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Quaranteam-Northwest: Part 18

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Quaranteam-Northwest: Part 18
The big announcement

Based

on a post by Break The Bar. Listen to the
► Podcast
at Explicit Novels.



Here are many of our

returning characters, let’s review..

House Black

Harrison

'Harri' Black; Sheriff of Black County, 'Jason Momoa-looking motherfucker'
mountain man (mixed heritage), former Army MP

Vanessa

Peters; Construction Forewoman, Daughter of Brent Peters the head of the
construction project, Brunette

Erica

LaCosta; Fiancée of Harri, Leo's sister, Italian Tattoo Artist, Dark Brunette

Ivy

Gauthier; Quebecoise stripper, half-tattooed, Dirty Blonde anal queen

Kyla

Bautista; Trained dancer, Pilipino Spy, Harri's Deputy Sheriff, Raven hair

Other

Kara

Swiftwater; Harrison's high school sweetheart that ended poorly, community
leader of the local Native band, Raven hair

Miriam

Abarbanel; Military friend of Harri's, Air Force Lieutenant Colonel , Jewish
heritage, Commanding Officer for Valhalla Hills construction and the Oregon
Quaranteam research project

Referenced Characters

Barry

O'Callahan; Went to high school behind Harri, is a Sovereign Citizen from the
Golden Beaver group

Brent

Peters; Vanessa's father, the Project Manager for the Valhalla Hills
construction project, very overweight

Gertrude

'Gerty' Swiftwater; Kara's second cousin, Tribal police on the Rez, Voluptuous
Native, Raven haired

Agent

Grierson; Senior 'OGA' that negotiated Harri's land deal and dropped Kyla into
Harri's life

Mary

Duncan; Attended high school with Harri, former cheerleader, Husband has
disappeared while looking for work, left to join a 'commune' with her kids

And now, back to our

story..

"Anything else?"

Miriam asked.

"Are you Okay?" I

asked in response. "Safe?"

"I'm in the middle of a

military installation focused on the vaccine," Miriam said. "I
probably couldn't be more safe right now."

"I know, I meant,

like... are you vaccinated? We've never talked about that."

There was a long moment of

quiet on the phone. "The brass are going to pull the trigger any time now
on mandated vaccinations for everyone in the military," she said.
"There's just political pushback happening somewhere up there, too. I've
been putting it off."

"Not sure who you'd want

to match with?" I asked.

"It's just complicated

right now," she said. "I'll un-complicate it when I need to, and I'm
too busy to do it properly until that need becomes immediate."

"Okay," I said.

"If you need to talk it out, just let me know."

"I will," she

sighed. "Keep me updated on everything."

"Will do," I said.

We hung up and I grit my

teeth a little. Seven women? My life was completely full already with four. How
could I adapt to three more?

Hell, I couldn't even fit three

more in the RV. Maybe once the house was built that would be more realistic,
but how was thinking of seven partners realistic to begin
with? Or realistic for every man in America? And how the hell would our
relationship keep working with that many more people just... injected into it?

I also had a... not a twinge,

but maybe a wince, deep inside that Miriam was going to partner with someone.
If she had to un-complicate it I assumed she had someone in mind that was
actively deployed. Maybe it was a guy from the para-rescue crews that she'd had
a thing for but couldn't get involved with being in the command structure. Or
maybe it was even more complicated than that and she had been
involved but it was a secret, or the guy was married or something and she
needed to make contact to get things clear with the couple.

If she had someone she

trusted, I would be happy for her. But that didn't change the fact that I was
still feeling that weird feeling. That 'It should be me' feeling.

Shaking it off, I got myself

together and kicked myself into gear. After a quick check-in with Vanessa on my
way out, and introducing myself to the airmen who were on duty at the gate to
the site, I headed into town. The grocery store used to open at 9 AM every
morning except Sundays, but now it had reduced hours so I was showing up a
little early.

That didn't stop the parking

lot from already being half-full and the entry line from winding down the side
of the building.

Part of me hesitated, not

wanting to risk getting spotted with my Sheriff's truck if the sovereign
citizens came by again, but I wasn't otherwise in uniform. I made sure I had my
badge tucked under my T-shirt and got out, heading for the back of the line.

It took almost an hour for me

to get into the store. They were limiting how many people they had inside at
once even more now, which was a good thing in general. I also realized I was
one of the only people who wasn't buttoned up completely; I had a medical mask
on, but I wasn't wearing long sleeves and goggles and shit like we used to.

I looked like one of the

people who didn't care or didn't believe the pandemic was real. I'd gotten
comfortable.

That explained why the people

in front and behind me in line weren't even willing to spare me a glance and a
chuckle when I made a little joke about bread lines.

A woman was working the front

door instead of the pimple-faced teenager that was usually there, and she had
me wait almost ten minutes for a couple of people to leave with their shopping
before she let me in. I grabbed a cart, its handlebar freshly sanitized by a
worker, and started walking around, running through the list that Erica had
sent me and adding extras that I would bring up to Kara on the Rez.

The problem was, as I walked

down the aisles, I realized there were big holes in what was on offer.
Shortages of one thing or another had been happening since the start of the
lockdown, but they'd always come back in. Toilet paper had been hard to find
for a few weeks, and sanitizer had been almost non-existent. Now, though, it
was whole sections in the food aisles and it almost felt like it was at random.

With my cart only half-full,

I wandered towards the front of the store and went to the customer service
desk, hitting the little bell since no one was there. One of the cashiers,
pretty much locked in behind a booth of Plexiglas at her till, called over
asking what I wanted. It took a couple of tries to understand each other
because she was even more bundled up than the customers.

When I finally got the

manager to appear he looked haggard. It was the same guy that I'd seen arguing
with the Sovereign Citizens in the past, except his shirt was untucked, his tie
was loose around his collar and I doubted he'd shaved in a week or so behind
his heavy N95 mask. Part of me wondered if he was sleeping up in his office
that overlooked the cashier area.

"What?" he asked

curtly. It looked like the 'customer is always right' attitude had been left
behind.

"Sorry to bother you,

sir," I said. "I just noticed there's a lot of stock missing and was
wondering if you've had shipping problems or something."

"We have what we

have," he said. "Everything is out there, we don't have anything in
the back. Alright? No one is going to check the back area for you."

"That's not what I was

asking," I said, reaching under my shirt and pulling out my badge on its
chain. "I was just worried that robberies are getting more common, or if
your trucks are getting hijacked."

The manager looked at my

badge, blinked and raised his eyebrows, then looked at my mask-covered face
again. "You're a cop?"

"Sheriff," I said.

"And from another county. But this is where I come to get my groceries,
and sometimes my fiancée calls ahead for big orders because we deliver to other
people. Erica?"

"Oh!" The manager

said. "That's you? Alright, um, sorry. I; Fuck, where do I start? The
robberies are off and on. When we see them coming, whoever I have on the door
tries to get it locked; that's worked a couple of times. It's always a group of
guys, and they make off with a few carts worth of food. Other people are
stealing stuff too, but I've given up on trying to stop them all. We did lose a
shipment to a hijacking a couple of weeks ago, but only the one that I know of
for our location."

"So you're just not getting

everything in the shipments?"

He hesitated.

"Partially," he said.

"What's the other

part?" I asked.

