Paul Grzegorzek - Flare

I still didn’t quite understand it but I nodded as if I did, hating to look stupid.

The buildings on either side of the road gradually went from industrial to domestic, but as with the last place we’d been through, there was no sign of anyone still living in the area.

Of course they could be shut away indoors while they waited for the power to come back on, but the windows we passed remained empty and the whole place had a desolate feel to it, as if stripped of humanity.

The truck was almost half an hour behind us when we came across a row of shops, all but a laundrette and an army surplus store with the windows smashed and goods looted.

The laundrette had presumably escaped because it held nothing of value, but the surplus store was a different matter. Both large windows had steel roller-shutters pulled down over them and the door in the middle was steel-reinforced wood. There were serious dents and gouges in the metal but it had held firm, keeping out the looters. Unfortunately, it seemed it was going to keep us out as well.

“Boots and proper clothing behind those,” Emily said, giving the door an experimental rattle. “All we need to do is work out how to get in.”

I pointed to the windows above the shop, single-glazed sliding sashes that a child could break into. A child that was twenty feet tall, that is.

“Maybe we can find a ladder?”

“Sure,” she said, “and where are we going to find one of those?”

I looked up the road, spying a builder’s van at the far end.

“In that, maybe?”

She shrugged and led the way to the van. It was locked, but the stock of the shotgun put a window out quickly enough. I winced at the noise, half expecting angry residents to pour out of their houses, but nothing stirred as Emily reached in, opened the door and climbed inside.

She disappeared over the seats into the back, and opened the rear door a few moments later, coming out with not just the ladder but also a small toolkit.

“Never know when it might come in handy,” she said, stowing it in her bag as I held the ladder.

“Anything else useful?” I peered into the back at the shelves and boxes lining the walls.

“Only if you like porn.”

“I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

I carried the ladder over to the shop, allowing Emily to keep her hands free for the shotgun, then we swapped as the ladder was extended and placed up against the wall. I stood with my good foot on the bottom rung as she climbed, trying to watch her and keep an eye out at the same time as my sweaty palms gripped the shotgun too tightly.

“It’s not even locked,” she called back down as she slid the window open, “I’ll be back out shortly.”

She pulled the pistol from her waistband and rolled smoothly through the window, leaving me to stand there in the road with the irrational fear that the police would turn up and arrest me for burglary.

The image was so ludicrous that I began to chuckle, and I was still laughing as I heard the bolts on the inside of the door slide back and it creaked open.

“What are you laughing at?” Emily demanded, expression showing that she thought she might be the butt of the joke.

“Just worrying about getting a criminal record,” I giggled, and she laughed too.

“I promise to put in a good word for you, come on, the place is full of stuff.”

I took the precaution of removing the ladder in case anybody happened by, collapsing it and laying it on its side against the wall of the laundrette. When Emily saw what I was doing she nodded her approval.

“Good thinking. Now let’s see what we can salvage before someone does show up to investigate the noise we’ve made.”

I cast one last look up and down the street, then hurried inside, eager to find myself some new boots, and maybe some clothes that didn’t smell quite so bad.

“I look stupid,” I said, staring at my reflection in the mirror. As well as a pair of shiny black Magnum boots, Emily had agreed with my need for a change of clothes. Where we differed, however, was on what that change should be.

She selected outfits for both of us which consisted of woodland camouflage jackets and lightweight trousers, with leggings underneath in olive green. To hers she had added a pistol holster also in olive green, a drop-leg, she called it, while to my outfit she had added a green canvas webbing vest with elastic loops to hold shotgun cartridges.

“The long-johns keep the heat in and the lightweights dry quickly if they get wet,” she explained, “and if it gets hot we can just take the long-johns off.”

So saying, she stripped down to her underwear as if I wasn’t there, standing gawping at her matching black bra and panties as if I’d never seen a woman before.

Her body was soft in all the right places and hard in others, with firm, rippling muscles across her stomach and shoulders that were smoothed by her natural curviness. I felt an uncomfortable heat in my groin and quickly turned away, red-faced.

“And you don’t look stupid,” she said from behind me, “I think you look kind of cute.”

I glanced down at myself and readjusted the waistband of my trousers to hide my embarrassment.

“Cute? Never thought I’d hear someone call me that.”

“Well there’s a first time for everything.” I heard the sound of a zip being done up. “If you’ve calmed down enough you can turn back now.”

I closed my eyes and wished for a second that I could sink through the floor, then turned to be hit by the full force of her dimples as they framed a wicked grin.

“Unless, of course, you want to stay here a little longer?”

Her fingers played with the zip on her jacket as she stared at me, eyes bright in the dim shop interior. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to step towards her and help her with the zip, but as I took that first step my ears caught a noise from outside the shop and I froze, my libido wilting like a cut flower left out in the sun.

“I’m telling you, I heard something.” It was a deep male voice, middle aged and rough-sounding.

“Well there’s no one here, is there?” The second voice was higher but also male, with a whiny tone that instantly set my teeth on edge.

“What about in the shop?”

The door rattled and Emily drew her pistol from its holster while I reached out and picked up the shotgun, thumb immediately stroking the safety to check it was on.

“Nah, it’s locked. ‘Ere. You reckon there’s anything interesting in there?”

“Prob’ly. You wanna get caught by the soldiers when they come back, though? They didn’t finish this area properly, remember? That one with the stripes said just people from here, they’d come back for supplies later.”

“Yeah, I was there, I remember. Just thought we might find something interesting is all.” The voices began to fade as they walked away, their footsteps just audible through the shutters. I breathed a sigh of relief and looked over at Emily, cursing silently when I remembered what they had interrupted.

“We should go,” Emily said as if the moment had never happened, “let’s pack the bags and see if there’s a back door.”

I nodded glumly and waved goodbye to the close encounter, instead pulling myself together and sorting through the other goods we’d piled next to the bags. There were bags and bags of army rations, sanitary wipes, water purification tablets, two pairs of binoculars, a pair of wicked looking army knives with sheaths that we put on our belts, waterproof matches and about a dozen other things that were all apparently essential to our ongoing survival.

“People actually buy this stuff?” I asked as we packed it all into the Bergens, my rucksack having been replaced with a new one from the shop.