The Set Up, A Fierce Stone Novel #1

By T.L. Peters

In this opening volume of the Fierce Stone trilogy, a beautiful woman and her precocious young son journey across a bleak, apocalyptic America beset by random violence and constant upheaval in the hope of reuniting the boy with his grandparents. Along the way they meet a mysterious young man who offers them the promise of a better and more stable life. But can they trust him, and is it worth their precious time trying to find out?

"The young narrator of the story is very appealing."

"If you enjoy reading about strong women and their exploits, Peters is the writer for you."

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.L. Peters
• Release date: Apr 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310671111

T.L. Peters

"There's no question that Peters is a master wordsmith." Gerry B's Book Reviews About the author: T.L. Peters is an ex-lawyer who enjoys playing the violin and giving his dog long walks in the woods. In between, he writes novels.

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The Set Up, A Fierce Stone Book #1

By T.L. Peters

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014, T. L. Peters

Cover Design by C.K. Volnek, Cover Copyright 2014, C.K. Volnek

License Notes

This e book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

To read more about the author and his other books, please go to https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/tlpeters.

CHAPTER ONE

It was a typical doctor's waiting room—a couple of white-haired ladies fidgeting across from me in stiff plastic chairs, decades old magazines strewn over a nicked and battered wooden table in the center of the room, a large rectangular glass fishbowl off in the corner, empty of course, and a heavily armed guard standing nervously at the door. Mom was sitting next to me with a bulky skin-colored patch on her nose. Mom hated being out in public with a patch on her face, but skin skin cancer seemed unavoidable these days for light-complexioned people like her. This was the only dermatologist she would go to—a Mohs surgeon. I always forget his name. With so few doctors in business anymore, she was lucky to have him. Plastic surgeons leave unsightly scars, she always said, but this fellow gently and precisely sliced the cancerous cells away without any long term disfigurement.

Minimally invasive was what Mom called the Mohs procedure. It was the way we tried to live ever since the world got so crazy, two minimally invasive lives in the midst of total chaos, except that events kept getting in our way.

I glanced again at the guard, a burly fellow in a mustard-yellow jacket with a frayed blue baseball cap yanked down low over his forehead. I hadn't seen many male security guards lately, especially brawny guys like him, ever since the virus struck. I wondered if he could handle that big semi-automatic rifle he was hugging so firmly against his meaty chest. It didn't really matter though. Mom was there. Mom could handle anything.

How much longer do you think we'll be here? I asked her.

The doctor has already made two cuts on my nose, she said, looking up from her women's fitness magazine. Three is usually a charm. He has to scrape all the cancer away, or we'll just have to come back.

Are we going to need to stay home again until it heals? I asked.

Mom smiled sweetly and tapped me on the shoulder with her huge hand.

You know that I don't like calling attention to myself. It should heal in a couple of weeks. At least by then I should be able to take the bandage off.

Mom didn't really care about calling attention to herself. If she did, she wouldn't always go traipsing around in her favorite exercise outfit, a red bikini top and a tight black vinyl bottom, like the ones she had on now. Mom was just vain about her looks. But I guess no one, not even Mom, was perfect.

It gets so boring just sitting around home, I whined. Too bad there's no school anymore. It would give me something to do anyway.

You used to hate going to school.

Yeah, I know, I griped. But that was back when there was other stuff to do.

Mom frowned and looked at the guard. The guard returned her gaze, clutching the semi-automatic ever more tightly.

He probably thinks you're one of them, I teased her.

If I was, he'd be dead already, she said softly.

Even here, right in the middle of a hospital?

Even here, she confirmed gently.

But if they kill everybody off, who's going to be left to do stuff, like fix our jeep or repair the roof or weed the garden?

Good question. I guess everything will just wear out.

My eyes wandered over to the two old ladies, still fidgeting.

I guess they're too ancient for the virus to have made much difference on them, I whispered.

We'll have to escort them back to their car, Mom whispered back.

But what if they're here all day? I whined.

Then we'll just have to wait all day, Mom said firmly.

They managed to get here in one piece, I protested. They ought to be able to get home too.

