difficult to get to without special gear. If I had the Cherub it would be a piece of cake, but I donât and so thatâs out of the question.
The third floor is a pipe dream.
I pull up close to the house and circle round until I see another door alongside. This one is a set of double doors with more windows than the other.
I get out of the cart. Here Iâm faced with a dilemma. Do I leave the door open or close it? Leaving it open means that I can get back in quickly. But so could a Feral. That would be a nasty surprise. So closed it is.
I creep up to the door and look inside through the panes that are intact. I see furniture, but little else.
âFuck it,â I say and start breaking panes. Itâs easy to push the door in then and Iâm inside. Itâs some kind of kitchen area, with the stove and other appliances to my left and a small sitting area straight ahead. Plenty of space hidden from view. So I walk in with my revolver out, my eyes scanning, my tread light. I have twenty-five bullets left. Thatâs it. Then Iâm defenseless.
The place smells musty, and I know that some of the food here has spoiled. Itâs not a fresh spoiled smell but something older. It doesnât tell me anything. The food could have gone long ago and there still could be Ferals about. I move into the kitchen, my gun preceding my every move. Nothingâs there. So I set about rooting through the cupboards, trying not to be too loud, keeping my eyes moving, first on a cupboard, then all around me, then another cupboard, and so on.
I turn up a few cans early in the search. Cans can be trickyâthey might be intact and still turn up rancid or give you bad stomachachesâbut theyâre still valuable. I stuff them into my bag. The next few drawers and cupboards turn up some dry goods. Theyâre likely full of bugs, but I stuff them in the bag anyway. Iâll have time to check later.
The next set of cabinets turns up a prize. Liquor. If I were on the Cherub I would have a hard choice with this. A good drink is always a good thing to have around, but I could also barter quite a bit for this. Vodka. And . . . yes, deeper in the back thereâs a smaller bottle. Tequila.
The house is a veritable gold mine. Viktorâs idea had been sound. By the time I clear the kitchen, my search has been Feral-free and Iâve added a stash of rice and some dried corn kernels to the mix. I could walk way right now and be happy.
But Iâm feeling a bit more confident, and I want to give the rest of the house a search.
Itâs tech-lite, the way a lot of these country homes are. Dad used to tell me that people preferred these homes without too many modern distractions. People who lived in the cities often used these places to get away. I had to take his word on that. I never knew a world with distractions other than finding a way to survive. But Iâve read about them. Itâs like reading about wizards and sorcerers.
I find a couple of tech boxes whose uses arenât clear to me. I strip what I can from them and pile them into the bag.
Then itâs up the stairs.
Again, this is a bit trickier. Just because no Ferals came at me before doesnât mean there isnât a whole nest up here, enjoying the slightly elevated temperature, waiting for a tasty morsel to drop in on them.
So itâs revolver out, my finger ready to fire away.
I realize this place is bigger than it appears. Lots of rooms. Which can be trouble. But I take them one by one. Swinging the gun into the entrance, switching between the room and the hallway.
It also appears to be clean. Thereâs not much up here. Some old furniture. Some books. I pick up a few. These are for me. Entertainment isnât easy to find in the Sick, and it looks like Iâm going to have a lot of time on the ground to fill.
At last I crest the third floor. Itâs just one room up here. A huge room. With a window looking down on the
The third floor is a pipe dream.
I pull up close to the house and circle round until I see another door alongside. This one is a set of double doors with more windows than the other.
I get out of the cart. Here Iâm faced with a dilemma. Do I leave the door open or close it? Leaving it open means that I can get back in quickly. But so could a Feral. That would be a nasty surprise. So closed it is.
I creep up to the door and look inside through the panes that are intact. I see furniture, but little else.
âFuck it,â I say and start breaking panes. Itâs easy to push the door in then and Iâm inside. Itâs some kind of kitchen area, with the stove and other appliances to my left and a small sitting area straight ahead. Plenty of space hidden from view. So I walk in with my revolver out, my eyes scanning, my tread light. I have twenty-five bullets left. Thatâs it. Then Iâm defenseless.
The place smells musty, and I know that some of the food here has spoiled. Itâs not a fresh spoiled smell but something older. It doesnât tell me anything. The food could have gone long ago and there still could be Ferals about. I move into the kitchen, my gun preceding my every move. Nothingâs there. So I set about rooting through the cupboards, trying not to be too loud, keeping my eyes moving, first on a cupboard, then all around me, then another cupboard, and so on.
I turn up a few cans early in the search. Cans can be trickyâthey might be intact and still turn up rancid or give you bad stomachachesâbut theyâre still valuable. I stuff them into my bag. The next few drawers and cupboards turn up some dry goods. Theyâre likely full of bugs, but I stuff them in the bag anyway. Iâll have time to check later.
The next set of cabinets turns up a prize. Liquor. If I were on the Cherub I would have a hard choice with this. A good drink is always a good thing to have around, but I could also barter quite a bit for this. Vodka. And . . . yes, deeper in the back thereâs a smaller bottle. Tequila.
The house is a veritable gold mine. Viktorâs idea had been sound. By the time I clear the kitchen, my search has been Feral-free and Iâve added a stash of rice and some dried corn kernels to the mix. I could walk way right now and be happy.
But Iâm feeling a bit more confident, and I want to give the rest of the house a search.
Itâs tech-lite, the way a lot of these country homes are. Dad used to tell me that people preferred these homes without too many modern distractions. People who lived in the cities often used these places to get away. I had to take his word on that. I never knew a world with distractions other than finding a way to survive. But Iâve read about them. Itâs like reading about wizards and sorcerers.
I find a couple of tech boxes whose uses arenât clear to me. I strip what I can from them and pile them into the bag.
Then itâs up the stairs.
Again, this is a bit trickier. Just because no Ferals came at me before doesnât mean there isnât a whole nest up here, enjoying the slightly elevated temperature, waiting for a tasty morsel to drop in on them.
So itâs revolver out, my finger ready to fire away.
I realize this place is bigger than it appears. Lots of rooms. Which can be trouble. But I take them one by one. Swinging the gun into the entrance, switching between the room and the hallway.
It also appears to be clean. Thereâs not much up here. Some old furniture. Some books. I pick up a few. These are for me. Entertainment isnât easy to find in the Sick, and it looks like Iâm going to have a lot of time on the ground to fill.
At last I crest the third floor. Itâs just one room up here. A huge room. With a window looking down on the
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