Dark Recollections (11 page)

“Alright boys. Let’s have a good day. Bobby and Mike why don’t you get all the new guns in the vault prepped up, and get some extra gun cleaning kits and supplies out there on display. Let’s try to move all those goddamn boots I ordered by accident last month too. Thanks men.” Mr. Moore nodded and headed back to his office.

The guys all exchanged looks with Mike, who finally looked up. They all laughed briefly, sharing in Mike’s shame. After that they patted him on the back, and went to work.

Mr. Moore called the day almost perfectly. No sooner than when the men left from their little meeting, customers began coming in. It was always the same kind of people who came in on days like this. Phil had seen it happen countless times over his 16 years. People tend to get nervous when bad things happen. They think that whatever bad thing has happened, or is happening, is going to happen to them too. As Americans, purchasing a firearm is a constitutionally approved way to alleviate anxiety, so that’s what some people do. It’s always the indoors folks that do it though. The hunters don’t, they don’t have to. They already own guns. The veterans are the same. They either own a gun already, or don’t freak out when bad things happen.

The customers that come in on days like this are the people who’ve never shot a gun before. Bankers, IT nerds, psychologists, moms afraid for their kids, you know the type. The pocket protector posse. They’re the people who make a rushed decision that having a gun is now necessary because the world has changed so much overnight. Phil thought these people were idiots, but if they had cash, or a credit card, he’s sell them bazookas if he had them in stock.

Normally Phil and Mike ran the gun counter but Mike was currently banished with Bobby in the backroom. That left Ben to help Phil, and he wasn’t ready for the constant stream of customers. By noon Phil pulled Mike back to the counter, and by one Mr. Moore was up front as well. They had Bobby stand at the door holding an empty shotgun to make sure none of the panicked customers did anything stupid. By 2pm though, Mr. Moore had had enough of the crowd, and called his son to send a patrol car over.

Phil was up to his neck in uneducated gun buyers for so long he forgot to eat lunch. He had dealt with assholes who didn’t know about the wait for pistols, and he dealt with the assholes who wanted the biggest hand cannon magnums money could buy. He’d dealt with the moms, holding their babies and toddlers while they “tested the feel” on a .38 special. He’d also watched as one baby threw up on a $800 Benelli shotgun. Italian walnut goddamit, all fucked up.

He was hungry, sweaty, and frankly getting a little scared as things got busier and busier. The crowd did get a little more courteous after the officer showed up though, and when Bobby came back inside to help, Phil got a break to eat the frozen dinner he had in the fridge. Of course he took it out to the counter to eat it, and fortunately they had a little break in the flow of customers at the same time.

The four men all took a seat wherever they could find one, and hung their heads in exhaustion. So much state paperwork filled out, guns handed over, and ammunition boxes sold, and believe or not, Mike had managed to sell four pair of boots to one worried housewife that was afraid her family’s footwear wouldn’t survive this outbreak of the bird flu. The cop came inside at about the same time, and Phil noticed it was Officer McGreevy, the town’s largest cop. McGreevy nodded to Mr. Moore, and gave a little wave and a nod to the others.

“Danny, what is all this bullshit? Is this shit for real?” Mr. Moore asked him as he took a bite out of a Danish.

“Well sir, I can assure you this is no hoax.” McGreevy rested his thumbs in his belt and kicked absently at the dirt on the floor. The men exchanged amused glances.

“Elaborate son.” Mr. Moore chewed his Danish.

McGreevy was icy in his delivery, “well we got the call from the State Police early, early this morning that this was legit. We even heard from the FBI and got a few calls from the state health department too. Apparently State Police have blockades on all the interstates and routes coming in. They’re stopping and turning around everyone that’s sick, especially those folks that are bitten or scratched. I guess a few of the blockades have seen some pretty bad shit too. Few cars ramming through the cruisers, a couple of officer involved shootings. Shit is terrible Mr. Moore. Ain’t no joke.”
 

The men all had to remember to breathe after hearing that. Murmuring of all forms of curses were uttered, and the quiet was only disturbed by the cop’s radio going off, “McGreevy come in, this is Chief Moore.”

McGreevy reached up and thumbed his radio transceiver on his collar, “go for McGreevy.”

