Edward was more perceptive than he looked, and he’d seen how buggered up my leg had been earlier. He handed me a flask. “Drink.” It smelled like rancid pond water. “Gretchen make. Help feets.” She was their healer, after all, and I’d benefited from some of her crazy remedies before. She insisted that her magical remedies needed to be fresh and made for a specific person, but this was worth a shot. It tasted worse than it smelled, and burned going down. I passed Gretchen’s magic energy drink back to Edward and tried not to puke. My injured foot began to tingle, which was either a good sign or a bad sign.

I could only hope that the feds would have some weaponry down there that would buy me some time. Edward was rubbing his arm. The big case that had struck him was leaning on the seat next to him. “What’s that?”

The case had a pink invoice on the outside, Anzio Ironworks. To: Milo Anderson/MHI. For Test and Evaluation Purposes. It was one of Milo’s free samples that he had bragged about picking up at the tradeshow. I popped the latches. Please be good. Please be good. “What the hell is that?” Since I was the biggest gun nut in the company, me not recognizing a firearm was especially notable.

Julie adjusted her bungee cord so she could come over to see. She whistled. “I don’t know, but it’s huge.”

It was ridiculous. It was shaped like a rifle, but it made my Barrett look like a .22. It was also disassembled to fit in the foam cutouts of the case, but it looked like it went back together fairly rapidly. “Where’s the rest of it?” Ed pointed at another case that had been under this one. Julie began dragging it out. Put together, this gun had to be longer than I was tall. The case felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. “Is there ammo?”

Julie cracked open the other one. “Here’s the barrel, muzzle brake is the size of a phone book, owner’s manual…Okay, there’s a few rounds.” Julie hefted one. “But they’re the size of bowling pins.”

“What is that? Freaking twenty millimeter? Isn’t that what fighter jets shoot? Never mind. I need to move fast. I’ll never be able to lug this thing around with me.” I guess there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. “I was hoping for a weapon, not a piece of farm equipment.”

“Almost there,” Skippy warned. “Much fog. Hard to see.”