In many ways it seemed like any grocery store in any town, any state, anywhere. Tar-paper roof, single storied, standing alone, with some fresh snow lining its eastern wall. The sign, Caffs, had obviously once been illuminated with a row of light bulbs, but only the broken stumps remained.
The difference between Caffs Groceries and most other stores, before Earthblood, was that it had been turned into a fortress.
Steel grilles were bolted over windows and the only visible door. Inside them it was possible to make out the sullen glint of armored shutters, giving protection against anything short of a concentrated artillery barrage.
There were gun ports cut in the walls, allowing the occupants a range of fire that covered the entire area around the store.
A professionally painted sign was fired over the door, scarred in one corner by what looked like a shotgun shell.
Caffs is open twenty-four hours and 365 days. Knock and wait. A smile greets genuine traders for all kinds of food, drink and weapons. Death greets any robbers, raiders, pimps, scum, whores, dwellers in urban canyons and publishers.
“Why publishers?” shouted Kyle, startling away a bright-colored jay from the satellite aerial on the roof.
The response confirmed his belief that they were being watched.
“Wrote a book once and got screwed by the publisher. Never forgot it.” A hearty laugh accompanied the words. “Truth is, not many publishers came this way since the plants started to bleed. What do you folks want?”
“Shells for a .32 and .357. If you got them.”
“I got them.”
“And for a .22,” called Carrie.
Sly had finished relieving himself and was standing with them, staring at the armored building.
“Twenty-two, lady? You aiming to shoot you some squirrels? Do better throwing stones.”
“Come out here and say that,” she shouted defiantly.
“Maybe not. What you got to trade?”
“Can we come closer?”
“Sure. But don’t step any nearer than ten yards. Beyond that and you get dead.”
They all walked away from the pickup, stopping at a cautionary shout from inside the store.
Kyle looked around, but the rest of the world seemed deserted. “You heard of Aurora, mister?”
As the silence stretched out, Kyle found his right hand reaching around for his Mondadori automatic. Sly had bent down and picked up a small pebble with a hole through its center, bringing it to his right eye and squinting through it.
“I asked—”
“I heard you.”
“Well?”
“You got a name?”
“Sure I do. Why should I tell it to you?”
Carrie had drawn her .22. “How about you telling us your name, mister?”
“Ted Abbey.”
Sly had been painfully spelling out the name on the roof, letter by letter. Triumphantly he announced that it spelled “Caff.”
The invisible man heard him. “She was my daughter, son. Worked in prisons, doing theater stuff. She went off to England before Earthblood. Haven’t heard from her since. Named the store after her. Guess I still hope she’s…” The sentence trailed off into a flurry of fine snow blowing around the trio outside the store.
Kyle shook his head. “It’s cold as charity out here, Mr. Abbey.”
“Names?”
Carrie nodded. “Why not, Kyle?” she said quietly. “Tell him.”
“I’m Kyle Lynch and this is Carrie Princip. The lad is Sly Romero.”
There was another long pause. They could hear the humming of a generator from somewhere to the rear of the fortified building.
“Son of Steve?”
Surprised, Kyle said slowly, “Right. How d’you… ? Ah, I get it, Mr. Abbey.”
“Do you, Kyle? Do you? A couple of questions, just to make absolutely sure you’re really who you say you are.”
“Go ahead.”
“You were engaged to…”
“Leanne.”
“But?”
“But what?” Anger suddenly started to ride in Kyle’s voice.
“But your love was…”
“How the hell…?” Shrugging his shoulders, Kyle decided to go along. “All right. You got the aces, Abbey. It was a lady called Rosa.”
“I didn’t know that, Kyle,” said Carrie.
“I didn’t think anyone knew,” he answered, loud enough for the man to hear him.
“Zelig knows everything there is to know, Kyle. And then some.”
“So. We saw a message you had all the information about Aurora. Tell us.”