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My plan, hide. Stay in my cubical. Get to the kitchen early, get my job done, never making eye contact, ignore everyone, then back to my cubical. Be invisible. Lead a team, me? No way.
Hell, there is a long list of jobs I rather do than lead. I’d much prefer scooping poop, washing dishes, digging ditches, hiding behind an apron, following mundane directions, taking orders. All right, stop already. Instead, chased by an unfounded reputation. Take charge, nope, rather stay alive. Day three, thinking they forgot. End of the shift, cleanup, hangup the apron, sneak out, turn to go, shit.
“Afternoon,” Addison chimes.
Same attractive figure wrapped in a new outfit, eye contact, a slight smile warms the room, and I’m caught. First thought, on a chilly night… interrupted, “we have business to attend to. This way, please.”
Always… so polite.
Max provided me three high end pistols in excellent condition with additional ammunition and a veiled good luck. Something about that smirk I found disconcerting. He noted, “Ruger firearms have a reputation for being well made, accurate, and reliable. Try not to lose them.” I can only guess the hidden meaning of his declaration.
From that visited the stables, select a steed, and inquired if anyone knew of a leather artesian, someone that could design and make a holster.
Next to a “staging area” to find a wagon built for transportation, everything from crops, raw material, and bodies. The aim is simple: beg, borrow, steal, any useful item for the betterment of the community and stay alive. Tomorrow, you’ll meet the team.
I did not rest well. I see a room, maybe a classroom filled with misfits out of control, I see a gunfight and I can’t find my weapon, next I am pounding on a door, my family inside attacked and I can do nothing, I hear their screams calling for me, I’m powerless, useless. Each time I wake exhausted telling myself, it’s only a dream. May as well start my day.
Head to the kitchen to find out they had replaced me. No words spoken, a look, a shoulder shrug, and Mrs. Bishop attends to her responsibilities. I catch a vision to my left, my daughter, my heart skips a beat, I turn, of course not, I’ve not seen her for several years, where a bouts unknown. Memories flood in from the event, a pain I have buried along with my wife. Addison waiting with a puzzled expression. “Time to go.”
On the North patio, four men set waiting. Arriving at the table, I mumble, ”I thought these teams had six members?”
“They do,” a voice announces from behind.
I turn, “your kidding right?”
“Not kidding, and guess what, we’re wondering the same… you, your kidding, we’re suppose to put our lives in your hands, shit.”
“A…”
“Introductions, I’m Addison, and yes, if the egg timer emptied, I would have put a bullet in your forehead. This is Brett, you wagon master, next, Frank, Joshua, and Cord. You can buddy-up on you time.”
In the center of the table, an envelope with my name. Volunteers given a mission, an explicit assignment. Awkward, nondescript conversations begin, small talk filling the void. Guarded conversations. I so hate these moments. A meal arrives. We eat in silence. Finally, I wander off to the “gun range” to get a feel for my weapons. Everyone goes their way.
Aim seems true. In my head I can see the surprise in the eyes of the recent dupe, so sure of his play. I can still see him as he drops to his knees and blood trickles beneath his shirt. That moment of despair as he realizes his death was eminent. Stop! Tomorrow, a new day as we begin a mission.
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