Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

Robertson bounced and turned his back. The private’s shoulders shook.

David closed his eyes. A joke. They were playing a joke. Shaking his head, he opened his eyes then removed the Humvee’s keys from its hook. “Rats, too?”

“There were definitely holes in the box, what with them sitting so long. Could be a whole nest of rats, hundred’s like Old Mother Hubbard’s shoe.”

Robertson burst out laughing, before bending double and laughing. “The old woman’s shoe. Old Mother Hubbard had a cupboard.”

Michelson swiped at his eyes. “Hell, Rubberman, I can’t keep your shit straight.”

David spun the key ring on his finger. Despite his news, the boys were enjoying themselves.

Robertson elbowed him. “Did you see Big D’s face?”

“Yeah.” Michelson’s grin split his face. “I almost lost it.”

“Now that you boys have had you’re fun, I’ve got a job to do.” David lifted the box off the desk. Last thing he needed was one of these yahoos playing keep-a-way.

“We’re not kidding about the shoes, Big D.” Straightening, Robertson smoothed his hands down his chest. “Course, they weren’t stolen.”

The humor fled Michelson’s lean face. “We swapped them out for the boxes of rations and facemasks in the CO’s trunk.”

The cardboard bent in David’s grip. Food and Personal Protective Equipment. Did the man have a thought for anyone but himself? “Bastard!”

“Yeah.” Robertson rocked back on his heels. “We just took out stuff, replaced it with the women’s shoes, and then sealed it back up.”

“Anything else missing?” David reformed the box. The CO had crossed the line. This time he wouldn’t go through official channels; he’d find a way to deal with it internally.

Michelson exchanged a glance with Robertson.

Ah hell. Any more bad news and he might have to steal a kiss from Mavis to make him feel better. “What?”

“Blankets, water rations, and boxes of anti-virals.”

Son of a bitch! David slammed out the vestibule. “Are they in his trunk, too?”

“Not that we could find.” Robertson shook his head. “I have our guys searching the motor pool. He may be using that to stash the goods since his trunk was packed.”

The keys bit into David’s palm. His long strides ate up the distance to his Humvee. “Good. If you find anything, use the shoes as substitutes. We have plenty.”

After months of storing the foot gear, they might finally have found a good use for them.

Robertson jogged ahead to open the driver’s door. “Who do you want to watch the CO?”

“Keep an eye on the supplies.” David climbed into the seat. “Leave the CO to me.”

Manny scanned the three-car garage. He’d hit the mother lode. His palms itched as the headlamp illuminated the racks of camping gear—tents, sleeping bags, tarps, cook stove and lantern, plus tanks and tanks of propane.

All his for the taking.

He shuffled through the empty bays and ran his hand over the rough canvas of the two-room tent and the slick nylon of the sleeping bag. He squeezed the foam mats before stopping on the cold metal of the lantern. Real. They were real.

A rat scampered across his foot and he jumped back. Nasty things, rats. But smart. They’d been in the last house and had eaten all but the canned goods and cleaning supplies. But even those packages had gnaw marks.

Kicking aside the droppings, he scratched his head. Taking all the supplies would be wrong. They didn’t need it; they had a nice house now. At least he hoped it was nice. After jimmying the lock and disconnecting the alarm system, he’d left Irina and the niños to settle in while he shopped at the neighbors’.

While the twenty cans weighted his backpack, the food wouldn’t feed six people for long. He needed more. Much more. Then he’d approach the five people still living in the neighborhood to find out their distribution point. The soldiers handed out much larger portions. He might even take Irina and the kids to get a bigger share.

But that was the future.

He needed things to get them through at least a week. And they couldn’t eat camping gear. Manny tugged the neighborhood map out of his hoodie pocket. Biting the cap off the Sharpie, he bared the pen’s tip and marked the house with a CG. If they had to leave the area, he would return. Capping the pen, he returned it to his pocket with the map. In the meantime…

Shrugging off the backpack, he set it on the floor and unzipped it. The headlamp’s light bounced off the can tops. That should be enough room for the propane canisters. His hand closed around the blue cylinders, as one by one he packed them inside. The fabric strained as he closed the zipper.

After slinging the backpack onto one shoulder, he hooked a finger through the lantern, picked up the double-burner cook stove, and then carried the items to the side door. Setting them on the ground, he opened the door a crack and peered out.

Why had they left it unlocked? Had they expected someone? Or was someone out there, shopping at the abandoned houses like he was doing? He turned the lock. Maybe it would give him enough warning if someone returned.

And what if they took his stuff?

Manny glanced at the items. Was getting away better than starving? He hauled up the backpack. Working his way along the interior wall, he opened the nearest cabinet. Empty. Car washing supplies. Lawn food. Rats’ droppings. One after the other, he inspected them until he reached the last cabinet.

A rat sat in the center, chewing on the remains of a seed packet. Watching him through beady eyes, the brown rodent twitched its whiskers. Corners of paper and fecal capsules littered the rest of the cupboard. Piss. He slammed the cabinet. The rat inside squeaked and poked his head out.

Brushing off the feel of rat, Manny hurried over to the interior door and clawed at the knob.

It didn’t turn.

So someone had locked the door. Still, even if nobody lived here, he couldn’t chance losing the little food he had. Kneeling on the cement, he flipped open his switchblade and worked the lock. Cold leached into his legs and he swiped at the sweat stinging his eyes.

“Come on. Come on.” The door popped open. Exhaling, he sagged against the scratched door jamb. “Thank God.”

Filling his lungs, he staggered to his feet and stumbled inside. The fetid stench of decay hung heavy on the stale air. Tiny feet rasped behind him, and he kicked the door shut. The rats could find their own way in, if they hadn’t already. But he wasn’t going to help them.

Wiping his sneakers on the mat, he took in the laundry room. Tumble marbled floor, black granite countertops and cherry wood cabinets surrounded the stainless steel washer and dryer. A keyboard full of buttons glistened in the glow of his headlamp. He waded into the room and caught a whiff of sour laundry.

Someone had left clothes in the machine. Perhaps they had been in a hurry to leave. Resisting the urge to look in the tub, he opened the cabinet. Three large bottles rested on the bottom shelf. Two were environmentally friendly soap; one contained fabric softener.

They’d have clean clothes tonight. Smiling, he pulled the bottles down and set them by the door to the garage. If his good fortune continued he’d need a wheelbarrow to haul his stuff home. That kind of problem he would gladly handle.

He only hoped he was as lucky with the food. Easing the cabinet closed, he opened the next one. Tools, light bulbs and vases. Pass. Rolls of paper towels sat in neat rows in the third cabinet. His knees trembled. The heck with kitchen spills, the stuff would work equally well as toilet tissue. He quickly plucked the rolls of Bounty and stacked them next to the door.