Twenty-five minutes of this careful navigation brings me to the gun shop. The sign over the door readsBoone's Firearmsin faded letters. I've been here maybe ten times in five years, always paying cash, never standing around to chat. Travis Boone knows me only as Strouse, the reclusive ex-army guy who keeps to himself and lives off the grid.
He's about to learn a lot more than that.
I push through the door and bells chime overhead. The shop is empty except for Travis behind the counter. His balding head reflects the overhead lights and his eyes lock onto me immediately. I'm not sure what to think now after what happened at my place with the sheriff. I know these people are close and they stick up for each other, but I haven't exactly been a part of this community until recently when Sloane forced me to interact.
"Mr. Boone," I say, taking off the ball cap and curling the bill in my hands. If this man's loyal to Wade Carver and they think I hurt him, I'm as good as dead now. But his eyes meet mine and he nods at me in a friendly gesture.
"Strouse." His voice is gravelly as he says, "Ellie said you'd probably show up eventually."
Confusion fogs my mind for a second as I slap the ball cap back on my head and ask, "Ellie told you I'd come here?" A million things race through my head now. Ellie has a big mouth, and I told Sloane that. But I can't tell if she's been using her powers for good or evil. If Boone knows about the sheriff and the incident and he wanted me arrested, he'd have a gun on me already.
"She's been a busy little bird these past few days. Talked to half the town, feeling out who could be trusted, who'd be willing to help." He straightens, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Turns out most of us are willing. You're one of our own now, even if you tried real hard not to be."
I step forward with a rush of relief. I'm not sure what he means by "help" but I'll take anything I can get. Right now, what I need is a means to protect myself and Sloane, and Ellie, if those men come looking.
"I came for ammunition," I tell him, "nothing more."
"Sure you did." He moves down the counter and starts pulling items from beneath it. Body armor—lightweight tactical vests. Boxes of ammunition in various calibers, armor-piercing rounds that are technically illegal for civilian purchase. Then he slaps a tactical knife still in its sheath onto the counter and says, "Figure you'll need more than bullets if you're going up against organized crime."
I stare at the arsenal accumulating on the counter. "What is this?" Not understanding, I shake my head and narrow my eyes at him.
"This is the town backing one of its own." He taps on the counter. "Those punks rolled right into our town and attacked our sheriff, and since we can't seem to get any help up here to chase 'em off, I suppose we'll just have to back up the man who knows how to make them leave."
"I'm an outsider."
"You've been here five years, Strouse. You're local enough." He taps the body armor and goes off on a rant about what rounds it'll stop, but I stand there in shock wondering just how much he really knows. Ellie doesn't even know much, so unless these folks did their own research, they're going on nothing but hearsay and town pride.
"How much do you know?" I ask when he finally takes a breath from reciting a list of facts on what guns will be useful in which circumstances.
"Enough. Ellie gave us the broad strokes—organized crime, past you're running from, woman you're protecting." He pushes the items toward me. "They almost killed Wade, Son. And he told usto stand our ground. He's up in Albany in the university hospital fighting for his life right now, and we're the last line of defense. It don't much matter whether you like town festivities. You're one of us, so we're on your side."
The utter disbelief must show on my face, especially when I can't form a sentence of response. Boone continues on, telling me how more than half the men in this town will stand with me, how they've all stocked up on their own ammunition and they're ready to wage a literal war to protect their small town and its citizens.
"Well, you gonna stand there with your jaw flappin' or do you need something else?" Travis lowers his chin as if he's watching me over the rim of invisible glasses, and I scrub a hand down over my face. The generosity of people I barely know surprises me.
"I, uh… I need a phone." The practical need surfaces through my shock. "Something secure I can use to make calls and coordinate. I left mine at the cabin when everything went to hell."
Travis pulls a phone from his pocket and slaps it on the counter. "Take mine and use it. I got good service up here. The numbers are all programmed in—Varen, Ellie, Miles, me. Anyone else you need to reach too." Then he stands there as if waiting for me to give him a list of demands.
I take the phone, but I still can't believe what's happening. "Why are you giving me your personal phone?"
"Well, you can't really coordinate a response to what's happening if you can't call people. And you'll give it back when this is all said and done. Besides, I know where ya live." Hepolishes a canine with his tongue and shrugs a shoulder, and I find myself chuckling in a brief respite from the tension.
"What else do you need from me?" Travis asks, finishing with the supplies.
Sloane was right and I'm not even ashamed to admit I was wrong. If Travis is just the mouthpiece for whatever's going on in this town behind my back, then I have a willing army full of men who are probably well armed and prepared to fight. That does something to my pride I'm not able to articulate. I can't tell whether I feel honored or intimidated by it.
"Well, I need intelligence…" I start ticking off requirements. "If anyone has seen those SUVs and where they're hiding out. And I need to know who's prepared to actually pull the trigger. Not all men can kill another man, even in self-defense." My mind is reeling now, already spooling up ideas of how to lure Maddox out of hiding into plain sight to turn his own plan against him.
"I can get you all of that." Travis pulls out a notebook and starts writing. "Give me two days. I'll compile everything, have it ready for you. Where should I deliver it?"
"You can slip it to Ellie at the diner, but you know you have to keep it on the down-low if she's gonna be protected."
"Understood, Strouse, we'll keep it quiet." He slides the large duffel bag he packed things into across the counter. "Anything else?"
"Yes. Thank you." The words feel inadequate for what he's offering, but they're all I have. "For the supplies, the support, the risk you're taking. You didn't have to do any of this."
"Sure I did. You're one of us now, whether you like it or not." He extends his hand across the counter. "Welcome to Sutter's Gap—officially this time."
