Dead and Dead Again: Kansas City Quarantine (22 page)

Hef noticed it was the big man speaking
now and couldn’t help feeling a small margin of relief when the others turned
at the sound of his voice. He was definitely really there.  Both metal-men
introduced themselves.

“Quinn.” “Hephaestus.” They shook
hands and sized each other up.

“You build this?” Quinn looked all
around at the walls and ceiling.

“I did. With the help of a few
friends,” Festus nodded. “This and all the vehicles in here,” he spread his
hands around. “Except for that one, of course,” he pointed at the mustang. “I simply
made that one a little better.”

“Nice. You’ll do,” Quinn nodded.

Hef returned the man’s evaluating
gaze, up and down, leather-bolstered chain mail, armored boots, and immaculate
forged weapons. He studied the rest of the armor-clad gang as if seeing each
for the first time, noting the quality of the metal work and the materials
used, eyes sparkling when he noticed the blue armor on Calvin and Athena.

“I imagine you will too,” he craned
a smile up at the taller man—a rare occurrence in and of itself.

“Wow! Where did you get that?”
Scooter exclaimed as a vehicle that actually looked useful for their current
situation slowly spun into sight. It had been blocked from sight by an old fire
engine. Hephaestus looked up to see what he was pointing at and instantly regretted
it, slumping in defeat, crestfallen.

“I
built
it, Calvin. I just
said…whatever. It is one of your new toys. I…now that you brought it up, where
did you
think
I acquired it?”

“No. Sorry. Of course…I mean, well,
of course you built it. I just meant…not
where
did you get it. Look, it
was just a turn of phrase, buddy. I know
where
you got it. I meant what’s
the story with it? It looks awesome. Making it for a movie? What is it?”

“It is an extended frame Humvee,”
Hef took the lure and swam out into the lake. “I placed turrets on the front
and back and—”

“—no. I mean what movie is it for?”

“It is kind of a secret,” he
glanced around. “But we seem to be in special circumstances,” he looked around
for invisible cameras and leaned down, motioning for them to lean in so he
could whisper the name.

“It is called Aftermath 2025,” he
blurted in a normal voice, making everyone jump. “It is supposed to be
Beyond
Thunderdome
meets
Dungeons and Dragons
meets
Night of the
Living Dead…
or something
.
”

“
Those three don’t really go
together, honey,” Sarah declared with a laugh.

“And yet here we are on the verge
of that very thing,” he responded, eying their armor and weapons with raised
eyebrows.

“Well, this thing sure fits the
Mad
Max
genre,” Tripper noted, patting the hood of the Humvee.

“What are those big drum things in
the middle for?” Scooter asked. Everyone else moved to look inside the doors at
the center of the vehicle where they could see large black barrels hanging in
steel baskets beneath both turrets.

“Those are fifty-five gallon drums.
They’re filled with your ammunition.”

“Ooh, what’s the ammo?” Trip asked.

Hef smiled and motioned for them to
guess.

“Ball bearings,” Scooter said with
a shrug.

“Good guess. Close but no cigar.”

“Whiskey,” Athena guessed.

Scooter gave her a withering
glance.

“Hey, those tubes could take the
fuel up to the cannons up there and turn them into flame-throwers.”

“Ok, but how is that close to ball
bearings?”

“I…he could have meant close
meaning it is on the Earth. And he said close but no
cigar
. What goes
with cigars? Whiskey. I—just shut up, Calvin. You don’t know.”

“I know I don’t…never mind…
is
it Whiskey?” Scooter turned on his old friend.

“No,” Hef replied. “But I have done
something similar with a moonshine mixture and a pressurized still. It was for
a low budget horror movie called
Backwoods Dead and Deadfast,
set in a
Bed and Breakfast in the Appalachians. It was about a bunch of hillbillies
making moonshine and killing visitors for food and selling their stuff on e-bay.
One of the victims turns their cooker into a flamethrower and fries everyone. Stinkfest
of a movie, but I won some awards from people who pay attention to things like
that and—”

“—is it cow turds?” Trip
interrupted irritably.

“No.” Hef shook his head with a
sigh, shoulders slumping again.

