Chapter 5
In my old life, Sunday morning had followed a routine. Get up, dress nice, have breakfast, go to church. I didn’t always like it, but over the course of my life it had become comfortable and familiar, like a good pair of broken-in boots. Before we’d even moved into Desert Bloom, my parents had picked out a church for us to attend. They’d even done some research on it, looking at online reviews and checking into the staff to see if they had any criminal records. At the time, I hadn’t been looking forward to it, but I hadn’t hated the idea either.
Now. . . now I wondered at what I’d lost.
Golden sunlight beat down on the Desert Bloom neighborhood and seemingly every resident was out and about. People were out in their front yards filling up water jugs from their hoses; some were comfortably comparing the guns they were carrying around; some were doing the same, but with considerably less comfort. Mostly, people seemed to be preparing for tomorrow. I felt a nervous thrill of fear deep in my abdomen at the thought that, yes, it was going to go down tomorrow. I checked my appearance, which was. . . apocalypse acceptable. I’d washed my clothes and was generously slathered in various kinds of smell good products, but it was obvious I was wearing the same clothes I’d been wearing during the goblin attack on Friday.
“It’s Friday Friday,” I absently hummed to myself, then stopped when I realized what I was doing. Stupid catchy song, I thought to myself as I adjusted the tactical shotgun strapped or slinged over my shoulder. Everyone was armed, and not going outside with a gun felt like not wearing green on St Patrick’s day; it was just asking for people to mess with you. I wandered around and waved at people, letting my face be seen the way my parents had asked me to, and much to my surprise, people not only waved back. . . they recognized me. One of the first people to come up to me was-
“Frank?” I asked, genuinely surprised to see the man on his feet. Cosmetically, he looked worse than I did, but he’d clearly taken some kind of recovery potion, because he was able to walk and move around freely.
“Adam,” he said walking over fast and giving me a crushing handshake, hug combo. “I’ll never forget what you did for me,” he said, then let go. “Come on, let me introduce you to my family.”
His family, as it turned out, consisted of two or possibly three people, depending on your politics. The man put two and two together without explanation and rushed away from the heavily pregnant woman next to him to give me another crushing handshake.
“You’re Adam, I’d bet my life on it.”
“That’s my brother Jared,” Frank said quickly.
“You saved my big brother,” he said, emitting an intense sincerity that brought him to the verge of tears, “thank you. You need anything, come find me.” That was overwhelming enough, but then I heard the sobbing. Abruptly, I was grabbed by someone considerably softer and more fragile than Jared, and with no small degree of alarm I realized the woman with the giant baby belly had pulled me close and was openly weeping into my shoulder. Her belly, the one with the baby inside it, was pressed against me from the force of her hug!
“My son still has a father because of you,” she said, then squeezed me tighter, the baby belly pressing hard. She was going to kill the baby with this stupid hug, let go lady!
“And that’s my wife, Margret,” Frank said gently, “easy love, come on, you’re scaring the poor boy.”
“No, it’s fine,” I started to say, then startled away when I felt something, er, someone kick from inside her belly “Ah!” I yelped and jumped away, and Margret started to laugh.
“Oh, little Rowan likes you I think,” she said, smiling and wiping away tears, “my goodness these hormones are making me a mess. I promise,” she said, sniffing, “I’m normally much more composed than this!”
“So what are you up to today?” Frank asked, and after the extremely intimate experiences I’d had with him and now his apparently entire family, I spoke freely.
“I’m just walking around and getting to know the neighbors,” I said, “you know, ‘Hi, I’m Adam, let’s agree not to shoot and loot one another,’ that kind of thing.”
“Smart move,” Frank said, “here, let me introduce you to some people. It’s the least I can do.”
I didn’t have much say in the matter as Frank practically pulled me around the neighborhood and started introducing me to everyone. My man Frank apparently knew everybody by name, and didn’t hesitate to butt into a conversation to let them know about me. I had exactly zero chance to remember any of their names, barely enough time to get familiar with their appearances, let alone what their hobbies and professions were. Frank seemed particularly amused when he would introduce me to a group of people, and one of them would speak up and say that I’d saved their life as well. Frank’s joke was to say ‘Oh, you too! Anyone else?’, and his delivery was good enough to get a laugh.
