Well Fed (MM04) by Keith C. Blackmore

Author:Keith C. Blackmore
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Keith C Blackmore
Published: 2014-11-20T05:00:00+00:00

26

Hearing nothing but far-off birds, Collie started the RV and drove on down the highway. Wallace dutifully followed, bringing up the rear. A few more houses sprang up along the road, nestled amidst wild-growing lawns and backyard jungles. Most of the structures appeared to be in reasonable shape, considering the apocalypse was into its fourth year. Some homes had boards nailed over their first-floor windows. Others had cars parked haphazardly in paved driveways.

Gus noticed an open door on the third house they drove by and realized darkly that the previous front doors had also been left open.

“You better pull over,” Gus said.

“See something?”

“Maybe. The houses on this side. Their doors are all open. How about yours?”

“Only passed a couple, but yeah—why?” She stopped the huge vehicle.

“Well,” Gus smiled, “that’s what I’m going to find out.”

“You okay doing that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“Just holler then if you need any help.”

“I’ll remember that.” Gus thought about all the times he’d cleared a house by himself. He hopped out and unzipped his jacket for easy access to the twin Sigs under his arms. He looped the baseball-bat scabbard over his neck and checked his boot knife. After a second, he checked his jeans. He wished he had something thicker covering his legs.

“You okay?” Collie asked.

“Yeah, just wishing I had something for my legs. Leather pants or something.”

“You’ll be okay,” she assured him. “You didn’t make it this far on just leather pants. As weird as that sounds.”

Gus supposed that was true. “Be a few minutes.” He closed the passenger door.

Dead weeds pushed through gaping cracks, exposing frozen earth and conjuring an image of something massive forcing its way up underneath the paved driveway. Gus walked along the pavement, keeping his eyes on the tall grass. The motor home huffed behind, moved, and stopped again in a squeal of brakes. An empty pool lay to the right, dull green ringing its cement edges. The front door to the house loomed closer, a brass knocker fixed in the center of a glossy wooden design. The home was two stories covered in bright yellow siding. A blue Mustang and a forest-green Jeep were parked before a garage with its door heaved high, the interior gutted.

Gus’s boots scuffed to a soft halt, and he studied the garage, knowing full well the difference between sloppy and ransacked. Whoever had gone through the place wasn’t being particular. Someone had taken anything there to be had.

That left the house.

Gus crept up to the front door and placed his back against the right side, stepping into what might have been a stomped-out flowerbed. He inhaled and wished he had a helmet. The door itself didn’t appear forced.

“Fuck it,” he grunted and peered inside the house. “Hey, anybody home?”

He shouted perhaps a little too loudly, but what the hell, he’d get back into form eventually. “Anyone?”

No answer. No sound at all.

“All right, listen, I’m coming in. If someone’s in there, let’s talk first, okay? The door was open, and I’m just checking things out.

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