I saw some crossbows that took my fancy. They were small, but I knew they were powerful. Since the U.K. government had banned handguns, the pistol clubs had had to find another sport, and many now used their ranges to fire crossbow bolts instead of pistol rounds. The club where I'd been shown how to use one was in Vauxhall, just across from the Firm's HQ.
I picked up one model and examined the optic sight and the attachment to keep spare bolts. The price tag said $340, which was all right, but the other side was disappointing: a label told me it needed a North Carolina weapons license.
The only option left to me was an ordinary bow, and I wasn't short on choice. There were racks of them to choose from, with names like Beast 4x4, Black Max and Conquest Pro. Made of carbon fiber, aluminium or composite resin, with cams that worked like gears at the end of the bow to give the bow cable more power, these modern versions of the longbow would have had Robin Hood creaming his Lincoln green.
I found one I liked the look of, the Spyder Synergy 4, proudly boasting thirty-two inches of throbbing manhood end to end, cammed and cabled up, ready to go as long as I had some arrows. I wanted the smallest ones I could find, just like the bow. Looking along the racks I worked out it was the two-footers I was after, and picked up a box of six. But that wasn't the end of it. I then had to choose the arrowhead. I went for the Rocky Mountain Assassin; it looked like Thunderbird Three with its tail fins, which were in fact razors. It also seemed to be the only one that came with ready-assembled fins.
I was quite enjoying myself at the bow mix 'n' match counter, and the next item I needed was a quiver. These, too, were cammed up and fixed onto the bow, so that everything was secure and close to hand.
I carried on and got the rest of the stuff on my mental shopping list, and with enough kit to bow-hunt until Christmas I went to the checkout. The woman with the baby was examining a necklace in the jewelry department.
She obviously hadn't liked the holster, because the stainless steel45 CQB still gleamed from her open bag on the counter.
Behind the checkout a woman in her early twenties sat bored out of her skull, apparently not that interested in the latest style of handgun or waterproofs.
Her hair was gelled to her forehead, and she didn't even look at me as she said, 'Card or cash?' I couldn't keep my eyes off her fingernails.
They were two inches long and nearly curling, like Fu Manchu's, and were painted with an intricate, black and white checkerboard pattern.
I couldn't wait to describe them to Kelly.
I replied, 'Cash,' did the transaction, lifted my bags, put my twenty cents change into the 'Candy for Kids' box and left. While I was loading the trunk of my car, the woman with the baby came out and got into a people carrier. I couldn't help but smile as I saw the stickers plastered across the back:
'This vehicle insured by Smith and Wesson.'
'A proud parent of a terrific kid, sponsored by Burger King.'
And, best of all: 'The driver carries only $50 ... OF AMMO!'
In amongst all of these was a large silver Born-Again Christian fish sign with the word Jesus in the middle. It was just like old times, part of the crazy kaleidoscope of contradictions that made me love America so much. It was a good job I hadn't made a mistake the last time I was looking for a wagon with a fish sign on it, and climbed into this woman's vehicle.
No doubt the vehicle's insurers would have given me a greeting to remember.
There were still a few other odds and ends I needed, so I drove away from Yadkin and toward the city center--or what I thought was the center.
After ten minutes I had to stop, open the trunk and get the maps out, hoping that on one of them there might be a town plan. I worked out where I was and where I was going to: a shopping mall, the nearest one I could see. It was about a mile away.
It turned out not to be the single, contained area I'd been expecting. The main mall building looked more like the Pentagon, but clad in something like York stone, and the remaining outside shopping areas and car parks must have straddled an area of more than eight square kilometers, with traffic jams to match. The big blue sign for Wal-Mart was exactly what I wanted, and the store was part of the outer shopping area. I waited at the lights, peeled off right, and went into the car park. There was the usual lineup of stores--Hallmark Cards, post office, shoe super stores, a Lone Star steak house, then my mate, Wal-Mart.
As I got a trolley I was greeted by an elderly male welcomer with his happy face on.
'Hi, how are you today?'
I smiled back at him. He had a Wal-Mart baseball cap on that was a size too big for his head, and a T-shirt over his long-sleeved shirt that told me how happy Wal-Mart was to see me. There was an ATM machine just past the turnstile. I took the opportunity to get some more cash out on my card and off I went. The place was full of Airborne soldiers, screaming kids and stressed-out mothers.
I selected food that was both ready, and quiet, to eat. No chips or cans of fizzy drink; instead, I picked up four big tins of Spam, four large bottles of still mineral water and a bumper pack of Mars bars. Then a couple of laps around the gardening section, and I was done.
There was a little self-service cafe that I'd missed as I entered, maybe in the excitement of my welcome to Wal-Mart. After paying, I left my trolley with my new friend--it was also his job to keep an eye on them when people went to the cafe. I picked up a tray and got myself two large slices of pizza and a Coke.
As I ate I ran through my mental checklist, because I didn't have that much time left to mince around. Deciding I had everything I'd need, I finished the pizza and Coke and headed for the exit. I felt a stirring in my bowels; I couldn't find the toilet, but no matter, I'd go to a coffee shop.
However, the pangs made me think about something I'd forgotten: I went back to the pharmacy section and picked up a couple of party-size packs of Amodium.
Thinking about it, the pizza hadn't been too bad, so I went back in and bought two full-sized Four Seasons.
As always, I'd chosen the trolley with one dodgy wheel, so as soon as I was outside on the concrete I was all over the place, pushing it at a crazy angle in order to go forward. When it came to supermarket trolleys, my lucky number was zero.
I threw everything into the trunk; I'd sort it all out later. As I got behind the wheel, I got the phone out, turned it on and checked the battery level.
It was fine. All the same, I fished out the spare battery, swapped it for the one I'd just checked and then plugged it into the recharger. I was going to need both batteries full up and ready to go.
One last check of the map and I nosed out into the solid traffic.
drove out of town and back toward the lake. It had started to rain a little and I had to put the wipers on intermittent, turning them off again just before Raleigh when they started to rub on the dry windshield. Soon afterward I spotted a rest area, pulled in and got sorting.
Bending into the trunk I started to pull off the sticky-back price tags from the Gore-Tex and my other purchases, stuck two on my hand, then packed all the stuff into the hunting bergen. I made a point of putting the pruning shears in one of the little pouches on the outside, together with the string and gardening gloves, as I'd be needing them first. The gloves were a bit embarrassing as they were like dishwashing gloves with lots of little lumps on the fingers for grip, and worst of all they were yellow. I should have opened them up and checked the color. It was too late now to do anything about it; I needed to get back to the lake. All the other items, including the plastic gas container, went in the main compartment of the bergen.
All I had to do now was prepare the food. I folded the big sections of pizza in on each other and wrapped them in plastic wrap. I ripped the Mars bars out of their wrappers and wrapped them together in pairs. Then I opened the tins of Spam and also plastic wrapped the contents, and the whole lot went into the bergen. Peeling the labels from my hand, I stuck one on top of the other and then both over the small battery light on my phone. Then I went into the menu and turned off all the sound facilities.
It was then down to a good smearing of insect repellent. I didn't know if I'd need it or not, but better safe than scratching. I got back into the car and headed for the lake. The rain had died down, at least for the moment.
Flicking through the radio channels, I found myself listening to a woman who was talking about Southern
