One man was getting theatrical.
“Listen to me. They put these girls to work. They abused them. This is your proof. I’m not making this up. Now they’re in Gustine. A friend of mine has gone there to help.”
A soldier nodded, amused. “To find some woman or dog?”
“Yeah.”
As soon as she heard that, Alicia got up and strolled to the opening of the tent to hear better.
“All I’m asking is that you take a few officers and soldiers and head over there.”
“Because you think there’s a war going on?”
Alicia injected herself into the conversation.
“Excuse me. Your friend. What did he look like?”
The guy reeled off a description.
“What was the dog’s name?” she asked, eager to know.
The guy looked at her, then the dog near her feet.
“He didn’t say but he mentioned the woman was called Alicia.”
“This guy. Was his name Colby Riker?”
TWENTY-FIVE Colby
Merced County
Gunshot wounds were unpredictable. Whether someone survived or not had a lot to do with the location, the size of the bullet, and the speed it entered. Bullets were known to bounce around inside a person, entering in one area, and exiting through another if they didn’t hit a bone. This was not one of those times. It was a clean shot going straight through, nothing that applying pressure, stitches, and a dose of antibiotics couldn’t handle.
However, he still needed a doctor.
Paul was already going into shock, his skin had become pasty, and he said he felt sick. “We need to close that wound,” Jackson said, making his way around the counter and fishing through some gear in a storage cabinet.
Outside, gunfire never ended.
Colby sat beside Paul, his gaze washing over the custom wood cabinetry and racks of rifles lining the walls. Now that darkness had fallen, the inside was illuminated by small hand-crank lanterns. He could see why Bill wanted to get in here. It was a gold mine. Jackson continued to talk as he brought out a military-style medic kit and returned. “You are the first ones that have come to our aid since the cops died. Why?”
“I told you. I’m looking for someone.”
“Bite down on this.” Jackson handed Paul what looked like a small leather strap. He placed it between his teeth and grimaced, preparing for more jolts of pain.
Jackson dropped to a knee and unzipped the pouch, and began taking out different items, bandages, ointment, and so on. “All right, this might hurt,” he said before washing the wound clean by pouring sterilized water all over it. Paul winced. After that, Jackson dried it and used some QuickClot Gauze to stem the bleeding.
“Gareth! How are we doing?” he said over a radio.
No answer.
“Those your kids?”
“Yeah.”
“Brave sons,” Colby replied.
“Thank you. Two were getting ready to go into the military, the other helped here at the store until this happened.” Jackson bundled up the bandages. “Okay, I need you to apply some pressure to this. Then we’ll get you to a hospital.”
“The nearest one is Los Banos. Gustine isn’t in use,” Paul said.
“Los Banos? That’s twenty miles away. Newman is only five.”
“They evacuated everyone to Los Banos,” Colby added. “You’d be taking a risk to go to Newman. If it’s the same as here which I imagine it is — you’re looking at ten miles plus an additional twenty if you have to double back.”
“Evacuated. And this was verified by who?”
They both stared at him, confused. “When did you last leave the store?” Paul asked.
“The day of the event.”
“You’re telling me you’ve been stuck in here for almost two weeks?”
“About that. Where else would we go? I figured it would be dealt with within the week, and then with those attacks on the cops and this place, I had to stay. This is my livelihood. This is our life.”
“And you haven’t heard anything?” Colby asked.
“I haven’t had time. In the first five to eight days, there was no talk of an evacuation. I was just making sure no one looted this place. Then these assholes showed up, and I’ve been holding them at bay ever since.”
“And food and water?
“We sell MRE’s, and we had bottled water in the basement. Always be prepared,” he said with a wink.
Several rounds took out more glass. There wasn’t much left. The main windows had steel shutters, but the front door was just glass with a metal crating covering it. The glass was all but gone.
“What happened to the other gun store across the street?” Colby asked.
“It was small. They removed their stock after the first week.”
“That’s smart.”
“No, that’s called going out of business,” Jackson said.
Colby listened as Paul and Jackson swapped stories of what they’d seen and heard. The town hadn’t immediately fallen. Though like any tiny community that only had a dozen cops, how long they lasted depended on many things. Where another town might go two weeks, a month, or even six months without trouble under these circumstances, there would be many that would fall within days simply because of a lack of support, supplies, and law enforcement.
Outside, gunfire continued a steady exchange that had been happening around the clock. It was constant pressure. An attempt to wear them down, catch them off guard. They were determined. It wasn’t working. Jackson was sharp.
Colby patted Paul’s good shoulder. “You good here?”
“Yeah,” Paul said.
“I’m going up. See if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Tell my son Gareth to turn up the volume on his radio,” Jackson said.
Colby was beginning to think that Alicia and Kane had left town, possibly even gone to Los Banos. It’s what he would have done. Unless she was searching for him. He wished he could remember what occurred that night, but it was still a blur.
Jackson’s wife, Rachel, a short brunette, a curvy gal, led him through the back to some steps that went to the roof. He sucked in the early evening air and was greeted by the sight of Jackson’s three boys, one each on three sides of the building, exchanging rounds with men down on the street,
