The trip was short, and the town came into focus after only minutes of riding. The sniper towers were still there, filled with Jasper’s eagle eyed marksman, but the rest of the city had changed. There was now a trench dug into the dirt all around it, and walls and barricades had been placed between the buildings to fortify it even further. It seemed they were taking security much more seriously since the Widows had attacked them. I reached a small drawbridge, and received a nod from the nearest sniper, who gestured down to have me let in. The drawbridge was let down, and I slowly rolled across it before switching off the bike and hopping off to the side of it, so I could roll it through town. I was dangerous, a known quantity in the town, but that didn’t mean I was going to leave my bike unguarded at the gate. Only the most naive waster would think they could get away with that.

As I rolled my bike through the town, I noticed more changes. The people I passed on the street were more heavily armed than before. They’d always been armed of course, but their piddling pistols had been upgraded to rifles, shotguns, and one man who seemed to be lugging around a grenade launcher. Jasper was toward the center of the Iron Horde’s territory, and their was a circle of towns around it that had tended to be more profitable and better targets for raids. As such it had always been a relatively safe place that didn’t need to worry too much about defense. I respected how quickly they’d adapted since they finally became the target of a real raid. Lazier settlements with poorer leadership may have simply slid into old habits.

Another change I noticed was that no one was avoiding me. If anything, I was receiving a number of friendly nods, waves, and even a few hellos. I ignored them, feeling uncomfortable as their recipient. In the past I’d simply been tolerated when visiting Jasper. I’d stick to the alleys, do my business, and get out. They allowed me to do so since I was a Postman, and made myself as invisible as possible. Over the years they became more neutral toward me, occasionally one of their children that didn’t know better would approach me with a question, and the marksman on the towers regarded me with nods rather than looking past me. Now things were well past neutral and into friendly. It seemed the key to human acceptance of deadmen was when those deadmen killed a few dozen different humans you didn’t like.

I finally reached Bill’s shop, the Murphy’s sign had been fixed and was shining brightly in the dimness of dawn. I left my bike outside where I’d be able to see it from the open doorway. I walked inside. Murphy’s had… changed. Before the shop was simply filled wall to wall with junk, only a narrow path through it leading to the counter, and held together with an organizational system that existed only within Bill’s mind, now it had everything neatly organized. Guns were safely arrayed on shelves, ammo on tables, and everything else sorted down to loose bolts and dried meat.

I found myself so surprised by the changes, and on edge as a result of them, that I didn’t notice a man approaching me from behind one of the shelves, and nearly drew my pistol on him, but managed to resist the impulse at the last moment. He was young, maybe in his early twenties, and had a smell that reminded me of Bill, oil and rust, but cleaner somehow.

“Howdy, you lookin for something?”

“Where’s Murphy?” I asked.

“I’m Murphy while the sign's on… and Bill’s out.” He said proudly.

“Any idea when he’ll be back?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I can handle anything you need while he’s gone.”

I frowned, doubting his statement. “Name’s Donovan. I have an account with Bill. He keeps an eye out for certain items for me, and maintains credit for me.”

“Oh, you’re Donovan. That makes sense, he only deals with two Deadmen. Let me check the binder.” Young Murphy made his way to the counter and pulled out a binder, flipping through pages until he seemed to find what he was looking for. “I’ve got your credit listed here, but it doesn’t say anything about any goods he’s set aside for you. I know he kept a few off the books for special cases. Must like you, he only did that for three other people.”

“I’ll come back,” I said, starting to turn around.

“Wait! Maybe I can do some upgrades on your kit? Tune up your guns? Maybe find something else you might want?”

My frown deepened. I didn’t have anything else to do in town while I waited for Old Murphy to return, and while I didn’t particularly like the kid behind the counter, it seemed more practical to hear him out then simply wait out in front of the store scaring away business, or worse, having to endure nods and smiles as people passed by. “Ok.”

The boy smiled. “Great! Let me see what we’re working with.”

I placed my 9mm pistol, .308 rifle, and double barreled shotgun on the table after popping the magazines out of them and making sure the chambers were cleared, popping the two shells from my shotgun.

Young Murphy picked up the pistol first. “Ah, standard 9mm Glock. That’s a solid piece of hardware. First gun most wasters manage to get the points for. Reliable, easy to find ammo for.”

I stared blankly at him, hearing nothing I didn’t already know.

“Personally, I carry this,” The kid removed the gun from his hip and held it up for me to see. “It’s a 1911, see the feeding ramp is polished to a mirror sheen. It's not going to have any feeding problems. The slide's been replaced with a reinforced version and it meshes perfectly with the frame. The frame itself has been iron-welded and scraped down multiple times for maximum precision. The front strap part of the frame has been checkered to make it dig into the hand which prevents any slipping. The sight system's original, too, a 3-dot type. It's got an enlarged front sight, giving it superior target sighting capability. The regular hammer's been replaced with a ring hammer, that enhances the cocking control and increases the hammer-down speed. I also reworked the grip safety to accommodate the ring hammer, really I eliminated it altogether. This is a tool for pros, the thumb safety and the slide stop are extended to allow for more precise handling. The base of the trigger guard is whittled down, so you can use a high grip, and the trigger itself is a long type for easy finger access. The trigger pull is about 3.5 pounds, about a pound and a half lighter than normal. The magazine well has been widened to make it easier to put in a new magazine. The magazine catch button has been cut down low to make it harder to hit by accident. The mainspring housing has been changed to a flat type to increase grip, and it's even been fitted with stepping so that it doesn't slip from the recoil when firing. On top of that, I added cocking serrations to the front part of the slide. That lets you load and eject cartridges faster in an emergency. I don’t like to toot my own horn, but anyone who looks at this can tell that the person who did it is a professional. No question - this thing could shoot a one-hole at 25 yards in a machine rest.”

Once he was done I took a finger and gently pushed the barrel of his gun so that it was no longer pointed to my gut. He’d been gesticulating wildly the entire time he’d been describing it, feeling a need to show off every small part he mentioned. “Okay.” I responded flatly.

Realizing he was losing me he moved on to the .308. “This is actually a good piece of equipment right here. The MRAD is great gun, highly customizable, rugged, powerful… I may be able to do you one better though if you’re considering an upgrade.” He placed the rifle down carefully and moved to a nearby case. He placed a key inside and revealed another rifle, this one with a scope, and much longer. It had been polished to a mirror like sheen, just like the kid’s 1911. “This here is an AWM, probably the rarest and finest rifle in the shop. It was used by the British Army, Royal Airforce, and Royal Marines. Takes .338 Lapua Magnum ammo, and has the longest recorded sniper kill.” He looked up at me and smiled. “We’d be willing to part with it for the right price of course.”

It was an impressive piece of machinery, reminded me of what I’d seen Leah carrying around, but I couldn’t see as much of a use for it. “How hard is it to get ammo for that thing?” I asked.

“Uh…we have some on hand. It can also be altered to take .308…but that would kind of ruin it.” he whispered the last part.

“I think I’m okay, but thank you.”

The boy sighed and walked back to where I’d put my shotgun. He lifted it up and squinted. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “Huh.” He lifted it and looked closer. “This is basically just two metal tubes and a firing mechanism. I can’t see any make on it or anything. Well kept for a shotgun I’d say though. I could maybe make it a sawed off for you, make it more useful to conceal or carry, but honestly you lose out on a lot of that tradeoff.”

I shrugged, but before I could answer a familiar smell entered my nostrils and I turned to see Bill enter his store, with Jasper’s mayor in tow.

He looked at me, then at young Murphy. “Out from behind the counter.”