Carol takes a slow sip of Madam Linda's special appletini and lets the sweet sensation linger on her tongue. "God, that's good."
"I try my best," Linda replies, drops some ammo into the cash box, and makes her way to the other end of the bar to talk to Joe.
"I think that newcomer has a little crush on Linda," Shannon says.
"He's not exactly a newcomer anymore, is he?" Carol asks. "The cult refugees are all citizens now."
"True enough." Shannon sips her glass of wine. It's the last glass from one of the bottles they got in trade from Oceanside. "I'm so glad you suggested this. I sure needed a break. Garland's been grumpy ever since I applied to take Gary on that trade trip. He's really been harshing my mellow."
Carol laughs. "He seemed rather resigned to the fact at the council meeting yesterday."
"Oh, he'll get over it. Especially after a good blow job. And after a couple of these…" Shannon swirls her wine.
Carol raises her martini glass and they toast. She switches to coffee after the first drink, but Shannon opts for the Jamestown moonshine. When they get back to the Barron cabin later, Shannon's a little tipsy and affectionate. The boys are already asleep in their bedroom, and Sweetheart is passed out on the deerskin rug. Carol scoops up her baby girl while Shannon whispers something in Garland's ear, thanks the mayor for watching her, and takes her home to her bed.
[*]
The group of eight makes it way on foot to the apartment complex. They stay low and creep behind abandoned cars, buildings, and finally bushes, gesturing to one another with hand signals as they spy out the grounds. There's a single armed guard by the gate and no sign of anyone else awake. The guard walks with a rifle on his shoulder as he smokes a hand-rolled cigarette. The red-orange tip glows in the shadowy black that surrounds him, and the smoke rises and curls, gray in the moonlight.
Captain McBride nods to Sarah, who loads her longbow and creeps from behind one bush to another. Daryl, who lies supine and peers around the bush that's blocking him, watches the guard. When the man turns and begins to stroll away from them, he whistles to Sarah, who leaps up from behind the bush, aims, and fires. The arrow soars through a space between the iron bars of the fence, glides smoothly across the parking lot, and penetrates all the way through the guard's neck. He drops. His cigarette glows on the parking lot pavement, flashes a fine mist of orange, and then goes out.
The group scurries to scale the iron fence. Santiago's the best climber, and he's on the ground on the other side first, ready to help Sarah over. Soon enough, they've all surrounded the fallen body. Captain McBride scoops up the guard's discarded rifle from the parking lot pavement while Sarah tries to reclaim her arrow, but it snaps in half as she yanks it from the man's neck. She steps back and tosses the broken shaft aside with frustration.
Lieutenant Alvarado sticks a knife through the guard's forehead so he won't reanimate, and then Thomas strips the blood-splattered binoculars off his neck and puts them in his knapsack. Santiago unclips a knife, which he then clips to his own belt, while Daryl rifles through the guard's pockets. He finds three hand-rolled cigarettes, which he drops quickly into the pockets of his cargo pants. They might be useful for trade.
"Why do you get those?" one of the two sailors who volunteered for the raid asks. His name is Terry, or maybe Cary – Daryl doesn't exactly remember.
"'Cause I found 'em," Daryl mutters.
"Is this one of the guns you left behind?" McBride asks Santiago, extending the deputy's direction.
Santiago takes it and looks it over. "I don't remember. Thomas?"
Thomas shakes his head. "Could be. Probably. I don't remember what two rifles we left. We took a lot of guns."
"Let's hope it is," McBride says as he takes the rifle back from Santiago and shoulders it. "I'd like to think they haven't found more guns."
"What's next, Captain?" the second sailor asks.
"We raid the building on the left first," McBride says in a low hush. "Two groups, start at each end. Get them in their sleep. Whistle low when you round a corner, so we don't shoot each other." He nods to Daryl. "Go ahead and pick your men. But Lieutenant Alvarado's with me."
Daryl guesses that means he's in charge of one of the groups. "Sarah 'n Santiago."
