SurviRal (15 page)

“This is Hancock Avenue?”

“That’s right,” Harold said. “We’ll keep going south on it for a ways. It turns into an expressway.”

Harold then seemed to notice Clint looking around at the businesses on the street. “You know someone here?”

“The jewelry store Jake wanted me to stop at is on this street. Pretty sure.”

“You gonna stop and buy gold now? Bad idea. It’s heavy. The price has gotten too high. And it’s highly doubtful a city jewelry store is still open for business.”

“Jake is friends with the owner. It’s possible they’ve talked recently. Wait. Gold Springs Jewelers. That’s it! Right over there on the right. Looks like the door’s open, too. I want to check it out real quick.”

They wheeled their bikes to the front of the store. Bars were in the windows and no jewelry was on display, but the front door was ajar. Inside, a half-dozen soldiers were talking to a man behind the counter. Two of them held military assault rifles. Clint wandered through the open door. No one even noticed him.

No jewelry in the cases. The shop was totally empty. The man behind the counter talked with one of the soldiers in an emotionally strained voice. He was obviously the jeweler, and upset.

“It’s too late,” the jeweler said. “Just too late. Had you come a week ago, I would have helped you out. I can’t now. All my merchandise has been taken to a secure offsite location, as you can see. And I can’t exchange gold for dollars anymore. At least not until the value of the dollar stabilizes.”

“We have the latest prices,” one of the soldiers said raising a tablet computer. “You’ll get fair market value from Uncle Sam. Always. You’re a businessman. With a store. It isn’t legal for you to refuse United States currency.”

“And it isn’t legal for you to force a store owner into transactions he refuses!”

“As a matter of fact, it is. According to the current President’s proclamation, and in compliance with the—”

“National Defense Resources Preparedness executive order,” the jeweler said. “I heard you the first three times. Look, Sergeant…”

“Robinson.”

“Sergeant Robinson. I have nothing to sell you. Go ahead and search the entire store if you want. No gold or silver. Sorry.”

“In that case, we’ll be leaving—just as soon as you open the floor safe and let us look inside. No need for us to search the store.”

“No. I won’t do that.”

“We’ll wait until you do. We’re very patient.”

The jeweler glared at the sergeant for a moment before responding.

“I want to talk with this Colonel Tilley, your commanding officer. Where can I call him?”

“You can’t. Not right now, anyway. He’s busy. We’re only following orders, Mr. Pitman. Acting with full authority assigned to us by The U.S. Army in compliance with the President’s edict. It’s regretful that you’re so resistant to helping your country, when all that’s required of you is to make a normal sale of your standard merchandise at the full current market value.”

Pitman. That was the name of the guy Jake wanted Clint to see. As far as Clint could tell, nobody had yet seen him come into the store.

“Excuse me,” Clint said.

The soldiers all spun around. The two with the rifles gripped them tighter and lowered them some. Weren’t these guys supposed to be hard to sneak up on?

“We’re closed,” Pitman said. He rapidly walked back along the counter until he reached Clint. “Sorry.” He grabbed the front door, pushed it all the way open with one hand, and pointed through it with the other.

“I …I think you know my brother, Mr. Pitman.”

“Can’t help you, friend. You or anyone’s brother. Not now. It’s too late. Nothing to see in here. Please leave. I hear there’s free food in Palmer Park.”

“I don’t need food.”

Clint felt a hand on his back. He turned. One of the soldiers pushed him, gently but firmly. Three seconds later Clint was outside. The escorting soldier then stood inside holding the door shut while Pitman went back to arguing with Sergeant Robinson.

“What’s going on in there?” Jenny asked.

Clint shook his head. “I don’t know. They’re not open to the public. Some kind of dispute happening. A reluctant seller versus demanding customers, maybe. Let’s go.”

Chapter Eleven

“I want to stop here,” Jenny shouted. “To rest and eat.”

Harold heard her and put on the brakes.

Clint rolled up alongside them and stopped. “I need to rest, too. Where are we?”

