Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1 (11 page)

“Even Malinda Hilden isn’t above using the inventions of a dirty old biker’s son, if it means saving her own hide.” His eyes betrayed just how much he enjoyed that fact. “Obviously this is the early edition, nothin’ as snazzy as your ma’s. But even still, the metal is solid, could take a real beatin’. He was workin’ on makin’ glass that could withstand the Rabids too, but didn’t get time to perfect that with this one. They’re dark on the outside, but lookin’ through from the inside’s a whole lot clearer. Engine don’t work seein’ as he never got a chance to work on that neither. Too bad really, it woulda been a real beaut when he was done with it. But it was a fun tinker toy while it lasted.”

“What happened? You keep saying he didn’t have enough time to finish it.” She was almost afraid to ask, praying he hadn’t become a victim of the Rabids war.

“Oh that. Well.” He rubbed one giant hand across the back of his neck and looked off into the distance. “My oldest boy, Cajun. He got sick, real sick. Cancer.” Her heart went out to him, knowing the state of health care when it came to life threatening diseases such as cancer. Doctors basically gave them up for lost causes at the moment of diagnosis.

“The look in your eyes tells me ya know how these things work. Too much of the Rabid-born troubles to bother with a few people dyin’ of cancer,” he growled out in anger. “But we heard up north, almost to the border, they were still doin’ treatments. The Rabes don’t like it up that way much, too cold for their blood, I reckon.” He shrugged. “Cajun was determined to live, and Harley was determined to take care of him. I came as far as here, settled in and opened my shop so I could keep an income and send it to them here and there as I could.” He paused, eyes distant. “I shoulda been with ‘em, up there. I just couldn’t bring myself to watch…” He coughed, an effort to cover his obvious pain and guilt. “Knew I wouldn’t be much good to him anyways, ‘cept helpin’ out with money. These hands ain’t good for nothin’ but workin’, seems like. Still, I wanted to be close enough, just in case…”

Amiel hesitated, emotions warring within her. Hadn’t her mother done the same thing, when Jaron lay dying?  Leaving them to face it alone? Looking closer at Tandy she could see the barely restrained tears and pain in his eyes, the guilt for not being there when his sons needed him. Slowly the anger seeped away from Amiel’s heart. They weren’t false tears, or guilt played up in an effort to remove the image of wrongdoing from himself. These were the reflections of a father who held a heavy burden of true regret and self-recrimination. He’d been raking himself over the coals with a sense of worthlessness that he fought to abate through his efforts to provide in the only way he knew how, while his sons faced death together in a way
they
clearly understood how. This man was in no way similar to her mother. Hesitantly her hand rose, gently landing on his arm to give comfort. He cleared his throat and nodded vaguely toward her in appreciation.

“Anyways, so there it is. I settled in and they went on. With them two stubborn mules together I knew they’d get him well again, and they did. Took every penny of their mother’s trust fund that she left to him, and what little I could scrounge up, but they did it.”

“I’m so glad that he got better.” She smiled gently. “Did they work at the shop with you? I saw you working there over the years when I would drive by, but I don’t think I recall ever seeing anyone else,” she asked, trying to make conversation.

“Well, there comes a time when a man’s gotta let his kids become men. When they came back from getting’ Cajun into remission, well…” He shrugged, picking at the paint on the car. “It was obvious they’d both become men up there on their own. Stopped by the shop on their way through town and told me Cajun got a job offer he couldn’t refuse. Harley had taken it on himself to be his brother’s personal guard through the years of lookin’ out for him, so he was goin’, too. That one’s even more stubborn than his mama, though you’d never get him to admit it.” He laughed fondly.

“So you’re married?” She quickly regretted the question, when the sadness returned to his eyes, and she thought back to his wording. Obviously she wasn’t around anymore. She could have left them, but from his mentioning of the trust fund earlier, she was sure it meant his wife was dead. She was probably the reason Tandy understood her pain of losing someone. Which meant Amiel had put her foot in her mouth, again. She mentally slapped herself and began to apologize. “Sorry, that’s none of my business. I spoke before thinking.” He shook his head and patted her hand that still rested on his arm.

“Don’t go workin’ yourself up, honey, no harm done. I was married. But it was a long time ago she passed on. Still miss her, but this old hearts still a beatin’.” He cleared his throat and turned away. “How ‘bout some chow?” They settled down on the couches, eating some microwave dinners Tandy had pulled from his freezer.  The entire freezer was packed with them, making Amiel smile at his bachelor style of living. It was also the first time Amiel had ever had a frozen dinner. Malinda’s eyes would have exploded from her head if she’d ever had to eat one of these. Amiel rather enjoyed them, and the step toward freedom that they represented for her.

