“I couldn’t believe it, y’know? This damn Jap—talks like some kind of egghead or something, doncha think?—anyways, he brings us this shit and, like, shows us exactly what to fuckin’ do with it. I mean, we took those spray cans and laid the stuff anywhere there was lots of birds. Out in the woods, ‘specially anywhere you got crows and jays—hell, one guy even drove into the Big Apple and sprayed it at the zoo. In the damn bird house, can ya dig it?” He laughed at the memory.
“You sure it was the real stuff?” Orin had asked.
“West Nile,” Dickie had said, nodding. “It’s a virus. Birdsget it, pass it to mosquitoes. They go bite people and presto! Encephalitis. Don’t you read the papers, man? We got the stuff in, like, a year ago April. By the end of summer, people was comin’ down with it all over the place. It’s damn near everywhere in the country now.” He had smiled thinly. “I’ll give you two words: bug repellent. Don’t leave home without it.”
Orin frowned. “You think they had something to do with this other thing? You know, the foot-in-mouth shit over in England.”
“I got my suspicions,” Dickie said smugly.
Orin had been unconvinced.
“So how come you guys didn’t, you know, take credit for it or something?”
Dickie had shrugged, in a manner decidedly nonchalant.
“Jap guy said it was just a test,” he had replied. “So we could see how shit like that might work for us.” He had leaned closer to his cousin, and his voice dropped. “But now we’re gonna really make some noise, man. That’s why I sent him along to you. Guy’s got us something serious to work with.”
“Like what?”
“He didn’t tell you yet? Couple of new toys,” Dickie had said, grinning. “One of ’em—well, you ever hear of sarin, man?”
Orin had shrugged noncommittally. Family was family, but in militia matters it was usually smart to listen more than you talked. That went double when it came to chemical weapons.
“Nerve gas, something like that?”
“Got that right. He’s bringin’ in a shitload of it.” Dickie had leaned closer. “And he talks about having some kind of germ-warfare bug he can get us. Anthrax, maybe—fucker is playing it real cool, you know? But definitely military grade, can ya dig it?”
Orin had shook his head skeptically.
“Look,” he had told his cousin, “how do you know this guy ain’t federal?”
Dickie had looked up at him, and there was a serious expression on his face.
“ ’Cause he brought a little sample with him, man,” he had told Orin. “Had a spray can about the size of a can of Right Guard, okay?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“So we went out and found us one of those street bums—a homeless guy, you dig? Showed him a bottle of rye and he followed us back up an alley. And then my little Jap buddy sprayed that shit— p-s-s-s-s-t. Blast of nerve gas, right in his face.”
“Jesus.”
“It was intense, man. Fuckin’ bum died hard, I’ll tell you that. Glad I was standing upwind.”
Orin had been silent for a long minute.
“Look, what do these Japs want ? See, that’s what I don’t get.”
Dickie had shrugged.
“Hell do I know? Like, maybe it’s the emperor’s birthday or something. All I know is we get this shit, and all we gotta do is use a little of it when they say the word. Raise a little hell. Screw with the G, right?”
Then Dickie had gone serious again, Orin remembered, and his tone shifted. For the first time, Orin had thought, his cousin sounded more like a militia leader than a kid who had been offered a new toy.
“All I know is, I get it, I sure ain’t giving it back. I got my own ideas for the stuff.”
That had been more than a month ago. Orin Trippett had returned to Montana, and plans had been made.
Now, looking at the crate that had been delivered this morning— by FedEx, Orin thought, and how’s that for laughs? —Orin remembered what his cousin had said.
He felt the same
“You sure it was the real stuff?” Orin had asked.
“West Nile,” Dickie had said, nodding. “It’s a virus. Birdsget it, pass it to mosquitoes. They go bite people and presto! Encephalitis. Don’t you read the papers, man? We got the stuff in, like, a year ago April. By the end of summer, people was comin’ down with it all over the place. It’s damn near everywhere in the country now.” He had smiled thinly. “I’ll give you two words: bug repellent. Don’t leave home without it.”
Orin frowned. “You think they had something to do with this other thing? You know, the foot-in-mouth shit over in England.”
“I got my suspicions,” Dickie said smugly.
Orin had been unconvinced.
“So how come you guys didn’t, you know, take credit for it or something?”
Dickie had shrugged, in a manner decidedly nonchalant.
“Jap guy said it was just a test,” he had replied. “So we could see how shit like that might work for us.” He had leaned closer to his cousin, and his voice dropped. “But now we’re gonna really make some noise, man. That’s why I sent him along to you. Guy’s got us something serious to work with.”
“Like what?”
“He didn’t tell you yet? Couple of new toys,” Dickie had said, grinning. “One of ’em—well, you ever hear of sarin, man?”
Orin had shrugged noncommittally. Family was family, but in militia matters it was usually smart to listen more than you talked. That went double when it came to chemical weapons.
“Nerve gas, something like that?”
“Got that right. He’s bringin’ in a shitload of it.” Dickie had leaned closer. “And he talks about having some kind of germ-warfare bug he can get us. Anthrax, maybe—fucker is playing it real cool, you know? But definitely military grade, can ya dig it?”
Orin had shook his head skeptically.
“Look,” he had told his cousin, “how do you know this guy ain’t federal?”
Dickie had looked up at him, and there was a serious expression on his face.
“ ’Cause he brought a little sample with him, man,” he had told Orin. “Had a spray can about the size of a can of Right Guard, okay?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“So we went out and found us one of those street bums—a homeless guy, you dig? Showed him a bottle of rye and he followed us back up an alley. And then my little Jap buddy sprayed that shit— p-s-s-s-s-t. Blast of nerve gas, right in his face.”
“Jesus.”
“It was intense, man. Fuckin’ bum died hard, I’ll tell you that. Glad I was standing upwind.”
Orin had been silent for a long minute.
“Look, what do these Japs want ? See, that’s what I don’t get.”
Dickie had shrugged.
“Hell do I know? Like, maybe it’s the emperor’s birthday or something. All I know is we get this shit, and all we gotta do is use a little of it when they say the word. Raise a little hell. Screw with the G, right?”
Then Dickie had gone serious again, Orin remembered, and his tone shifted. For the first time, Orin had thought, his cousin sounded more like a militia leader than a kid who had been offered a new toy.
“All I know is, I get it, I sure ain’t giving it back. I got my own ideas for the stuff.”
That had been more than a month ago. Orin Trippett had returned to Montana, and plans had been made.
Now, looking at the crate that had been delivered this morning— by FedEx, Orin thought, and how’s that for laughs? —Orin remembered what his cousin had said.
He felt the same
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