Chapter Forty-Eight
FORTY-EIGHT
“Christopher!” a woman’s voice shouted from somewhere outside the shed. “Shut the damn door! My Christmas decorations are gonna get all moldy!”
Chris rolled his eyes. Max raised both eyebrows. “Sorry, Mom! Almost done!”
“I got it,” Shepherd said, moving to the door to close it himself.
He took a peek around the corner. An above-ground pool sat in the middle of the backyard, surrounded by leaf-covered astroturf.
An older woman in a floral one-piece and floppy hat floated on top of an inflatable flamingo, a cigarette in her hand.
She gave him the finger.
He closed the door.
“I just … I don’t get it,” Noah said. He’d grabbed a face mask while Shepherd’s back was turned. “Why? Like, why do you have all this stuff, dude?”
Chris shrugged. “Just want to be prepared.”
“Prepared for what, exactly?” asked Max.
“The apocalypse. The end of days. You know.”
Noah scratched his temple with the face mask. “Like, the biblical end of days?”
Chris nodded.
“Why are you tear-gassing Jesus?”
“No, dude! I’m helping Jesus!”
Noah fitted the face mask to himself. “I don’t think Jesus will need bear mace,” he said, from underneath the gear.
“Guys, pay attention,” Shepherd said, hands on his hips. “This is something. But it isn’t enough.”
Max grabbed another mask. “What do you mean? Can’t we just bear-mace our way in and grab Ginny?”
“They have guns,” Shepherd said. “Lots of guns. Tear gas and bear mace works as a distraction, but guns win. Every time.”
“You should’ve collected guns,” Noah’s modulated voice said.
Chris frowned. “I can’t. Legally, I mean.”
“We have an advantage here,” Shepherd said, the beginnings of a plan dancing across his frontal lobe. “The bikers don’t know their money was stolen from us. They’ve asked for a trade. That gets us in the front door.”
“To get shot,” Max said.
“Yeah. Unless”—Shepherd turned over a bear-mace canister in his hand—“Ginny left her cooler behind.”
Max and Chris exchanged a look. “The false-bottom cooler,” they said at the same time.
He nodded. “If I can get in there, and then get to the cooler …”
Noah pushed the face mask to his forehead so he could get a better look at his phone. “Let me just ask,” he said, fingers sliding on the screen, “how to explode C-4 without dying—”
Shepherd smacked the phone out of his hands. It clattered to the ground. Noah looked up at him, betrayed. “What the hell, dude?”
“No phones for crimes, Noah!” Shepherd shouted, his voice booming in the small space. “No phones for crimes! OK? That goes for all of you. All of us! That’s what Ginny taught me.”
“Not true love?” Chris asked.
Shepherd waved a hand like he was clearing the question out of the air. “That too. But also, don’t commit crimes while holding a phone, or use a phone to commit crimes, or really, even—I don’t think we should be talking about this while in the same room as a phone.”
Noah picked up his phone, looking it over for damage. “Ah, man, the screen is cracked.”
Max shoved him. “Nice try. That’s been cracked for weeks.”
Noah grinned. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, right?”
“Listen, guys, come on.” Shepherd started pacing, not out of anxiety this time, but because his brain needed room to work. More room than this shed. “We can do this. And shit.” He closed his eyes. “It’s only four steps.”
Noah raised his hand. “Is the last one Haul Ass?”
“Yep.”
“Sweet. That’s my favorite step.”