Nuclear winter book 4 go.., p.14
Nuclear Winter | Book 4 | Going Home, page 14
part #4 of Nuclear Winter Series
“Um,” Pete said, picking up the box of intel from where he'd set it on a nearby counter and hefting it. Technically he wasn't supposed to let it out of his sight, but he was also sick of lugging it around and courier protocol allowed for some exceptions. “Is there a secure place I can stow this?”
“Absolutely,” Lewis said, looking a bit sheepish that he hadn't thought of that himself. “I've got some safes in back where I store items for customers.” He glanced at the tags plastered all over the box. “And where I've got customers who want to be extra cautious, I've even got a couple safes you can pick your own combination for.”
His friend led him back into the workshop, a cluttered space full of disassembled guns and spare parts, tools, and other assorted paraphernalia, as well as the expected small smattering of useless junk. Sure enough several large safes lined the wall to the right, along with a couple smaller ones stacked one on top of the other. Lewis opened one of those and briefly showed Pete how to change the combination, offering him some paper and a pen to write it down, then excused himself and shut the door behind him.
Pete quickly locked the box of intel and his pack into the safe. He supposed he could've also put his firearms in there, but honestly it didn't even occur to him until he'd set the new combination and shut the safe, and at that point he decided it wasn't worth the bother.
They set off, Lewis carrying Luke on his shoulders as he led the way down the street to a nearby parking lot. There they hopped into an almost new extended cab truck, which in this case meant one that had been only a year or two old before the Gulf burned and had been kept in good condition all this time. Pete assumed it was expensive, a sign of that wealth Matt had hinted at Lewis having, and it certainly looked like it had all the bells and whistles when he hopped into the passenger's seat.
Luke scrambled into the truck on his own and buckled himself into a child's seat behind Pete's, talking excitedly about the work that had been done on the factory in the last few days. Apparently the exterior was nearly complete and Lewis was already bringing the machinery and equipment inside in preparation for installing it all.
They took the main road west up the slope, then followed it out of town for a couple miles. There, in the middle of a huge fenced-in lot just off the road, Pete saw a large box of a building surrounded by construction equipment, the ground torn up to a light brown powder for a hundred yards in every direction.
There were a couple smaller buildings scattered across the lot, one of which was a modest guardhouse by the gate leading through the fence, complete with raising entry and exit barricades. A guard at his post waved them through, coming over when Lewis leaned out the window to briefly talk to him.
Then it was on to the building itself, following a gravel road across the lot to a gravel parking lot. “This is just temporary while work's in progress,” Lewis said as he parked. “Once we're done with the major stuff and can move all the construction equipment out we'll be able to pave a lot of this without needing to worry about it being torn up by the treads of heavy vehicles. And we'll have a bit of landscaping too, of course, especially in the front where it'll be visible from the road.”
His friend spoke with full enthusiasm, as if in his mind's eye he could clearly see everything he had planned for this dirt lot and mostly finished shell of a building.
Pete could respect the size of the project, and what it would mean for Lewis's family and for all of New Aspen Hill when it was completed, but it was hard to match that sort of enthusiasm. Still, he did his best as his friend led him into the building, which on the inside was far more unfinished, scattered with construction materials and scaffolding. In one corner stacks of boxes, crates, and large tarp-covered bulks were probably the machinery Lewis had mentioned, ready to turn this place into a proper factory for making bullets.
Lewis proudly led him from one empty, rubbish-strewn section of floor to another, describing where various things would be like the administrative offices, the factory floor proper, the warehouse area, the loading and unloading section complete with sliding metal doors, and so on.
Pete had a feeling his friend could've gone on and on about the construction and his plans for the factory, but thankfully he cut it short after the brief tour so he could handle some business. Leaving Pete and Luke to explore, he went and stuck his head together with a man in a hardhat who was overseeing a small crew hard at work framing off a section along one end of the building.
Pete didn't exactly consider himself equipped to have a quality conversation with a four year old. What was he going to talk about, his years of vicious combat with slave-taking monsters? When he'd been Luke's age, or growing up for that matter, the world had been an entirely different place.
Luckily Luke did a decent job carrying a conversation on his own, taking him around to various nooks and crannies the kid had discovered in earlier explorations. Meanwhile Lewis finished up with the shift manager and came over to check in on them, then headed over to a makeshift office near the door and plowed through some paperwork and took a few calls.
After about twenty minutes the man stood from his desk and waved them over. “So that's the factory,” he said as Pete and Luke joined him near the door. As he took one final look around the interior of the building he offered Pete the smile of a man who was seeing all his hard work come together just the way he hoped it would. “Or at least it will be soon.”
Pete gave the place one last admiring look. “From the looks of things, at this rate the next time I see you you'll be next door to Ned Orban in your own mansion, competing with him for the biggest bank account.”
Lewis laughed at that. “Well I wouldn't go quite that far.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Want to see the reloading shop that paid for all this? It's down the road just outside of town.”
Although Pete actually did, he still felt the pressure of the undelivered intel sitting in that safe in Lewis's store. “That depends . . . you think you've kept me busy for Sam and Matt long enough?”
