Nathan Jones - Shortage

Smoke drifted up from beyond the shorter hill which lay between him and the shelter, since he was approaching from the west, and as he circled it and the shelter came into view he couldn’t help but be grateful for the warmth he knew would be waiting for him inside.

Before going in, though, he made his way up to the observation post to greet April, who was sprawled listlessly staring through the scope of their dad’s .30-06. Her gauntness worried him as well, especially when he saw her like this, perhaps even more so because she always made an effort to put up a cheerful and energetic front when she was around other people, hiding her suffering as best she could. Like she did now when she finally noticed him, only ten or so feet from the observation post, and scrambled to her feet to give him a wave.

“It’s been nice lately,” she said, holding her arms out as if to embrace the sun. “I know this is just the “in like a lamb” part of March, but it still feels like spring’s just around the corner.”

“I hope so,” Matt said, unable to share her mood. “Old Man Winter’s overstayed his welcome.”

April sniffed, taking in the scents of baking on the smoke that drifted their way, and Matt heard her stomach growl. “Oh, that smells good. The same thing we’ve had for the last dozen meals straight and it’s still making my mouth water.” She picked up the rifle and slung it over her shoulder. “I’m going to come in and eat with you guys.”

He hesitated, about to object, but then he thought of how close he’d come before she even noticed him. She needed a break, even from something as easy as sitting in the observation post scouting the area. And he was too tired to protest anyway, so he nodded and led the way down into the shelter.

Sam was at the stove frying the cakes, hands trembling slightly on the spatula when she flipped one. Matt came over and put his arms around her from behind, kissing the top of her head, and she gave a contented sigh and settled back against him as she kept working. The rest of the family drifted in for the meal, even Terry from the clinic, and gathered around the stove in anticipation. He heard more than one stomach growling.

Before too long the meal was ready, and they settled down on their cots in the living area with the curtains drawn back so they could all see each other, tossing the hot cakes from hand to hand.

Matt had just finished swallowing his first bite and was about to take a second when he caught movement outside on the ramp leading down to the door. At first his dull wits didn’t ring any alarm bells at that, until he remembered that his entire family was gathered around him also eating. Even then it wasn’t enough for concern, since he thought it might be someone they knew coming for a visit. That happened on occasion, so he was in no hurry as he looked up to see who it was.

Which turned out to be a gaunt, raggedly dressed man he vaguely recognized creeping for the door, pistol in one hand and eyes squinting into the relative darkness of a large underground space lit only by a single stove in back and light coming through the door. Behind him other figures crowded the ramp, clearly visible in the afternoon sun streaming in around them.

Time seemed to slow down, and the world froze as the fog around Matt’s mind vanished into mounting horror. Sam sat beside him, between him and the door. The boys were sprawled on the floor gnawing on their cakes not two feet away from Matt’s feet, directly in the gunman’s line of sight. In fact, sitting there eating their lunch with an open door and no one manning the observation post they were all in his line of sight like fish in a barrel.

Matt drew the .40 he always kept on his hip and pointed it towards the door, inches from Sam’s face. In spite of her own haze of hunger and exhaustion his wife had the presence of mind to duck back, hands darting to her ears, as he opened fire.

The shots echoed deafeningly in the enclosed metal space, and the placid sounds of eating and murmured conversation were replaced by his family’s screams.

The gunman fell, his pistol thumping onto the carpet inside the shelter as its owner slumped across the threshold. Another man behind the first also fell, and with the sort of agility that comes from seeing a gun being fired your way the other attackers all dove back up the ramp and out of sight.

Matt bolted for the door, kicking at the groaning gunman to get him clear so he could close it. In the painfully bright sunlight outside he saw a dozen or more men and even a few women standing or sprawled around the ramp, some with guns but most bearing machetes or wood axes or other improvised weapons. The few guns he saw lifted his way, and Matt threw his weight behind the door and slammed it shut just as the first shots rang out.

Some of those weapons had been large caliber rifles, and he could only hope that Lewis’s solid wood and sheet metal door could keep out bullets meant to bring down big game. It seemed like it could, or at least he didn’t see sunlight shining through any new holes. It probably helped that they were firing down the ramp at an angle instead of straight on, giving the bullets a better chance to ricochet rather than penetrate.

He locked the doorknob and then the two sturdy deadbolts, just in time as the entire door shuddered under the weight of multiple people slamming against it. Which didn’t worry him too much, since a door that could stop bullets would be hard to break down, and they’d have a fun time trying to chop through a quarter inch of sheet metal to get to the wood behind.

Behind him the screaming had stopped, at least among the adults. His dad hurried up, stooping to pick up the pistol the fallen man had dropped. “What in the world is going on?” he shouted.

Since Matt’s ears were ringing from the shots he’d fired he appreciated the volume, although the question itself seemed a bit unnecessary. “We’re under attack!” he shouted back. “More than a dozen people, four or five guns. I saw them sneaking in while we were eating.”

His dad scowled at the door. “Five guns? If we’d had someone in the observation post we could’ve sent them packing before they got within a hundred yards of this place.”

Matt felt a stab of anger, which wasn’t enough to overwhelm the even more powerful surge of shame he felt. He’d left their home unguarded even when he should’ve known better. “You think I don’t know that? I get it, I messed up.”

“That’s not what I meant,” his dad protested. “We’ve just gotten careless. This isn’t the first time we’ve brought everyone in to eat instead of bringing food out to whoever’s on watch, and that’s on all of us.”

That didn’t make him feel any better, since he of all people should’ve been on top of making sure someone was in the observation post at all times. But before he could respond the thumps at the door abruptly stopped and a voice cut in harshly from outside.

“Larson!” The door shuddered under a pair of blows. “We know you’ve got food in there, Larson! An entire bunker full of it. And your doctor’s probably got medicine too! Bring it all out and it’s the last you’ll see of us.”

Matt glanced back at his family. His mom had gathered up Aaron and Paul and retreated back behind the stove where they’d be safer from any stray shots. Sam had snatched up Matt’s AR-15 from where he’d set it on the bed and was staring at him with wide eyes, while Terry held the shotgun Matt had given him and April held their dad’s hunting rifle.

They were as well armed as the bandits outside, the problem was they were in here and the bandits were out there. At least this place was built like a bunker and the entrance could hold for a while. Matt pulled his radio from his belt. “Chauncey?” No response. “Mayor Tillman?”