Outflow - Lost Sanctuary Book 4: A Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series by Marcus Richardson & Mike Kraus

Author:Marcus Richardson & Mike Kraus [Richardson, Marcus]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Muonic Press Inc
Published: 2022-02-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Santa Fe, New Mexico

The Inquisitor waited until Lavoy and Stagg disappeared into the storm across Canyon Road. It was a pity the young mother—he never did catch her name—decided to stay in the safe house. It would only be moments before the mob out front broke in, and he worried for her safety, but she chose her own path. He made the sign of peace in the air. "May the gods bless you and protect you." His obligation to her was finished.

He still had to protect Stagg and Lavoy, though. He quickly used one foot to cover their tracks, shuffling sand back and forth all the way back to the gate. Once he was there, he turned and dragged both feet behind him and made a big path of footprints toward the next building, the art gallery.

Anyone rushing forth from the safe house would find their tracks and easily follow them straight through the gate to the gallery. He reached the door to the next building, turned back, and looked toward the safe house. Over the wind, he heard the sound of breaking glass, and a woman screamed.

He hoped for her sake that the young mother didn't present a threat or a tempting prize to whomever broke in. If they were with the Grove, she would most likely be ignored. He was sure that an Inquisitor was a much bigger target than a destitute mother with two small children.

Lights flickered inside the safe house. The mob had broken in. They ransacked the place, seeking supplies, no doubt—or him. He was out of time. The Inquisitor turned his back on the safe house and put his elbow through the small glass window above the doorknob at the art gallery. He flung the door open and disappeared inside, but purposely left the door open to further entice his pursuers.

He waited impatiently as his eyes adjusted to the absolute darkness inside the shuttered art gallery. He took two steps and crashed into a temporary shelving set to hold paints. The whole thing went over with a tremendous crash, and something wet splashed against his leg. He cursed, realizing that yet another suit had likely been ruined. He imagined somewhere the gods laughed at his misfortune.

"These bloody things don't grow on trees, you know," he muttered for their further entertainment. He kicked off most of the globs of oil paint and wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell, then rushed forward into the darkened studio. He paused on the threshold as an idea struck him.

Anyone who paints with oil paints requires thinners to clean their brushes. His lip curled up in a smile. Paint thinners.

"The very thing," he said to himself.

He turned and rushed back into the storeroom, quickly rummaging through the shelves and tossing aside any cans or bottles that didn't have what he needed. Using the dim light coming in from the open door, he finally found what he was looking for: a decent sized bottle of clear, foul-smelling paint thinner. He tapped the hazard labels and smiled.

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