Harold pointed to their right. “This should be Clear Springs Ranch. That’s a nice grassy area there, with some shade trees. Good resting place, now that you mention it. There’s a lake here somewhere, too, so we can fill our water bottles.”

“Good.” Clint raised his plastic bottle and uncovered the top so the straw popped out. “I’m getting low.”

 His sucking wasn’t strong enough to draw much of the remaining water through the filter, though, so he squeezed the bottle to help it along—still not sure if you were supposed to do that. But this was the last of their water from home in there, anyway. Refilling it with lake water would be the real test. He kind of looked forward to it. These hiking water bottles were pretty cool, what with them being capable of outputting safe drinking water from a brackish mud puddle. He wasn’t planning on testing it to those extremes.

“This looks like a good spot,” Jenny said after they wheeled their bikes across the grass a ways. They set them down and dropped the packs from their backs.

Clint stretched. “Ouch.”

“Sore muscles, honey?”

“A little.” He lifted his legs up one at a time. “Not as much as they’re going to be.”

Jenny sat down and fumbled through her pack. “That giant jar of mixed nuts Roy gave us sure is coming in handy. Best deal you ever made. Although I’m starting to wish we had something to eat besides nuts and jerky. I could sure go for a nice salad.”

Harold laughed. “Produce is the hardest thing to get right now. That and grains. We’re fortunate to have what we have.”

“When we get to Jake’s we can have all the oatmeal we want,” Clint said.

Jenny looked up and smiled. “Ooh, oatmeal. That sounds really good right now.” She handed Clint the baggie of nuts.

“Thanks.” He picked an almond out. “The only thing is…”

“I know. You’re worried about him because the phones have been out.”

“Well, that too.” Clint popped the almond in his mouth. “But I was more concerned about the trip there. It’s already mid-afternoon. The way my body feels, I’m not sure we’ll make it to La Junta tonight. Especially since we need to rest a while.”

“You were all gung-ho earlier. When did your body start feeling pessimistic?”

“Right about where the bike trail ended and we had to ride on the interstate for a ways. That was scary, to be honest. Especially when the big truck passed us so close.”

“That was in Fountain Valley,” Harold said. “Looks like we’ll have to get back on I-25 for a couple of short spells here and there, if we want to take the most direct route to Pueblo. I never thought we’d make La Junta today. That’s another forty miles past Pueblo.”

“Maybe we can spend the night at Shay’s sister’s house,” Jenny said. After a moment of silence, she looked up and saw Clint and Harold staring at her. “Just kidding.”

They rested in the shade after taking their fill of nuts and jerky. Clint closed his eyes for a bit. It was peaceful here. He even dozed off for a few minutes.

“Let’s move farther back behind those trees,” Harold said.

Clint leaned his head up. “What for?”

“So you can get some practice.”

“Practice?”

“Yeah, practice. Come on.”

Clint and Jenny picked up their bikes and packs to follow Harold.

“You and I will sit behind these trees, so we’ll be out of sight from the road. Jenny, you sit here, so you can see if anyone’s coming.”

They did as Harold asked. Harold unzipped the large compartment of Clint’s bag.

“Well first off, you moved it. Now it’s pushed over sideways and partly buried, so will take extra time to retrieve.”

“I shifted things around so the pack was more balanced,” Clint said.

“Don’t do that. Those will be precious seconds lost. Keep it to one side of everything else, like this. See?”

“Yes. So what exactly is it, anyway?”

Harold pulled the case completely out of the pack and set it on the ground.

“This is my Marlin 70PSS, more affectionately known as the papoose. Very dear to my heart. Please take good care of her.”

“Do you own any guns not dear to your heart? Nice case.”

“Uh-huh. It even floats. The papoose is a takedown twenty-two long rifle. Let’s see how fast you can open the case and put it together.”

Clint knew his speed wouldn’t be good enough for Harold on the first few tries, so he took his time finding the zipper, opening the case, and removing the two halves of the rifle. It was nice.

