“As much as you’d like.” Will pointed to the stacks of clay pigeons that had been scrounged. “If we fill the cavities with this and use a pressure sensitive primer, they’re basically landmines. We can bury them anywhere around the perimeter.”
Hatcher shook his head again and waved away the cloud of dust slowly settling. “Roger said you were going to pack them with metal to make shrapnel?”
“Anything metallic should work, and we can mold it into the cavity along with the plastic. Nails, screws, bolts, nuts…anything small becomes a missile.” Stanton crossed his arms and raised a brow. “All I need is your go-ahead.”
Hatcher rubbed at his jaw and glanced behind him at the children gathered near the center of the courtyard. “We’d need a way to identify where they were. I don’t want to risk anybody setting one off by accident.”
“Of course.” Will rubbed at his chin as he considered possibilities. “We could leave the bright orange showing. Or perhaps tie ribbons near them to warn our people that they’re about to enter a ‘no-go’ zone.”
Hatcher nodded. “Or both. Anybody not with us already should be warned as well. Maybe we put up signs warning them.”
Roger raised a brow. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose? If Simon sees the signs, he’ll—”
“They’re not for Simon.” Hatcher cut him off. “When we first started this place, it was with the idea of possibly expanding.” He turned and faced Roger. “If somebody is seeking shelter, we don’t want to blow their legs off before they get here.”
Roger nodded, uncertain that he fully agreed. “I see your point, but what’s to stop Simon again?”
Hatcher shrugged. “We leave him one safe way at us.” He smiled. “A bottleneck, so to speak. If he tries to come at us head on, we’re ready for him.” He turned back to Stanton. “I’m sure those things will remove limbs from people, but will they blow the tracks off a dozer?”
Will nodded. “Most certainly.”
“Then let’s do it.” He turned to Roger. “Seriously, I want signs posted at the ends of each street. Warn them of the land mines.”
“Is that all?” Roger gave him a surprised look. “Maybe we should tell them the safe path as well?”
Hatcher missed the sarcasm. “That’s a good idea. If people know we’re here and want to become a productive member, they’ll need to know how to actually get to us.”
“I was kidding, Hatch.”
“I’m not.” Hatcher gave him a solemn stare. “These are more for the infected than Simon. But, if he’s as pig headed as we think he is, he’ll think it’s a bluff and try anyway.”
“So he gets what he deserves.”
“Exactly.” Hatcher squeezed his shoulder. “Hey, you wanted the old me back. Well…this is it, buddy.”
Roger sighed heavily then nodded. “Fine. We’ll make up signs that warn of the IEDs. Then we’ll make others that tell how to get here safely.”
“Good man.” Hatcher shot him a wink then turned back to Stanton. “How quickly can you get these made and put into place?”
Stanton shrugged. “Pretty quick. We’ll plant them in the ground before adding the primers. It’s just safer that way.”
“Let’s get it done. It will be one less thing to worry about.”
Carol yawned as she sipped at her coffee. “Why does the military have to start their day before the sun even comes up?” She shivered at the cold winds blowing in from the ocean and tugged the collar of her coat closer.
“Early to bed, early to rise, I suppose.” Broussard watched as the soldiers affixed the tanks to the rotary wing craft. He didn’t know, nor did he care what type of helicopter it was, though he did hope that the downdraft from the blades would help push the mist to the ground faster. “What did your yeoman friend say about the drone?”
“He said they’d do what they could, but they’re relying on personnel on the ground.” She shivered again and sipped her coffee. “They decided that their first test area would be around certain military bases that still have uninfected people inside.”
Broussard nodded. “I suppose that makes sense. If they know where there are clusters of uninfected, it would behoove them to begin there.”
Carol shuddered and slipped in behind Broussard, using his body as a wind break. “I’m freezing out here.”
Broussard turned and gave her a subtle look of surprise. “It’s not that chilly.” He reached up and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “You’re warm.”
His tone was more of an accusation than a statement. She turned and gave him a wide-eyed stare. “My throat isn’t sore.”
“Yet.” He tugged at her sleeve. “We need to give you a thorough once over.”
She tugged back and held her ground. “It could be anything. It’s not like we’re sealed in a steel prison with hundreds of others. The microbial soup that we breathe daily is a breeding ground for any number of—”
“Now.” His tone was stern and his face stoic.
She lowered her voice and gave him a knowing look. “If it is an exposure to the cure, then it was inevitable. You said it yourself…eventually, everybody will be exposed to it. If I’ve been exposed and contracted it, then…so be it.”
Broussard sighed heavily and couldn’t think of a proper rebuttal. “I would feel better if we knew for sure.”
“As would I.” She nodded to the chopper that was beginning to increase the rate of rotation. “But I want to watch this. It could be historic.”
Broussard nodded and turned back to the helicopter. “As soon as it’s left though…”
She nodded behind him. “You can poke, prod and take all of the samples you want.”
They turned slightly away as the wash from the blades increased and barely caught the wheels lift from the deck. They both stood at the rear of the ship and watched as the craft turned, banked, and flew away from them.
Once the dust had settled and the running lights were all that could be