Then, we came across the group of people still wearing the orange vests and hardhats Uncle Dave had handed out yesterday, and for some incomprehensible reason, when they saw me, they came up to me and started giving a report.
“Good to see you Adam,” the one clearly in charge said, “so we’ve gotten all the crystalized goblins out of town and into the burn pit. Now that we know they use garbage to build ‘Spawners’,” he said, making air quotes, “we’ve managed to inform the community and remove anything they could easily pile up. Do you have anything else for us?” I stared at him for a good long second, before I realized he was asking me for instruction. I wanted to tell him he was twice my age and to go figure it out, but what came out of my mouth instead was:
“Goblins are going to be swarming around all over the place tomorrow morning. Go find the combat instructors at the firing range and ask them if there’s any way we can,” I wracked my brain for a way to sound somewhat intelligent, “prepare the battlefield? We’ve got guns, and they’ve got clubs. There are all these cars sitting around everywhere, and I’m thinking there’s got to be a way to set this place up to give us a bigger advantage in a fight. Oh, and we need to start a community fund for purchasing a community safe zone,” I said, just off the top of my head, “so that injured people have a safe place to recover, and exhausted fighters have a place to take a break. Call it an HOAA,” I said, laughing to myself.
“HOAA?” he asked.
“Home Owners Association of the Apocalypse,” I explained, and he nodded his head seriously, then left to. . . apparently do what I told him to do? “That was weird,” I said, scratching my head and then shrugging. Frank laughed.
“Considering it was you in that 5 yarder,” the dump truck, “yesterday handing out all those hardhats and vests, it’s no wonder they think you’re in charge.”
“I’m not in charge, Uncle Dave was, and he was the one who gave them the safety equipment too,” I countered. Frank just shrugged at me, and I decided to just drop the issue. Next time I saw those guys, I’d set the record straight. Frank and I continued our walk around the neighborhood, and after an hour or two of walking, I started to come to grips with just how big the Desert Bloom community was.
“This place is big,” I said casually.
“Very,” Frank agreed. Before we could continue, however, a new voice called out.
“Adam!” it was Ray, and he was practically sprinting towards us, waving his hand.
“Ray!” I yelled back, and moved to meet him half-way. We embraced before any conscious thought entered the equation, and the hug ended as quickly as it had started. “Glad to see you made it,” I said, then he laughed in disbelief.
“Buddy, last time I saw you I thought you were dead,” Ray said, then, “Hey, it’s Frank! Hey Frank!” he called, waving. Ray looked the way just about everybody in the neighborhood looked, bruised, busted up and swollen. “You have a group for tomorrow?” Ray asked, and I could see a vicious spark of excitement in his eyes.
“Yeah, my parents got back in town Friday night,” I said, “I’m sticking with them and my Uncle Dave. How about you?”
“Parents,” Ray said, nodding his head, “got to keep Mom and Dad safe, ya know?” he grinned, and I grinned back. Frank had been showing me around and introducing me to people for quite a while now, and I could tell he was getting antsy.
“Is it just you and your brother keeping Margret safe?” I asked, and Frank’s demeanor cracked, and I could see the worry and anger just under the surface.
“Marge isn’t the only pregnant woman in the neighborhood,” he said, “but she’s definitely the furthest along. We’ve got a big group of volunteers who’ll be patrolling around them to keep the goblins away. . . Truth be told, your HOAA idea isn’t half bad at all. We need a community safe zone where monsters won’t just appear out of thin air. And speaking of Marge, boys, I better get back to my wife. It was great seeing both of you,” he said, and we bid him farewell. As soon as he was gone, Ray started talking.
“Is it true you and your Uncle set up a mob farm outside of town?” he asked, his eyes shining with excitement.
“No, because technically we’re just spawn camping,” I said, a note of sourness in my voice, “actual mob farming would apparently be too big and complicated for us to even attempt. But here’s the thing,” I said, “those goblins? They’re stupid! Stupid!” I said again, punctuating my point, “I bet it wouldn’t be hard at all!”
