The inside of the van felt like a sauna as everyone waited for Ben’s signal. The keys were in the ignition, but the vehicle had not been started, so there was no air conditioning. Michael insisted on doing nothing to draw attention before absolutely necessary, so there was little for everyone to do but twiddle their thumbs and try not to sweat to death in the cramped quarters.
Jeff was jammed between George and Teddy, huge circles of wetness on his armpits and chest. He gripped his baseball bat in both fists, the tip resting on the floor. Michael had given him his bat back and had the audacity to act as if he were being magnanimous as he did. George, on the other hand, had been given nothing with which to defend himself. If they got into trouble, he would be forced to use his bare hands.
Jeff had argued that he and George should get their rifles back, and Michael had almost laughed at the request. “Prove your worth to me today and then maybe I’ll consider giving them back to you down the road” had been his response. The weapons were to remain in the camp, and Cindy would be in charge of them while they were gone.
The heat was potent, and though Michael had the front windows rolled down, there was no airflow. Just a bunch of sweaty men turning the van into an oven.
Jeff let his mind wander as they waited, and it drifted back to Megan. It had been hard for her to let him and George leave, especially with Jason still locked in their RV not speaking to anyone. Jeff was nervous about leaving her there with that crazy bitch Cindy in charge, but Lydia reassured him and George that she would watch out for both Megan and Jason and keep Cindy away from them. It didn’t make him feel much better, but he thanked her anyway.
Jeff glanced over at George. The look on his friend’s face made him nervous. The pain of what Michael had forced the family man to agree with was fresh in George’s eyes. Jeff patted him on the shoulder, and George looked at him. He was still bitter, but he managed a small smile.
After what seemed like forever, the walkie-talkie started chirping. Jeff wondered if it was Morse code Ben was sending over or some other code he and Michael had come up with. Whatever it was, it did not take long for Michael to translate.
“Okay, gents, the coast is clear up to the road. Let’s move.”
Michael turned the key in the ignition, and the van roared to life, shattering the quiet surrounding them. Jeff cringed when he realized how loud the minivan sounded in the dead silence of the world.
They turned away from the circle of RVs. Jeff glanced back as they moved down the rutted path. Soon the trees hid the camp, and it disappeared behind the canopy. He thought again about Megan and Jason and could only hope they remained safely tucked away while he and George went on the salvage run.
Before he knew it, they were at the cars lining the roadway. Jeff nearly laughed as he looked at how they were arranged in a perfect funnel to trap a victim. He rolled his eyes, wondering how he could have missed that the day before when they had been captured by Michael and the others so easily.
He looked back over at George, who was wistfully staring at the cars. He wondered what his friend was thinking, but it was Megan’s words that ran through Jeff’s head:
“Jeff, take care of George out there. Please, for me. I just don’t know how he’ll deal with it. Please… ”
The plea echoed over and over in Jeff’s brain, even more than Megan’s request that he take care of himself. Jeff tapped the bat against the floorboards, recalling his response to her.
“Nothing is going to happen out there. I promise I’ll take care of both of us,” He’d assured her.
He had made a promise to Megan, and it was a promise he intended to keep.
At Michael’s command, everyone climbed out of the van. They caught sight of Ben, who stood up from his hiding place between two of the cars. His bow was at the ready, an arrow already notched. Michael walked over to talk to him as everyone milled around the van, looking down the road toward Manchester.
The town was like most other small burgs in the rural Midwest. It had a modest downtown area with a stretch of fast food restaurants, commercial operations, a small amount of industry, and a ton of farmland. Jeff tried to recall anything about the town that he knew, like a significant landmark, but nothing came to mind.
“Okay, let’s huddle up.”
Michael snapped his fingers several times. Everyone moved around him in a semicircle. As he went to one knee, Ben backed away. Jeff stared at the broad-shouldered monster of a man in his workman’s coverall and wondered how many yards of the durable material it took to wrap his massive frame. He also wondered how the giant tolerated the heat in the heavy fabric. There was a thin veneer of sweat on Ben’s forehead, but otherwise he looked fine.
Jeff looked down at Michael, who was drawing a map on the pavement with his finger.
“This is base camp. Ben is going to recon off on his own in town.” Heads popped up to look at the big man, but he was too busy moving north to notice. “Several of you are going to hit the stores nearby.”
Michael was staring at Jeff and smiled. “Think you can handle that?”
“I can handle it. I don’t think we need to bother with the formalities here. We already know what’s out there. Let’s just do this and get back to camp safely.”
The smile wavered, but Michael’s eyes stayed on Jeff. His irritation was obvious as he shook his head in dissatisfaction at the blase answer. After a few moments, his eyes moved to Marcus.
“Marcus is going to lead the group. You’ll head down the road and go straight for the stores. It’s up to him to decide if you’ll split up or not. Jeff, George, Ray, and Teddy, you’re with him.”
There was an audible groan from Marcus. For the first time Jeff could recall, he heard the bony hillbilly string more than a couple words together. “Ah shit, boss. Why the hell do I have to take ‘em out?”
His voice was not quite as twangy as Frank’s; it was flat Ohioan versus Frank’s pseudo-country accent.
Michael stared at Marcus. It was not a threatening look, but a patient one, as if he were dealing with a moody child. Their eyes met briefly, and after a moment, Marcus’s dropped. He mumbled to himself, but said nothing that anyone could decipher.
“So where will you and Frank be while we go shopping?”
Michael did not look over at Jeff immediately, his eyes still trained on his subordinate. After a moment, he turned to Jeff. The look was the same as the one he had given Marcus.
“We’ll be here, of course. This is base camp,” Michael repeated, exasperated. “We need to maintain radio contact with Ben in case he reports any problems.”
Jeff squinted and then nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense… someone should stay here. It’s a rallying point in case things go wrong, right?”
Michael returned the nod almost imperceptibly.
“But it seems to me that the people who are heading down the road should be carrying the weapons.”
Before Michael could respond, Frank moved in front of Jeff. His nostrils were already flaring as his pupils narrowed to pinpoints.
“Listen, smartass. I’m not about to give up my weapon to you… or anyone else, for that matter.”
He moved closer, and Jeff was reminded for the second time that day how bad the hillbilly’s breath stank.
The two stared at each other, their mutual contempt obvious.
Frank edged forward, and Jeff’s eyes were drawn to the stout man’s gut. It was magnetic, like it had its own gravitational pull. It was round and well defined, not sloppy or sagging, protruding outward like the prow of a gelatinous ship. Megan’s gun was wedged there at its edge, pressed up against the filthy denim of his straining jeans. Jeff stared down at the gun like he had back at the camp. This time, Frank caught him doing it. He took a step back, his hand coming up to cover the weapon.
Jeff nodded toward the magnum.