“Can we get further away from ball
bearings?” Scooter asked in dismay. “Build off of my lead, people.”

“We don’t have time, anyway,”
Athena reminded them, ignoring the fact that she’d already taken part in the impromptu
game.

“It’s nails,” Scaggs said casually.

Hephaestus beamed and Scaggs felt
her knees weaken. She put her arm around Gus to keep her balance in the assault
on her senses that was this beautiful man. Gus simply looked over and shook his
head with a resigned expression. She kissed him on the cheek as an apology.

“How’d you guess that?” Trip asked her
roughly, annoyed that someone had beat him to the punch before he’d given a
real answer.

“Guess? What? Are you kidding?
Please…those feed belts are thin and wide. The drive tube is obviously formulated
to turn the nails the same direction as they flow through, and the drums are
schedule three-fifty-five, carbon-coated,” she raised an eyebrow and shrugged
one shoulder. “Standard container for shipping bulk nails to distributors. And
that tiny load chamber…not much else could fit in there but nails. Pretty
simple, really,” she looked around at the rest haughtily.

The group continued to stare, some
impressed, others doubtful.

“I’m just sayin…” she said, before breaking
out in laughter and picking up a handful of nails from a box inside the open
door she was standing next to. “No. I mean, I’m good, but really. Look, there’s
a few hundred boxes of nails in cases and it says ‘nails here’ on the door of
these drums.” She gave a comical double-tap on the side of a barrel.

“What about that barrel composition
and load chamber stuff?” Gus asked, eyeing her sideways.

“I totally made all that chiz up,”
she admitted.

“So you were lying to us?”

“In my field we call it
improvisation
,
Sweetie,” she smiled coyly at Gus and his round baby-face lit up. “I gotta stay
in practice in case I get a good part. But I won’t do it again if you don’t
like it.” She pursed her lips into the cutest of pouts, put one tiny finger to
her lips and coyly rolled her eyes up at him and he nearly fell over.

“Forget him,” Scooter said. “It was
cool. You should have never told us the truth. Would have driven
him
crazy,” he nodded at Tripper.

“How’s it work?” he asked
Hephaestus.

“The compressors are in the middle
of the carrier. One on each side. One bolted to the roof, the other on the
floor. The compressor sends air through the feed channel of the gun and it
feeds the nail belt through a simple pneumatic gear attachment I made. Let me
pull off the molding and show you these gears and how—”

“—sorry, Hef, we’ll need the
shorter version,” Scooter held up a palm. “We’ve got rescues to attempt.”

The big Greek simply shrugged. “Right.
Of course. It is simple. Flip the switch to turn on your compressor. Use your
feet and spin your body on the rails to turn the turret on its base. The turret
is basically mounted to a giant roller bearing—very easy to move. Aim here.
Pull the trigger to shoot. When you are empty, or something is broken, it will
probably not shoot anymore. If that happens, bring it back and I will fix it. That
is all.”

“Great. We’ll figure the rest out
on the fly.”

“Are nails really going to do it
out there?” Trip asked his friend.

Hephaestus sighed. “Always with the
doubting.”

Stumping over to one of the
refrigerators in the garage, he reached in and fumbled around for a few seconds,
eventually pulling out a round watermelon and walking over to an upside-down
bowl stand sitting near a cushioned wall. He placed the watermelon in the bowl
part of the stand and walked to a group of shelves further up the wall. Selecting
a big, heavy-looking black backpack, he slung it over his broad shoulders with
a grunt, his tank top exposing a good portion of his muscular, well-tanned
shoulders and chest as he adjusted everything on his back.

Felicia and Scaggs giggled and
whispered to each other. He turned to them and scowled. “Are they going to stop
that soon?” he muttered.

“You take some getting used to, Sweetie,”
Athena informed him.

Still scowling, he fumbled with the
straps until satisfied with the fit and then reached over his shoulder and
pulled what looked like a steel rod from a sheath on the side of a tank. A belt
or strap hung from the back half of the rod and connected it to the large
backpack. But it wasn’t just a rod. With a flip of a trigger, dozens of tiny,
silvery projectiles jetted out to the watermelon twenty feet away, penetrating
the melon’s tougher surface and leaving little trace. The ‘rod’ was actually the
barrel to a mini-air-gun and the ‘strap’ a feed belt.