“Yeah!” Ray said, getting excited, “I bet we could get them to run off a cliff or something, or like. . . I don’t know, but we could outsmart them.”
“Plus, there’s this exploit me and Bim, you haven’t met him yet, discovered,” I said, then explained it to Ray, who’s mind was clearly blown the second he understood what I was talking about. “Yeah!” I said, now feeling vindicated, “Yeah! We could take goblin clubs and make punji spikes and traps and stuff!” I declared, and Ray cheered me on, “We could do all sorts of great stuff! We should make traps! Yeah, traps where all the lethal parts are made from goblin clubs, I bet that’ll work!
“Dude, that will totally work!” Ray agreed. “How are we gonna do it?”
“I’ll borrow someone’s garage after combat. Yeah, there’s a way to do this. Somehow,” I said, feeling my confidence erode as I started to actually consider how to make such a scheme work. “I bet we’ll know how to do it by Monday evening.” I said, intending the conversation to go one way, but then I seriously considered what was coming up. “Damn,” I said, frowning, “we’re going to be fighting Goblins for five days straight,” I said aloud, emphasizing the timeframe. Ray, who had seemed excited, seemed to dim a little at the realization.
“That’s. . .” he shook his head, “Huh. Man, all the sudden I feel like heading home and making sure I’m ready for this.”
“Me too,” I said, and then we shook hands and parted ways, but not before we gave each other our phone numbers. I walked home, tactical shotgun hanging from my shoulder by a strap, surrounded by people openly carrying guns. I stared at everything with a certain degree of surreality, almost unable to convince myself that what I was seeing wasn’t just a particularly lucid dream. Then, as if we were on the same wavelength, I began to spot others walking around with the same daze of disbelief. It clung to everyone, some more strongly affected by it, some less. I began to feel self-conscious, like I was wasting my time, like I should be doing something other than walking around and talking to people. Goblins were going to show up tomorrow morning, and they were going to be trying to kill me. The problem was, I had no idea what I should be doing! I wasn’t some kind of action hero or combat veteran! I was sixteen and I didn’t even play sports! I continued to berate myself for being too stupid to know how to properly prepare for a goblin invasion, when I heard. . . it wasn’t shouting like how people shout in a fight. It wasn’t yelling like it happened in an argument. It was. . . it sounded like preaching, the loud projection of voice that left no room for someone to speak back.
“The old world is over!” whoever he was, and it was a he, declared, “It’s over and done with! There’s no more money! There’s no more jobs! There’s no more schools! There’s no more governments! Everything that once was, is now gone!” I approached the noise, and saw that I wasn’t the only one. A small crowd was gathered around a boy, yes, a teenage boy who only looked a few years older than me. He was tall, with black hair and a strong build, standing on top of a stack of empty System Ammo Crates. “We’re in a new world now, a dangerous world, a world of constant war!”
I stood in the crowd and listened. The guy’d clearly gone insane, not that I blamed him, at all, but the funny thing was that listening to him scream the obvious truth was. . . comforting. It brought a kind of relief that I hadn’t expected, so. . . I listened to him. He honestly didn’t have much to say right now, but what he did, was enough.
“We must come together as one, as a collective, as a Guild! Our planet has been converted into a Game World, and if we do not win, we will all perish! We must all strive and fight, must kill the wretched goblins and come together to gain enough experience to reach Level 2! It’s all going down tomorrow,” he yelled, “It’s all going down tomorrow! We must all look out for one another, we must be willing to fight for one another, we must be willing to die for one another! Only the worthy will survive the coming weeks!”
I started to walk away, having heard enough. I’d have left the guy one EXP as a tip, but I wasn’t carrying any on me, and I didn’t know how to withdraw my EXP from The System as a trade good. I didn’t have any proof that it was possible to do so, but I figured that if I could put EXP into The System, I could take EXP out of The System. Thinking of EXP made me think of Uncle Dave, and his frustrated observations about how The System seemed to be designed to drain us of as much EXP as possible.