 “Stainless steel?” he asked.

“Yes. Jenny, what are you waving at?”

“A group of bicyclists going by,” Jenny replied. “One of them saw me and waved.”

Clint suddenly felt more urgency in the task and decided to put the darn thing together. He fumbled a little putting the barrel in.

“This is quite a beautiful rifle.”

“Isn’t it?” Harold said. “But you didn’t tighten the sleeve hard enough. Wrench that baby down until your knuckles turn white. Or you can use the wrench, but that will probably be slower.”

Clint practiced putting it together five or six times until Harold was satisfied.

“I think you got it. In an emergency, it shouldn’t be more than twenty seconds from being in your backpack to firing.”

Clint looked back in the open case. “What are the accessories?”

“That’s a custom stock cover. Holds four ten-round magazines, two on each side. Stretches and slips over the stock if you want. But I would leave it in the case. The standard magazine here holds seven.”

“That gives me forty additional rounds.”

“The stock is also full of loose rounds, maybe 150. But you have to remove the butt plate to get to those reserves. The screwdriver’s next to the barrel nut wrench. I’m carrying more rounds in my pack as well.”

“Of course you are. So you have the same gun?”

“No. I have my Henry AR-7. Similar, but different. Takes longer to assemble, but I’m more practiced. Lighter, too—but I’m carrying a pistol and all the extra ammo.”

“You must not have brought many clothes.”

“I didn’t. Go ahead and put that away.”

“All right. It is impressive, Harold. Can’t believe I have a semi-automatic rifle in my backpack with two hundred rounds.”

“I know. That’s the advantage of .22 LR rounds. You just can’t do what we’re doing with anything bigger.”

“Hollow points, I noticed.”

“Yep.”

“Guess we won’t be getting any elk. Or even a buck.”

“No. But all the rabbits and large game birds you want. Maybe a doe, if one gets close enough.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have a scope fixed on it.”

“I’m carrying that in my pack, actually. Would probably only be a hindrance to you. The sights go off-zero every time you break it down, so…”

“Time, right. In your honest opinion, do these twenty-two’s have any real stopping power in a protection situation?”

“Yes. But maybe not the way you think.”

Clint tilted his head. Harold noticed.

“Inside 150 yards, I expect an experienced hunter like you to start hitting the torso of a bad guy by your second or third shot even without a scope. If all you manage to do is crack a rib or two from that distance, it’s still going to give them serious pause about advancing further. So, they’re stopped. And we do have two excellent pistols for close-range defense.”

“What if the bad guys have a real rifle, like a scoped 30-06?”

Harold shook his head. “Bad guys don’t use good hunting rifles. They carry pistols and sawed-off shotguns, for the most part.”

* * *

“That looks like a nice hunting rifle,” Tommy said. “With an expensive scope.”

“Yeah.” Skip turned it around. “Came with a few hundred rounds of ammo, too. Might come in handy. Although I’m partial to pistols and shotguns.”

“So no one was home?” Zane boldly asked, not caring that he was the uninitiated newcomer.

“You didn’t hear any shots, did you?”

“No.” Zane ignored the mockery in Skip’s voice. “But it seems strange. All that food and this gun just left there in the cabin, unattended.”

“He’s right,” Tommy said. “Bet they’re nearby.”

“Of course they’re nearby.” Skip lowered the rifle. “Ran out the back and hid when they saw us coming. Probably in the woods. Or maybe even in that old tool shack over there. That’s what I love about hitting these country homes. Especially the ones with no neighbors. They have a gun or two that gives them a false sense of security. But when trouble shows up, they don’t have the balls—”

Six or seven gunshots fired in rapid order. They came from the right. Zane spun around, along with all four of his companions. Three more shots fired. Faint flashes could be seen in the mid-afternoon sunlight, betraying a rifle barrel sticking through the slightly-cracked door of the tool shed. It was obviously a semi-automatic weapon.