He looked inward. No, the rage was still there, unfortunately. Still waiting. He could feel it. But these men? He shook his head. He didn’t need to prove anything to them. They were pathetic.
Now if that had been Norton? He grinned. He would have welcomed the challenge. And it would have ended up in a physical fight. He wondered again why Norton wasn’t here. He was pretty sure Norton felt the need to resolve a challenge just like he did. So why wasn’t he here?
Angie sat down next to Mac. He smiled at her.
“Got a question for you,” she said softly, not looking at him, but at the other men around the fire.
He looked around. No one was watching them directly, but a lot of them were paying more attention to them than it appeared.
“Walk over to the beverages,” he said. “I’ll follow you in a minute.”
She nodded. Got up and stretched. Her camera was still around her neck. He wondered if she used it as a shield? Or a reminder to these guys that she was here as a professional, not a “girl”? Was it deliberate or instinctive? She was a savvy woman. Smart, but he knew a lot of smart women. Savvy, he concluded.
He walked over to the beverages, rummaged around in the cooler until he found a Mountain Dew. A bit late for it; he drank it for the caffeine hit, and the sugar, both higher than a regular Coke. He opened it and took a sip.
“What’s up?” he asked.
She told him what she’d been thinking about. “So, do you think Sensei knows what he’s creating? A horde of men with guns, undisciplined and unpredictable amateurs, with grievances? Life isn’t as grand and exciting as they think it should be, and they’re being handed a list of people to blame: people of color, feminazis, liberals, a Black president, immigrants. And they resent them all. Or does he really think he’s creating a militia of white men who can retake control if a crisis hits?”
See? He thought. Savvy. He considered the question, because it was a good one. She was right: that’s exactly what was being created. A question remained: was the horde with grievances Sensei’s goal? Or was he intending to create a white militia and failing? If Mac had Internet service out here, he’d ask him.
“It’s doomed to fail if he thinks he can create a paramilitary force out of frustrated desk jockeys,” he said quietly. “They’re told they’re entitled to everything on a platter, and he’s promising them that this is the way to get it. Women, respect, power. When SHTF.”
Mac was silent, thinking about the men he’d met here tonight. Even the asshole wanting to know what it was like to kill. “Promised to be the star in the Walking Dead, only to find out they were an extra who would be eaten in episode 2,” he murmured, thinking out loud.
She giggled, then sobered. “Isn’t that how they become part of the zombies?” she asked. “And when shit doesn’t hit the fan? When the breakdown in civil order doesn’t come?”
He snorted. “If the breakdown doesn’t happen? Babe, they are the breakdown that will happen.”
They looked at each for a moment.
“I’m going to bed,” she said.
Mac watched her walk away. He wasn’t sure he was going to get much sleep after that conversation.
“I heard her,” said a voice behind him.
Mac looked over his shoulder at Rand, standing just far enough away that Mac hadn’t picked up his presence. “Did you?” he said.
“The whole Sensei thing has been bothering me a lot,” Rand conceded. “I’m happy to run wilderness weekends, even for weekend warriors who want to get out here where they can shoot a gun and not hit anything important. But they’re getting more and more fanatical about this Sensei. They quote him, argue different interpretations, are in awe of those who are invited to Sensei’s inner circle of followers. I just listen. I’m part of the camp, they don’t even notice me.”
“Sounds like a charismatic religion,” Mac said.
“No lie,” Rand said. “And the sheriff? He’s got both things going: that charismatic church that preaches guns and God. And the Sensei thing. When he’s here he quotes him too.”
Mac studied the man for a moment. He carried himself like a fighter, Mac thought. Disciplined. Mac frowned. He wasn’t just a wilderness guide. Or he hadn’t always been.
“What did you do before working for Bryson?” Mac asked.
He shrugged. “This and that.”
Mac rolled his eyes.
Rand smiled briefly at his expression. “But Mac? A word of warning. Something’s coming to a head, if not this weekend? Soon. And your presence tells me it’s likely to be now.”
“And if things do come to a head? What will you be doing?” Mac asked.
“Trying to make it out alive,” he answered, and he faded back into the dark by the Wilderness Adventure vans.
Mac chewed his bottom lip and wondered if Rand knew FBI agents named Stan Warren or Rebecca Nesbitt. He was law enforcement of some kind, he thought. Or had been. Didn’t meant much. Norton was law enforcement too.
He took the rest of his Mountain Dew back to the fire to listen.
It was past midnight when Anderson finally ordered them all to bed.
“Breakfast is at O-dark-30,” he said. “Get some sleep.”
Mac sat by the generator-powered light and made notes of the conversations, his observations, and questions he had, until someone shut off the generator. Then he went to bed, and lay there on his back, staring at the tent ceiling and listening to Angie breathe.
Sleep was a long time coming.
Mac woke up early. He lay there for a moment, wondering what woke him, and then he heard the sounds of Bryson’s crew setting up for breakfast. They were quiet, but the sounds weren’t part of Mac’s normal morning routine, and his subconscious took note of it. He glanced at his watch. It was 6 a.m. He got up quietly, so as not to