“10 EXP for a crate of ammo,” I said, doing some quick math, “and odds are good that if I use the shotgun all day I’ll use at least one crate per day. Hmm,” I said, “Even with the exploit, I’mma need a good melee weapon.” I considered picking up ‘old reliable’ AKA the gigantic crescent wrench I’d been using on Friday, but that thing was huge, unwieldy, and slippery when wet with sweat and blood. No, I needed something that I could use all day without getting tired out. My immediate first thought was to use a sword of some kind, and that seemed like the optimal idea, true. . . but I didn’t know where to get a sword, didn’t know how to safely use a sword and honestly didn’t trust myself not to kill myself with my own sword. What I needed was something I could use easily at close range, that wasn’t heavy, and that didn’t require a bunch of skill to use.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
I needed a good knife, and I was sure Uncle Dave had one. Rather than rush straight to his house, however, I continued thinking about what I actually was going to need tomorrow. Immediately, the throbbing in my leg from my goblin bite caught my attention, along with all the other injuries that were healing from the use of a Recovery Potion. Hm, those were expensive too, now that I thought about it. I needed some armor. I wasn’t so much worried about my torso, as that was the least injured part of me, but my head, arms and legs had gotten positively savaged during the last round of combat.
I got an idea and pulled out my phone. It was early afternoon, just before 1 PM, and a quick search on Google Maps showed me that the nearby city had a number of good potential options for what I had in mind. I scrolled through my contacts, found the new entry for ‘Goblin Killer Ray’ and gave him a call.
“Adam,” he said, his voice quiet, “how’s it going man?”
“Good,” I whispered back, “why are we whispering?”
“Because my mom is freaking out about the goblins tomorrow,” Ray said, “she’s worried all us kids are going to die.”
“That sucks,” I said, still whispering, “do you want to help her feel better? I’ve got a plan, and I could use some backup.”
“Adam, right now I’d take just about any excuse to get out of this house,” Ray said, “I’m in.”
“Great. Ray, do you have a truck?”
It turned out, he did, and he had a driver’s license. Not that I thought there was any chance of us being pulled over, considering the situation, but still.
The plan, I explained as Ray drove us to The City, was simple. Get armor, and get as much of it as we could, enough for everyone we knew. The goblins were pretty strong, but not overly so. They could bite, but they seemed to just bite the first thing they could reach rather than aim for anything vital. They used weapons, but blunt weapons that couldn’t put a hole in anything.
“Basically,” I said, “we need body armor. A hockey or la crosse helmet would keep our heads safe, and I’m sure we could find some good protection for our arms and legs. I’ve got a list of like six stores we should hit-,” at that point, Ray looked like he wanted to say something, “yes?”
“So we’re robbing the stores, right?” he asked, and I shrugged.
“If there’s someone there? We’ll pay them with this now completely useless paper money,” I said, pulling out my life savings. It was several thousand dollars, now worthless. “If nobody’s there, we’ll still drop the money off.”
“Huh,” Ray said, “what if you run out of money?” I gave him a flat look.
“Shut up man,” I said, giving him an exasperated look, “I’m doing the best I can here, all right?” Ray laughed at me.
“I’m just messing with you,” he said, “just kinda nervous, you know? I’ve never really stolen anything before.”
“Me either,” I admitted, “but it can’t be that hard.” My thoughts went to the two guns we had with us, my tactical shotgun and Ray’s rifle. I wasn’t like. . . expecting to have to use them in The City.
“You think it’s going to be bad out there?” He asked, and I shrugged.
“My mom and dad were there on Friday, and they got out just fine,” I said, “and they didn’t say anything about it being super dangerous there so. . .”
“Think it’ll be like in all those apocalypse movies?” Ray asked, and then kept going when I didn’t immediately respond, “you know, like mass looting and rioting and stuff like that? Like bandits in the streets? Gangs taking over everything? Total breakdown of civilization?”
“Probably,” I said, then nodded my head, agreeing with myself. “Yeah, it’s probably going to be like that.”
--
We were wrong, it turned out.
