Black Frost by John Conroe

astrological
alignments were in order or something,” I said.
    His mouth had thinned to a flat line of anger
at the words ‘child kidnapping’ and he gave a sharp nod of
agreement.
    “In fact, I find it hard to believe that some
obscure government agency doesn’t already have some knowledge of
them, like the guys at Area 51 or something,” I wondered.
    His head snapped up. “I’ll check into it,” he
said, his tone determined.
    There probably wasn’t any such group, but it
would give my dad something to do. He had contacts in almost every
part of the federal law enforcement establishment. I doubted it
would help our situation or stop the storm I could just about feel
approaching Groton Falls, but what the hell, it was better than
seeing my father not knowing what to do.
    He showed me how to put the shotgun shell
traps together and we made four more, placing them into a cardboard
box.
    “Here, take these as well,” Dad said, handing
me an electronics box.
    “Cameras?” I asked.
    “Yeah, it’s a two camera security system I
picked up at Walmart. Each camera on a remote control and
wirelessly connected to the monitor. It was on sale and I thought
I’d try it out. Put one camera under the eaves of the shop so it
looks at the whole outside of the house and one on the ceiling of
the porch. Should give you pretty good coverage and the cameras
have infrared ability.”
    The setup seemed pretty simple to use. The
cameras either plugged into a socket or ran on batteries. I could
think of two easy places to plug them in. The base monitor also had
dual power sources so you could move it room to room.
    “Now what did you do to your ammo?” he asked,
his mind fully engaged in the problem at hand.
    I pulled up my sweat shirt and grabbed the
spare magazine of ammo I carry in front. It slipped out of its
kydex carrier and I showed him the round of .40 S&W that was
visible at the top.
    “You sectioned rod?” he asked. At my nod, he
went on. “How did you hold it in?”
    “It’s actually a pretty tight fit, but
there’s a drop of super glue in there to make sure.”
    “Hmm, it’ll be a deep penetrating mother
won’t it?” he mused.
    “Yeah, those goblins were pretty densely
built. But your filing design will spread the iron quicker. I’m not
sure which is more effective,” I said.
    “Generally, I prefer penetration over
expansion, but we’ll just have to see, won’t we? What did you do
for the cowboy assault weapon?”
    Dad nicknamed my deer rifle when I first got
it. I only ever hunted deer on Grandpa’s land, which is thickly
wooded with no real open shots beyond a hundred yards. So when I
bought my first rifle it was a Winchester Trapper .44 magnum. With
a sixteen inch barrel it’s a short, light handy little gun, perfect
for our land. Dad had laughed at it at first, but after seeing me
shoot ten fast shots of heavy .44 rounds he had gotten a thoughtful
look on his face. The short barrel is still longer than a
revolver’s so the bullet picks up speed, bringing up the kinetic
energy of the round. At anything under 125 to 150 yards it’s
deadly. My father had promptly borrowed it and when I got it back
it had custom peep sights, a smoothed and tuned action and a
buttstock ammo carrier that held ten more rounds. It also had a
mount for a flashlight for investigating bumps in the night.
    “Same thing, but bigger diameter rod,” I
answered.
    “Alright then….what’s your plan,” he
asked.
    “Well for the next day, we stay at the house,
you know, shelter in place. Grandpa did a good job securing it and
I have some help out there, especially when Greer gets back,” I
said. “After I talk to him, I want to see what my options are for
getting out of the area, what might be a safe spot to go to till
this gathering or whatever it is ends.”
    “What about staying here? Two of us are more
capable than one!” he said.
    “Yeah, well I don’t want to drag you into
it,” I said.
    “Bullshit! Bullshit!”