Unknown - The_Growing_589064

“Terrific,” Manny observes wryly. “That means he could be from Offut, or Grand Forks, or Willard Hall. Assuming he’s headed back to base, that is.”

“The Colonel is not going to like this.”

“Nobody’s gonna like this.” Manny throttles back to subsonic speed and heads south. “Let’s go home and tell ‘em.”

*

“Redtail one, this is redtail two. What’s your twenty?”

Rolling her eyes, Dakota unracks the mike and puts it to her lips. “Right in front of you, pinhead.”

“Hey! I resemble that remark.”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s up?”

“Isn’t old Boney Markham’s hunt shop around here somewhere?”

“Boney died about six years ago, thiblo.”

“Yeah, I know, but I heard his son took over for the old coot after he kicked it.”

“Terrence?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you go to high school with him?”

“Don’t remind me. What a nutjob.”

“He was scary alright. You still didn’t answer my question, though.”

“Yeah, I think it’s up another mile or so on the left. Why? You up for a little looting?”

“I prefer to think of it as ‘creative acquisition’, tanksi.”

Koda laughs. “Call it whatever you like, thiblo. But if Terrence comes out with a shotgun pointed at your head, don’t come screaming to me.”

Tacoma joins in the laughter. “Like I did when old man Johnston caught us stealing pumpkins from his patch that time?”

“You, brother dear. You got caught. I wasn’t the one getting rocksalt plucked outta my ass for weeks afterward.”

“Hey! Is it my fault you can run faster than me?”

“Yup! Sure is. Hang on,” she says to her front seat passenger, a young airman with the down-home name of Joe Poteet. He does as she asks, grabbing the rollbar as she swings the big truck around an overturned John Deere that is pulled halfway onto the road.

“Nice driving, Ma’am,” the young man remarks, slowly removing his white-knuckled grip from the bar.

Giving him a smirk, Koda continues on over the slight rise. Beyond it, a small shopping center, three stores in all, comes into view on the left. As she pulls into the empty parking lot, Koda scans the area. The store to the far left, Tamke’s Hardware and Feed, has been obviously looted, as has the Video Store to the far right. Shattered glass sparkles in the sun like diamonds on the dark macadam of the lot. Doors hang loose from their hinges and trash is strewn everywhere. The sign from the Video Store, its letters obliterated by blasts from a shotgun, sways in the slight breeze, its rusted hinges squeaking a discordant, depressing melody.

Dakota brings the truck to a slow stop, its fat tires crunching complacently over trash, gravel and glass. Opening the door, she swings out, bootheels clocking on the macadam, and watches as her brother pulls in, followed by two other olive green trucks.

“Damn,” Tacoma remarks as he jumps down from the truck. “Looks like old Boney’s place was the only one that wasn’t hit.”

“Yeah, well there’s a reason for that,” Koda replies, gesturing toward the heavy metal grate that covers the entire front of the store.

“You any good at picking locks?”

“With what? My fingernail? Besides, I thought you military types learned lockpicking about the same time you were learning the difference between your rifle and your gun.”

“Left my lockpicks in my other uniform,” Tacoma mumbles.

Koda shakes her head. “Poteet, Catcham, go around the back and see if there’s a way in from there. The rest of you, look sharp. We don’t know if any friends are lurking about.” She shoots a look to Tacoma. “Be right back.”

Several minutes later, she reappears from the depths of the looted hardware store, two portable blowtorches in her hands and a pair of protective goggles tucked under one arm. Seeing her, Tacoma grins. “Interesting looking lockpicks ya got there, sis.”

“Ha. Ha,” is the droll reply as she slaps one of the torches into his hands. “Hold this.” Grabbing the goggles, she slips them over her head. “Poteet have any luck?”

“Nope. Only way in or out is through that door.”

“Then step aside and watch the Master at work.”

Tacoma’s jaw snaps shut with an audible click as his sister gives him a very pointed look that aborts any quip he might have thought to utter.

Leveling a wink at him, she turns to her work, and all falls silent in the lot.

*

With a sigh of weariness, Kirsten slumps against the low-backed stool she’s occupying and picks up the blackened circuitry board she’s been staring at for the last two hours. While the others work quietly, continuing to piece what they can of the droid back together, using tweezers in a high-tech game of jigsaw puzzle, she flips the piece back and forth, glaring at it as if it will give up its secrets simply by the force of her will.

Jimenez moves to stand beside her, running a hand through his short-cropped black hair. “You look beat, Ma’am.”

“I’m alright,” she replies, though she knows that’s far from the truth. Rather than being tired, though, she’s feeling…vague, out of sorts. She finds her mind wandering off on strange tangents instead of focusing on the task at hand. This is nowhere near normal for her, and it frightens her, just a bit. The fact that this dazed feeling coincides perfectly with Dakota’s absence leaves her feeling not one whit better about the whole situation.

With a reluctant nod, Jimenez steps away just as Kirsten flips the board in her hand. The shaft of light let in by the young Lieutenant’s movement strikes the charred board in a way that causes Kirsten’s eyes to widen. “Jimenez!” she shouts happily, jumping down off the stool. “Consider yourself promoted.”

“Ma’am?”

“Never mind. Is there a microscope around here anywhere?”

“I don’t—. What kind of microscope, Ma’am?” It’s obvious the man’s confusion is deepening.

“A microscope! You know, the kind you played with in Junior High science lab?”

“I…guess there’d be one at the hospital, Ma’am. Or at Dr. Rivers’ clinic, maybe. For looking at slides and stuff?”

“Perfect! Grab a pad and pencil and come with me.”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

*

With a last, precise cut, the part of the grating that contains the lock breaks free and falls to the ground with a loud clink. Satisfied, Koda shuts off the blowtorch, slips her goggles off, and grabs the gate. It slides grudgingly, sounding out a rusty squeal of protest. A second later, a simple wooden door is revealed.

Tacoma steps forward and gently pushes his sister aside. “Can’t let you have all the fun, chunkshi,” he says, grinning. A moment later, the door is a splintered mess courtesy of a swift kick amidships.

Koda rolls her eyes as Tacoma. “You’re so butch.”

“With a role model like you, how could I not be?” he teases, delivering a light elbow to her side and ducking into the darkened shop before she can retaliate.

Koda follows close behind, clicking on the flashlight she’s appropriated from Poteet. Tacoma whistles. “Not bad,” he whispers, “not bad at all.”

The store is good sized and filled, seemingly, with everything a hunter or fisherman could want, and more besides. Along the leftward wall is a glass case filled with handguns of all makes, models and sizes. Tacked up to the wall behind the case are dozens and dozens of rifles, shotguns, and several highly illegal fully automatic weapons. “Damn,” Tacoma remarks, gazing at a proudly displayed Uzi. “He must have had some cops on the payroll.”

Dakota snorts. “And this comes as a surprise to you…how?”

Three more soldiers enter, their own flashlights brightening the interior and bringing more of the varied merchandise into easy view. Tacoma turns to the men. “Jackson, Carter, start gathering up those guns and all the ammo you can find. Pack ‘em in tight.”