“They will penetrate,” he pointed
to the tiny holes ripped in the shell.

“A skull is a lot thicker and
harder than a watermelon, Hef,” Sarah said hesitantly.

Hephaestus walked up to the
watermelon and cut it in half with a machete they hadn’t seen him grab. The
insides of the watermelon fell out like a watermelon slushy instead of the solid
interior the others had expected. “See,” he announced proudly. “If you hit them
in the eye, the nails will go in and sort of, bounce around a bit, mashing it
all up and ensuring that you take out whatever it is in the brain that keeps
them going.”

“Ok,” Trip conceded.

“Dibs!” Scaggs blurted, then
blushed. “On the gun, I mean. Not the man…boyfriend,” she repeated, pointing to
Gus. “Boyfriend,” she muttered meekly. “Just want the gun.”

“This is mine,” he said with a
possessive hug of the barrel. “It would be too heavy for you anyway. But perhaps
we can work up a few more when I am waiting on something else to get fabricated.
I am certain we will have to redesign a few parts when we start assembling
everything on the…escape vehicle. I ordered the main parts for seven of these
little portable guns, but I am not sure I have enough connectors and belts made
for that many…maybe three more.”

“Dibs!” Scaggs said again.

“Fair enough,” Hef nodded and for
once she just looked grateful instead of giggling like a schoolgirl at her
first dance.

“This is just like the Con was,”
Felicia screeched; “Door prizes and everything.”

“Yeah, I already got a car,” Scaggs
danced a happy jig. “And now a cool air gun.”

“I want a car,” Tripper mumbled. “I
broke mine earlier.”

“We will get you something,” Hef
promised. “I will show you ladies the rest of the vehicles when you return
if
you
wish
,” Hef offered to all of the girls, specifically
emphasizing
if
you
wish
directly at Sarah and Athena.

It really had not been anything
personal. Only Trip, Gus, Joel and Calvin had even been in the garage because
he preferred to entertain guests in the entertainment room, hence the name. And
why not? It was filled with two dozen monitors for gaming, internet surfing or
just for watching television. Through motors in the walls it was able to
transform into several different configurations, including one with multiple sound-proof
booths for privacy or for anti-cheating gaming control. Joel had always
insisted that Tripper was a cheater so as Game Master, which made him maker of
rules and implementation of all game play, Hef had started small by erecting a
cardboard cubicle to put around Trip so he couldn’t see anyone’s screen or their
information. But then Trip had actually played better.

Eventually everyone had tried the
cubicle out and liked the idea so Hef, being Hef, had designed an entire room
full of gaming cubicles for competition, and two large areas where they could
all play or watch movies, or both. And then he and Calvin had designed a few
other configurations that they had yet to surprise the others with…which
reminded Hef that he needed to fix the monitor in room twelve. The remote mount
was getting twitchy and he was having trouble following it on his laps around
the track. None of that had anything to do with their current circumstances, of
course, but that was how his mind worked. Though he talked slower
intentionally, he had been diagnosed in his teens as Hyper-something-or-other
and had been sent to private schools, his mind was always working and it took specific
drugs and many distractions to keep it even remotely still for any length of
time.

What the hell was I talking
about?
 He asked himself.
Oh right. Vehicles.

“So, this vehicle is stronger and
lighter than your military Humvees,” he explained. “I was able to get better
materials for much less than the government pays so I decreased the weight of the
frame and parts by a third. An engine mechanic friend built a hybrid motor that
is amazing and is nearly two-hundred pounds lighter than the standard motor. I
traded that weight for extra armor all around, including underneath.”

Calvin walked over and looked
inside the vehicle and began planning.

“It has custom armor along the
outside and I designed those safety windows myself. Two layers of two inch shock
glass. Each window has a small block in the middle you can open to shoot
through and each porthole is fortified between the layers so it isn’t a weak
point in the armor.

“It’s like our very own Warthog
from Halo,” Joel noted.

“I bet it’s meaner,” Gus pursed his
lips in study.