(eng) M. P. McDonald - Sympatico Syndrome 1-3 by Infection Isolation Invasion

Author:Infection,Isolation,Invasion [Infection,Isolation,Invasion]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

They had passed a farmhouse not very far from where they had parked, and Cole had made a note of it. If they had time on the way back, he’d wanted to investigate it. He glanced at his watch. There was still a little time before they had to rendezvous with Sean’s group. Was there enough to look? Cole glanced at his watch. If there was food, it would be worth it to take the time.

The house was a quarter mile off the road with a long winding driveway. His idea was that farmers were more likely to have put up stores of food than people in town and more likely to have taken precautions to safeguard those food supplies. The mouse and rat problem had become bad in town—with so much food available, the population had exploded. Most of the food stores in the houses near the horses, unless they were stored in metal or glass, were ruined. Cereal boxes, powdered milk, even cake mix, were all contaminated by the rodents. What they hadn’t eaten, they’d spoiled with droppings. Even some plastic containers weren’t safe if a rat was determined.

Cole called a halt. “Guys, take a quick break. I’m going to run up to the house and see if I can find anything useful.” Maybe since it was so far from town, rats hadn’t discovered it yet. He also wanted to see if there was anything in the barn that might come in handy.

“You want me to go too, Cole?” Jake offered.

“No, I’ll only bring what I can carry, and if there’s anything more, we can hit it up tomorrow. You two just take a break, stay out of sight, too.” He motioned to a copse of trees bordering the drive entrance. “I won’t be long.”

They quickly transferred the cattail roots he had in his pack to Jake’s so he’d have room for whatever he might find.

Cole kept to the edge of the driveway and the cover of the weeds. It would be easier walking on the asphalt of the drive, but he’d be a sitting duck for anyone firing from the house. He could cross the distance in only a few minutes, but he took his time, looking for any signs of recent activity. An old pickup truck was parked in front of a faded red barn, while a small tractor sat in the middle of what must have been a garden in the early summer. The edges of the garden were still discernible and some of what had been planted had grown, but it was choked by weeds. He scanned the house. A porch, littered with leaves, wrapped around the home. The sudden flap of a white plastic bag caught on a shrub startled him.

He climbed the three steps up to the backdoor, his footsteps on the wood sounding as loud in his ears as firecrackers. Before he tried the door, he peered into a window, scanning what he could see of a large kitchen with stainless steel appliances.

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