Ragnarok Rising: The Crossing (The Ragnarok Rising Saga) (39 page)

"How did he die?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I exhaled slowly and opened my eyes, to meet his gaze.

"Alright," I said. "Here goes."

I told him the story. I started at the briefing we had the first day and went on up until the time I shot him in the forehead. I left out very little. Mostly just small things that he didn't need to know. Things that didn't apply. He listened intently, only nodding occasionally. When I got to the part about me and the sheriff having an argument over the radio, he smiled. When I had finished, he smiled sadly and nodded his head.

"That sounds like Rick," he said. "I believe you, son."

"Then why am I shackled?" I asked, glancing at the faces around me.

"Just a precaution, I assure you," said Sheriff Rosewood. "We didn't know if you might turn or if you would wake up and try to shoot us."

"Actually," I said, "I'm very grateful to you and your officers for rescuing me. If you hadn't opened that door, I would have died."

"Just doing the right thing," he said, nodding at the female sergeant.

She didn't look happy about it, but removed a cuff key from her belt and started removing the restraints. I lay still while she removed them all. I didn't want to make any sudden movements and end up getting shot by mistake. Once they were removed, I stretched and swung my legs off of the bed.

"Easy," said the EMT, rushing back into the cell. "Don't pull out your IV."

I sat still while she checked it and made certain I hadn't pulled it loose. She smelled like fresh soap. Not a fancy body wash or perfume, but like plain bar soap. The unscented type we issued to inmates in the jail. It was clean, but not fancy. On her, it smelled just fine.

"I'm alright," I said to her, smiling. "I think you can remove that."

"I think so, too," she replied. "Hold still."

She slipped on a pair of latex gloves and very carefully removed the needle, quickly covering the spot with a piece of gauze. Holding pressure on it for a moment, she lifted it to check for bleeding. There wasn't any, so she lifted the gauze and glanced at the wound.

"Not much of a bleeder, I see," she said, smiling. "That's good. Do you need a band-aid?

"Do I get a sticker and a balloon, too?" I asked, grinning.

"Well, you have been a good boy," she replied, returning the grin.

"Let me introduce you to my people," said the Sheriff. "You've already met our medic, Tabitha Copeland."

"Hi," I said, nodding.

"Hi, back," she said, standing up.

"This is Sergeant Kelly Armstrong," he said, gesturing at the female sergeant.

I just nodded.

"And this is Heath Randall," he said, pointing to the firefighter. "Lebanon Fire Department."

The big firefighter stood a few inches taller than me and kept his head shaven. His goatee was starting to go grey, and I guessed him to be somewhere near forty. Lean and tanned, he had the look of a career firefighter. As much as I used to tease the bucket-heads (sorry, firefighters) in
Springfield, I had tremendous respect for what they did. They were the only people I knew who were crazy enough to run
into
a burning building, smiling like a kid in a candy store the entire way.

"Wylie Grant," I said, nodding to them all.

"
Sheriff
Wylie Grant," corrected Rosewood.

"Thanks," I said, "but the badge really doesn't mean much, now. Just a title. How many of you are there?"

Rosewood glanced uncertainly at the others and they exchanged a hurried glance.

"There are four deputies, myself included," said Sergeant Armstrong. "Three firefighters,
our EMT…"

She jerked her thumb towards Ms. Copeland.

"…and six civilians," she finished. "Plus the Sheriff."

"Fifteen people,"
HeH
I thought. "Well, they weren't a very big department, to begin with."

"How about yourself,
Sheriff
?" asked Rosewood. "Or are you alone?"

"I managed to pull some survivors out," I said. "I had a lot of good help. There's close to a hundred of us, now."

"A hundred?" said Rosewood, surprised. "Where are they at?"

"We have a camp," I replied, guardedly. "It's not too far away."

"How did you manage to rescue that many?" he asked, wrinkling his brow.

"A lot of good people put it all on the line to help," I answered. "We lost our fair share, too."

"Fair enough," he replied. "We've all lost people."

"Can I have my gear back?" I asked, glancing around the group. "I need to check in with my people. I have a radio in my pack."

There as a tense silence as the Sergeant glared at the Sheriff. I had the distinct impression that they weren't going to do it, but they surprised me.

"Alright," said Rosewood. "We'll let you have your gear. Does everyone in your group have that much gear?"

"We've got plenty of supplies," I replied. "If you like, we can arrange to share some with you."

"We'd be in your debt," he said, nodding emphatically. "We're not in the best of shape when it comes to weapons and ammo. We're running low on a lot of things, around here."

"I'm sure we can help," I replied. "Maybe we can do more than just exchange gear. Maybe we can start working together. There's safety in numbers, after all."

"
I'm not sure I'm ready to sign on under another
sheriff
," he admitted. "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I can do that."

"I understand, sir," I replied. "But being in charge doesn't mean all that much to me. I'm just happy to be working to keep my people fed and safe. As long as we're working together for that purpose, I don't care who's in charge."

"Well said, Sheriff," he said, not over-emphasizing the word for the first time. "Putting your people first. I can respect that."

"Besides that, sir," I said. "We can let the people decide who they want to be in charge. I prefer to be in the field with the other grunts. I'm only carrying the badge because I made a promise. Not because I want the job."

"We can worry about that, later," he said, grinning. "Let's get your gear for you and maybe some food. Hungry?"

"I could eat," I replied. "If it's not asking too much."

"Nonsense," he said, smiling. "My mother would roll over in her grave if she knew I wasn't showing good manners and hospitality."