“Hey is my father there? Can you go to him?” The Chief said over the walkie.

“I’m in his presence Chief, anything you say him and his guys will hear.” A few more customers came in just then and Mike and Ben got up to take care of them. Mr. Moore moved closer to the officer to hear his son.

“Dad, I just got the call from the FBI and the ATF that we have the local authority to suspend firearm background checks. What do you think of that?” The Chief’s voice was filled with doubt, Phil could hear it straight through the walkie.

Mr. Moore scratched his balding head and furrowed his brow, “shit son I don’t know. Is this all that bad? We need to put that many guns out on the streets today?”
 

“Dad the FBI just called and said that some of the larger hospitals in major metro areas are now quarantine zones. I guess Los Angeles is under martial law already. Apparently down south in Mexico City the military is doing purges of the ghettos it’s so bad. I guess there are thousands of these sickos attacking randomly all over the world.”

Mr. Moore exhaled, and rubbed his face. The customers who just entered had stopped asking about guns, and were listening intently to the conversation. The men, Mr. Moore included sat quietly for a bit. “Son, we’re the only shop in town. We can be judges of character. If we think someone can buy a gun without the check, then we’ll let ‘em. If we think they’re shady, then they go through the process as normal. Sound good?”

The radio was silent for a few seconds, then it squawked, “that’d be great Dad. Be safe there you guys. McGreevy, if you see anyone that’s bit, you put bracelets on them immediately, you understand? State Police have authorized that if an officer sees a wounded person and they don’t respond to immediate verbal commands, we are to put them down, understand?”

McGreevy looked at the people around him, suddenly even more somber and serious than before. Absently, he scratched his smooth scalp. The officer thumbed his radio once more, “Roger that Chief. Put them down if uncooperative.”

“Uncooperative and hurt, they have to be visibly hurt, otherwise follow normal protocol.”

“Roger that.”

*****

That was at 2pm. Mr. Moore had Bobby write up some signs telling folks that they could only buy a few guns, and Bobby used his faintly superior magic marker skills to make a few signs to put up. At 3pm the store picked up dramatically again. Apparently the two or three large businesses in town had dismissed their entire workforces to go home and make preparations for whatever the night would bring. From Phil’s perspective it seemed like every person in town was coming in there to give him a hard time, and to try and buy a gun after that.
 

At just shy of 4pm Mr. Moore told his men to let the folks start taking pistols home with them if they bought them. Further, Mr. Moore said that if the people who had pistols on hold from earlier in the day didn’t come and get them by 5, to put those guns back on the shelf to sell again. He said he had a bad feeling about this. Mike brought out a radio and turned it on so they could listen to the reports coming in. News from all over kept getting worse and worse. Occasionally Officer McGreevy would poke his head inside and tell the men about another shoot out somewhere in the state. There were lots of gun stores being robbed, grocery store fights, and car accidents. People apparently forgot how to drive and act like humans in the span of 6 hours. Terrible world we live in Phil thought to himself.

At about 4pm things started to slow again. The mob at the counter was only two or three people deep by then, and finally it slowed to a trickle. Phil noticed this one character when he came in immediately, but was surprised after he kept his eyes on him. He was a tall dude, little over six feet. Hooded sweatshirt and jeans, and had a strong look about him. Like he’d take no shit from anyone today. Phil was sure he’d be the one to rob them, but he just stayed in line, kept his eyes peeled on the door, and everyone around him, and was a model citizen. Phil wasn’t sure quite what to make of him when he motioned for him to come up to the counter.

“What flavor of destruction can I get for you today sir?” Phil asked, trying to stay somewhat positive.

“Well I need one rifle, one shotgun, and one pistol if possible.” The big man said politely to Phil.

Phil nodded, “What would you like young man?”

“Well if you still have any, I’d like a Glock handgun, preferably one of the 9mm’s with a 17 round mag, or one of the .40 cal models. I’d also like, uh,” he looked at the racks behind Phil, searching for what he wanted, “a 12 or 16 gauge pump or semi-auto, and a .22 rifle. Preferably one that uses a clip if possible.”

