A Hard Rain: Book Two Of The Shift Trilogy

Chapter 18

Rochelle, Virginia

Rochelle Sovereignty

January 2013

"It's a Saturday night special

Got a barrel that's blue and cold

Ain't good for nothing

But put a man six feet in a hole"

Meredith hadn't expected anyone to be in the forge so late in the evening, yet as she walked into the barn, she saw Kyle Womack working on armoring a truck. Lynyrd Skynyrd was pumping out on the speakers Chris had bought a couple of years ago. They were the size of amps that belonged at stadium concerts. At least Rochelle's radio station KVR came in loud and clear inside Rochelle proper with very little static. Kyle was wearing a torn t-shirt and jeans and was soiled with grime. He looked very imposing, but the moment he spoke, his voice betrayed a slight effeminate inflection.

"Sorry, Mrs. Jung. I didn't hear you come in." He grinned sheepishly, having been caught using so much power to blast those huge speakers, with only himself listening. He walked over to the radio to turn it down.

"Don't worry about that, Kyle. I'm just here to pick something up. I'll be out in a second." He was a handsome young man if a bit rough looking, she considered. No wonder Thuy snatched him up.
Kyle went back to riveting plates onto a truck while Meredith took her gloves off and shuffled past a coal fire that kept the barn warm. Over past couple of years, Meredith had stepped inside Chris' business Jung Armoring and Fabricatorsonly a handful of times. She hadn't much need to go there and her duties as the director of the Swan kept her from bothering Chris. This was Chris' creation, his brainchild. She never knew Chris to be an entrepreneur before the Shift. He was quite the opposite in fact, a civil servant. She had never known him to be a soldier either, though. He had never been anything approaching either of these things before the Shift.

She had to believe he was still alive. There was no evidence to the contrary, and some part of her told her that if he had died, she would know it. Going with intuition ran counter to everything she had grown up with, something she had a hard time trusting, but her intuition told her to have faith that he was still alive. With the fate of the world accented with a colossal question mark, what did she have to lose?

Hooks and light bulbs dangled from the barn's ceiling and one wall was covered with strange looking swords Chris had made. She believed he called them "Bat'leth." They were preposterous. In the back of the barn, behind Chris' desk, was a stack of papers and a toolbox. She gingerly removed the stack from behind the desk. On the floor was a safe. She didn't need to refer to any piece of paper as she committed a few select locations like these and their combinations to memory. She didn't know if she would ever need to open this safe and she prayed she wouldn't. She took a deep breath and turned the dial counterclockwise.

Inside was a folder stuffed with Byrds, a small satchel of gold pieces, and a pack of Cream of the Crops underwear still in its original packaging, something that traded better than tobacco. Underneath all of the booty lay a chrome snub nosed revolver. She took the handgun and felt its weight. It had been a dubious Valentine's Day present a few years ago, one she quickly stowed here, because she had no use for one and it was a danger to the kids.

She hurriedly placed the small fortune of money, gold and underwear back into the safe, and stuffed the handgun inside her valise, which could literally hold a small child. After shutting the safe, she returned the papers and toolbox to conceal the safe's existence once again. She left the barn without saying goodbye to Kyle, which she knew was rude, but she was just too flustered. Inside her valise, along with the revolver, were documents that held either meaningless data or her worst fears confirmed. And if that wasn't stressful enough, Rhiannon was sick.