"Sounds like our mothers had a lot in common," I said, standing up.

"My mother was old-fashioned Missouri hill-folk," he said, grinning.

"So was mine," I said, smiling. "I'm pretty much a hillbilly, myself."

The sergeant excused herself and stepped out of the cell. I discovered my boots were under the bunk. While I was putting them back on she returned with my gear, which I gladly accepted it. Everything was there, but all of the weapons had been unloaded. I considered reloading them all right then and there, but figured it might cause an issue. Instead, I just buckled them all back into place. When I went to holster the old Colt, I saw that one of the wooden grips was starting to come loose. I made a mental note to fix that before I used it again.

I followed the others into a small break room with tables and vending machines. The machines were lit up, but had been opened to allow anyone to grab anything they liked. The snack and sandwich machines were both empty, but the soda machine stil
l had a few cans in it. Copeland the EMT offered me a can of cola, which I gladly accepted. There was a small electric stove in the room and one of the firefighters was cooking over it. I recognized the smell, instantly.

"Beans and cornbread," I said, smiling. "An Ozarks delicacy."

"Not when you've had them as much as we have, lately," said Sergeant Armstrong. "Beans, rice and potatoes are about all we have left in the kitchen."

"Instant potatoes?" I asked, curious.

"Nope. I wish," she said. "We have to peel the danged things."

That made me smile. We just found our first crop. You can grow potatoes from the skins. It wasn't much, but it was a start towards us growing our own food. Now if I could just find some heirloom seeds. The kind that would grow good, natural foods. No hybrids or engineered seeds. The kind that would allow us to plant from the seeds that we grew. Begin the natural cycle of plant and re-grow. Hybrid or engineered seeds would feed us once, then nothing.

“How do you still have power?” I asked, glancing around.

“Generators,” said Armstrong. “
We’ve got two big ones for the jail and the courthouse. So long as the fuel lasts, anyway.”

I sat down with a bowl of beans and a slab of cornbread, sprinkling it with salt and pepper. I noticed several other people were eating, but the Sergeant and the Sheriff didn’t join them. They stood together, well away from everyone else, whispering among themselves. There wasn’t really any doubt that I was the topic of discussion. From the furtive glances I kept getting, I felt it was safe to assume that they weren’t very happy about it.

I was just putting my second large spoonful of beans into my mouth when they approached my seat and stood waiting for me to acknowledge them. I chewed slowly, not really wanting to look up. I had the distinct feeling that this was not going to be a pleasant conversation. Without lifting my head, I dropped my spoon into the bowl with a soft clink of metal against the ceramic. I finished chewing and swallowed, preparing myself for the worst. Then I slowly looked up, frowning and expecting the worst.

“I’ve been thinking, Grant,” said Sheriff Rosewood.

“Yes, sir,” I said, noting that he was now addressing me like a subordinate, not an equal.

Anger started to rise in my chest.

“Since your people have taken shelter in my county,” he started, watching my expression for signs of danger.

I carefully kept my face neutral, but the anger was rising.

“And since
I
am the duly elected
Sheriff
of this county,” he continued.

My anger had reached my throat.

“That I should assumed command of all of your operation and supplies,” he said, watching me warily.

“Is that a fact?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“Well,
he
is the Sheriff if
this
county,” interjected Armstrong.

“Well,” I said, placing my hands on the table, “that might be true. But I’m not about to surrender everything we’ve worked
for to someone that never even made it out of his own jail.
WE
fought and bled for what we have. I’m not about to turn it over to anyone.”

“This is
OUR
county,” snapped Armstrong.

“Not anymore!” I nearly shouted, standing up. “This place belongs to the
dead, now. As for what we have, you’re welcome to try to take it. Not to mention the fact that technically we are set-up
outside
your county.”

Randall, the firefighter, stepped in between us and held his hands up.

“Hey!” he bellowed. “We don’t need to fight each other.”

I knew that he was
correct, so I took a step back and started letting my temper dissipate. A quick glance and I could see that Armstrong had her hand on her pistol. Randall was right, we didn’t need to fight each other but I could tell by the look on her face that we were going to. This wasn’t going to end quietly.

“Everyone, calm down,” he said, glancing back and forth at all of us.

“Thanks for the beans,” I said, scooping my pack off of the floor. “I think I’ll be going, now.”

“There’s no need to leave,” said Rosewood. “We can discuss this, later.”

“I think it would be best if I did,” I replied. “Before things get out of hand, here.”

Armstrong
glanced down at her hand still resting on the butt of her pistol and pulled her hand away like the weapon was suddenly hot. She might not have even realized that he had put her hand there. Rosewood was watching her and seemed a bit surprised, as well.

I started by replacing the magazines in my weapons. I could see everyone was nervous as I reloaded each of my weapons, in turn. I never pointed them at anyone, but just having them reloaded was a subtle threat. I would not be pushed around by this group, or by anyone else for that matter. The last weapon that I reloaded was my old Colt. Replacing it in my holster, I stood to leave.

“Is there a back door out of here?” I asked, scowling.

“You’re not going anywhere,” said Armstrong, folding her arms across her chest.

Now it was my turn to put my hand on my pistol.

“Do you want to
put money on that?” I said, my voice dangerously low.

There was a heavy, tense silence that filled the room. Everyone waited for
one of us to make a move. The wrong twitch would have turned this into a firefight in the span of a heartbeat. I might not make it out of this building alive, but I would take as many of them down with me as I could before I fell. I was fairly certain that I could get everyone in this room before I died.