“Who knows?” Geronimo said. “If it was Denver, everyone would stay inside. I’d stay inside. But this is Seattle, so maybe they’re used to it.”
* * *
—
They merged onto I-90 and the traffic increased. Plumes of rainwater shot out from beneath the tires of oncoming cars in the eastbound lane.
Despite the downpour, Nate thought Seattle was stunning and beautiful. The lights looked like diamonds flung across undulating black felt. The glistening city stopped abruptly at the dark bay itself. City lights reflected double and triple from the wet streets in a maelstrom of technicolor electricity. Out in the dark harbor, oceangoing vessels with blinking red lights punctuated the blackness. And the Space Needle knifed its way straight upward into the low-hanging clouds.
“Why do they want to tear down a city like this?” Nate asked.
“This is what they do,” Geronimo replied.
“Axel deliberately went to Wingville to gather up a bunch of firearms,” Nate said. “Maybe he’ll pass them around tonight.”
Geronimo whistled at the implications of that. Then he dug his triple-barrel shotgun out from beneath his seat and once again checked the loads. As he filled his parka pockets with stubby twelve-gauge shells from an ammunition box he’d brought along, he said, “Stay on I-5 North up here. It’ll take us where we want to go.”
* * *
—
Nate noted wet highway signs for the Central Business District, First Hill, and Pike Place Market. Geronimo kept him on track: “Take Madison Street/Convention Place,” he said. “Merge onto Seventh Ave. Left on Madison Street. Right on Western Ave.”
The Central Business District was dark and not well lit. Thus far, there were no people on the streets.
They passed by an abandoned brick building that looked like an old warehouse. All of the windows on the ground floor had been smashed out. Spray-painted graffiti covered the exterior.
Geronimo seemed nervous and kept up a running commentary while pointing out and interpreting crude graphics he saw.
“FTP means ‘Fuck the Police,’？” he said. “ACAB is ‘All Cops Are Bastards.’ Did you see those numbers back there, ‘1312’？ That’s numeric code for ‘ACAB.’？”
Scrawled in block letters on the pavement of the street they were on was no borders, no walls, no usa at all. Then: we don’t want biden—we want revenge!
“I think I got all that,” Nate said before Geronimo felt the need to read it out loud. “Are you ready to get my birds back?”
Geronimo Jones grinned and Nate could see his teeth.
“I’m ready,” he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Gum Wall
Twenty minutes earlier, after half of the loaded firearms had been laid in the alleyway and covered by a canvas tarp, Axel said to Randy Daniels, “Go out to the street and take a position where you can get a visual on everything that’s going on. Keep me informed of what you see.”
Randy nodded and grunted. He was in a foul mood and didn’t want to talk.
“Give me your phone,” Axel said.
“What?”
Axel held out his open hand.
“How do I call you if I see something?” Randy asked.
Axel gave Randy a handheld radio. Reluctantly, Randy took it and gave Axel his phone.
“Leave it on channel twenty-two and keep the volume low,” Axel said. “Don’t talk on it unless you have something to say.”
“It’s raining out there,” Randy said.
Axel leaned into Randy so his mouth was inches from his ear. Randy could feel the full force of Axel’s menace in a way he hadn’t felt before.
Through gritted teeth, Axel said, “Go.”
Randy went.
* * *
—
Randy was in a foul mood because this wasn’t what he’d signed up for. He’d accompanied the Shaman to be his colleague, to learn from him. Maybe to bask in the glow of his dark celebrity.
Not to sit on the floor of a van breathing in hawk shit and stray feathers for hundreds of highway miles. Not to do all the physical work of loading heavy firearms into the van and stacking half of them in an alleyway just a few hours later. Not to be wet and freezing most of the day. Not to be talked down to and mocked by Axel and the Blade.
And now he was being sent to stand out on the street in the open during an epic rainstorm the likes of which he’d rarely experienced growing up in Denver.
He could hear Axel and the Blade talking behind him in the alley. No doubt, they were making fun of him again. They stayed back there, Randy guessed, because that’s where the cache of guns was located and because it was dry. The alleyway was covered on top back there.