He chewed on the inside of

his cheek for a moment. "You really deliver food to other people in the
area, and that sort of thing?"

"You think I need the

amount of produce my fiancée calls in just for us?" I countered.

"Fair, Okay," he

nodded. "We don't put everything out."

I frowned. "Why

not?"

"There's a... it might

be easier to just show you, actually," he said. "When you're done
shopping, ring the bell again."

"Okay," I said, my

brow still furrowed. He assured me he'd be listening for the bell and headed up
to his office. I went back out into the store and gathered everything I could,
or found substitutes for what I couldn't. Once my cart was full to overflowing
I went through the cash, fitting about half of the groceries in the reusable
bags I'd brought and trying to sort out some of the other stuff into paper bags
that I could drop off with Kara easily.

The manager must have been

watching for me because he came back down from his office before I was even
done paying, and he asked me to meet him out back of the grocery store when I
was done loading up my groceries. I agreed and did just that, slowly driving my
truck around into the loading area of the store. He was waiting near a beat-up
red Civic and waved me over.

"Alright," I said

as I got out of my truck. "What's the deal?"

"This is off the record,

right?" the manager asked me.

"That's for

journalists," I said. "But yeah, you've piqued my curiosity. What's
going on?"

"Well, with the way

things are, not everyone who needs food can pay... conventionally," he
said "So every shipment I get in, I've been skimming off goods and selling
it at a huge discount to these guys. I write off some of it as shrinkage, and
everyone in corporate knows that stealing and looting is happening so it's not
even questioned."

"Who are 'these guys'

you're selling it to?" I asked.

He looked nervous.

"Local guys, I think. They've set up, like, a market where people can go
when they don't have straight cash."

I blinked, a whole lot of

things going through my mind all at once. "Alright, well, how about you
tell me where it is? Because I don't care what you do with your stock as long
as people aren't going hungry, but this sounds shady as hell and I want to make
sure these guys aren't... fucking evil, I guess."

"I figured," he

said. "And I've wondered a bit, too. They operate out of that warehouse
over there." He pointed out beyond the back of the grocery store shipping
area, across an undeveloped green space and past an old hardware store. Now I
realized why he'd been standing by the car; the warehouse was only really
visible from that point of the parking lot. It wasn't very far away, only a
couple hundred yards, but with the way even 'downtown' Jewell was things were
forested and spread out. "If you want to go check it out, you should just
walk from here," he said. "And you probably don't want to bring your
badge, they pat everyone down as they go in."

"Alright," I said.

"Am I good to leave my truck here?"

The manager agreed and I

waited as he headed back into the store before taking a breath. Erica's
admonishments that I needed to be careful were running through my head. Was
this one of those 'I don't need to do this' things? On the one hand, this
wasn't my county and I didn't actually have any proof of a crime beyond the
manager possibly defrauding his chain; and considering the state of the world,
I could give a fuck about that. But this was still my fucking town, and this was
a literal black market. It was entirely possible that it was just some little
community effort put on by caring folks trying to make sure everyone had enough
to eat, and if that was the case I'd give them some tips to keep everyone safe
and try to help them out as best I could.

The likelihood of it being

entirely innocent felt really low.

I made the quick walk through

the green space to get to the back road and then trudged down the gravel
shoulder. This was an unused area of Jewell, one of those forgotten nooks and
crannies of the village that had been left to rot as a business became a
gravestone to the prosperity that had once been attempted. The warehouse was
the old Lumber depot that had closed over a decade ago, and as I approached I
saw that there were half a dozen cars parked at one end. At one point the
warehouse would have been visible from the main drag of the highway through
town, but now it was hidden by the trees and the facade that the grocery store
put up, separating it from the clean street and bustle of people's lives. The
whole place was overgrown from lack of use, and rust was setting in thick on
the upper reaches of the corrugated metal walls of the building. Most of the
windows were filthy and too high for me to look in anyways, but there was no
way that I was just walking in without taking some precautions.

Instead of heading directly

for the man door near the cars that looked like the most likely point of
entrance, I walked past the warehouse on the opposite side of the pothole-filled
road. Short glances helped me pinpoint that someone had installed a new
security camera high up in the overhang of the roof overlooking the parking lot
area, and while there wasn't one covering the long side of the building facing
the street, there was another one at the far end of the building covering where
the load/unload docking area used to be for the depot. I kept walking until I
was sure that I had passed out of any meaningful view of the security camera,
then crossed the road. The forested area beyond the warehouse that backed onto
an overgrown hill was thick, and I used that to my advantage as I slipped into
the foliage and circled around, following the curve of the hill back towards
the loading area.

As I neared the building, I

found that someone had taken a heavy weed whacker to the overgrowth at that
end, cutting a path and a clear area hidden away from the road. At one point it
looked like there had been a gravel pad, probably for utility access or some
sort of work area, back when the lumber depot had been operating. Now it was a
parking lot of a different sort; six motorcycles, clean and gleaming with
chrome, were backed in and resting on their kickstands.

I blew out a breath. Unless

this was some sort of Bikers for Tykes charity organization, things weren't
looking up. Bikers were a subculture that permeated America, even if most
people didn't ever really interact with it. They were everywhere. I'd even seen
and interacted with some of them overseas, particularly while I was stationed
in Germany. Most people who rode motorcycles were completely innocent, but
biker gangs were real and the first thing I thought of looking at those bikes
was a guy pulling up and opening on me with an Uzi less than a week ago.

More likely than not, these

bikes had nothing to do with those guys. Still, I had to forcefully remove my
hand from the grip of my sidearm at my hip.

I snuck down the side of the

building, looking for ways that I could get a peek in, but found none. My
options were quickly getting limited, and it was obvious that whoever's
operation this was, they had done their homework. The location felt remote even
though it had good access to the grocery store and the highway. The building
was secure, and if they were smart enough to install the cameras then I had to
assume they were smart enough to have someone watching them. I could either
walk in through the front door and act like a customer, or I could use the
small access door near the bikes to sneak in.

Neither option seemed

particularly careful. I could always back off and try to get some
reinforcements, but I doubted I'd get back up from the Staties for something
like this. The next best option was calling Miriam and trying to get her to
lend me a couple of her Air Force goons, but this was completely out of their
jurisdiction as well. That left me with the option of getting Kyla down here,
and there was no shot I wanted her to be involved in this after everything else
that-

"Who the fuck are

you?"

I'd been slowly working my

way back through the overgrowth towards the bikes as I'd been considering my
options and hadn't realized that the access door there had opened. There hadn't
been a bang of the door bursting open, or a squeal of rusty hinges, so I had completely
missed the woman opening the door and stepping out into the shade.

She was immediately

eye-catching for two reasons; first, she was gorgeous. She had to be in her
mid-twenties, had a broad face with a sharp jawline and pointed chin, and big
eyes that she had done with thick black eyeliner and shadow. Her hair was a
silky black, long and wavy, and based on her skin tone I would have immediately
assumed she was at least part native considering the nearby Rez if it wasn't
for something about the shape of her eyes, nose and lips that reminded me of
women I'd seen overseas. She was either Arab or Persian, the cultural
difference of which had been drilled into me by an interpreter while I was
deployed.

