Read Online The Apocalypse Club by Craig McLay - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Craig McLay
Ads: Link
you would look like if you were running around with something like this.”
“Maybe you’d rather just charge through the door with your dick in your hand.”
“At least my dick is capable of launching projectiles.”
“All in good time, Commander.”
Most of the ingredients that went into the explosives were commercially available. A midnight raid on the school chemistry lab yielded the rest of what we needed. Following simple instructions that we found online, we were able to fashion the contents into six small grenade-sized devices and two larger ones designed to work off a timer. We stored them in an underground auto repair bay on the other side of the complex. We both agreed that it would be a good idea to test them, but we couldn’t risk doing that anywhere near HQ without drawing attention to ourselves. We would need to do it somewhere outside of town.
Since we couldn’t just carry 200 pounds of explosives through a suburban development without being noticed (or just carry 200 pounds, period), we needed the second item on the list: transport. I was the one who came up with the foolproof plan to locate that one.
“There’s this convenience store near my old neighbourhood that’s open 24 hours,” I said, pointing to the intersection on the map. “Every Thursday, they get this huge supply of cold medication and the meth mules come out of the woodwork to buy the stuff up, no questions asked. They all leave their engines running so they can just shoot in and out before they get spotted or busted. All we have to do is stake the place out, wait until one of them is inside the store, then hop into the vehicle in question and away we go. I bet you anything they don’t even report it to the cops. Free and clear.”
I was quite proud of this plan. I thought it was a good, possibly even great, plan. One of the top ten, all-time, best-ever plans, in fact. The take wouldn’t be as high as the great train robbery or the Lufthansa heist, perhaps, but the execution would be no less brilliant. Even better, we didn’t have to worry about the morality of it because we were stealing from meth heads. I had never actually seen a meth den before, but I had seen the inside of a house in my old neighbourhood that had been used as a marijuana grow op, and anyone who associated with the type of people who caused a quarter million dollars in mould remediation were not worthy of sympathy. These were junkie scumbag dealers.
It didn’t work, of course, but in all other respects it was still an excellent plan.
We staked out the convenience store parking lot from a park across the street. It was supposed to rain, but it didn’t, which was good, because I would have felt strange if I’d tried to jack a car while holding an unreliable folding umbrella. One that would probably open unexpectedly and poke one of us in the eye during the getaway.
“Where are they?” Max asked. Although it was already 3:30 in the morning, the usual onslaught of cars had not materialized.
“They’ll be here,” I said, trying to maintain my confidence. By this time, there should have been ten or fifteen cars by now, but we hadn’t seen a single one. The only person who had even set foot in the place was a skinny guy on a bicycle that he left propped against the wall next to the door. In terms of our required speed and load-bearing capacity, a bike was not going to cut it.
Had they changed their delivery night? Had they been busted? Had the shipment failed to arrive? Was I thinking about the wrong store? Had I just imagined the whole thing? No matter what it was, I was starting to get pretty desperate by the time the camper van pulled in.
Max and I hunched down behind a tree as a middle-aged-looking man got out of the driver’s side, coughed so loudly that we were both surprised to not see any lung tissue come flying out, spat on the sidewalk, then lurched into the store like he was carrying an invisible air conditioner on his back.
He had
“Maybe you’d rather just charge through the door with your dick in your hand.”
“At least my dick is capable of launching projectiles.”
“All in good time, Commander.”
Most of the ingredients that went into the explosives were commercially available. A midnight raid on the school chemistry lab yielded the rest of what we needed. Following simple instructions that we found online, we were able to fashion the contents into six small grenade-sized devices and two larger ones designed to work off a timer. We stored them in an underground auto repair bay on the other side of the complex. We both agreed that it would be a good idea to test them, but we couldn’t risk doing that anywhere near HQ without drawing attention to ourselves. We would need to do it somewhere outside of town.
Since we couldn’t just carry 200 pounds of explosives through a suburban development without being noticed (or just carry 200 pounds, period), we needed the second item on the list: transport. I was the one who came up with the foolproof plan to locate that one.
“There’s this convenience store near my old neighbourhood that’s open 24 hours,” I said, pointing to the intersection on the map. “Every Thursday, they get this huge supply of cold medication and the meth mules come out of the woodwork to buy the stuff up, no questions asked. They all leave their engines running so they can just shoot in and out before they get spotted or busted. All we have to do is stake the place out, wait until one of them is inside the store, then hop into the vehicle in question and away we go. I bet you anything they don’t even report it to the cops. Free and clear.”
I was quite proud of this plan. I thought it was a good, possibly even great, plan. One of the top ten, all-time, best-ever plans, in fact. The take wouldn’t be as high as the great train robbery or the Lufthansa heist, perhaps, but the execution would be no less brilliant. Even better, we didn’t have to worry about the morality of it because we were stealing from meth heads. I had never actually seen a meth den before, but I had seen the inside of a house in my old neighbourhood that had been used as a marijuana grow op, and anyone who associated with the type of people who caused a quarter million dollars in mould remediation were not worthy of sympathy. These were junkie scumbag dealers.
It didn’t work, of course, but in all other respects it was still an excellent plan.
We staked out the convenience store parking lot from a park across the street. It was supposed to rain, but it didn’t, which was good, because I would have felt strange if I’d tried to jack a car while holding an unreliable folding umbrella. One that would probably open unexpectedly and poke one of us in the eye during the getaway.
“Where are they?” Max asked. Although it was already 3:30 in the morning, the usual onslaught of cars had not materialized.
“They’ll be here,” I said, trying to maintain my confidence. By this time, there should have been ten or fifteen cars by now, but we hadn’t seen a single one. The only person who had even set foot in the place was a skinny guy on a bicycle that he left propped against the wall next to the door. In terms of our required speed and load-bearing capacity, a bike was not going to cut it.
Had they changed their delivery night? Had they been busted? Had the shipment failed to arrive? Was I thinking about the wrong store? Had I just imagined the whole thing? No matter what it was, I was starting to get pretty desperate by the time the camper van pulled in.
Max and I hunched down behind a tree as a middle-aged-looking man got out of the driver’s side, coughed so loudly that we were both surprised to not see any lung tissue come flying out, spat on the sidewalk, then lurched into the store like he was carrying an invisible air conditioner on his back.
He had
Similar Books