The City was a frantic, frenzied hive of activity, just not the anarchic, chaotic mess of rioting and looting we’d been expecting. No, the looting was much more organized than we’d been expecting, and it was being organized by the city government, with the full blessing of Washington DC. It was all being explained on a loop, playing on every channel, on the TV. Ray and I stood parked outside a used electronics store, carefully guarding our stuff, watching the stack of TV’s in the window as they played a new loop of the announcement. The president, several generals, the majority and minority leaders of both political parties from both the house and the senate, along with the entire supreme court, were gathered for the announcement. The president spoke.
“My fellow Americans, our country has been invaded, though the nature of the invasion is both strange and alien. Lawmakers across every branch of government have been working tirelessly day and night since the invasion’s. . . pause, which started at 6:30pm, System Time, and which is set to end at 4:30am on Monday morning. We have just passed into law an emergency and historic piece of legislation, the System Invasion Act, which grants unprecedented levels of autonomy and power to state, county and city governments. Full details of this bill have been sent through official channels to their appropriate parties, a task which greatly taxed my Executive staff, and a task which they accomplished. The bill has also been posted on the official White House website front page.” He paused, and took a drink of water. I could practically see him forcefully projecting an image of strength, and I appreciated that.
“However, I’ll go over the main details now. City, County and State entities have been granted the full authority of the US government to seize, without immediate compensation, all merchandise and assets which are not,” he stressed, “not,” he repeated, “currently the private property of US residents. I will emphasize this point and emphasize it extremely clearly, we are talking about Wal-Mart’s, Gun Stores, Grocery Stores and other retail locations. We are not!” he practically shouted this time, “talking about private residences! If anyone comes up to your house and tries to ‘requisition’ any of your private property, feel free to shoot the dumb****,” the bleep coincided with the widening of my eyes, and I exchanged a glance with Ray. “When our constitution was written, it was written during and for widespread and total, bitter, brutal war. In other words, it was written specifically for times like this,” he said, punctuating the point with a hard finger to his podium, “and no matter how bad it gets, how enormous or frightening the threat, for as long as these United States of America remain, our rights will remain sacred.” He was trembling, but not from fear, but from frenzy and belief. “Politics in this country have gotten a little crazy lately, huh?” he said, and the assembled representatives of the entire US government chuckled. “So we’re going to make peace to protect our future, here and now. Everybody, kiss and make up.” He then abdicated the podium, and what followed was by far the most shocking thing I had ever seen on television.
Bitter political rivals, standing side by side in union, giving impassioned speeches to their supporters to set aside all petty political differences and protect one another from this true, existential threat. I noted, with some degree of amusement, that nearly all of them except the president, were sporting the same kinds of bruises and injuries everyone else in the world currently had. Not even the makeup they were wearing could fully conceal the swelling, and I wondered how much being physically attacked by monsters had played into them being able to put their differences and egos aside to do what they were doing.
I shook my head and broke my attention away from the screens.
“Come on Ray, let’s do what we came here to do.”
Traffic was still flowing, but slowly. We followed the GPS on my phone to the Bass Pro Shop in The City, because it was basically a high-end Walmart for outdoor gear, but didn’t even bother going into the parking lot. The place was swarming with police and recently deputized citizens, all armed, and all of them systematically emptying the store of everything immediately useful for fighting goblins. Next, we drove by a ‘Tactical Patriot Supply Store’ that sold entire sets of knock-off police riot gear, but predictably, they were also being raided by the cops. The scene repeated itself over and over at the next five stores we went to. We found a sports store that hadn’t been claimed by the City Government yet, however when we entered, we found that it carried very little of what we were actually looking for. Ray and I rushed through the aisles and shelves, not finding any sets of protective equipment, or at least nothing that would be useful.
“Dude, I think people buy all this stuff online these days,” Ray said, carrying out a huge sports bag full of rope, which I’d ‘paid’ for on our way out of the store. I was personally carrying a large bag filled with new jeans, shirts, underwear and socks, and felt a sense of relief that I didn’t only own one set of clothes anymore. That, and a few of the toughest, most expensive GoPros the store had, along with all the attachments and accessories. If Bim said I needed a GoPro, I needed a GoPro.