The second thing that was

eye-catching was her hourglass figure and absolutely astounding tits. She was
wearing a tight, beige turtleneck that hugged her body and highlighted her bust
in a way that actually cast a bit of a shadow under it on her stomach. She was
also wearing a thin black leather jacket, black skintight jeans and black
boots.

And she was looking right at

me.

"Just passing

through," I said, not stopping my walking.

"Bullshit," she

said with a bit of a snarl. She darted back into the darkness of the warehouse,
clearly going to fetch someone.

I had a moment where I could

run; it wasn't that far from the grocery store back lot, and I could cut
through the green space. They would chase, but the motorcycles wouldn't do them
too much good so it would be a footrace. Once I was in the lot they would see my
truck and that could dissuade them, and the store definitely had cameras so
they probably wouldn't want to shoot me up.

Probably.

Or I could stay and figure

this shit out.

I quickly yanked my badge

from around my neck and dropped it on the ground under a bush, kicking some
dirt over it, then headed towards the open doorway as I muttered and thought of
Erica. "Sorry, babe." I made it past three of the six motorcycles
when a guy came rushing out, his mouth pulled into a grimace as he was already
reaching to grab me with both hands. He was big, he was burly, and he smelled
like cigarettes as he got his hands on my shirt and yanked me around a bit.

"Hey, whoa," I

said, holding up my hands.

The first guy was followed by

a second one, somehow even bigger than the first, and he was carrying a
shotgun. They were each dressed roughly, standing out as rough-and-tumble sorts
rather than street thugs or rednecks. 'Biker' was definitely the right word for
them. They both also happened to be wearing leather vests, called cuts, with
patches on the front. Only one of them stood out to me in that moment; black
diamonds with 1% stitching.

Definitely not a charity

group.

I got spun around, not

fighting it, and slammed against the side of the building. "Gun," the
one with the shotgun grunted, and my pistol was yanked from its holster at my
hip.

"Who the fuck are you,

and what are you doing here?" growled the guy who had grabbed me. He had a
neck tattoo of an American flag clutched by an eagle, and my mind quickly
sifted through the notes I'd taken of the raiders but didn't find anything. The
good news, if I could call it that in my current situation, was that they were
both wearing gaiters pulled up over their noses, mouths and chins. The bikers
were at least a little health conscious. How could bikers be
more concerned about a pandemic than sovereign citizens?

"I'm just a guy trying

to figure out what the deal is here," I said, mostly honestly and keeping
my hands raised. "I heard there was a sort of market going on."

The two of them glanced at

each other, the one with the shotgun grunted and nodded, and the one with the
neck tattoo grabbed me and hauled me into the warehouse. The quick transition
from outside to inside had me blinded for a moment as I got manhandled, but I
quickly saw that I was in what must have been the office area of the depot
before it closed. It was mostly empty except for a few old desks and chairs,
and I got yanked into the center of the space and slammed down into a wooden
chair that creaked from the strain.

The only lighting in the area

was a couple of white, battery-operated lanterns closer to the door that led
deeper into the warehouse. They cast a sort of ghostly pale light over the two
bikers and the woman, who was grimacing at me as she eyed me up and down.

I decided, instead of trying

to stammer an explanation and make a show of it, I'd just keep my mouth shut
until I was asked a question. A couple of moments later I was glad I did, as
Neck Tattoo turned away while Shotgun kept me covered, which gave me a look at
the patch on the back of his vest. It was big, bold and I recognized it
immediately, though I hadn't seen one in years.

The Guns of Thunder were a

small biker gang that had sprung up in the back regions of Oregon. In the 90s
and 00s they'd been a growing criminal element and had started to gain traction
running opioids and knockoffs. Then they'd gotten into a short and bloody war
with the other major biker gangs in the state, namely the Gypsy Jokers and the
Mongols, and had dropped off the face of Oregon after a summer of killings that
had spiked the murder rate for the state dramatically.

"He's clean,"

grunted Neck Tattoo as he reached the far door.

"What the fuck are you doing

here?" asked the other guy with his shotgun still trained on my chest.

"Like I said, I heard

you guys had a sort of market going on here," I said. "I just wanted
to check,” I cut off as another man entered, pushing past Neck Tattoo.

This new guy was older and

walked with the confident swagger of a man who had earned every ounce of his
ego but didn't let it control him. He had a sort of long face, though the
gaiter he was wearing obscured most of his features. He was wearing a red
flannel shirt under a dark denim cut, and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal
his arms were peppered with a variety of small tattoos and his fingers had a
half dozen chunky rings spread across them.

"He was out there

skulking through the brush," the woman said. She'd put on a medical
facemask much like my own at some point while I'd been getting grabbed.

"Well, I guess I'll need

to have a talk with him then, baby," he said, his voice gravelly as he
rubbed her shoulder for a moment before turning to me. He grabbed another chair
and dragged it over, setting it down with a thunk in front of me before sitting
down and staring into my eyes. "Do you know who I am?"

"No clue," I said.

"Well, specifically. I recognize the patches."

"Hmm," he grunted,

then leaned back. "Swear allegiance to the flag."

"What?"

"If you aren't one of

those fucking hicks spouting off that dumb shit in the woods about not being an
American, swear allegiance to the flag," he demanded.

Shaking my head, I sat

straight and cleared my throat before putting my right hand over my heart.
"I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to
the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with
liberty and justice for all."

"Well, that's one

question answered," he said. He glanced at his brother with the shotgun.
"What did he have on him?"

"Handgun," Shotgun

said, nodding towards Neck Tattoo, who showed off my sidearm.

"So what the fuck are

you doing walking around my building with a weapon like that?" the bossman
asked, turning his attention to me again. As my eyes were adjusting to the
light I could see that his hair, shorn short all over her head, was more silver
than black, and he had crow's feet heavy at the corners of his eyes. I would
have placed him in his late fifties if I had to guess.

"I heard about your

market and wanted to see what was going on," I said. "And my sidearm
is for my protection."

"'Sidearm' sounds a lot

like you're a cop," he said.

"It's also just the

correct term for it," I said.

He narrowed his eyes

slightly, looking me over again. "Military."

"Yeah," I said.

"Navy?"

"You think I'd fit on a

ship?" I snorted. "Army."

"Not everyone who served

in the Navy was on a ship the whole time," the guy said and turned over
his arm. His inner forearm had an eagle gripping a globe, a K-bar knife stabbed
through.

"Kuwait?" I asked.

"And Afghanistan,"

he grunted. "You?"

"Afghanistan and

Iraq," I said.

"Hmm," he hummed,

though it came out more like a growl. Then he asked me something in Farsi.

"I only ever got a bit

of Farsi, and I've lost most of it," I said. "I only caught a couple
of words."

"Well, at least you

could tell it was Farsi and not Arabic," he said.
"What are you really doing here, Dog Face?"

"I told you, I heard

there was a sort of market. I wanted to figure out what was going on, see if it
was something I should be interested in or not."

"Interested for

what?"

"Buying things," I

said.

"We aren't a cash

business," he said. "We deal in trade. You got anything to trade
beyond that firearm?"

"Well, what are you

looking for?" I asked.

