by John Grit
Brian pushed his cart closer to Nate’s. “Dad, do you think this is right? We’re taking stuff, and the companies might start up again someday.”
“By the time there is an economy to support any corporation, this building and everything in it will be worthless.” Nate searched the shelves. “Even if this company were to come back tomorrow, not ten years from now, they would have all of this stuff hauled to the dump and the building destroyed so they could rebuild.”
“There ain’t enough people left alive for big companies to come back anyway,” Kindell said.
Brian turned red. “Yeah, I knew all of that, but it’s the first time I ever took anything I didn’t pay for.”
Nate turned into an aisle. “There’s no shame in being honest, Brian. I feel a little strange about it too. If someone ever wants to bill me, I have money in my bank account…if the bank ever reopens and if money is ever worth anything again.”
“Yeah.” Brian spoke more to himself than the others.
As they made their way farther back from the front windows and doorways, the building grew darker inside. Leaks in the roof had allowed rain in, and a musty smell rose to his nostrils. Ramiro sneezed. His nose ran. “The dust,” he explained, and reached for a hanky in his pocket. He found rolls of wire and soon had his cart full. Nate and Brian got what was left of the heavier wire and then grabbed thin wire suitable for wiring the inside of the bunker for twelve volt power. They took all the electrical tape they could find, as well as a dozen light switches. In less than ten minutes, everyone was pushing carts out to the trucks. On their second trip, Nate, Brian, and Kendell loaded their carts with auto headlights, taillights, dome lights, battery cables, and twelve-volt fuses. They searched for car batteries and found none. They looked for flashlight batteries, and were not surprised to discover none were left.
They found little at the garden center they could use. All of the garden hand tools were gone, and there was not a single bag of fertilizer left. An empty rack that once displayed seeds gave mute testimony to many desperate people suddenly finding vegetable gardening to be a serious subject.
“I wonder if they had any luck,” Kendell mused.
“Not likely many of them were able to learn how to garden on their first try,” Nate answered. “Most of those seeds were hybrid, so they only had one good shot at a harvest. If they kept some seeds to try again, they were in for a sad disappointment.”
Brian spoke to Kendell, “Well, they might have gotten something edible out of the second generation but forget the third. They needed non-hybrid seeds.”
Nate smiled. “You listen to him, Kendell. He’s already a pretty good farmer. He should be; I taught him.”
“I wouldn’t mind bein’ a farmer,” Kendell said. At least I wouldn’t go hungry.”
Brian searched the shelves for hand tools, “We can teach you. But I wouldn’t count on not going hungry. People can take your crops from you. It happened to us.”
Nate pulled a small flashlight out of a pocket and led them to the lawnmower section where meager sunlight from the front windows made it difficult to see. All of the lawn mowers and every other small engine powered tool were gone, except for weed trimmers. “Let’s go to the tool section,” Nate said. “Maybe they left something we can use.”
“Why did they take the mowers?” Kendell asked. “They ain’t goin’ in the lawn care business.”
“Small gas engines to power alternators scavenged from cars,” Nate answered. “Not much good now, since the gas has all been used up or gotten too old to run engines on. Keep an eye out for kits to change gas engines over to run on LP.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that in a place like this,” Brian said.
Nate saw Ramiro and several other men heading for the door with loaded carts. “No, but we might find those at a small engine repair shop. That’s what I’m hoping for.”
Brian pointed down an aisle way. “They left some rope and string.”
Nate backed up his cart and turned into the rope section. “Let’s get what we can.”
At the tool section, they found a few screwdrivers, pliers, and wire cutters in the back of bins that looters had missed. Nate grabbed welding rod and other welding items, including an oxyacetylene torch, complete with pressure gauges and hoses. His welding equipment had been stolen by the raiders when they looted his farm. There were five two-hundred-twenty volt electric arc welders, and several smaller machines, but they were as useless to Nate as they were to earlier looters. All of the gas-powered welders had been taken along with all of the generators. Their carts were full again, so they headed back to the trucks.
Nate pushed his cart out the door and into the late afternoon sun, Brian and Kendell followed, their carts overflowing. Chesty stood by his truck and scanned the street in both directions and glanced at the sun. “You might have time for one more trip before we have to leave,” Chesty said. “We do not want to be in this part of town after dark.”
Nate threw items from his cart onto a flatbed truck. “Why?”
Chesty held his rifle in both hands. “Like I told you earlier, we’re on the edge of gang territory.”
Nate worked as fast as he could and nearly had his cart unloaded. “The same gang that took over the warehouse of food?”
Chesty kept his eyes on the street. “Yep. They’re a violent bunch. They were killing and stealing until we resorted to security measures. Everyone must be in our part of town by dark. We have roadblocks and patrols working the perimeter every night.”
Brian and Kendell loaded items from their carts onto a truck. Nate waited until Ramiro and several other men brought cartloads of items out to the trucks and helped them load onto a flatbed.
Ramiro pushed his empty cart out of the way. “I think that is all from this place.”
“I agree,” Nate said. “We need to find a defendable place to spend the night and start again tomorrow. Chesty says it’s not safe at night in this part of town.”