"I'll give you Merry, too," McBride insists. "Then it's four and four."
Merry. No wonder Daryl couldn't remember that. What the hell kind of name is Merry? What is he, one of the seven dwarfs? Daryl doesn't particularly want Merry, but he agrees to take the sailor, who looks like he can't be much more than twenty-five.
McBride swings his knapsack off his back and unzips it. "You'll be needing these." He hands out two headlamps to Daryl's team. Santiago takes one, lifts his old, faded brown Border Patrol cowboy hat, and slips the band around his forehead before settling the hat back on. Sarah takes the second headlamp. "Don't turn them on until you're sweeping inside," McBride cautions. "They're solar powered, but the charge doesn't last long. That and we don't want to draw attention to ourselves before we have to." He hands one to Alvarado and then puts one on his own head. "Good luck, gentlemen." He nods apologetically to Sarah. "And lady."
Daryl leads his group to the west entrance. He tries the doorknob, expecting to find it locked, but it turns. He nods to Sarah and Santiago, who reach up and click on their headlights. They look like miners getting ready to go down into the shaft. Sarah has shouldered her longbow – it's useless for close quarters – and draws her handgun. Santiago readies his rifle, and Merry takes the safety off his. Daryl cocks his crossbow and returns his hand to the knob. He counts down, quietly, and flings open the door on one.
Sarah and Santiago spill inside, lighting up the hallways in all directions. "Clear!" hisses one. "Clear!" hissed the other.
Daryl and Merry spill in behind them. They're but a few steps in when Sarah gags, closes her mouth, splutters and swallows. The others do the same. They only make it to the first apartment door before they're all pinching their noses and trying not to vomit. "Retreat!" Santiago cries, and they turn tail and run out the door, where they gasp for fresh air.
"Just like them damn pirates," Daryl mutters. The group that attacked the ship on the way to the first trade trip used one of their cabins as a shithouse, too.
"Why not just use the outhouses?" Merry asks. "They've got two."
Sarah shrugs. "Too lazy to maintain them, maybe. Figured they'd fill every toilet in that building first. I found worse when I used to clean up after hoarders."
"That's what you did in the old world?" Merry asks skeptically.
"It pays well. But I had the benefit of a Hazmat suit then. I'm not taking another step in there without a mask."
"Don't need to," Daryl says. "Ain't no way anyone's livin' in there."
They creep around to the front of the apartment building, where they meet up with McBride, Thomas, Alvarado, and the other sailor. "Clearly they aren't sleeping there," McBride says. "Onto the next building."
Daryl leads his group to the west end, but this time the door is locked. "Ya got that silencer," he tells Santiago, "shoot it off."
As Santiago is stepping back to do the deed, Merry says, "It's not that easy to shoot off a lock. It'll take a few bullets."
"Ain't no other way in," Daryl says, "'cept smashin' a winduh, and that'd be louder. Then we'd have to crawl through. Be vulnerable. Exposed."
"I can pick it." Merry urges Santiago aside and pulls something from his pocket. Daryl grows impatient after about ninety seconds of picking and is about to tell him to stand back so Santiago can shoot through when there's a click, and the knob turns. Maybe it's not such a bad thing to have Merry on his team after all, Daryl thinks, as long as he doesn't mention the cigarettes again.
Daryl nods to Merry, who swings open the door. The team bursts in, sweeping in all directions. They make their way down the hallway, opening doors two by two, Daryl with Merry, and Sarah with Santiago.
"Empty," Santiago whispers when he returns to the hallway.
"Empty," Daryl agrees.
The next two doors are empty as well – almost. "Clothes in there," Daryl says.
"The bed looks recently sleeped in," Sarah says. "In that one. And there's a mostly empty bottle of vodka."
The next two apartments reveal similar, lived-in scenes.
"They're awake," Merry whispers. "But not here?"
"Careful," Daryl cautions.
