“We also need to rest, bro. Battle fatigue is a real thing, and we’ve been running on fumes for a while now. Good night’s sleep, solid meals, and constant hydration for a day or two,” John admonished as he stared at Jared, whose clothes hung on him like he’d borrowed them from an older brother.
“I agree,” Jared capitulated. “We also need to get everyone in our party up to snuff on how to shoot just in case something happens.”
John shook his head. “No, they don’t need to learn to shoot, they need alignment training more than anything. Sure, you and I can teach some basic gun safety in the beginning, but they need training that will align with our real-world problem. Standing and shooting at paper targets is all good, but nowadays ain’t like it was before. We need to get the most out of whatever we do. Shooting paper is a waste of ammunition, which we don’t have much of,” John announced.
Jared slowly bobbed his head as he digested what John was suggesting. He thought back to Bart and his instruction, realizing it had involved very little alignment training. Due to the confines of Bart’s little gun shop, maybe the old man just didn’t have the room to teach Jared how it would really be when he faced off in a real game situation. Jared had been poorly prepared for the stress and panic that rode shotgun during every gunfight, and only Bart’s enlightening words aided Jared in remaining tethered to a tiny strand of sanity during many of those terrifying times. If John could make those experiences easier for someone in their community, then Jared was all for it.
“What do you need for the training?” Jared asked.
“Ammo and more gun cleaning gear,” John said flatly. “Everything else I can make from stuff we have around here,” John added, waving his hand back at the ranch house.
Jared knitted his brows for a moment before speaking. “We can go back to Bart’s store; he has all that stuff if it hasn’t been looted. We can use a couple of horses, bring it back to the solar place, and just add it to the trailer.”
Their conversation ended when they reached the OP and relieved Barry, but asked Devon to stay. The teen looked nervously at Barry, who wheeled and headed toward the house, where a warm bed and meal awaited him. The three watched Barry walk back toward the house until he was finally out of earshot before John turned to Devon.
“We have a job for you.”
Devon stared back at John, not uttering a word, which was part of the reason John liked the quirky teen. He didn’t feel the need to talk nonstop, but chose rather to remain quiet and listen to the adults when they were in a group setting. Sure, the kid was peculiar, in John’s opinion, but John had met many people over his lifetime who were odd, yet who served a major role in their arena.
“We need you to go back to the city and find a trailer, then come back here and guide us to it. I want to know where I’m going when we leave,” John explained.
Jared studied the youngster, not quite able to read him as Devon picked at his nails while staring at the ground, his mouth moving, but no words forming. “You good with helping out like that?” Jared asked, using the word help in order to impress upon the lad he would be a useful part of their community if he did this thing.
“By myself?” Devon murmured in question.
“Yeah, is that okay?” Jared clarified and questioned simultaneously.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” Devon answered without hesitation.
John smiled. “I have the phone book and a map. We can go over a few places you’ll be most likely to find what we’re looking for.”
Devon looked up for the first time. “Do I get to stay with you guys if I do this?”
John and Jared exchanged concerned looks with one another. “Bro,” John started, “no one asked you to leave. We’re all trying to make it here; you’re part of that.”
Jared stepped forward and laid a reassuring hand on Devon’s shoulder. “Devon, you are part of us guys, as you put it. You watched the girls for us; that made you part of this pack.” Jared smiled warmly, trying to let Devon know he was family.
For the remainder of the day, John and Devon went through the phone book, after which John showed Devon some basic land navigation, using the map. John wanted the teen to take the map, but the kid alternatively chose to write a rough map on a piece of paper with only the main streets along the streets he would have to visit in his search for a suitable trailer. Devon wrote the number of streets that existed between the main streets on the map and explained he would keep count in order to remain oriented. When John pushed back, Devon told him the map was too valuable to risk taking out. John chewed on this for a moment, then elevated his opinion of the kid a step higher.
The following day after Devon was up, fed, and ready to leave, John asked to see what he was bringing. John was concerned to see Devon had only packed four energy bars and two bottles of water. The trip could take several days, and the four bars were not going to be enough.
“Hey, kid, you need to take some food. You may be down there for a few days,” John voiced in concern.
Devon gave a crooked grin and hefted the small .22-calibar rifle. “I’ll eat fine down there.”
Everyone who was up looked quizzically at the boy. No one had heard the stories of his eating rats, and John didn’t want to tell them now and make the teen feel any less of himself for doing something that positively played a pivotal part in the Devon’s survival. The days of leaping to
