The 1000 Souls (Book 1): Apocalypse Revolution by Michael Andre McPherson Page B

strip—far north of his own neighborhood—sat close to the parked cars of the street, the sidewalk narrow but with a roof that reached to the curb to keep the snows of winter at bay.
    Bertrand's parents had been committed pacifists, and his grandparents had marched against the Vietnam War, so Bertrand had absolutely no experience with guns. He was surprised when Jeff had confessed to belonging to a gun club, but relieved that he had someone besides Nolan to turn to for advice on matters concerning self-defense. Nolan had suggested that Bertrand could borrow his tommy gun with the hundred-round drum, the type of weapon that Al Capone probably owned at some point in his career.
    "You need to defend your home," Nolan had said. "As long as you're there between sunset and sunrise, you'll be safe if you have enough firepower."
    But Bertrand didn't agree. He remembered what the woman from Colorado Springs had said about people being burned out of their homes. Bertrand's house was made of wood, and the bars on his basement windows couldn't hold back flames.
    Jeff had a different outlook.
    "You want a Glock," he had said. "Something that you can keep with you at all the times, day and night. Think how useful that could've been at Goth Knights."
    Jeff had absorbed Bertrand's tale about his near murder at Goth Knights with jaw dropping belief. He, Bertrand and Joyce had taken the unusual step of skipping their workout and driving there before dark in Jeff's Xterra SUV, but the door to the club had been replaced with a four-by-eight sheet of plywood, and a "Power of Sale" notice from a bank was stapled in the center.
    They had spent a week trying to learn more, but the club had been owned by a numbered company that had leased the building. This window on the underworld had closed forever. Malcolm lamented its loss, unaware that Bertrand had been there for its last night of decadence. Neither Jeff nor Bertrand trusted Malcolm enough to share the details of that experience.
    Jeff had promised that the gun store would be open on Saturday, and a neon open sign behind the bars in the windows proved him correct, but Bertrand found himself reluctant to take the next step, to open the door and admit that the world had changed forever. In the old world he had relied on the police and the government to protect him, with just a little dab of street sense required on his part.
    Bertrand looked up and down the sidewalk again, noting that a sad little flower shop—its window displays oddly sparse but neat—sat next door, a sandwich board on the sidewalk stating that all the flowers were half-price until Monday.
    The contrast between the shops had more to do with security than flower power versus fire power. The flower shop had no need for bars inside the glass display windows, and the gun shop also had heavy rolling metal doors, which Bertrand guessed came down each night to turn the shop into a fortress, impregnable at least to smash-and-grab thieves. Apparently the criminal types in the neighborhood had no use for flowers.
    Bertrand at last opened the door to the gun shop, causing an electronic chime to alert the owner that his perimeter had been breached. A heavy man sat on a stool behind counter at the back of the shop, his newspaper obscuring his face. The man didn't look up when he spoke. "Wondered when you'd find the balls to come in." He must have noticed Bertrand standing in front of his shop for so long.
    "My balls are there when I need them."
    The newspaper folded down; the man behind it had red cheeks, puffed from alcohol and food, his beard and mustache short and black, not so much trimmed as looking like he'd forgotten to shave for a week.
    "No bullshit guy. Okay, let me guess: you've never owned a gun. Your parents are pinko-commies, and they've always told you that no one needs to own a gun, but now you want a gun."
    Bertrand stopped in front of the display case under the glass countertop. Handguns of many types were arranged