He grunted. "We've got

food, fucker. Fresh, preserved, all sorts of shit. And chickens, if you've got
half a brain to be able to keep them, and plenty of gardening supplies if
you've got the space to start a garden and feed yourself or bring what you grow
here. We take goods-for-goods or other valuables. We don't ask questions, but
if we find out you killed someone for what you bring in then you'll get
whatever you gave. We're also interested in useful skills. Auto work,
carpentry, sewing, that kind of shit. So now you know."

"Now I know," I

said.

"And now you need to

give me a reason not to tell Georgie Boy here to fill your chest with led and
toss you into the woods, cause no one is going to come looking for you."

I clenched my jaw to stop

from reacting outwardly. "Do I look like a piece of shit?" I asked.
"Seriously. I clearly am not hurting for food right now, so I'm doing
something right, and I'm not desperate enough to try to roll you guys for eggs
and bacon. I grew up in this town, I heard a rumor, and I came to check it out.
Now I know that this is your turf, and what the deal is. And I didn't walk the
fuck on in your front door because I didn't know who you were. I've
had more interactions with the fucking sovereign citizen idiots than I would
ever care to, and if this was one of their things I didn't want to even start
with them."

He stared, or maybe glared,

at me for a long and silent minute. "What do you do for work?" he
asked.

"I'm an artist," I

said. "Movies, video games, that kind of shit. I wanted to create things
after I got out, so that's what I did."

"You don't look like an

artist," he said. "Those aren't the arms of an artist."

"Yeah, well, four years

of high school football and eight years in the service got me used to working
out. I'm not as big as I used to be."

"You looking for work

now?" he asked.

"You want me to draw you

something?"

"No," he said.

"I want to know if a man with eight years of service is looking for work. If
it comes around."

"Depends on the

work," I said.

He looked me up and down

again, then narrowed his eyes. "Here's the deal. You aren't getting out of
here without taking a beating. The principle of the thing, sneaking around like
that. But instead of one of us just lying into you a bit, you can fight Georgie
Boy there straight up. He'll clobber you, I'm not going to lie, but if you can
put up a decent fight maybe we keep your number and give you a call in a couple
of weeks if we need something done. This shitstorm out here, it's better to
make some friends, right? We just make sure our friends are worth having."

Fuck me, I groaned internally. Georgie Boy was the big

guy with the shotgun.

"If I'm going to take

some shots, I might as well give some of my own," I said.

"Just like a

grunt," the biker said, grinning behind his gaiter. He stood up and
grabbed his chair, pulling it out of the way as he looked at Neck Tattoo near
the door. "Go find Garret and Chuck. They'll want to see this." He
followed Neck Tattoo through the door into the warehouse.

The woman, who had watched

the whole conversation silently, strode up to me. She was short, maybe
five-foot-three at best, but gave off the sort of presence that made her seem
eight feet tall based on her ego. She stood in front of me, glaring at me
through half-hooded eyes as I made certain not to glance down at her tits.
"You might have found my father's soft spot, you fuck, but that doesn't
mean you aren't leaving here broken and busted. Georgie doesn't stop punching
until something goes snap."

"I'm guessing you aren't

single then," I said, not able to resist the chance to tease her.

Her glare sparked angrily as

she sneered behind her mask. "I'm not. And I guarantee my boyfriend has a
bigger cock and gun."

"Those are some weird

things to compare," I said. "You sure he's Okay with you talking
about how big his gun is?"

She scoffed and looked over

at Shotgun, who was still covering me. "Do me a favor and break his
jaw," she said.

"We'll see,"

Georgie mumbled darkly. Based on the size and gnarled nature of his hands along
with the cauliflower ears he sported, I had a feeling no matter how good a
fight I put up, this was going to hurt.

"I'll make you a

bet," I said to the woman. "If I can make Georgie here give up during
the fight, I get to take you on a nice, relaxing date and treat you like the
lady you are, دخترزیبا."

Her eyes widened and she

sniffed as I called her 'beautiful girl' in Farsi. The Persian language wasn't
as popular in Iraq or Afghanistan as it was in western Iran, but I'd picked up
enough during my tours that I could give out a basic compliment to a woman;
always a handy thing to have in my back pocket.

She didn't answer, or maybe

just didn't have time to, before her father, Neck Tattoo and another guy came
in from the warehouse. That meant there were still two other bikers around
somewhere, unless the woman rode her own bike, and I had a feeling she could
but she was more of a ride-on-the-back gal if her boyfriend was in the gang.

The new biker was older with

long grey hair past his shoulders and I immediately got the vibe that he could
have been a hippy trying to sell acid at a music festival, if it weren't for
the pistol stuck into the front of his pants and the knife hanging from his
belt that looked more like it was the size of a machete.

"Where's Chuck?"

the woman asked.

"He'll come

around," the boss said, somewhat cryptically. He turned his attention to
me. "You ready to take your medicine?"

"That depends on if

Georgie is going to put down that shotgun and make this a fair fight," I
said as I stood from my chair.

The boss gave a nod to the

big beefcake of a man, who lowered his shotgun and set it down on one of the
old desks ringing the room. He turned back to me and cracked his knuckles with
a loud pop.

I looked at the boss again.

"I fight, I have the chance of walking out of here with your
respect?" I asked.

"I doubt you'll be

walking," he replied.

I grabbed the chair I'd been

sitting on and swung it like a fucking baseball bat at Georgie. The big guy was
quicker than I hoped he would be, getting his arms up to block the swing. The
chair, an old wooden thing, proved to be a little less sturdy than it had felt
as I'd been sitting on it. The back snapped off of the seat as the legs cracked
against Georgie's arms, splinters shooting out in every direction.

The big guy grunted and

stepped towards me, already reaching to try and grab me, but I managed to slide
sideways away from his grasp and I tossed the rest of the chair back I was
still holding at his head before snapping a kick at his knee. I connected,
though not as hard as I wanted, and Georgie grunted again but didn't collapse
as I'd hoped.

He was a solid slab of muscle

and bone. I was in trouble.

I had two options, just the

same as every fight really. Be defensive, try to wear out my enemy while taking
as little hurt as possible; or be aggressive and try to do as much damage as I
could as quickly as possible. With a guy as big and sturdy as Georgie, it was
entirely possible that I could have played it back and let him tire himself
out, except that I could already feel the stitches in my leg aching and for all
that I'd been trained in hand-to-hand combat it was pretty unlikely I had the
pure experience that the big biker did.

If I was going to win, or at

least survive this without being turned into a bloody pulp, I had to cheat and
cheat fast.

People were shouting behind

me, encouragements for Georgie or curses at me, but it was all a wordless
ringing in my ears as I followed up my kick to his knee with a hard,
toe-forward kick to his nuts. He exhaled heavily, collapsing forward in shock
and pain but still grabbing for me. He got a hold of my arm and wrenched me
forward, but instead of trying to pull away from his strong grip I stepped into
it, slamming my forehead into the big biker's face. There was a distinct crunch
of his nose breaking and the big man roared.

I was in his grasp now

though, and he proved just as tough as I thought he would be as he wrapped his
arms around me and squeezed, lifting me off my feet. He had my right arm
trapped, but my left arm ended up sort of over his shoulder as I was kind of
looking behind him. My ribs immediately felt like they were groaning and
threatening to give and my vision tunneled.

Without any leverage, the

best I could do was heave myself against him, and with my own considerable
size, he was bent backwards a bit. I stretched, reaching through the black
tunnel of my vision as my lungs strained for another breath, and my fingers
found the cool metal.

