“I’m not following.”
“So we went and checked out some equipment on our way back.” He glanced at Simon and watched as the man tilted the bottle back again. “Bulldozers.”
Sinner’s eyes went wide. “Seriously? Bulldozers?”
Shooter nodded. “Oh hell yeah. They’ll knock that chain link down without breaking a sweat and that ugly adobe wall? One good hit and the thing should crumble.”
“Then what?” Sinner asked.
Shooter opened his mouth then quickly shut it. He looked at Simon. “I don’t know. Then what, boss?”
“Then we take what’s ours.” He screwed the cap back on the bottle and set it on the coffee table. “We take it all.”
Trevor felt his feet throbbing and his knees were beginning to ache from walking so far on pavement. He stopped and bent over, bracing his hands on his knees and taking a few long, deep breaths. He stood back up and stared down the road; he felt a jolt of energy when he spotted the giant “Aloha Baby” sign in the dim moonlight.
“We’re almost there. Come on, Patty.” He tugged at her arm and she fell into step with him once more. He had to pull her along as he trotted up to the line of bright white trailers parked alongside the road. “We need something with an engine. Driving your house is just easier than towing it behind you.”
He pushed past the line of smaller trailers and walked toward the rear of the lot. He could see lines of larger fifth-wheelers and between them, he spotted what looked like a bus. He pushed past the line of fifth wheels and paused in awe as the grandness of the huge Class A motorhomes came into view.
He blew out a low whistle and shook his head as he ran a hand down the smooth fiberglass body of the bus. “Now this is style.” He turned and gave her a sad smile. “Not that I could operate something like this. Besides, we might have to drive around traffic jams and stuff. We want something just a bit smaller that can get in and out of places.”
He walked down the long line of very expensive RVs and paused when a group of smaller ones came into view. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
He approached the row of mini RVs and glanced down the line. “Not exactly what you’d call a huge selection, eh?” He looked back at the collection of buses. “I guess they’d rather sell a handful of two hundred thousand dollar vehicles than a bunch of cheaper ones.”
He walked along the short row of RVs and stopped at one that caught his eye. “Let’s take a look at this.” He patted the hood. “See that bow tie? That means it started life as a Chevrolet.” He bent low and whispered to her, “That means quality.”
He stepped alongside and reached for the door handle. “Son of a bitch. Locked.” He stared at the RV and continued to mutter under his breath. “Maybe they got the keys locked up inside?”
He walked the perimeter of the camper and found a small tag attached to the inside of the windshield. “Okay Patricia, memorize these numbers…” He looked at her and smiled. “Just kiddin’.” He tried to commit the stock number to memory then turned for the office.
“Come on darlin’. We’re about to be mobile home owners.”
Chapter 24
Hatcher’s eyes popped open with a start and he scrambled for the radio. He turned the volume all the way up and listened, his heart pounding in his ears. He held his breath, listening for sounds of an attack.
He rolled off of the bed and fell to the floor, the radio clutched in his hand. He leaned back against the bed frame and tried to catch his breath.
“It was a dream.” He wiped the sweat from his face and smeared his hand across his jeans. “Just a dream…”
Hatcher came to his feet and padded across the small efficiency apartment. He stuck his head under the faucet and flipped on the cold water. He sucked at the tap then slipped his head under the stream, rinsing the sweat from his hair. When he stood upright he felt the water run down his back, waking him fully. He pulled out the small chair at the dinette and tugged his boots on. A quick glance at the window told him that the sun had been up for a while.
He tugged his shirt off and pulled another from the top drawer of the dresser. It felt tight as he pulled it on over his dampened shoulders, but he tugged it down and stretched his arms through the fabric until it fit well enough.
He grabbed the radio and clipped it to his belt then holstered his pistol. “No time like the present.”
He walked down the hallway toward his office, his mind trying to accept the sounds of normalcy after the intense nightmare. He pushed open the door to his office and glanced at the monitors. People milled about in the courtyard; he could see the sentries manning their posts.
Hatcher flipped on the coffeemaker and fell into his chair. Images from his nightmare flashed in his mind and he cradled his head in his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the image of thousands of Zulus racing toward their new home forced them open.
He sat back in his chair and allowed the shiver to run up his spine. The dream was so vivid. He could feel the ground tremble under their advancing feet. He could hear the screams of the women in the compound and he could taste the fear that hung in the air as the horde raced toward them.
He jumped when his office door opened and Vicky stuck her head in. “You skipped breakfast.”
Hatcher swallowed hard and nodded at her. “Yeah. I guess I slept through it.” He wiped at his