“So your oldest boy who had cancer, he is the one getting married now? That’s so exciting for you all, I’m sure.”

“Very. Hard for this old bear to believe, but when they grow up they grow up fast. Not sure when the weddin’ is yet, but I’ll be there.”

“I’m sure you will be. You seem like a wonderful father, Tandy.” He cleared his throat and nodded, staring down at his food in silence for a time. Suddenly he set his food aside and stood up.

“Almost forgot.” He disappeared in a darkened corner of the shop for a moment before returning with something in his hands. She hesitated when he held up a gun holster with a shiny black gun inside.

“Time for some Survival 101, honey. Ever use one of these?” he asked her seriously. She nodded slowly.

“My mother never approved of them, but my brother snuck me out to a shooting range once.”

“Could ya use it, if ya had to? Without shootin’ me or yourself in the process?” She nodded again, fairly confident in her abilities. She had only gone the one time, but Jaron had said she was pretty good at her aim. There really wasn’t much to it. You point at what you want to hit, pull the trigger, and boom.

“I think so, yes. Though, like I said, I’ve only practiced with it the one time…” She trailed off uncertainly.

“Never mind that, we’ll practice with it tomorrow. Two most important rules to remember: One, never point a gun at somethin’ unless you are meanin’ to kill it, and two, never put your finger on the trigger unless you’re gonna pull it. Got it?” Amiel swallowed hard but nodded.

“Ammo’s become a hard commodity to come by, so we’ll practice only a little.” She nodded in understanding, controlling a tremor that ran her spine as he came to stand in front of her with the gun. “Now, y’all right handed or left?”

“Right handed.” He nodded in approval before handing her the holstered gun.

“Got a belt on ya?” Amiel nodded, lifting the edge of her t-shirt just enough to show the leather belt around her waist. “Good enough. Wrap this holster round your right thigh, and your belt goes through this top loop here.” Amiel stared at the holster as if it were a viper. He grunted and rolled his eyes. “It ain’t gonna bite ya, honey, unless ya pull the trigger.” Embarrassed she’d made herself look like a complete wimp again, she carefully took the gun and set it in her lap. He starred at her until she realized he wanted her to put it on now.

“Right now? But, aren’t we going to sleep soon?” He nodded, crossing his arms over his wide chest.

“I want ya to start carryin’ this with ya at all times. Ya never know when them Rabes might make it o’er the wall, and you’d best be prepared if they do or ya’ll are gonna end up Rabid meat.” When her eyes widened, he sighed heavily and crouched down in front of her.

“Sorry for scarin’ ya, honey, but it’s the hard truth of the world now days. That’s one reason I brought ya out here. Ya need to know what you’re gettin’ yourself into with this plan of yours. We need to know if y’all got the mettle to do it.” Tandy had the bad habit of being right far too often. If she couldn’t handle putting a gun on and wearing it, how would she ever handle a bike, much less riding across the Vasts? How would she protect herself? By yelling at the Rabes to leave her alone? She clenched her jaw resolutely and stood, fumbling slightly as she tried to figure out the different ties and belts. He checked it after she had it strapped on, to ensure it was situated right. Pleased with her work, he stood back.

“Want ya to get use to the feel of it on ya. If ya’ll gotta use it while we’re ridin’, it’ll be easier for ya to grab it wearin’ it this way. It’s semi-automatic, and there’s a cartridge already chambered. Y’all just aim and pull the trigger. You’ve got 11 cartridges before ya gotta reload; one chambered, the rest in the mag. So use ‘em wisely. Got it?” She nodded again, trying to absorb everything he just said.

“Y’all had any self-defense training?” She shook her head, embarrassed. Most of the kids were required to take a self-defense class in school, but Malinda had sneered at the idea. No daughter of hers would ever have to worry about being near danger long enough to use self-defense. She invoked Amiel’s ‘heart condition’ as a means to keep her from taking the class. At the time Amiel had been almost grateful, being too uncomfortable in her own skin to put herself in the path of ridicule from her peers. She had no doubt she would have looked like an awkward three legged pig trying to do any of those moves. Now, however, Amiel felt embarrassed for her sheer lack of ability. She flushed as Tandy blew out a heavy breath and shook his head.