They continue creeping and clearing rooms. They find every apartment empty, some lived in, some not. As they round a corner, Daryl whistles to alert McBride that it's only them, and the two groups meet in the open foyer. "Anythin'?" Daryl asks.
"The rooms were all empty," the lieutenant answers, "but a couple looked lived in."
"Same for us," Santiago says.
Captain McBride sighs. "Where the hell are they? They weren't outside. We swept the whole perimeter. It was just the one guard."
"There's the clubhouse," Thomas says. "Where the cult had its banquets."
The two teams leave the apartment building and enter the clubhouse from two different directions, but they find it empty except for the tables and chairs. The bulletin board that was once peppered with feminist slogans has been slashed to shreds at knife point.
"Hey, Merry," Daryl says. "Can ya pick this?" There's a large padlock around both knobs of both doors of the storage closet in the banquet hall.
Merry squats down, puts his ear to the combination lock, and turns it this way and that as he listens. Finally, he yanks down, and the lock slides free.
"What ya do in the old world?" Daryl asks him. "Rob banks?"
"Expensive bicycles, mostly. And sheds. For the lawn equipment."
"Make a good livin'?"
"The state gave me free room and board and medical care after a while, as a reward for my talents."
Daryl smirks. "Were ya in when it started?"
Merry nods. "Just in juvie. I was fifteen back then. The guards let us out though, those of us who hadn't turned." He nods at the closet door. "Ready?"
Daryl levels his bow, just in case. Merry swings the closet door open. From behind them, McBride lets out a whoooooo-wheeeee whistle. The rest of the team surrounds them and peers inside.
The closet is full of fresh loot – ammunition, alcohol, batteries, instant coffee, powdered milk (Daryl wouldn't trust that at this point; no wonder they had the shits), bags of rice, sugar, and guns. At least six guns.
Santiago weaves between supplies to investigate. "They've done well for themselves since we left. Wonder where they found all this?"
"Wonder where they are," McBride says. "That's the more serious question right now."
"And why didn't they bring their guns with them?" Thomas asks.
"Oh shit." Santiago has found a clipboard and is reading the top page of papers on it. As he flips the page over, a pencil, tied by a string, falls off the clipboard and swings lazily in the hazy glow of his headlamp. "Because these are the guns leftover after they checked fifteen rifles and six handguns out of their armory."
"Hell's bells!" McBride swirls with alarm, looking left and then right. "They're well-armed then. Wherever they are."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Deputy Thomas says.
McBride clears his throat.
"Sorry," Thomas apologizes.
"Where do you suppose they are?" Lieutenant Alvarado asks. "They weren't in either building. They aren't here. We scoured the whole perimeter before we scaled the fence. They weren't out there."
"They left one man," McBride says, "to guard the whole place, and left with their guns. Why?"
Santiago drops the clipboard. It clatters against the cans of coffee. The light from his headlamp blinds Daryl for a moment as he turns toward them. Daryl shields his eyes with a hand. "They must have seen our ship," Santiago says.
"How?" Sarah asks. "We didn't sail past their docks. We came around the –"
"- That guard had binoculars," McBride interrupts, "and from the roof of this apartment complex, you could see a ship sailing on the horizon up to twelve miles away. The only other nearby docks are in Hampton. If they saw us, they know where we were headed."
"They've gone marching in the ship's direction." Thomas rocks back on his heels and runs a hand nervously over his mouth.
"To the salt ponds," Santiago agrees with a hiss. "They've headed out to raid us, just like we were about to foolishly raid them!"
"Who's in charge back at the ponds?" Daryl asks.
"Junior Lieutenant Harry Merriweather," answers McBride, looking sick to his stomach. That's the young junior lieutenant he wouldn't allow to join them on this risky mission, because of his pregnant wife back home. "Shite!"
"We better hurry back," Merry says. "We better pound foot. And maybe stop by that bicycle shop we passed half a mile ago to fetch a faster ride."
Leaving the supply closet open, and the loot behind, the team tears toward the clubhouse door.