about the other was that neither of them had had trophy walls at home.  When pressed, they’d give details on the number of points this buck or that elk had but they’d both been staunch supporters of the “you can’t eat antler” camp.  You hunted to learn, and hone a skill, and to eat what you shot…not to brag.

As Kevin climbed down out of the truck he was met by Kyle.  “Sergeant Ramirez, I have good news and bad news.  Which of those would you prefer to hear first?” KB said.

“You can’t even wait for debrief can you?” Ramirez said.  “Great, good news first--I’ve learned to build myself up first and then go rushing straight down, kinda like a roller coaster.”

“Outstanding.  The good news is I think there’s only one piece of bad news.” KB replied.

Kyle shook his head.  “Bowersock, you suck.  Ok, go bad news.”

“On the way back from Madison we were being followed.” KB said.  “I saw a yellow Mustang behind us at least a couple of times and the last time he was close enough to see us turn into the park.”

“Wonderful.  Security requirements--which were not inconsequential to begin with--just got doubled, at least.”  Kyle called over his radio to get some help unloading the truck and turned to Joel.  “I need you and Eric to help supervise getting the mills set up.  I don’t know how quickly we can get some planks going, and I’m sure that the first things we turn out will end up as firewood, but at least we’ll get some practice.”