One-handed, I raised the

shotgun as I held it by the end of the barrel and I hammered the pistol grip
down right on Georgie's tailbone. That made him grunt in a shock of pain as he
stood straight up and arched his back in reaction. My next blow was able to
reach lower and I slammed that grip into the side of his knee, which buckled
this time and we both went over.

His grip loosened and I was

able to suck in a breath, my head and leg both pounding in pain, and I blindly
threw a backwards elbow towards Georgie's head. It was a glancing blow, and he
wasn't done yet either as he scrambled to grab me. His huge hand found my leg
and I growled a scream as he gripped my thigh right on the stitches.

"He's a fucking

cop!" cut through the ringing in my ears.

I kicked, hitting Georgie in

the chest as we scrambled on the ground instead of his face like I'd been
planning, and he snarled behind his gaiter and reached in and grabbed me by my
throat, his steely fingers tightening quickly. I clawed at his hand for just a
moment but realized as he leveraged himself up onto one knee that there was no
way I was prying it free. Instead, I swung the shotgun I was still holding
around and clocked him right in the side of the face with it, though it was
just with the flat instead of the grip. He growled and I saw real violence in
his eyes as he raised his fist and brought it down in a hammer blow. I managed
to roll us both slightly, his fist glancing off the side of my skull instead of
straight into my face. We naturally rocked back to flat and I used that bit of
momentum to swing the shotgun again, this time landing the grip handle on the
side of his head. He staggered and his eyes went glazed, his squeeze loosening
enough for me to get in a gasp, and I pulled up my feet and kicked him off of
me.

Georgie rolled backwards and

I jumped to my feet, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, but I only got one step
towards him before movement out of the blurred side of my vision made me reel
backwards.

I felt the whoosh of air as

someone in a Guns of Thunder cut swung a wild haymaker and missed me by inches.
My instinctive reaction was to swing back, both hands on the shotgun in what
would have been a home run hit on the baseball diamond. The crack of this guy's
nose was sharper than Georgie's and he stumbled past me with a wail, falling
right on top of the big man as he was trying to rise. Georgie, wracked with his
own pain and deep in Fight brain, immediately wrapped his thick arms around his
perceived attacker and got him in some sort of choke hold.

The shouting was loud; the

three bikers not in the fight all yelling at once, and the woman screaming
bloody murder at the theatrics. It was her voice, sharper, that drew my
attention to the fact that she was a few steps behind me.

"Sorry about this,"

I grunted as I took two fast strides and grabbed her across her upper chest,
yanking her around in front of me like a shield as I flipped the shotgun around
and pressed the mouth of the barrel to her side, jamming it into her leather
jacket somewhere between her waist and her tit.

The room didn't exactly go

quiet, though two of the bikers stopped shouting, including her father the
boss, as they took in this new situation. Garret, the older hippyish guy, was
trying to stop Georgie from choking the life out of the one that had tried to
sucker punch me as he shouted, "It's Chuck! It's Chucky!" at the big
man. Chuck, for his part, was scrambling and writhing, caught in the rear naked
choke, tapping like a madman and getting little response. Chuck was younger
than the others, slim and not quite as imposing, though that may have been
because of how much of a ragdoll he seemed to be in Georgie's arms.

Garret ended up pulling out

his handgun and pressed it to Georgie's temple. That seemed to get the big
man's attention and he let go, Chuck falling to the side limply but still
breathing.

"So," I said,

feeling like absolute shit as I kept a tight hold on the woman, who had frozen
in my grasp. "I think I win."

"Let go of her and we can

talk this out," the boss growled with the ice-cold voice of someone who
was very sure of his ability to commit murder.

"That sounds like a bad

idea right about now," I said. "But I don't want to
hurt a hair on her head."

"می توانم

بیضه هایش را لگد
بزنم" the woman said, her voice thick and melodic
as she spoke in Persian.

"Don't try it," I

grunted, pulling her tighter against me. I didn't know what she'd said, but I
could tell by her shifting her weight she was going to try and kick backwards
and catch me in the nuts.

"What now, then?"

the boss growled.

"Now, you," I

looked at Neck Tattoo, who was currently pointing my sidearm at me. "Are
going to eject the clip from that and hand it to him." I looked at the
boss. "And you're going to pick up my badge there from the ground. Then
we're going for a little walk."

My badge, which was in fact

on the ground of the office area, must have been found by Chuck outside and he
was the one that had yelled I was a cop. I wasn't sure what they had all been
shouting during the fighting, but I'd definitely heard that.

At a nod from the boss, Neck

Tattoo ejected the clip and handed over the pistol, and then fetched my badge
from the ground. Part of me wanted to try and push the woman through into the
warehouse so I could get a look at their operation but second-guessed that plan
since there was still a sixth biker somewhere. Instead, I started to slowly
pull her back towards the door that led out near the motorcycles.

"Alright," I said.

"We're going to take it nice and easy as we go for a walk."

"You hurt her and I kill

you," the boss said.

"You come at me and I

shoot her," I replied. "Neither of us wants that, but I'm not fucking
around."

She followed me and we

stopped at the door.

"Alright,

sweetheart," I said. "You might as well tell me your name so I have
something to call you."

"Kashm," she said.

"Beautiful," I

said. "Okay, Kashm. We're going to step outside and head around the side
of the building. We're going to go slow, and your father and one other guy are
going to follow us. When we get to my truck I'll be happy to let you go."

"You're an

asshole," she grunted.

"You get that,

Pops?" I asked.

"I got it," he

grunted.

I took the step back and

down, and she followed.

"Can I say

something?" I asked as we took one slow step after another, followed at
about ten yards by her father and Neck Tattoo.

"Is it you begging for

your life?" she asked. "Because if you grovel, I might just decide to
only leave you paraplegic."

"Jesus, you're a nasty

one," I said. "But no. I was going to say I hope Chucky in there
isn't the one you're dating, because there is no way that a sucker-punching
runt like him could handle a woman like you."

".... fuck you,"

Kashm growled.

"Yeesh," I sighed.

"You don't know

us," she said. We had made it around the end of the building and were
backing towards the old road.

"I don't," I

agreed. "But I'm betting that your pops is in charge, and you grew up a
bit of a princess even during the hard times. I bet he isn't super happy about
you dating anyone in his club, but you've got him wrapped around your finger as
much as you still love him."

"How about we don't talk

about my personal life while you've got a shotgun jammed into my tit?" she
asked.

"Alright," I said,

taking a quick glance behind me as we hit the road. "We're heading this
way."

It was a long, slow walk as I

trudged backwards down the road. The potholes made things even more
frustrating, and I wondered how the fuck these guys rode it on their
motorcycles.

"So whose idea was the

market, anyways?" I muttered to her.

"Mine," she

grunted.

"I had a feeling,"

I said. "Tell me this. Is it all above board and you just take a skim off
the top as profit, or are the boys making side deals and taking advantage of
people?"

She was silent.

"Are they forcing

women?" I asked.

"No," she exhaled.

"But if someone only has their looks to trade, why should I stand in their
way from getting the food they need?"