“I guess so,” I said, shaking my head, “and why do we need all that rope?”
“I dunno,” Ray said, shrugging, “I just heard someone who plays DnD say you always need rope. The world’s a video game now, I bet we need rope. Plus, I didn’t want to leave empty handed.”
“Hm,” I said, furiously wracking my brain for ideas. “Ok, sporting goods stores aren’t specific enough,” I finally said. I began searching for specific kinds of sports equipment. Football and La Crosse gear were great, but every store that sold them was already occupied by the police. A new sport caught my eye, Street Hockey. The gear for that sport was fairly comprehensive, not perfect, but better than nothing. Optimistic, I ran a new Google search, this time searching specifically for ‘Street Hockey Equipment near me’, and hit paydirt. I immediately discarded several stores, as they were already occupied, and found one, exactly one store that fit what we needed. The day was starting to get dark, and Ray and I had been studiously ignoring texts and calls from our parents for a while now. We drove to the last store in tense silence, both knowing that if we failed to bring anything back at this point, we were going to be in deep, deep trouble.
The store was tucked away in a shopping plaza in a run-down part of The City, and it was a specialty store that sold street hockey equipment, and little else. The good news? It looked like it still hadn’t been touched, by anyone. The bad news? It looked like the owner was squatting in the store, and he was armed. The sight of him sent a thrill of fear and, somewhat predictably, guilt, straight through me. I gulped, and I knew he saw us and was watching. Ray glanced back at the guns in the back seat, and I gave him my best and most withering glare.
“Di-plo-ma-cy, Ray,” I said through clenched teeth, enunciating every syllable with extreme clarity, “diplomacy. Now park right out front, right there where he can see us.” Ray gulped, eyes never leaving the big, scary looking AK-47 the man was casually holding. We parked, I grabbed my money, and we entered the store. A bell jingled overhead, and we were greeted with the driest, wryest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.
“Welcome to Rocket Street Hockey, one of the nation’s finest street hockey supply store and online retailer. How can I help you boys today? Looking to loot?” he asked, with a hard glare. For some reason, he pissed me off. Calling me a thief, the nerve of this guy. I glared back, slowly reached into my pocket, and pulled out my wad of cash. The incredulous look on his face that slowly dawned as he put two and two together was something I felt I could and would cherish for the rest of my life.
“I’m here to buy as many full sets of street hockey gear as this’ll get me,” I said, pointing at the cash. “I don’t need the sticks, and honestly I don’t need the roller skates either.”
“Roller blades,” he corrected, not quite scowling, “roller skates have wheels side by side, Roller blades have them in line.” He stared at me, then at Ray, then at my money. He guffawed for a single syllable, his entire body moved with the force of the single ‘Ha!’ that escaped from behind his stony expression. “Tell me something,” he said, leaning forward, pushing the cash aside and staring me dead in the eyes, “if I hadn’t been here, what were you going to do?”
“I was going to load up that pick-up truck with as much stuff as would fit in the bed and pay for as much of it as I could,” I responded, not looking away. His eyes were brown and unamused. He looked away and picked up the cash, still armed with an AK-47 that I was pretty sure he might use on us if we pissed him off badly enough. He flipped through the bills, silently counting them. “Steal any of this?” he asked once he was done.
“Hey!” I said, genuinely outraged, “keep calling me a thief and we’re going to have a real problem buddy. That’s all the money I’ve saved since I was eight years old, I mowed lawns and washed cars and sold candy bars in school.”
“Hm,” he said, and his expression was something I didn’t understand. He looked like someone who’d just ate something he hated, but refused to spit it out. “Well, you picked a good day to come here shopping,” he said, “just so happens we’re having a special. See, those government goons are going to swing by my shop sooner or later, and I understand the situation, but something about having my stuff just taken away from me. . . well, it burns the wrong way, you know? This shop?” he said, indicating the whole thing with his hand, “I live here, got an apartment upstairs and quite frankly, I’d like to get out of this city before those Godda-” he started to swear, but then calmed himself down, “before those Goblins,” he paused to clear the disgust from his mind, “show up again tomorrow morning. You two from outside The City?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding, “we’re from the Desert Bloom housing development.”