Phil nodded knowingly. He immediately started liking the big fella. He knew enough about weapons that he knew what he was asking for, and he seemed confidant in doing it, and just struck Phil as someone who’d also use them appropriately. Phil nodded, sent out an “ayup.” And went to gather the man’s order.

Phil checked for the Glock, but they were out. Instead he grabbed a few of the Sig-Sauer pistols, which were top grade firearms to show the guy. Phil came back and told him the bad news.

“Son we’re flat out of the Glocks, all models, those went pretty early I think. We do have some Sig’s left over. One 9mm and one .40 cal. Either of those work for you?”

The younger man nodded, “Yeah, the 9mm is fine.”

“Terrific, I’ll grab the rest of what you need. You care what models or anything?” Phil asked him.

“Use your best judgment. I trust you guys.”
 

Phil smiled at him, and went to get the rest of what he asked for. He grabbed the Mossberg Tactical .22, which was a clone of the M-16 and M-4 rifles the Army used, and a shotgun he felt the guy would like, another Mossberg, the Model 535 ATS. Both were high quality, and would be put to good use by the guy. Phil was confident. When he returned to the counter with the man’s order, he had piled up some supplies to go along with his guns.

“Ammunition? How much you think you’ll be needing?” Phil asked as he laid the guns down on the counter.

“All of it?” The guy joked. Phil and he shared a little laugh.

“Tell you what son, I think I can spare you 4 boxes of .22, 10 boxes of the 9, and 4 boxes of the shotgun shells. Will that work?” Phil started getting the boxes out from under the counter before the other man answered.

“It’ll have to do I guess. If I need more than that I guess we’re in a lot more trouble than we realize.” He smiled and looked warily out the door. Phil could tell this man’s head was screwed on straight. He watched the exits, kept his hands free, had his knees bent just slightly so he wasn’t flat footed. Clearly someone with some time served in the military.
 

“Young man I’m gonna give you the hook up here. I’ve got some spare magazines for the rifle and the pistol if you’re interested. Two each.” Phil waited for his response before taking those out from under the counter.

The big man’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning, “Hell yes I’ll take them.”
 

Phil nodded again and grabbed the clips, “this everything?”
 

“Yeah I think so, for now at least.” The man pulled his wallet out and took a credit card from inside and got it ready to hand to Phil.

As Phil wrote up the receipt for everything he looked at the state and federal paperwork normally required for all the weapons. He shook his head to himself and decided it wasn’t needed for this sale.

“So what’s the news, has it gotten worse or better?” The big man leaned on the glass counter and asked.

“Well,” Phil took the credit card and swiped it, “McGreevy out there keeps giving us updates. Guess it’s pretty bad out there, but it sounds like the Staties are doing a good job of keeping it under control. He just said a few minutes ago that the only people attacking other people are from out of state so far. People who have been bitten or something. Seems like it’s only spreading slowly up in this neck of the woods. Might get lucky with all this.” Phil handed the man his card back. He noticed the name was Adrian M. Ring on the card. The receipt printed shortly after and the man signed it for Phil.

“Well Mr. Ring, you use these carefully, and be safe. Have a great day.” Phil said to the guy.

“Thanks Phil. I appreciate it. Your name tag is crooked by the way.” He pointed and smiled at the name tag Phil had long since stopped giving a shit about. Phil huffed a little laugh and dismissed it. They exchanged one last nod, and the man gathered his stuff and left.

The store finally had a lull right then. Gratefully Phil sat down on the stool behind the counter and took stock of the store’s heavily depleted inventory. They had less than a dozen shotguns and rifles left for sale, and only perhaps a dozen pistols left. Most of those were of the “pea shooter” variety though. Derringers used mostly for show, or target pistols. Phil chuckled quietly thinking about how they’d probably be closing up shop today due to there being nothing left to sell to anyone.

Phil rested his eyes for a minute and opened them again when he heard a car screech into the parking lot. It pulled up so close and so fast to McGreevy’s cruiser that it damn near hit him. He could see through the door that the car had out of state plates. McGreevy barked out a few commands to the driver, and backed away. The driver got himself out of the car, and started towards the entrance of the store. McGreevy moved himself between the man and the door, and drew his service weapon.