Shattered Continent: Caroline's Awakening by P.T. Krieg

Author:P.T. Krieg
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: P.T. Krieg
Published: 2014-10-25T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten – Buddy Holly and The Multiverse

“So, what date is it?” That is the first question I ask when I get down to the barn. The Professor looks up from a workbench to see me in Beatrix’s loaner dress. My original outfit, minus the gloves, collar and belt, has been demoted to underwear. A lesser evil than wearing a stranger’s panties. Or going commando. A small radio sits on the edge of the bench, doing its best to fill the barn with something that sounds like Rush and the Doors trying to kill each other with their instruments.

“October 4th, 2017. Wednesday.” He says, turning down the noise and returning to his work. At least two rifles are all taken apart, with the pieces organized in like kinds. Springs, screws, bands, all sitting side by side. Over at the cart, his vest and coat hang, and with his sleeves rolled up I can see a wide variety of old burns and half-faded scars. Some are familiar, typical cuts, old suture marks, but some are oddly shaped and harder to place. “Can I presume you found everything OK?”

“Yes, thank you.” I answer, approaching. “What are you working on?”

“A small project. Hans wanted to have something to send home to the folks as a keepsake. Was originally planning to take care of this back in the city, but since I had some free time on my hands I decided to go ahead and knock it out.” He says, as he takes one of the empty frames and starts mounting parts, picking the best out of each pile as he goes.

“This thing is pretty primitive compared to the one you were using.” I say, dismissively. “Looks like something a Civil War reenactor would carry. What is it, a muzzleloader?”

“Breechloader, actually.” he says, sticking some wood on the underside of the barrel. “And the time period was closer to the end of the Indian Wars. It fires slower, but it hits like a freight train, survives like a cockroach, and you can line up ten guys with this thing and have them volley fire on people cheaper than a machine gun. It’s not as visually impressive as my M14, or as compact as the M3 you picked out, but it has virtues.”

“Is that what it’s called?” I ask. “The gun I picked up.” He reaches into a bag on the side of the bench, and pulls the gun back out. A long, thick silencer is attached at the front.

“The full name is M3A2E, but in casual conversation most just call it an M3, along with the other members of the family. Also known as the Grease Gun, or Plumber’s Nightmare.” Flipping the cover up, and racking a lever on the right side, he hands it to me grip-first. “Compared to the breech loader, its range and hitting power are weak, but again, it has virtues.” I turn it about in my hands. It’s heavy but the weight feels good. “Rate of fire and control are both very good for a weapon of its size, accurate, reliable, and, when needed, stealthy.

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