His friend smirked. “Who knows. Want to see it anyway?”
“Absolutely.”
They hopped back in the truck and Lewis drove them back to the outskirts of town, where he turned off onto a road running along the ridge. A short ways down it, surrounded by the fences of nearby farms, was what looked like a turkey shed with a small parking lot in front of it. Lewis pulled into the lot and parked.
“Yeah they used to raise the town's turkeys here,” he said as he turned off the truck, noticing Pete's expression. “You know how much these sheds stink when they're full of birds, and anyway we soon had enough turkeys to fill more than one. Matt moved the operation a few miles downwind of town and built so there'd be room to expand.”
“Leaving you to work in turkey s-” Pete cut off, remembering Luke sitting behind him, “uh, crap?”
Lewis laughed. “Believe me, we cleaned it out thoroughly. And the shed is well ventilated, which is a plus.” He turned to look back at Luke. “You okay in here for a few minutes, bud?” His son didn't seem too disappointed, nodding and opening the picture book he'd brought with him to read.
They closed up the truck and Lewis locked it, noticing Pete's look. “I try to keep the kids off the floor during shift hours if it's just a short visit,” he explained. He mock glared through the back window, where the top of Luke's red head was barely visible. “Especially since the little guy's tried to get into mischief a few times and there's some dangerous stuff in there.”
Pete couldn't argue with that. “Will he be okay out here?”
“Sure.” Lewis pointed out the barred windows lining the shed. “We can keep an eye on the truck from inside, and all our neighbors around here are pretty good about keeping folks from wandering around on their property. Besides, there's almost no crime in New Aspen Hill.”
His friend led the way to the sturdy door leading into the shed, entering first. Pete followed close behind, closing the door behind him as Lewis called a greeting to his employees.
He found himself in a large area that took up about two thirds of the inside of the building, spaced off into open workstations. Each had a reloading bench, a tool rack, a supply shelf, and easy access to the corridor down the center of the shed that was big enough for wheeled dollies and carts to be rolled through. The rest of the shed, on the far side, had been closed off to make its own room, and judging by its sturdy door and multiple padlocks was probably where they kept the reloaded ammunition and reloading materials.
Each of the workstations was occupied, mostly men but with one woman down near the end. Some bore obvious signs of a previous injury, including a couple that had lost part or all of a leg and now sported prosthetics. They all looked up as Lewis entered and a few called out greetings.
“New hire?” the woman asked when Pete stepped into the shed, eyeing his uniform.
Lewis shook his head. “A guest who wanted to see the setup here.”
Before she could ask any more questions, assuming she intended to, another veteran chimed in. “Any word from Trev?”
“No, they'll probably be in Manti for most of the day making sure everything's in order.”
Pete started guiltily at the reminder of where he was supposed to be, but before he could dwell on it his friend began leading the way through the shed and introducing all his employees, explaining the layout of the workstations, and briefly describing the reloading process.
“We've expanded beyond reloading to also producing our own ammunition, of course,” he said, nodding to a few stations near the back. “Nowhere near on the scale we'll have once the factory's up, but we've got a decent product line already.”
The tour didn't take long, as Lewis had promised Luke, and ended with him opening the padlocks on the door into the storage room. “Not much to see in here but materials and finished product,” he said as he opened the heavy door. “But I need to grab something and anyway it's worth a look.”
No arguments there. When Pete stepped into the room he saw a fortune in neatly boxed ammunition stacked up in crates from floor to ceiling, taking up a good portion of the space. There were also a few shelves full of extra equipment and materials, and even a spare reloading bench in one corner.
But the ammo. The Chainbreakers weren't sparing with what they had in combat situations, but the entire company would have trouble working its way through this many bullets. Pete couldn't even guess at how much it was worth, all this wealth just sitting here in the back of an old turkey shed.
As he gawked at the crates of ammunition his friend wandered over to a pallet with a few open ones scattered across it and picked up a clipboard. “This is sample ammunition for prospective buyers, inspectors, that sort of thing.” He gave Pete a crooked smile and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, then scribbled a few quick lines across the page as he continued. “My place isn't far from here and I've got a shooting range out back. Since you brought your own weapons I figure you might like to use it, get in some practice. You can never have too much of that, eh?”
You definitely couldn't, especially since with resources so tight it was hard to get much at all these days. “That's generous, but I wouldn't want to-”
His friend cut him off, laughing. “Are you kidding?” He kicked one of the boxes on the pallet. “This is our goody box, where we toss any ammo that doesn't pass quality standards for some reason or other. Aside from safety ones, of course. Just about every day one or the other of us is out on the range shooting the stuff we can't use for anything else.”
Lewis dropped into a crouch and began rummaging through the goody box. There were a few soft rattling noises, then his friend straightened holding eight plastic baggies. An even distribution of ammo for Pete's rifle and pistol. “Besides, I'll admit I've got an ulterior motive; just for professional curiosity I'd like to try your weapons out myself, if you don't mind.”
Assuming those baggies held 50 rounds that was 400 rounds he was casually holding. Which was more than Pete had to work with even when out on missions, especially considering the 103rd Company quartermaster got on Epsilon's case about every round they fired in action, and was even more stingy when it came to using any for training.