It was hard to argue with

that logic in the current national circumstances. If I hadn't run into Mary in
the parking lot she could very well have been doing the same thing within days,
she'd been so desperate. Two kids to feed, let alone herself... would I have
judged her for doing it? I could blame the bikers for not just giving away the
food, but if they were paying discounted prices to the grocery store manager,
along with wherever else they got their supplies, then it was capitalism and
not charity.

I felt gross, accepting that

people were surviving on sexual favors, but I couldn't exactly offer a better
alternative.

"This way," I said,

and she followed me as we walked backwards off the road and through the
overgrown green space behind the grocery store.

"Do you really think

you're going to get away from this?" she asked, her spite softer now that
the adrenaline was wearing off.

"I think I understand

your father," I said. "And I think the fact that I'm just doing what
I have to and not being an asshole is helping."

"I'd say you're a pretty

big asshole," she growled.

"Really? Because I could

have been groping you this whole time and being a creep, but I'm not. You're a
lady, and a daughter, and I respect that even if I have to use the leverage
I've got to not have my head caved in."

That shut her up.

"Step down," I

warned her as we reached the curb into the grocery store parking lot.

"So you really are a

cop," the boss said, about twenty yards back as he and Neck Tattoo
continued to follow. Their handguns were lowered but still out and they could
clearly see my truck behind me.

"Sheriff,

technically," I called back. "Look, you and I both know that last
year at this time, someone with my job meets someone with yours, and we have
problems. But the world is going to shit, and as far as I can see your
operation back there isn't hurting anyone. And, considering you threatened that
you'd kill me if I came with shit that was stolen by force from others, I think
you still love this country and respect the fact that ordinary people should be
out of bounds for criminal shit."

He grunted, glancing at Neck

Tattoo, then took a breath. "That about sums it up," he said.

We were about five steps away

from my truck now and I stopped walking backwards, Kashm backing into me for a
moment. "Alright then. So how about this; I don't have a problem with your
black market as long as you hold to those values. Looters are a problem though,
and they're dangerous to the folks who are still living through this shit.
They're also dangerous to you; the virus is airborne and if they are stealing
from the homes of the dead they could very well be carrying it with them
already. Start wearing gloves, and disinfect anything that's brought to
you."

"I'm not exactly

concerned about health and safety tips right now, Sheriff," he growled.

"Well, it's my job to

keep the public informed," I said sarcastically. "Look, I'll let
Kashm go, get in my truck and drive away. I just need you to put my sidearm and
my badge on the ground in front of us, she can pick it up and hand it to me,
then we're good. We call a truce, I walk away with some bruised ribs and a
headache the size of a Range Rover while your boys back there get their noses
back in place and deal with their own bruises. That sound like a deal?"

"You Okay, baby?"

he asked his daughter.

"He hasn't harmed

me," Kashm said evenly.

"We're almost

done," I said quietly. "And I am sorry that I had to do this."

"Whatever," she

grunted under her breath.

Her father nodded to Neck

Tattoo, and the biker walked forward and set my badge and gun down about five
feet in front of us before backing away.

"Alright," I said.

"Now just ease forward, pick them up and hand them to me." I let go
of her, and Kashm slowly stepped forward and bent down to pick them up. I
wasn't exactly looking, but in her tight jeans and with that
hourglass figure I had a pretty good sense that she had a nice ass.

She stood, turning and

stepping back towards me until she was right in front of me, the muzzle of the
shotgun pressed into her chest almost right at her heart. "You know
Georgie and Chuck are going to want to fuck you up," she said as she
holstered my pistol for me, then reached up to loop my badge over my head.

"I'm pretty sure that

between you and your father, you can keep them in check," I said.

"Why would I do

that?"

I smirked, and realized that

I'd lost my mask at some point during the fight; I'd been a little busy to
notice it before that moment. "Well, I won the bet," I said.
"I'm pretty sure I owe you a nice date, don't I?"

Her eyes widened as her brow

furrowed, and then she actually laughed. "You are way too cowboy to be a
cop."

"That's why my badge is

a star, honey," I said, nodding down to it hanging on my chest. "Now,
seriously, reach into my front pocket there and pull out my wallet." When
she did, with a raised eyebrow, I continued. "Take out the business card
there. That's got a line to my cell. If something comes up that you or your
father think I could help with, call me. If you're helping people survive, I'm
on your side. And there's plenty of much larger assholes out here who are only
hurting people."

"Is this a 'Get out of

Jail Free' card?" she asked, taking the business card and putting my
wallet back in my pocket.

"Believe me," I

said. "You do not want anyone you know going to jail
right now."

She narrowed her eyes but

nodded.

"So, how about

Saturday?" I asked.

"What?"

"For our date," I

said with a grin.

She rolled her eyes and I

could tell she was grinning behind her mask too. I'd gotten to her.

"Go to him," I

nodded with my chin. "And have a great day."

"You are one fucking crazy

Sheriff," she said, then stepped backwards a couple of paces before
turning. As she was going I reached back and opened my truck door, got about
halfway in, then slowly set down the shotgun on the cement as I locked eyes
with her father. He was glaring at me but nodded. I got the rest of the way
into the truck, got my keys out and quickly started it, pulling away and around
the side of the grocery store.

My heart and my head were

pounding as I panted, the drain of adrenaline from my system as relief washed
over me doing nothing to help the fact that I was hurting all over. I glanced
at the clock on my dash.

Twenty minutes. The whole

thing had taken twenty goddamn minutes since I'd left the store. The dairy and
frozen food I had in the back were still fine and I had time to do my meat
pickup before heading up to the Rez.

I pulled my truck into a spot

in the front parking lot, leaning forward and resting my head against the
steering wheel.

"Jesus fucking

Christ," I groaned to myself. My leg ached, my ribs hurt, my head was
throbbing. By all rights I should have gone home, curled up into a ball and
slept for the rest of the day. Instead, I fell back against my seat, sitting
up, and fished my phone out of my pocket. I hesitated, considering texting Erica,
but I didn't want to stress her out. I texted Kara for her address or
directions to her place on the Rez.

'Why? Did you figure

something out?' she texted back,
making me sigh and then grunt.

'Not yet. Bringing you

supplies,' I responded.

'Don't. It's dangerous

here,' she texted back.

'Do you have enough food

for all three of you?'

'We can figure something

out.'

I grunted again and hit the

voice messaging button. "Kara, if you don't tell me where your place is,
I'm going to drive around up there honking until I find you."

She sent me her address, and

I headed out. First stop, meat. Next stop, a reserve full of natives who hated
my guts and were dealing with an outbreak of a deadly pandemic. It couldn't
possibly be worse than getting into a fistfight with a biker gang, right?

The drive up to the Rez was

probably the worst one I had ever made. I'd done the drive a bunch of times in
high school; being sixteen and having a little beater car so I could go to
early morning football practices had given me the sort of freedom that made me
the envy (and designated driver) for my friends at the time. I'd filled that
car with football players more than a few times, but just as many times I'd
driven up to the Rez to pick up Kara and her friends, driving them to bush
parties, lakes to go swimming or even out to Portland a couple of times so we
could go shopping without our parents.