“Well, we’ll concentrate on your ridin’ and shootin’ and hope that covers enough.” She nodded, appreciative of his not commenting on the stupidity of her not knowing a thing about protecting herself.

“One more thing. Get in the habit of wearin’ your jacket constantly, too.”

“Constantly? What exactly does constantly mean here.” He laughed at her ridiculous reply.

“It means if ya ain’t takin’ a shower, keep it on. Granted, there will be times that y’all are safe enough you can take it off, but I wouldn’t take any amount of safety for granted. Out here, travelin’ between cities, walkin’ on the streets or even anywhere outside of your apartment? Those are the places ya gotta make sure ya keep it on. This jacket will keep ya safer from infection than a t-shirt or regular jacket. I can’t tell ya how many times my jacket’s saved my life. Get used to it bein’ a second skin.”

“But, it’s so heavy and hot. How can you stand it?” she argued halfheartedly. She would rather not be infected, and anything that prevented it happening sounded like a great idea. However she didn’t want to die of heat stroke, either.

“There’s a tubing system sewn throughout the inner lining.” He reached over, flipping open a small flap along the hem that she hadn’t noticed before. Inside there were two small tubes. “That’s part of the weight of the jacket, too. Your bike’s equipped with a coolant system. When you’re ridin’ on it, ya hook these in and it will constantly siphon cold water throughout the tubing, and back out, keepin’ ya cool durin’ your trip. There’s also hand packs that you can take with ya when ya ain’t on the bike.” He retrieved one from the freezer, showing her how to set it up. Instantly a cool sensation raced up her back, across her shoulders, around her sides, down her arms. “It don’t stay cool as long, but ya’ll can exchange it with a spare that you’ll keep in your freezer, a couple times a day. The carry pack hooks onto your belt. It’s small, no bigger than a cell phone. Also, the liner of your jacket is made of smart fabric. It’s rigged to correspond with the monitors on your bike. There’s a button inside the cuff of each wrist. It monitors your heart rate, body temp, etc. It’ll help ya keep track of what’s goin’ on in your body, and you’ll know long before ya die of heat stroke that ya need to take a break and recoup.” He gripped her shoulders gently, forcing her to look in his eyes.

“It may get hot and stuffy in there sometimes, but it’s a heck of a lot better than the alternative. It ain’t worth the risk.” She nodded, zipping the jacket back up. Pleased with her response, he tossed a blanket and pillow her way and turned toward the back of the shop with a set of his own. The dogs trotted to follow him, but he made a gesture that sat them rooted to the floor by the couches.

“Wait, where are you going?” she asked nervously. He was standing before a door in the shadows she hadn’t noticed before.

“Sleepin’ in the office,” he grunted, pointing at the darkened doorway he’d just unlocked.

“Oh.” She glanced at the other couch, suddenly feeling lonely and very afraid of the dark garage around her.

“Wouldn’t be real proper of me to sleep out here. Don’t worry, the boys’ll keep ya safe.” He nodded at the dogs, before clearing his throat and heading into the office. The door snicked shut followed by a loud click that seemed to echo around in her head for long moments as she stared at it in growing fear. It wasn’t long before the sounds of his snores filtered out from beneath the door. Just like that he was fast asleep and here she stood, exhaustion and a small amount of shock keeping her rooted. She was all alone, with nothing but a pair of annoyed looking dogs and her thoughts. It had been a long month, with so much of her life changing swiftly. And now the future stretched out so far ahead of her, with nothing to hold onto as she explored it.

Sinking onto the couch, she tried to rest, but the weight of the gun on her leg, and the weight of life on her shoulders kept her awake. That, and the awful sounds of the Rabid’s continued barbequing of themselves outside. Eyes finally resting on her duffle, she remembered Jaron’s journal. Climbing to her feet, she dug through the clothes until she found it. Amiel skipped through pages one at a time, getting a feel for what Jaron had been writing about. Detailed reading would have to wait until she was safely to her new home and could fully enjoy it. The first few sections she read he talked about his early days at boot camp, the friends he met, the training he did. She smiled as he mentioned a few of the friends that she had met at his funeral, all the fun they had together and the pranks they played on others. His writing turned a bit darker as he entered the realm of real one on one fighting with the Rabes. One entry in particular caught her gaze. The writing was shaky and penned darkly, as though Jaron had been pressing with a lot of force as he wrote.