“Follow me and I’ll set up for the night,” Chesty said. “You have your choice of empty homes.”
“Is there a department store on your side of town?” Nate asked.
Chesty raised an eyebrow. “Yes, of course, but it’s getting late.”
Nate helped Brian onto the back of the pickup. “If there’s one on the way, I would like to stop there just to take a look.”
“Okay.” Chesty started for his pickup. “We better get going, though.”
As usual, Ramiro’s pickup refused to start. Nate and six other men jumped down and pushed it away from the building until a flatbed truck could get behind and push-start it.
Chesty waited, getting more nervous as the sun lowered in the sky. Movement to his left on the other end of the parking lot caught his attention. A pack of one hundred dogs, containing many different breeds, rushed toward them, with heads low and hair standing straight up on their backs. He blew his horn and yelled out his open window, “Move out now or prepare to fight for your life!”
Kendell pointed. “They ain’t playin’. They’re on the hunt.” He shouldered his rifle.
The dogs were only seventy yards away, and Ramiro had just gotten the engine started, but it threatened to quit at any second. He revved it, afraid to let it idle.
Nate brought his rifle up and fired as soon as the butt touched his shoulder and he could look through the sights. The lead dog collapsed and slid several feet. The pack kept coming. He fired twice more, dropping a dog with each shot. The pack scattered and disappeared behind the many abandoned cars. “I had to shoot. As fast as they were moving, they would have been on us in seconds.”
“I’m glad you did,” Brian said. “I was just about to shoot and take your cussing for not waiting for your permission later.”
Nate laughed. “When have I ever cussed you?”
“You know what I mean.”
The pack turned on their dead, ripping into them with bloody teeth, snarling and snapping at each other. Nate had kill
ed the leader of the pack, now they had to work out which among them would be the alpha male, and that would determine who would eat first. Atavism, reverting to their wolf heritage, had taken over long ago, fueled by hunger and the desire to survive.
Ramiro managed to get his pickup moving, and they left the parking lot to the dogs.
By the time they pulled into the parking lot of a department store, the lower edge of the sun had touched the horizon. Chesty kept his eyes busy as he talked. “Ten minutes and I’m out of here.”
Nate, Brian, and Kendell jumped down from the pickup. Nate spoke to Ramiro. “Stay here and keep the engine running.” The three of them ran inside for a quick look. One pull-down door for loading merchandise from trucks was open. Nate pulled it down and secured it with a chain and a steel pipe. No one could pull it up from the outside. They came back out and ran to Ramiro. “I have an idea,” Nate said. “I think we can push a flatbed through the front entrance and park all of our trucks inside. It’s just aluminum and glass. Break through that and it’s plenty tall and wide enough. The gang won’t even know we’re here. If we are attacked it should be no problem to keep them at bay. The rear of the building is still secure.”
Hesitant, Ramiro asked, “Why not go with Chesty?”
“Come daylight, we’ll have more time to look through the building and then find a small engine repair shop for the other items. We might be able to find some LP and diesel tomorrow afternoon and be out of town before dark.”
Ramiro looked at the two men sitting beside him, but they were no help. They just looked back, waiting for him to decide. “Okay.” He got out and told the driver of the nearest flatbed truck to push through the glass and aluminum and into the building. The two men riding in the cab with him got out.
The driver put it in low and had little trouble inching his way through. The sound of safety glass shattering and aluminum posts and braces bending and tearing loose from their anchors echoed down the empty streets of the dead town. Inside, Nate, Brian, Kendell, and several other men busied themselves with clearing room for the truck and those to follow. With debris everywhere and cash register counters to be forced out of the way, it was a big job.
Nate planned to park the pickups across the entrances to help fortify the building against attack. The larger flatbed trucks had too much clearance underneath them to be of much use for that. Nate ran out to Chesty, who was still sitting in his pickup watching the sun go down and scanning the streets for trouble. “You can head home now. Thanks for helping us.”
Chesty furrowed his brow. “You’re staying here all night?”
“Yes. We will be as safe here as any place else.”
“Well, make sure you keep a couple men on security all night.” Chesty put the pickup in gear. “Good luck.”
I never thought of that, Nate did not say. Chesty raced across the parking lot and turned onto the street, accelerating fast. Nate turned and ran into the building to supervise the fortifications. Ramiro had already driven his pickup inside. He grabbed Brian’s backpack off the pickup and handed it to him, then did the same for Kendell. After putting his pack on, he said, “Come with me. We need to work on fortifying the back entrances.” Two men followed when Ramiro motioned for them to go with Nate.
Nate led them through the dark building with his small flashlight. He saw many items they needed and took a mental note, but kept moving, dodging around obstacles left by looters.
Passing under a sign that said employees only, they worked their way past offices and many racks of merchandise until they were back at the loading dock. “Shine your light down there.” Kendell pointed.
Nate saw what he had in mind. There was a massive stack of compacted and baled cardboard from boxes piled to the ceiling. “I doubt if we can find a forklift that still works. We will have to roll them into place.” Nate handed his flashlight to Brian. “Stay back out of the way and keep things lit for us.”
