Blaze of Glory

CHAPTER 20

Thirty minutes later, Buckley had changed back into his clothes and once again stood in his little circle of salt by the door. The difference was that this time it was by choice. The sludge he’d wiped away had more than scared him. It had energized him. Time was as much an enemy as the maggies. If he was going to be any help saving these people he’d gathered together, he’d need to switch things into high gear.

He'd explained to MacHenry and the others his idea about the super soakers. Even now he and Gert were busy in the kitchen widening the holes the water fired through so they wouldn't get clogged with the salt crystals.

Meanwhile Samuel and Sissy were filling every container they could find with lighter fluid and salt water. Samuel had only managed to find about a dozen pints of the fuel in the Piggly Wiggly, but what they had was being put to good use. Buckley wished they had more, but there was nothing they could do about it. As it stood, even with the loaded water pistols and the Smokey Mountain Cocktails, they might not make it.

Then again, he reminded himself that he hadn't seen even one maggie on their recent excursion. A small silent part of him hoped that it was all over. Another larger part of him scolded him for even thinking such a thing.

Buckley's attention was drawn to Little Rashad who sat at the feet of Grandma Riggs. As she rocked in her chair staring at the blank television screen, he cleaned his trumpet. The boy's actions reminded Buckley of a soldier going out to war. Just as a soldier would lay out the pieces of his rifle — barrel, butt stock, magazine, firing pin, carriage assembly- Little Rashad had laid out the pieces of his trumpet. With wrinkled brow and pressed-together lips, the boy wiped each piece, then lay it down careful.

So much like a little soldier it was scary.

Truth be told, he was a soldier. His weapon, that trumpet and the notes he'd learned to play, were as deadly to the maggies as anything they had. In fact, if there was one weapon that could be said to be their weapon of last resort, it was the boy and his trumpet.

Thermo-nuclear Trumpet Player.

Buckley liked the sound of that. He was sure the boy would too. When it was all over, he'd share his private thoughts with the kid, if they lived.

Buckley looked at MacHenry again, now almost finished rigging the super soakers. He hadn't believed in the idea at first. Once they'd gathered together after the supply run, Samuel had made a beeline to the bags. While Buckley explained his salt-water propellant concept to MacHenry, Samuel had pulled one of the super soakers out of one of the bags. The high school jock had leveled the orange and green rifle at his hip and pretended to shoot down a line of people, ala gangster-style, sub-vocalizing the brraaaaap of the real life weapon.

MacHenry still didn't understand. "It's just a toy," he'd argued.

And grandma, in all of her magic wisdom had said the perfect thing that Buckley still remembered. "What better to kill things that aren’t supposed to exist than a toy gun that shoots water?"

To that MacHenry had no answer.