Jason Frost - The Warlord

He glanced at it quickly, turned to Annie. "Where are the kids?"

"Upstairs."

"Better check on them," he said slowly, his eyes fixed on hers. "Both of them."

"Okay," she said and disappeared into the house.

Eric handed the paper back to the policeman. "Statewide house-to-house, huh? Must take a lot of manpower."

Sergeant Sutton nodded, hooking his thumb over his shoulder at the parked jeep. "Yes, sir. That's why we've been using reserves to help out."

"They're a little trigger happy, aren't they?"

"Yes, sir," Sergeant Sutton shrugged disgustedly. "But that's what they gave me."

"I haven't read anything in the papers about this?"

"No, sir," the sergeant said. "They didn't want to give everybody a chance to go bury their guns someplace. It's gonna be hard enough as it is, what with people warning each other by phone. There was even some talk of cutting the phone service for a couple days. Nothing came of it though. Red tape, I guess. Or politics."

"What's the point of all this?"

"Well, seems like we've had more than a little looting since the quake. Folks are damn near scared of anything that moves. People been shooting each other all up and down the state. Anything that goes bump in the night, including relatives, neighbors and pets. Grocery stores have been robbed a lot lately, with bands of people stealing all the canned foods they could carry. It's a mess in some places. I guess they don't want it to get no worse."

Eric nodded. "Okay, gentlemen. How do we do this?"

"Well, Mr. Ravensmith," Officer Perkins said, "we'd appreciate it if you'd just give us all your guns. You'll get a receipt for each, redeemable at a later date."

"What date, officer?"

Officer Perkins shook his head. "Undetermined, sir."

"So, if I tell you we don't have any guns, you're going to take my word for it?"

"Not exactly, sir." Officer Perkins nudged Sergeant Sutton, who gestured over his shoulder at the three soldiers. Each slung his rifle over his shoulder and reached into the jeep, pulling out portable metal detectors. Officer Perkins looked into Eric's eyes. "Just in case you overlook a gun someplace."

Annie reappeared at the door. "The kids are fine," she told Eric. "I checked."

Eric smiled. "Then let's not delay these gentlemen any longer."

"I hadn't counted on this," Eric said, leaning against the kitchen wall. Overhead they could hear the soldiers clumsily searching every room. Occasionally one of their metal detectors would bang into the wall or bump a piece of furniture.

"They're paying for every chip and scratch," Annie warned.

"It's the goddamnedest thing I've ever seen," Maggie Ravensmith said. "And in sixty-two years I've seen a hell of a lot."

Annie poured Maggie and herself a cup of coffee. "The sergeant told me that they've even cleaned out the gun shops and sporting goods stores. They figure that even if they miss a few guns at least there won't be any ammunition around."

"Makes sense," Eric said. "Most people don't know enough about guns to handle one properly, especially in a situation like this. They're more likely to shoot their friends than anyone trying to harm them. I just wish I'd predicted this last month. I'd have hidden those guns I bought instead of stashing them in the bedroom."

Maggie sipped her coffee, the steam fogging her bifocals. "Well, at least you were smart enough to have Annie check those two bozos out before you let them into the house. So I guess your brain hasn't quite turned to mush yet."

Eric looked surprised. "You knew?"

"Ha, are you kidding? 'Check the kids, Annie. Both of them.' Meaningful looks." She knitted her eyebrows in an imitation of her son. "You might fool those guys, but not your mother. Who'd you call, Annie?"

"Local police station. Gave them Officer Perkins name and description. They verified him and Sergeant Sutton."

"That's my little superspy," Eric smiled, opening the refrigerator and plucking out a can of Pepsi.

Maggie Ravensmith looked at her son, then at her daughter-in-law. She removed her bifocals and began polishing them with the corner of her blouse.

"Uh oh," Eric said. "What's wrong, Mom?"

"What makes you say that?"

"The glasses-cleaning routine. You always do that when something's bugging you."

She frowned. "Now that they've taken your guns, where does that put you with Fallows?"

"Jesus, Mom, you get right to it, don't you?" Annie said.

"Have to, Annie. Not just for your sakes, but for the kids', too."

"We're covered," Eric said. "We've got alarms attached to every door and window. Nobody can get in without setting off the loudest damn siren you've ever heard."

"Yeah, but then what? How will you protect yourselves once they're in?"

"Excuse me, Mr. Ravensmith," Officer Perkins interrupted, stepping into the kitchen. "My men and I are done now."

"Find anything useful?"

"Nope. We checked the house and garage. The shotgun and the automatic you gave us were all you had. Except this." He opened his hand to reveal a gold earring in the shape of a palm tree.

"My God, I've been looking for that for six months," Annie said, taking the earring. "Where did you find it?"

"Back of the closet in the master bedroom," he smiled. "You'd be surprised what we find sometimes. Fillings. Bear traps."

"Bear traps?" Maggie asked.

"Yup. Seems some old geezer over on Alton thought he might catch his wife's lover if he ever tried to hide in their closet." He looked at Eric. "In your case we also came across these." He waved at someone behind him. One of the young soldiers came in carrying Eric's longbow and crossbow. "You a hunter, Mr. Ravensmith?"

"I have hunted."

"The reason I ask, this crossbow looks pretty new."

Eric drank from his Pepsi and shrugged. "So?"

"Nothing. It's just that I want to caution you about these things. They're as dangerous as rifles, but since we've been told to collect only firearms, I'm not taking it." He looked at it with appreciation. "It's a beaut, though. What kind?"

"Barnett Commando. Hundred-and-fifty-pound draw. The frame is aluminum, the barrel and cocking mechanism is brass."

"Cocking mechanism?"

"Yeah, instead of pulling the string back by hand, it has a break-action like a shotgun."

"Jesus," he whistled. "Looks like something outta Star Wars." He hesitated, as if hoping they could go on talking about bows and earrings and bear traps rather than searching another hostile house where somebody would scream in his ear about the Constitution and their rights, calling him Gestapo and worse. But when no one spoke, he shrugged, handed Eric a receipt. "You'll need this to redeem your guns. You'll get a notice in the mail. Thanks for cooperating."

"Sure thing," Eric said, ushering him toward the front door. As he closed the door behind Officer Perkins, Eric could see the crowd of neighborhood residents arguing with the soldiers. Before the earthquake, most of them wouldn't have even considered raising their voices at a policeman. But things had changed, more than just property damage and injuries. Attitudes.

Eric returned to the kitchen, opened another Pepsi. He'd decided not to tell Annie about the note he'd found pinned to his bike. She was already pretty jittery, and now that their guns were gone, the situation was worse. He would just have to lake more precautions now. Be extra careful.

He shoved his hand into his pocket, felt the crumpled note nestled among loose change and keys. Just touching it made his skin burn. A quote from Shakespeare. That was Fallows all right. He'd confided in Eric once that he'd been thrown out of three colleges before his wealthy father made a sizeable donation for a new library wing at a prestigious university. Young Dirk Fallows was immediately admitted and finally graduated from there two years later. He never mentioned what his major was, but even in Nam he was always quoting from Shakespeare. Not to show off, but almost as if in his violent rages he was unable to find his own words. That made it all the more frightening, because everything he quoted sounded sinister, evil. It was quite a sight to see this grizzled face leading an attack on Charlie, spewing obscenities and Shakespeare with equal skill.