We'll just make sure of it then, she said, looking back at her magazine.

How come we always have to be the ones who help people? I whimpered. Why can't someone else do it?

What else is there left that is worthwhile to do really, besides helping the weak? Mom asked, smiling at me.

A skinny male nurse shuffled out of a long dark corridor carrying an old clipboard. He glanced at the clipboard and then at Mom.

Fierce Stone, he mumbled feebly.

Mom stood up, threw back her massive shoulders and was about to accompany the nurse, who looked like a shriveled up midget standing next to her, to one of the back rooms for her next procedure on her nose when she hesitated.

You come with me this time, Terry.

How come? I asked, standing up.

I was even taller than the nurse, who was beginning to slump over like he was getting tired already. Of course, they mostly all got tired these days after hardly doing anything at all, the men I mean.

I don't know really, Mom replied, squinting down like she could barely see me. I just have a feeling.

I wanted to squawk some more at Mom, since the sight of blood usually made my stomach queasy, but there was really no point to it. Mom was stubborn once she'd made up her mind, and I figured there were probably more important things to argue with her about, so I sighed and followed her and the nurse.

The corridor was dank and smelled like old wet rags. The walls hadn't been painted in years, and the carpet had burn holes and brown blotchy coffee stains all over it. I wondered if there was anyplace where things were taken good care of anymore. The doctor was waiting for us in a small room that smelled like mouth wash. He was stooped over like the nurse, who had somehow vanished without a trace, like smoke on a windy day, and as with most men the doctor's hair was gray and thin. The doctor looked to be in his seventies, but anymore you really couldn't tell how old a man was. He might have been in his thirties for all I knew.

Mom sat down in a big reclining cushioned chair in the middle of the room that squeaked whenever she shifted her big body around. The doctor leaned over and went to work on her nose right away with a shiny scalpel. He didn't say a word to me, didn't even look at me. I stood in the corner and watched. Mom was right. The guy was good. There was hardly any bleeding from all his cutting and slicing, just a trickle of red over her lip which he wiped away so fast that I didn't even have a chance to start gagging. After he patched her nose up again, he leaned over real far and kissed her on the cheek. I had never seen anyone but me kiss Mom before. I expected her to belt him for being fresh, but instead she gave him a little hug, real gentle so as not to hurt him.

This will be it for me, he chirped like some dying bird. I'm retiring from my practice. I just can't do it anymore. It's just too much.

I understand, Mom replied softly. Maybe they'll find a cure soon, and you can make a comeback.

The doctor grunted something unintelligible and then smiled weakly.

Stay strong and keep using sun screen, he said as he shuffled out a side door. Maybe if you're lucky, this will be your last bout with skin cancer.

I'm going to miss him, Mom lamented as we marched back down the dark corridor. I just shudder at the thought of going to a plastic surgeon. My face will end up looking like a carved up onion.

Maybe the doctor's right and you won't get skin cancer anymore, I whispered back. Maybe you're healed.

Mom folded her powerful hands over the top of my head and began twirling my long curly brown hair between her fingers. I was worried that she was about to say I needed a haircut, but she just kept grinning at me. I couldn't help thinking that she could squish my skull like it was a grape if she'd wanted to.

You're beginning to sound a little like Gran, she observed finally with a strong lilt to her voice. Gran always talked about healing, healing the soul especially.

I'd like to go outside now, I said. The stuffy air in here hurts my throat.

She laughed.

You're such a crazy little guy.

Just like Dad, I said.

Her big green eyes turned a little sad.

Just like your father.

What was he like? Tell me again.

Mom was about to say what a great guy Dad was and how I would be a great guy too when I grew up, but she didn't have a chance. As we entered the waiting room we saw the two old ladies stretched out on the floor with their heads severed and the security guard hanging from an extension cord tied to an overhead light fixture. The guard was all beat up, and I figured he was dead too. I started to gag at the sight of so much blood. Mom, like always, went into action.

First, like she usually did when this kind of thing happened, she scooped me up into her burly arms and began looking around for some safe place to stash me. She decided to set