“Great, I get the easy job for a change,” Brian said.
They soon had the loading door and the one three-foot-wide employee entrance blocked two rows high. Then they made the stack two rows deep and managed to add a third row of bales to the top. Nate took the flashlight from Brian and looked their work over. “That should hold. We need to check the side door that leads into the outside garden center.”
They found the glass door shattered. Kendell pointed at a steel shelf. “We can turn it on its end and slide it up again the door, then pile heavy stuff against that.”
The shelf weighed three hundred pounds. Brian held the light while Ramiro’s men helped Nate and Kendell place it against the door. It took them only five minutes to find enough heavy objects to back up the shelf.
Nate looked their work over. “That will do.”
Nate’s flashlight was nearly dead by the time they made it to the front of the building. They found the others hard at work preparing to stay the night. The sun had set and there was little light coming in through the broken windows and entrances. Nate took his pack off and put fresh batteries in his light.
Brian looked out the windows. “It’s going to be pitch black in this place tonight. We better eat and get our sleeping bags laid out before it’s completely dark.”
“Yes, we have been racing against the sun.” Ramiro pointed to a row of sleeping bags in an aisle way. “We are ready to eat, but you who were in the back need to use the light you have left.”
Nate unrolled his sleeping bag between two cash register counters. There was just enough room for Brian. Kendell unrolled a heavy blanket between the next two counters. He did not bring a sleeping bag. Brian put two Ziploc bags of freeze-dried lasagna on the counter between them. “Hold the bag open,” he told Kendell. Brian poured a little water in. “Seal it back up and let it set a while.” Brian did the same for his own lasagna. They finished their meal in complete darkness. No one talked as they gulped down their food.
“I thought I heard something.” Brian threw his empty plastic bag on a shelf behind the counter next to him. He grabbed his carbine and checked the Aimpoint sight, adjusting the red dot’s intensity.
Everyone listened. After twenty seconds, Ramiro said, “I hear nothing.”
Two men Ramiro had put on watch looked out of the continuous line of front windows, trying to see in the dim starlight.
Nate checked the Aimpoint on his M-14. “When Brian hears something, I take notice. You on watch keep your eyes and ears working.”
“But there is nothing,” Ramiro said.
“Maybe.” Nate reached in the dark for his canteen. He stopped short. Someone hammered on metal. The sound was faint from distance, but several of the younger men heard it. “Sounds like someone pounding on a metal door.”
A man by the window spoke up. “It’s down that way.” He pointed to his left, but no one could see in the dark.
Ramiro was still not sure if he heard anything. “What direction?”
“South,” the man answered.
The pounding grew louder and more insistent. Ramiro got up from the floor where he was sitting. “I hear it now.”
“Probably scavengers like us,” a man sitting on a counter said. “You men have let Chesty frighten you with his talk of a dangerous gang.”
“I wish we had some of those cardboard bales in the doorways,” Kindell said. “Dogs can come in right under the trucks, and we can’t see nothin’ inside this buildin’. How’re we goin’ to shoot them off us?”
Nate’s voice came out of the dark. “You’re right. But we didn’t have time to roll a dozen of those big bales all the way from the back to here. If we have more trouble with dogs, we will have to shoot them before they get inside. Some of us have flashlights, but I really do not want a melee of wild shooting in the dark using flashlights. Someone is bound to get shot.”
Ramiro gave a nervous chuckle. “No, that would not be fun. We should put two more men on watch.”
“If it’s okay with you,” Nate said, “I would rather take the grave
yard shift. That’s when trouble is most likely to come, despite the commotion down the street. And I doubt that stealth is the gang’s strong point.”
“Okay.” Ramiro looked out the windows. “I will wake you when it is time.”
~~~~
Two o’clock in the morning, Nate opened his eyes in the dark and listened. He knew something had awakened him but did not know what. His rifle was already in his hands. He sat up and listened to Ramiro whispering in Spanish to some of his men. Someone was out front in the parking lot. He could here young voices and car doors slamming. Nate thought about waking Brian but decided to wait. He wanted Brian lying flat on the floor where he would be safe anyway. He sat there and listened for several minutes.
What sounded like an argument to Nate started up outside. Angry voices grew loud. Someone screamed. Brian stirred. Nate whispered in Brian’s ear. “Quiet. People are in the parking lot.”
Brian had his carbine in his hands in less than a second. “How many?”
“Don’t know, but they just did something to somebody. Maybe killed him.” Brian started to sit up but Nate pushed him down. “Stay where you are for now.”
Several young voices outside laughed. “You taught that punk,” a young man said. “Hey, what about this place? We can light up those torches and have a look around.”
“Naw,” another voice answered, “we’ve been in there before. There’s nothing left but stuff we don’t need.”
“We’re running low on diesel,” a third voice said. “Let’s head over to Fifty-Second Street and fill our tanks.”
Car doors slammed in rapid succession. Engines roared, headlights came on, and tires screeched. The roaring engines raced down the street and the sound faded away.
Ramiro whispered, “They’re gone.” Some of the men crouched under windows released a heavy load of air.
Someone moaned.
