Mark Clodi - Discovery

“You were pretty heated when we got Riley off of you. I thought you were going to kill the thing then and there.”

“Tom, I had a dog biting my leg. Anyone who gets bit would have felt the same way.” With a sigh Stewart pulled the other sock on the same foot and sat her boot up on the trunk of the car in the sun. Tom raised one eyebrow questioningly at her double socked foot and she said, “I am going to the hardware store to get some dry footwear. I knew we should have stopped by my place before leaving Denver, nuke or no nuke it would be nice to have my own clothes.”

“Alright, I will go with you.” Turning Tom called out, “Amelia, Stewart and I are going to the hardware store, will you and Max be okay out here?”

Amelia nodded, “Yes, sure Tom. See if you can find…uh, well some dog treats and maybe a better collar and leash for Riley, would you?”

“And a muzzle.” Stewart muttered softly under her breath.

“What?” Amelia asked.

“Sure thing.”

Tom laughed and they walked across the street to the faded storefront. “It looks locked up.”

“Yeah, just the sort of place a human who had been bit would go to hide away from the mob.”

“You're too paranoid.” said Tom.

“After all that has happened you can't be 'too paranoid', that is an oxymoron.”

“Maybe.” Tom was holding a crowbar, which he had picked up from one of the many vehicles they had rummaged through on their trip. The metal bar was about three feet long and had a flat pointed shaft on one end with a hook for prying on the other. He wedged the flat end between the door's lock and the frame and gave the other end a quick push. The door popped open and swung inwards.

“Fire code violation.” said Stewart.

“What?”

She pointed at the door, “This, doors on businesses have to open outwards, in case of a fire. So people don't get crushed against them. This is against the fire code. I wonder how old this building is?”

Tom stepped inside, “Hello? Anybody in here? It seems empty.”

“Yeah, cause the zombies are all big on talking.”

“Man you are in a bad mood.”

“Probably just the dog bite. Tom, stop.”

Tom froze. Stewart pointed towards the back of the store, there was a display rack of paperback books knocked over in the aisle and other products pulled off of the shelves in the same area.

Stewart raised her pistol and quietly made her way towards the mess. Tom stayed behind her, but moved over to one side to look down the aisle next to the one she was moving down, then went to the other side to check for zombies as well. Stewart stepped over the books and other boxes until she came to the end of the row, then Tom followed. When he reached her he looked on the ground and pointed out blood droplets that Stewart had already seen. She nodded and pointed along the ground in a path that the droplets followed, after about fifteen feet the blood looked smeared as if whoever had been bleeding started to crawl or had been dragged. The blood ended at the stockroom door. There were tracks in the blood as well, the tracks were from some sort of boot, as if someone had walked over the blood a few times going back and forth. Stewart avoided the blood, although it was long dry, and gently pushed the door, it swung open easily on well-oiled hinges

The back room of the place was mostly dark, however down one row of industrial sized shelving light seeped in from a dirty window. The window was set near the top of a staircase that led both with stairs leading both up and down, the blood trail splattered it's way to the stairwell. Stewart checked all of the back room that she could see and then headed for the stairs, Tom followed closely behind her, his shotgun seemed large and awkward in the confined space. The blood was all over the stairs in both directions, Stewart started to go up the stairs, then paused as if listening. A low sound came from the basement of the place. At the bottom of the stairs was a faded green door with a frosted glass window. The stairs leading down were poured from concrete, enabling both of them to get to the bottom quickly, once there they could see that the door opened into the basement and was slightly ajar. Pressing her eye to the crack Stewart saw that the basement was lit up by old kerosene lanterns, there were four of them lighting a path across the basement, which ended in another door. The basement itself was stacked just as high as the stock room, but unlike that room's clean efficiency the basement appeared to be piled with junk. Stacks of moldy paper were standing to one side of the door and large, cardboard cutouts advertising various sales and products were standing to the other. Something about the pile caught Stewart's eye and she held up her one empty hand, bringing Tom to a halt.

“There is a fishing line pulled across the door.” she whispered to Tom, while pointing it out, “See? It disappears into the pile of papers, the door is almost touching it. You gotta knife?”

Tom pulled out a worn Spyderco knife and flipped it open with his thumb, handing it to her by the handle. Stewart took the knife and gently pressed it against the fishing line. The line parted as if it were made of butter, the loose ends spiraled up to hang uselessly by the pieces of paper. Stewart scanned the opening for other lines, then folded the knife and handed it back to Tom, “Thanks.”

She slowly pushed on the door hoping it would not squeak, when no sound was forthcoming she eased it the rest of the way open and stepped into the room. Tom followed her inside then watched as she turned and looked at the fishing line, the one side that they had seen clearly disappeared into the pile of papers, passed through them and was secured to a metal shelf post, closing the door enough so they could see where the other end of the line went Steward pause, then softly swore. The other end of the fishing line ended inside of a tin can. Pulling out a pen light Stewart shined it into the can. “Holy fuck. Hand grenade.”

Tom backed up a step and Stewart seemed inclined to go with him, then she paused and flashed her light around again, on the floor behind the door was a small metal ring attached to a straight piece of metal. Stewart picked this up and eased the grenade out of the can, holding a strip of metal down along the side of the grenade as she did so. Once the object was out of the can she put the pin into the hole by the handle, then turned to Tom and said, “Sweet. Free grenade!” Tom's face was even paler than it normally was as he shook his head slowly.

“Well what? Did you want to leave a live grenade behind us? We better go slow and watch for any other little traps. Okay?” Tom nodded and let Stewart take the lead. Although the basement was lit up with the hanging lanterns Stewart used her pen light to look for other wires and anything suspicious on the floor. Halfway down the aisle they came to another fishing line strung between the shelves.

Stewart looked it over to see where the ends went, one was tied securely to a post the other led back over the top of the bottom shelf about knee high to the ground. Tom had his knife out again and was approaching the line with it when Stewart grabbed his wrist and shook her head. He raised his eyebrows questioningly and she leaned close and whispered, “Look at it.”

From the door ahead of them came a pounding beat of some music, a low constant bass that was just loud enough to be heard from where they were. Stewart was not too worried they would be overheard and said again, “Seriously look at it Tom.”

Tom changed places with Stewart and squatted down to trace the fishing line back. This one led to another tin can, only there was something different about this one. Tom leaned in for a closer look, he used the shotgun to brace himself as he crouched down down lower and used his other to shine his own pen light at the can. The can was attached to one of the metal shelving legs with a bracket of some sort, securing it so that it hung upright just below the level of the shelf and about six inches off of the floor between the bottom and next lowest shelf. On the bottom shelf were three cans filled with old bits of metal, nails, bolts, screws and other odds and ends, the space behind the shelf was clear, leaving a hole. Tom was wondering what this meant, when Stewart leaned in close and said, “There is no bottom in the can, if you cut the fishing line the grenade falls out into the clear spot and detonates. Ka-pow.” she said softly. “Or if you hit it with enough force it would probably pull it out the top too, same result. Look for the pin.”