Back From The Dead: My Apocalypse Level-up System novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Man at the Gate

A stranger in a salvage truck waits at her gate, knows the date, and says Brent's name before she does.

By dusk the barrels and propane were stacked in the barn, and Hattie had gone home to pack her tools.

I stood at the farm gate with a flashlight and read the number on the post.

My father had welded that gate himself.

One key, he used to say, because a gate with two keys is a gate with two problems.

I had come to the farm straight from the store without turning on my phone.

The house smelled like cold dust.

I had made coffee and checked the well, and in the pantry I had counted what was left of my mother's canning.

Now a truck sat on the road with its lights off.

It was an old gray salvage truck with a flatbed and a roll cage, parked square in front of my gate.

A man leaned against the door with his arms crossed.

I put my hand on the pistol in my jacket.

It was my father's, and I knew how to use it, and the man could see that I did.

"Evening," he said.

He was tall, broad through the shoulders, dark hair cut short.

A scar ran through his left eyebrow.

His jacket was gray, with fingerless gloves.

I stared at it a beat too long.

Gray jackets are common.

I told myself that twice.

"This is private land," I said.

"I know." He pushed off the truck. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I want to talk about your barn."

"It's not for sale."

"I haven't made an offer." His smile was easy, and I didn't trust it. "Conroy Gallagher. I salvage. Anything with a roof and a locked door, I buy it or I trade for it."

"Devon Pendelton."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Your name's on the mailbox," he said, nodding at it.

It was.

I felt silly and then I didn't.

"Why my barn?"

"Stone walls, a cellar, a well, a grain bin. Forty minutes from a city that's about to go bad." He said it lightly. "A person could sit in a place like this for a long time."

My mouth went dry.

[Another bearer. Level 11.]

The words were there for one second, and then they weren't.

Level eleven.

I was at level two.

"What do you want, Mr. Gallagher?"

"Conroy." He looked at the barn, and then back at me. "I want to buy in. Half the cellar. I'll bring fuel, guns, six people who know what they're doing, and a truck that works."

"In exchange for what?"

"A place to sleep. A roof."

"And?"

"And nothing else."

He was lying.

I didn't need Appraise to see it.

He stood very straight, and his eyes were red at the edges from a very long road.

I looked at him, and the skill drew its thin purple line.

Carrying: rifle, two knives, a folded map, a photograph.

Intent: guarding.

Guarding what, I couldn't see.

"I'll tell you my terms," I said.

His eyebrows went up.

"Nobody touches the barn," I said. "Nobody touches my land without asking. And nobody touches me unless I ask."

He didn't laugh.

It surprised me.

He tilted his head and took it seriously.

"Those are good terms," he said.

"I'm not done."

"Go on."

"You don't get half the cellar. You get a corner of the barn, and you pay rent in fuel. And you tell me what you want from me, because I don't believe it's a roof."

For a moment the easy smile slipped, and what showed under it was older.

"Fair enough," he said. "I'll come back tomorrow with fuel."

"You're not coming through my gate."

"I won't need to." He looked at the lock. "That's a good gate. It has one key, doesn't it?"

I went cold.

"Who told you that?"

"Your father welded it. Everybody knows your father's gate."

It was a good answer.

I almost believed it.

He opened his truck door.

"Miss Pendelton."

"What."

"Whatever's coming for you at that gate, it isn't coming from me."

He said it quietly, and the hair stood up on my arms.

I opened my mouth to ask what he meant.

"Brent Lasker's a bad bet," Conroy Gallagher said, and got into his truck.

I had never said Brent's name to him.

I stood at the gate while the taillights went down the road, and I realized I was holding the flashlight with both hands.

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