“Where’s that?”
“Far away from the city in the middle of the desert,” I replied promptly.
“Good. Like I said, I’ve got a special going on right now. If you two can get me a place to stay in your neighborhood, we’ll pile as much of this stuff,” he said pointing a thumb at the full sets of street hockey equipment, no, of anti-goblin body armor, “as we can into your truck, and the rest of it into my van and get out of here. So, you boys have a place for me to stay?”
Ray and I exchanged a glance, and both of us nodded.
“My name’s Terry,” he said, extending a hand. I shook it.
“Adam,” I responded.
“Ray,” Ray said, and he shook Terry’s hand as well. Terry put his AK down and started pointing at stuff, barking orders. We started with everything on display and piled it in the back of the pickup, with an eye for first getting the gear that would best fit us, and our people. After that, we headed into the back where the majority of the merchandise was stored.
“Holy,” Ray said, looking at the huge expanse. Terry grinned.
“That,” he said, “is the power of being an online retailer. Come on, let’s get moving before the cops show up and take everything. Make sure you grab the kid’s stuff, they need the protection more than we do.” We cut into boxes and unpackaged everything we could, cramming as much gear as we could into the pickup. Terry spoke as we worked.
“I’ve been in business for decades selling this stuff,” he said, breathing hard and working double time, “and when Amazon came around, I thought I was done for. Well, it was rough for a while, but then I just shut down my storefront, converted everything to storage and started selling directly online. Best decision I ever made, honestly. Before all this went down I was making more money than I ever had in my entire life selling the premium stuff, the high end, super durable, quality stuff most people couldn’t afford. But in a global market, man, it sells! What I’m saying is, you boys picked a good store to rob.”
Outside, evening was starting to set in, and our pickup was as full as it could get. Terry had us load up his box van next, and by the time it was full. . . he was still leaving so much behind. He sighed, standing outside his store and staring. He nodded his head, looked at us significantly, and got into the van.
We got into our truck and Ray drove us away. I watched the store get smaller and smaller, then saw, with wide eyes, the cops start to show up to loot the place.
--
By the time we got back to the Desert Bloom housing development, the sunset had begun. We’d both let our families know we were on our way home, what we’d been doing, and that they should meet us at Uncle Dave’s house. They were all standing outside his garage like a jury waiting to pass judgement. Ray, Terry and I pulled up to the curb and parked. Uncle Dave took one look at what we’d brought back, nodded his head, and started to look through the loot.
“Your boy’s aren’t thieves, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Terry said, exiting his box van and giving all the parental figures his attention. “They cut a deal with me, said they could get me a place to stay outside the city. The stuff in the truck is theirs, and everything in here,” he said, patting the box van, “is mine. Anyone who wants some can buy it from me, either on credit or trade. But for now, let’s get this stuff where it needs to go. If these two are any indication, this is an honest place full of honest people. I trust I’ll get paid-back for my trouble, eventually.”
Word started to get around, and soon everyone who was planning on fighting out in the streets tomorrow morning started to filter by, getting fitted and equipped with something that could save their lives. They’d all heard the story by now, and each and every one of them made sure they got a good look at my and Ray’s faces before they left. They knew what we’d done.
I stood next to my dad, who pulled me in for a hard side hug, squeezing my shoulders. “Great work son,” he said quietly. I tried not to smile, not to acknowledge the surge of warmth in my chest at the honest praise.
I tried not to, and I failed. My mother looked at me and I saw in her eyes that, just for a little while, she didn’t see a little baby boy, but a man, and her eyes were proud.
The sun had set and both reality and darkness set in on my world. The weekend was over, and tomorrow morning we were going to fight.
I laid in bed, wide eyed, heart pounding and not able to get a wink of sleep, waiting for an alarm on my phone that I was never going to sleep through. I prayed, oh God I prayed all night, begging for protection, begging for the morning not to come, begging that all this would just end, that it would all just be a bad dream I could wake up from and laugh about.
If God heard me, He declined to grant me my wishes.