Then that had all stopped,

and it had been years until I'd driven up to the Rez again for the fire and the
funerals. That had only been a few weeks ago now. Checking in after the fire
I'd been a little panicked, not knowing if Kara was alive. Making the drive
with Kyla and Erica for the funerals had been less anxiety-filled but kind of
weird, and I'd had a lot of different emotions going on. Looking back, those
funerals had likely been where the first transfers of the virus had happened
and started to spread. So many people in one place, it wouldn't have taken much
for one carrier to spread it to a few people, and now three weeks later it was
rampant. It was kind of amazing that it hadn't happened sooner, between the
protest at my place and the recovery efforts after the community center fire.

Still, even after the

funerals, this was the worst. Kara was probably infected, as were her cousin
and her neighbor. The chances that they weren't, when it was running hot
through the whole community, were negligible.

At best, according to Miriam,

they had two weeks before they would show harsh symptoms, and then something
like two days before they were dead. And that was the best case.

I passed by all the landmarks

I remembered and then pulled up towards the old ticket booth that marked the
boundary of the Rez. Just a few weeks ago it had been converted into the hub of
their little palisade of junk, manned by big Native men on the lookout for
trouble. Now, as I pulled up, the 'In' side of the road was blocked and someone
had spray painted 'Sick Inside' and 'Stay Out' on the old car they'd parked
there. The 'Out' side had probably been blocked as well, but that car looked
like someone had rammed it with another vehicle. It was at an angle and had a
bunch of damage to the rear end.

Someone had done the right

thing and tried to keep the outbreak quarantined. Someone else had probably
thought they were doing the right thing for themselves or their family and
tried to escape the death that was already haunting them. Wherever they ended
up, I could only hope that they weren't spreading it to loved ones.

Not that they would be there

to know. Two weeks was a long time compared to two days.

I slowly eased my truck

around the shifted barricade car and rolled to a stop.

'I'm just coming in,' I sent Kara.

'Don't come up front.

People down the street. Use the back dirt drive from Leaning Oak.'

I sent a 'kk' and

started driving. The roads on the Rez weren't in GPS maps, so she'd needed to
give me directions. I could remember some of the streets by sight; not a whole
lot had changed on the Rez in 15 years or so; but I didn't know them all, or
their names.

Part of me wanted to just

speed through as fast as possible, but that would have drawn more attention
than taking a slow crawl. Once I got off the main road that ran around the
outskirts of the primary residential area and eventually led to the old
celebration grounds, I also found that things were more... apocalyptic. More
than a few cars were abandoned, half out of driveways or in the middle of the
street or parked up on people's lawns in a panic. I saw one that was smashed
right into the corner of a doublewide, the trailer collapsing down onto the
roof. Trash and other garbage was piled in places, and I saw more than a few
residences, both trailer and small houses, that had clearly been broken into.
Doors smashed open, windows busted.

The worst were the bodies.

They weren't everywhere, but

every once in a while someone had collapsed in a front yard, or in the driver's
seat of their car. Probably looking for help. The blood, trailing from the
orifices of their faces, told the story. I'd seen warzones, and bodies, before.
This was something else. Portland after the protests and riots had reminded me
of a warzone. What I was witnessing now reminded me of scenes from a zombie
movie.

There were people as well,

living. I spotted a few seemingly going about their lives. One guy was mowing
his rocky front lawn with a little push mower that was sputtering. A woman was
packing her car, keeping tight hold of two little kids as she did it.

A man was digging in his side

yard, a cloth-wrapped body lying next to the hole.

They weren't the only people

though. Down a couple of roads I saw larger gatherings. Groups, not big enough
to be called a crowd, gathered. I avoided them where I needed to, finding
detours.

Once I got to Leaning Oak

Lane, on which I didn't see a single leaning oak tree, I wound around a couple
of bends before finding the dirt track Kara had told me about. The roads of the
Rez weren't laid out in a discernable pattern; not that most of the roads and
streets around Jewell were much better. Between the hills and rocky terrain,
whether it was the highways or the little subdivision stretches like where Mary
had lived, builders were forced to adapt to the terrain. Up here on the Rez,
where the land was particularly rocky; because of course the Feds way back then
chose shitty terrain for it; it made for a maze that only the locals really
knew by heart.

The dirt trail, because that

was all it was, was rough but my truck was able to handle that easily. If the
lots and roads were a little wild, the one thing going for them was that they
were larger than what someone could find in the little subdivisions scattered
around town. They weren't exactly developed lots, most of them
occupied by scrub and overgrowth with just a doublewide and whatever sheds or
old coverings the owners had erected through the years. The few houses were
single-story, or maybe a story and an attic, and there was no way they had
basements. I had to pull out my phone and text Kara again that I was on the
trail because I had no way of knowing which one of the residences was hers.

I spotted her waiting

nervously on the back deck of one of the small houses. She was wearing a blue
jean jacket and was looking around with obvious anxiety. Her dark hair was
looking a little windblown, but I'd always liked that look on her. Usually, it
came along with her beautiful smile, and I'd always loved driving her around
with the windows down; she would glare at me, knowing exactly what I was doing,
but then break out that smile.

There weren't any smiles now.

I pulled my truck up off of

the path right into her backyard, turning it to face the back towards her deck.
At any other time, ploughing through the rough overgrowth at the back of her
lot might have been rude, but under the circumstances and considering it hadn't
looked cultivated, I just did it.

"Harri, what the

fuck?" she asked as I got out. She wasn't wearing a mask. "Why are
you doing this?"

"Because you need

it," I said, coming around to the back of my truck and opening the gate,
pulling out the first couple of paper bags filled with food. "Step back a
bit so I can set this down for you."

She did, but hesitated when

she saw me clearly. "What the hell happened to you?"

I grunted as I set down the

bags. "Well, the leg is a gunshot wound that I'm still recovering from.
The rest is from a fistfight with a couple of bikers. But I'm Okay."

"You don't look

it," she said, obviously concerned. "You got shot?"

"Through and

through," I said, gingerly patting my leg. "No permanent damage.
Don't worry, it just hurts like hell right now. I've got more bags if you want
to call some help."

Kara went to the back door

and called inside. She was joined by two more women. The first one I recognized
even though she wasn't in uniform. Officer Gertrude was wearing a pair of rough
overalls and a black top underneath that was stretching around her considerable
bust. She was curvier than Kara, but seeing them side-by-side I realized the
familial resemblance even if it was small. They were the same height, and while
her face was a little softer they had the same nose and lips. She wore a silver
hoop nose ring in one nostril now, and her clothing revealed she had some sort
of thin script writing tattooed on the inside of her arm, and a cross on her
other forearm.

"Hello, Officer," I

said.

She grimaced slightly as she

nodded. "It's just Gerty now," she said. "With everything going
on, I got fired."

"How does that make any

sense?" I asked as I went back to the truck for the next pair of bags.

"There were a lot of...

arguments on the tribal council," Kara said with a heavy sigh. "I
resigned in protest when they decided to fire Gerty for 'causing problems.' It
was probably too late already, though."

"I'm sorry," I said

with a grimace of my own, setting down the next bags.

The third woman, who must

have been Kara's neighbor, was a little shorter and her awkward stance and the
set to her expression told me she was much less social than either of the
others. Sensing the hesitation, Kara spoke up. "This is my neighbor
Tanaya."

She was dressed in a denim

button-down that washed out whatever slim curves she had, along with black
jeans held up by a chunky belt that sported the sort of buckle I would have
expected to see on a rodeo champion. She pressed her lips together in a
half-smile and nodded to me. Her hair was dark and as long as Kara and Gerty's,
well past her shoulders, but wavy with soft curls instead of straight.

