Chapter Twenty-Six
The exploratory time at the work shop was not nearly as productive as Harry had imagined it would be.
The ingredients for his fantasy weapon were all present, up to and including a hand made rifle that Matt had almost completed.
Harry was familiar enough with firearms to assess the usability of the weapon. He also found a small cache of lead cast bullets, and a small pouch of home made gun-powder.
The rifle was not fine tuned, and a bit rough around the edges. It would probably work, but it would leave a hell of a kick, and it would probably not be very reliable for long range shots.
Harry also found a machete formed out of a sharpened blade of sheet metal, with two pieces of wood banded together as a handle.
As he examined the weapons, he laughed to himself for a moment, reflecting on the mind of the man who had crafted them. The laughter did not last long, and soon turned to sorrow.
The innovation present within the designs only served to remind Harry of the potential intelligence of such a being, being applied toward violence.
Matt had reminded Harry of a less stable, more vindictive version of some of the engineers he had encountered during his time in the service.
“What a waste,” he commented, as he surveyed the unfinished prototypes littering the counters of the workshop.
After securing the machete to a makeshift scabbard on his back, and tying the bullets and gun powder to a pair of pouches on his belt, Harry left the workshop, and began heading back toward the hill where he and Al last spoke.
A quick glance around the area revealed that Al had made his way toward the beach and Harry came to the sudden intuitive realization that Al had gone off without him, intent on confronting the jailor by himself.
Holding tight onto weapons he knew were likely be useless, he ran quickly after his remaining friend.