M. Banner - Stone Age

“Bill.” He unlatched the door and slid it open. “Holy Christ, Bill, how long has this been going on?” Max asked as he stepped onto his patio. Bill was standing a few steps in front of him, head craned upward toward the green pulsating sky.

Bill turned to him, his face somewhat contorted in fear. “What is this? Is this the CME you told us about? Are we in trouble?”

“I don’t know, Bill, but it looks bad.” Max noticed he was resting, more like holding himself up with one of the pillars of his patio.

This was an aurora, he was sure of it. Like waves of water in the ocean, but instead of foamy white waves, the sky was filled with waves of green and some wisps of red. From what he read, Mexico had never had an aurora, so it had to be a CME. However, where were the explosions? A CME as large as this one was, which was making auroras as far south as Mexico, should be damaging the power grid and shorting out everything electric. However, he could see his lights were still on, and so were the others on the beach.

“What the hell is going on?” Max yelled out.

Max gave Bill, Lisa, and Sally specific instructions, trying his best not to scare them too bad, since having them hysterical wasn’t going to help any of them. He followed his own advice, first gathering up any stray electronic devices and placing them in his protected office/workshop. He left the flat screen TVs untouched in the living room and bedrooms, along with few other electronics, such as alarm clocks also for show, so that anyone who entered his home might not wonder if he knew something before they did.

When he felt satisfied that he gathered all that mattered, he closed himself in his secret office/workshop and turned on his computer and his iPhone which was plugged in and fully charged, since it ran out of juice before returning to Puerto Penasco. Both beeped, letting its owner know they were waking up from their long slumber.

Then, while standing over his desk thinking about what he needed to do next, it occurred to him that he didn’t have any other weapons in the Beach Warehouse. This was just plain stupid. If they had to make a stand there, they would need far more than the one sniper rifle. He had a crate of new military issue M4 rifles resting unopened by the far wall, one of two he spirited across the border; the other going to El Gordo’s men as payment for smuggling both. It had the stamp of El Gordo’s Mexican shipping company prominently displayed, which told any handlers, “Keep your hands off this.”

He dragged it across the concrete floor to the center island workbench and turned on the workbench light directly overhead. Grabbing a crowbar, he pried the top of the crate off, its nails crying out loudly and releasing a gun oil smell that he found satisfying. Max removed one of the M4s. Pulling the hammer back, he examined the ejection port in the upper receiver to make sure it was empty, while pointing the front of the barrel at the light to make sure there were no obstructions. He then examined the sights. Reaching into the crate, he grabbed an empty magazine and fed it into the rifle, hearing the desired click sound, he released the hammer aimed and pulled the trigger, which made a clicking sound. Satisfied with his dry fire test, he released the magazine, letting it drop a few inches from the rifle into his hand. Check , he said mentally, placing both on the workbench.

He grabbed three others M4s and seven other magazines and placed them on top of the workbench. Then, replacing the top to the crate, he dragged it back to the far wall, returning with an ammo can filled with the .223 rounds needed to feed his hungry dogs of war. He loaded each brand new 30 round clip, feeding a loaded magazine into each empty weapon and placing the spares beside them. “Now, a few side arms,” he said out loud, unaware that his webcam light had been on for the last few minutes.

The two men sat in a dark room only a few minutes’ walk from Max’s home. “Idiot. You forgot to turn the light off,” the larger of the two said.

The smaller man started typing a few key strokes and the program they were using indicated Señor Max’s webcam would now appear to be off.

“Look at that, the boxes of ammo on the bench and all the weapons esé. And mira, there’s El Gordo’s stamp. Señor Max is moving guns for El Gordo now.” The bigger man pointed at the 30” computer screen showing the bounty that awaited their taking before them. A smile, stained and encrusted with yesterday’s burrito, peeked out of his black mustache and beard. He had been watching Max for a while, but this new computer genius, who told them they could turn on Señor Max’s web camera remotely, had proven a wise investment by his boss. They now knew what he was hiding in his beach house and that he was working for their enemy.

“Better tell Rodrigo what we found.”

Darla raced to get to O’Hare in time. Each time the traffic would slow down, she cursed under her breath so that Danny wouldn’t hear. “Why was there even traffic at this time of night?” She yelled at unknowing drivers ahead of her.

Normally, she would take the 12 to I94 all the way through Chicago to the Kennedy to the airport. An easy two hours, maybe three with traffic. However, it had been one thing after another. First, she left later than she wanted. Then, she had to find gas and couldn’t locate an open station because of the late hour. Then, she was talked into taking Elm Valley Rd so she could drop off something for Mammie’s friend, but there was some sort of a tractor accident on the road. If these issues weren’t enough, the traffic was bumper-to-bumper in Gary, Indiana and it was like eleven fricking-PM , when the highways should be empty. Finally, to top it all off, they were having a very rare aurora display in the sky, which was drawing drivers’ attention away from their driving to the sky, slowing the traffic down even more. Bottom line, as her sister liked to say, she was seriously late. She even texted Stace to let her know they would have to see each other again at the gate. It was still amazing that they ended up on the same flight together with a couple of additional friends as well, at least through Dallas. What were the chances?

Now, how to avoid missing their flight ? Besides the pain of missing their flight, having to reschedule, and maybe missing their flight to RP, she didn’t want to let Stace and her family down. Dammit, why didn’t she leave earlier ? Stace was so nervous about flying and was overly excited when told they were sharing the same flight. Stace would have a hand to hold on the plane, assuming she could convince the seat holder next to her to switch seats… If she could even make the flight.

“Dammit,” she yelled at the group of cars that had just slowed down to a crawl in front of her. “Sorry, Danny, my bad at saying that.”

Danny smiled at his sister, who never said bad words.

“Your sister is sooooo fricking stupid,” castigating herself.

Max’s iPhone buzzed where it sat, announcing a call, but not audibly because its ringer was silenced. He halted his march back from his largest gun cabinet, already placing 5 Glocks and 2000 rounds of .45 ammo on his bench, beside the rifles and extra magazines. All were ready for transport to the Beach Warehouse. His phone buzzed again. He picked it up seeing no picture to reveal the caller, just the letters “L.H.O.” El Gordo was calling him directly, which never happened, as El Gordo always had his henchmen contact him when he wanted something. “Now what?” mumbling and sliding his finger across the screen to answer, “Bueno, Señor Luis. What can I do for you?” He asked respectfully.