Cold Comfort by R. A. McGee

Author:R. A. McGee [McGee, R. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Darewood Press
Published: 2019-08-08T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Five

The drive off the main road to the parking lot was gravelly and bumpy, and Porter took a revolution around the building, making sure that he hadn’t missed anything—or anyone—hiding in the blind spot he couldn’t see from the road. There was nothing, and he parked behind the feed store, the better to hide his truck from anyone who might happen to be passing by on the nearly deserted road.

From behind the big brick building, he couldn’t see either of the grain silos, or the main road. The shadow cast by the building was cold, and Porter dug through the back seat of his truck, trying to find something warmer than a hoodie to wear. In the end, there was nothing. His Florida wardrobe wasn’t suited for the cold in the Midwest, but he wasn’t about to find a store and spend money.

They probably didn’t even have his size, anyway.

The back entrance was a plain exterior door, not particularly thick or reinforced in any way. Porter pulled his pistol, and then kicked directly behind the door handle, sending the door flying open. He stood outside, shoulder against the brick wall, and listened for sounds of life on the inside. Despite the fact that there were no cars outside, someone could have been dropped off, or walked.

Porter didn’t want to take any chances.

He stood still for several minutes, and ultimately was convinced he didn’t hear anything. Hopeful to find something, anything, inside that would help him, Porter stepped smoothly through the doorway, pistol raised in front of him.

The feed store’s interior was open in front of him, a big empty space, so he turned right, toward the only door in the place. He kicked through that and found the room behind it empty. Fortunately, it was the bathroom, so he took a minute and relieved himself, neglecting to flush the toilet.

Porter walked around the inside of the building, looking behind the counter and in the cabinets. There was nothing. Not only was there no one in the place, but there were no signs that anyone had been there for a long time, either.

The air was thick with dust, and it had settled on the floor in a uniform coating. There was no evidence that anyone had walked the space before him, no footprints in the dust. No smear marks from a bedroll or imprints from a body sleeping on the floor.

In the end, Porter realized that one of two things had happened. Either the Acolyte—Vincent David Shaw—had received bad info, and no one had been seen in the feed store any time recently. Or he’d lied to Porter. Bamboozled him. Porter couldn’t figure why Shaw would want him out of town, but regardless, it had worked, and Porter was nearly twenty miles from civilization.

He holstered his pistol and took one last look around the place.

“Dumbass,” Porter muttered to himself.

He walked to the front door and, as if suddenly respectful of property rights, unlatched it and stepped out front.

The early afternoon sun was high in the sky and knocked a bit of the chill out of the air.

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