Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“I’m good, Brad. What about you?”

“Never better,” Brad answered, shaking Andy’s hand. He turned to Ryan. “Mad Dog! You’re looking good.”

“I’m feeling pretty good too, Brad. I quit drinking too much of my own beer,” said Ryan, patting his rock-hard abs. He shook hands with Nemacolin’s head of security.

Brad Greencastle had lived at Nemacolin for a while but had only recently secured the promotion to Head of Security. He and Ryan MacMillen had become fast friends during Ryan’s visits to Nemacolin and had shared more than a few beers since the day of his promotion. Whether justified or not, Brad felt it was Ryan’s timely information that had facilitated the removal of Spider, the prior head of security, when Mark Harmon shot him off his horse during his last visit to the MacMillen clan.

Six men from the MacMillen clan stood behind Ryan and Andy and they began divesting themselves of their various weapons, complying with the “no weapons” policy upon entry into the Nemacolin facilities.

“Hold on, guys,” said Brad, stopping the men from giving up their weapons. “The MacMillen clan gets a pass. Keep what you got. Head inside and grab whatever ammo you think you’ll need over the next few days. Don’t be too greedy, boys.”

“Wow, Brad,” said Andy. “Why the change of heart?”

“You guys have apparently earned the right of unlimited access to Nemacolin.”

“Very nice,” said Ryan.

“Yes—I have to admit that I tried talking Mark outta of this, but he told me that I have to start trusting our neighbors.”

“You tried talking him out of it?” asked Andy.

“Yeah, Andy, I admit it, I did. I’m paid to not trust anyone. I admit that your group is probably the trustworthiest group of any I’ve ever run across, but that doesn’t mean that I know all you guys well enough to trust you with live ammo here. Granted, Mark’s known you guys a helluva lot longer than I have—give me a little more time.” He said this all with a grin indicating that he wanted them to understand his perspective and not judge him too harshly for it.

“Okay, Brad,” said Andy. “Thanks for the exemption—I never did like giving up my weapons.”

“Who does, Andy? I was told that you guys are getting full ‘official’ membership status. The actual offer will be made at the wedding ceremony.”

“Well, that’s a cool surprise and we appreciate it,” said Ryan.

“There will be some papers for everyone to sign—a form that stipulates that you’ll agree to be subject to the rules, practices, and penalties when you’re here at Nemacolin. Anyone over the age of sixteen is eligible.”

“What’s it cost?” asked Ryan.

“Nothing, Mad Dog.”

“Good deal.”

“Andy, introduce me to the rest of your guys,” said Brad.

“I think you know Kevin,” said Andy.

Kevin Kowalski offered his hand to Brad and the two men shook. “It’s been about half year since I seen you,” said Kevin.

“You haven’t changed, Kev. It’s nice to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too, Brad.”

“Have you met Toby?” asked Andy. Toby Geiser approached the two men shyly and Brad stuck out his hand with a smile on his face.

“Hell, yes, I met him,” he said, shaking Toby’s hand. “He almost took my head off with a shot down the third base line last year at our softball game.” Each year the two groups fielded a softball team at Nemacolin’s annual Fourth of July picnic. Last year, Toby had been at bat and Brad had been playing third base, but down the line toward the plate as if he were expecting a bunt. Toby had caught the perfect pitch and drilled it right at Brad’s head. The only thing that had saved Brad was his quick reaction and, despite that, he still ended up with the imprint of a softball on his shoulder and Toby had ended up on second base. Brad hadn’t played in this year’s game—his responsibilities with security were too time-consuming.

“Sorry ’bout that, Brad,” said Toby.

“Don’t worry about it, Toby. It was my own stupid fault for playing too close.”

“Do you know Allen?” asked Andy.

Allen Waltman shook hands with the man.

“Yes, I know him,” Brad told Andy. “He lived here for a couple months.” Allen had stumbled upon Nemacolin a couple years before and had immediately proved himself useful as a carpenter. He had been loaned to the MacMillens when they had sustained wind damage to their roof and he had found that he liked the pace better with the smaller group.

“Of course,” said Andy. “I don’t know why I always forget that.”

“Brad, it’s good to see you,” said Allen.

“Likewise, Allen. They’re not workin’ ya too hard over there, are they?”

“Not nearly as hard as you guys worked me here.”

Brad laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably true. You were our only carpenter at the time. Now we got over a dozen.”

Allen moved on and Cameron Martin came up next. He was a blue-eyed youngster of twenty-six with deep dimples when he smiled which he did nearly every waking moment. Nothing bothered the young man—it was as if he were surprised by his ability to wake up each day and the pleasure that he gained from this simple act sustained him through the day and into the night, despite any obstacles.

He shook hands firmly with Brad, smiling all the while. “My name’s Cameron Martin, Mr. Greencastle. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Cameron, it’s nice to meet you too. Please call me Brad.”

“Yes, sir, I will,” he said enthusiastically.

“Cam’s pretty good with livestock, Brad. If you guys ever have any trouble with any of your animals, I’m sure he’d be willing to help out.”

“Yes, sure I would,” agreed Cam.

“That’s nice of you, Cam. Thanks for the offer.”

Cam walked to Kevin’s side and began a conversation with him. A thin Hispanic man moved into Cam’s place, nodding amicably at Brad. He was smaller than the men around him, but he was wiry and graceful. His build and the gleam of intelligence in his eyes suggested that if he couldn’t out-muscle you, he would outsmart you. The strength of his grip surprised Brad.

“Brad, this is Juan Romero. Everyone calls him JR. This is Brad Greencastle, JR.”

“Pleasure, Brad,” JR said simply.

“Welcome, JR,” answered Brad.

“JR is one of our ‘idea guys’, said Andy. “He has a nice way of untangling problems quickly.” JR gave Andy an appreciative smile.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Brad, making a mental note to visit the MacMillen stronghold to see what changes JR had made. Mark Harmon was having some problems with maintenance of Nemacolin’s ten windmills and JR might be able to untangle that mishap.

“This is Reed Hall, Brad,” said Andy.

“It’s nice to meetcha, Brad,” said Reed, shaking his hand with a calloused and scarred paw that was significantly larger than Brad’s. Reed wasn’t tall, nor did he come across as a perfect physical specimen, but his arms were massive and his hands looked capable of crushing a rock into dust.

“My pleasure, Reed,” said Brad, surprised by the man’s light grip.

“Reed’s our blacksmith,” said Andy. “He’s a good one, too. When he’s not doing that, he’s one of our best hunters—damn good with a shotgun.”

Reed blushed at the compliment. Brad motioned the men to follow him up the steps and through the Caddyshack entrance doors.

“Mark tells me he’ll be hunting with you and Ryan and the guys over the next couple days,” said Brad to Andy. “It’ll be you guys and Mark’s personal guards, Jake and Pete. Do you remember them—they’re Army Rangers?”

“Yeah, I remember ’em. It’ll be good to get to know them a little better. Mark requested to hunt with us?”