"Good to meet you,"

I said. "Hopefully Kara's said at least a couple of nice things about
me."

"Harri,” Kara said, and

I could hear the apology in her voice.

"Just kidding,

Kara," I said, holding up a hand. "If I can't find a joke somewhere,
I'll lose my mind."

All three women nodded

softly.

I went and got the last bag

of stuff that I'd set aside for them. "That should hold you ladies for at
least five days or so," I said as I set it down and backed away.
"Just; I could see it's bad, but how bad are we talking?"

"You ever watch Shaun of

the Dead?" Tanaya asked. Her voice was a little deeper with a cute husk to
it. "Like that."

"Fuck me," I

sighed, wiping my hand across my mouth and beard as I took a deep breath.
"Okay. I'm still trying to get an answer for you, something that will
help. The people I'm talking to are coming up blank, but I trust them when they
say they are trying."

"Unless there's a cure,

I don't know what could be done," Gerty said. "Last info that came
in, the stuff that got me fired up at the station for talking about it, said
it's killing almost all men that catch it, and most women. Teens worst of
all."

"I,” How did I say this?

"That's true from what I've seen," I said. "The government's
been testing a vaccine, though. The people I know are trying to see if they can
find a stockpile to bring here, but it's not panning out yet."

"Harri," Kara said.

"You know what 'experimental vaccines' and the government do..."

"I know," I said.

"There's a long history. But it's real, and so far it seems to work."

"How do you know

that?" Tanaya asked. She had a bit of a drawl to her accent that I
couldn't immediately place.

I swallowed, glancing at

Kara. "Because I was offered a chance to be part of the testing group a
couple of months ago, back when the military bought my land," I said.
"It's a complicated story that I'll tell you three eventually."

Kara was frowning in concern,

and Gerty was looking at me with a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Tanaya was
stoic and hard to read. "Can you guys bring that stuff in?" Kara
asked the other two softly. They both nodded and came forward to pick up a
couple of the paper bags. Gerty looked inside one and saw I'd included a couple
bottles of wine, and she looked up at me with a smile and a wink. Tanaya
murmured her thanks and they both slipped back inside the house.

I stood leaning against the

back of my truck while Kara hugged herself up on the deck.

"I'm sorry I can't do

more for you right now," I said.

"Fuck off," she

sighed. "This is more than you should be doing."

"Are you safe?" I

asked.

She nodded, but the

hesitation was clear. It only took a glance from me and she knew I knew.
"People are acting out," she said. "Bunching up, trying to
blame... everyone. Anyone. They're saying this is the land cleansing itself,
and if we simply listen to the earth it will give us a way to survive. It's;
fucked."

"Is there anything else

I can do?"

"Explain the vaccine to

me," she said. "You're hiding something. I can tell, Harri. Just
because of..." she stopped, hanging her head a little for a moment before
looking back up at me. "Just because I made some really misguided choices,
doesn't mean I don't know you. Please just don't lie to me."

I had to take a breath. I'd

avoided this so far. "The vaccine works," I said. "Or, it works
but in a weird way. It isn't 100% effective, especially for men. And I don't
know the science, but it's deadly for men to take directly. The way it was
explained to me, women can take it and then it's like an STD in their system,
so they can partially pass it on to a man. Erica, my fiancée that you met, was
staying with me and her brother at my parents' old place when the government
made me the offer. Part of the deal was us getting admitted to the testing
program. She came back, we... had sex, and I got partially covered. That's why
I'm safer to be around town and go get supplies and stuff."

"And that's why you're

with that construction woman, and your partner from the funeral," she
said. "Because 'partial' isn't safe, so a man needs multiple partners.
That's why this whole polyamory thing came out of nowhere."

"It is," I said.

"I never would have considered it otherwise."

"Is the government just

assigning people to each other then? Forcing women to sleep with men?"

I swallowed and shook my

head. "It's more complicated than that. The vaccine doesn't just pass like
an STD. There's a whole... bonding thing. Or imprinting. It's like once the
exchange happens, the woman is a lock and the man becomes the only key for her.
They said they are trying to find a way to change that, for obvious reasons. So
Erica and I chose each other, and the others were different circumstances. Ivy,
who you haven't met, is the most 'standard.' Anyone entering the program does a
massive questionnaire and they have an algorithm or something that spits out a
bunch of best options, and the woman gets to choose. She chose me."

"There's another

one?" she asked. "Four, then?"

I nodded.

"Fuck me," she

sighed, covering her mouth with her hand. "So if whoever you are talking
to can get vaccine doses, everyone here will need to have partners. The tribe
could get scattered across the state."

"Or further, I

guess," I said. "But they would be alive."

She leaned forward, putting

her hands on her knees as she breathed, then looked back up at me. "I'd
ask if this was all a big prank, trying to inject some humor into this, but I
can tell it's not," she said.

"It's not," I

affirmed. "And I'll try my best to keep my friend searching, Okay? I'll;
Kara, I'll do anything I can to keep you safe. You and the people you care
about, and I know that encompasses everyone here on the Rez. But if things get
worse, for you or Gerty or Tanaya, I need you to tell me. I need you to promise
me, because I might be able to do something for one person that I can't for
everyone."

She nodded, and I gave her a

look. "I promise, Harri," she said. "I promise."

"You should get the rest

of these in, there's some Chunky Monkey in one of those bags for you."

She smiled sadly, mentioning

her favorite ice cream not picking her mood up. "Harri... if you're safe,
could I... Could I hug you?"

I groaned because every ounce

of me wanted to do that for her. Wanted to feel her wrapped up in my arms so I
could tell her it would all be Okay. "God, I want to do that, baby,"
I said. "But even with four partners I'm not fully covered."

"Four isn't

enough?" she asked me, eyes widening a little incredulously. "What
is?"

"Last I heard, something

like seven," I said. "My friend told me I have around 85% efficacy
right now, but all the science is complicated. And, Kara baby, I would risk it
if I wasn't taking care of other people as well. You and the ladies were the
most important people who needed this stuff, but I've got another delivery to
make and they aren’t vaccinated."

She raised her chin, pointing

her face to the sky as she hugged herself around her stomach again. I wasn't
sure what she was looking for up there. "God, you're too good,
Harrison," she whispered, shaking her head. She looked back down at me.
"Don't die, Okay? And don't get shot again. I haven't shown you it in a
long time, but this world needs more men like you. I always knew you were a
good guy, a good man, and I let other people get in my head and spoil that.
I've been an absolute bitch to you, and I'm so sorry. You never deserved any of
it."

I had to fight the urge to go

to her, and I almost lost. "Everything is forgiven," I said.
"Okay? Everything. And we can't change what our families did or were. Now
get your fine ass inside and lock that door. Barricade it even. And call me for
anything, even just to talk."

"Okay," she sighed

and nodded. "Okay. I will. I promise. Thank you, Harrison. For all of
this. For being you."

"I'll always be

me," I said, forcing a smile. "I'll see you soon, Okay?"

She picked up the last bag of

groceries and propped it on one hip as she watched me get back into my truck.

To be continued, Based on

a post by Break The Bar for Literotica

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