And up in Canada it had been even worse. To be honest Pete was surprised he could still hit anything at this point.
“Come on,” Lewis said, shaking the baggies. “You've been out fighting this entire time, and thanks in part to your sacrifice the rest of us got to be here building this community and working our way back to peaceful, stable, even prosperous lives. The least I can do is take you out to the range. It'll be fun.”
Pete couldn't really think of a reason to refuse. Besides, he'd rather be out with his friend shooting targets than back at whatever awkward homecoming party Matt and Sam had decided to throw in his honor. “Okay, thanks.”
“No problem. Need anything else? Spare mags, cleaning gear, bipod, scope, sling, carrying case? I've got the best.”
Pete chuckled and patted his rifle, then dropped his hand to rest on the handle of his sidearm. “Nah, I think I'm good. I've been through a lot with these babies, and I've tried to take as good care of them as they've taken care of me.”
“I'll treat them with all due respect, then.” Clapping him on the shoulder, Lewis started for the door with the ammo in hand.
Chapter Eight: Guest of Honor
Lewis's house was a surprisingly modest one-story rambler completely surrounded by a wide porch, with a garage, a barn, and a shed flanking it to either side along a neatly paved circular driveway.
His lot well outside of town, however, was twice the size of the other farms Pete had seen, mostly to accommodate the promised shooting range, although it also boasted a large garden near the house and a few fenced-in pastures holding two horses and a variety of other livestock, including pigs.
“How do the animals handle the shooting?” Pete asked.
Lewis shrugged. “It's not their favorite, but mostly they seem to treat it like thunder at this point. You'll notice when I was leveling the range and moving earth for other projects I piled it high on all sides to separate the range from the rest of the lot. Mostly to dampen noise, although safety was also a concern.”
To Luke's disappointment Lewis took him inside so his grandma could watch him while the grownups were out on the range, which gave Pete a chance to say hi to Mrs. Halsson. His friend's mom reacted to him returning from the dead almost as calmly as her son had, although she was quick to enfold him in a warm hug. “Glad to see you're still kicking,” she said.
After a bit of chatting the noise of a vehicle pulling down the driveway prompted Lewis to head outside, and Pete followed him. To his shock he recognized the wiry young man climbing out of a side-by-side ATV.
“Holy cow!” he said, grinning. “Alvin?”
Alvin Harding didn't look particularly shocked to see him, although he whooped with joy and ran over to give Pete a crushing hug. “Holy cow, you really are alive!”
Pete slapped his friend on the back. It surprised him how happy he was to see the guy; he wondered if he still thought up all those stupid puns. “Matt and Sam spilled the beans about me being here?”
His friend laughed as he stepped back. “Are you kidding? They practically sent out a bulletin on the Emergency Broadcast System, so after finishing my chores here I headed to the factory hoping to see you, then finally caught you back here. Where you been, man?”
“Missouri.”
Alvin looked over his uniform. “And you've really been fighting all this time?” He shook his head in admiring disbelief. “You must be a complete badass by now.”
Lewis chuckled as he joined them. “Hey, since you're done with the livestock we were about to hit the range. Want to come along?”
“You bet.” Alvin glanced at Pete's weapons. “Going to give me a turn with those?”
Pete shrugged. “Sure, it's Lewis's ammo.”
As they grabbed the side-by-side and drove out to the range Pete learned that Alvin had his own farm nearby, which he'd mostly built himself and now worked with his own two hands. Apparently in the early days the town had given land out to anyone who was willing to work it and could pay a modest tax, and Alvin had busted his hump to make it prosper, including saving up for animals of his own. Along with working his farm he also did rounds caring for Trev's and Lewis's livestock while they were busy with their reloading business, getting paid in excess milk, wool, meat, and other animal products, with the occasional newborn animal as a bonus.
“You should get a lot of your own,” his friend said as they piled out of the ATV and made for a row of shooting perches at the hundred yard mark. “There's a small fee now, deferred for five years, and the taxes are a bit stiffer, and you'll have to get one that's a lot farther out, but it's still a great deal. Most people aren't even full time farmers like me, Rick, and Wes: they can pay for their lots with whatever jobs they find in town, then use the land to produce enough food to be self-sufficient so they can spend the rest of their earnings on the finer things in life.”
Pete gave his friend a teasing smile. “Speaking of the finer things, you joined the rest of our friends settling down with a family?”
Alvin blushed slightly. “Not yet. Although, you know, I'm getting there.”
Lewis laughed and clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “Don't let him fool you . . . he's got eligible ladies throwing themselves at him left and right. His big dilemma is picking out the right one.”
The young farmer flushed a bit more. “Seriously, not really.”
“Oh come on, I thought things were going pretty well with Lucy.”
“They are, but we're taking it slow.” Alvin abruptly grinned. “After all, we're past those crazy days when you never knew whether you'd still be alive tomorrow, so you met a girl and got hitched within a few weeks without even telling your friends.”
It was Lewis's turn to flush slightly. “Point.” He motioned to the targets. “Less talking, more shooting stuff?”
