What Befalls the Children: Book 4 in the Troop of Shadows Series, стр. 45

“Will you be armed?” the girl said with a big wink her mother couldn’t see. Serena Jo didn’t know about the mini arsenal under the floor of her father’s cabin.

“If our leader allows it.”

“Of course,” Serena Jo said from behind. “You’ll be given a firearm in the morning. You and I will visit the U-Haul before you leave. We’ll take Pops with us. He’s the only other person I allow inside it.”

Fergus turned, his interest piqued. “How exciting. I’ve been hearing about the mysterious U-Haul since my arrival.”

“Better make him swear a blood oath, Mama.”

“No need for that. I understand discretion,” Fergus replied.

Serena Jo said, “I really don’t know why I trust you so soon and with such sensitive information. But I do.”

“Maybe you inherited some of your father’s...what was the term? Backwoods sixth sense? You realize on some intuitive level that I’m one of the good guys.” In truth, he’d had his scythen’s output set to ‘trustworthy’ since the moment he’d taken off Skeeter’s stained blindfold.

“Maybe so.” The luminescent eyes stared at him, unblinking. “Good night, then.”

As he closed the cabin’s door behind him, he summoned images of the last Yankees game prior to Chicxulub. It had been a squeaker with the Astros, but the Yanks pulled it out in the bottom of the ninth.

Thinking about baseball was far safer than imagining the bosom of Whitaker Holler’s leader sans the obligatory plaid flannel.

***

“I won’t make you swear a blood oath, but I do need your word of honor that you won’t speak of what you see in here.”

The flaxen hair, unbraided this morning, hung below an ivory cable-knit beanie, the slouchy type fashionable prior to the end of the world. The morning had dawned chilly but clear, and Serena Jo’s usual flannel shirt, faded jeans, and sneakers had been replaced with a fleece pullover, gray heather leggings, and shearling-lined rubber-soled boots. Fashion no longer mattered these days, but Whitaker Holler’s leader could have been the cover model for L.L. Bean’s winter catalog.

“You have my word,” Fergus replied, shifting his attention from the woman to the U-Haul truck, parked in a cluster of mountain cedars. Squiggles of beige, green, and black paint covered every inch of the vehicle, even the tires. “Nice camouflage job, by the way.”

“Harlan did that. He has a talent for painting.”

“He’s an impressive boy,” Fergus replied.

“Yes,” she said, unlocking the rollup door on the back of the vehicle.

“So is his mother,” Fergus said after he’d absorbed what he saw.

The truck itself was more than twenty feet long, adequate for moving the contents of a medium-sized home. In neat stacks and tidy piles within its cargo hold lay a treasure trove of profoundly useful post-apocalyptic items. He’d expected firearms and ammunition, two things not easily acquired after a societal collapse. Smart people had also gathered medicine, water purifiers, and such. Those were present as well, but there was so much more.

“You put a lot of thought into this collection,” he said.

“She sure did,” Skeeter replied. “Nobody else in the holler thought about half this stuff. Serena Jo came rolling in, all calm, cool, and collected, just when the world was going crazy.” The pride in the old man’s voice was unmistakable. He could see it made Serena Jo uncomfortable.

“We may not even need everything in here, but we’ll have it if we do.”

“How did you get your hands on all the antibiotics?” Fergus asked, eyeing an egg crate filled with bottles of amoxicillin and cephalexin. Beside it, another crate was filled with even more bottles. Printed on their labels: Fish Mox and Fish Flex. Thanks to Dani back in Kansas, he already knew about fish antibiotics. He was curious how Serena Jo had acquired so much of their prescription versions.

“I held up a Walgreens.”

He started to laugh, then realized it wasn’t a joke.

“Armed robbery?”

“Yes. It was the only way to get prescription medicines in bulk...fast. I did it before the runs on food and drug stores began. It was still well-stocked then, thankfully.”

“I see. And the firearms? Isn’t there a limit on how many guns and ammunition a person can buy at one time? I hope you didn’t hold up a Cabela’s.”

“No, I slept with the store manager. He let me buy everything I wanted with my Citi Card. I racked up a lot of miles with that purchase.” She smiled.

Fergus had no idea if she were serious or not, and he decided he didn’t want to know.

“Heirloom seeds...smart. A bullet re-loader, clever. I assume there’s black powder somewhere else?”

“Of course. Not here, obviously. Same with the kerosene and matches.”

Ferus nodded. “Salt, baking powder, instant coffee. Blankets, clothing, shoes. Axes, hand saws, shovels, hammers and nails, animal traps. All smart choices. Equally smart are the books: medical textbooks, beekeeping tutorials, Farming for Dummies,” he grinned. “As well as many classic fiction titles. I assume the drawing pads and spiral notebooks are for your progeny?”

She nodded. There was that protective mama-bear expression again.

“Sewing needles, fishing line, duct tape, mason jars, fire extinguishers...all items you can’t make or find here in the holler.”

“No more fire trucks and glass factories,” Skeeter said.

“I’m especially intrigued with this item,” Fergus said, reaching for something that looked like it belonged on a dystopian book cover. “Chicxulub wasn’t airborne. You know that, right?”

Serena Jo nodded. “Yes, I know that now, but I didn’t know it then. Better safe than sorry.”

“May I take it?”

“Why?”

“I have reason to believe the perpetrator — the woman I encountered — has tear gas.”

“Did you see it when you went through her things?”

He would have to lie. He needed that respirator mask. “Yes. Well, I thought that’s what it was. I didn’t have time to