Read Online Monster of the Apocalypse by C. Henry Martens - Free Book Online
Authors: C. Henry Martens
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for signs of hunting and camping equipment or expensive vehicles that older people could afford. It was a skill picked up from their father, learning what to look for in order to find what they wanted.
They kept to the hillsides and the view lots by taking a side street. A big house set back off the road had vehicles that looked like the right kind. Pulling her wrecking bar from her belt, Lecti approached the front door. It was open, forced, as evidenced by the broken jamb. Leaves and windblown sand drifted into the entry. The interior was bright with sunlight illuminating debris from a huge hole in the roof.
The main floor bedrooms held nothing. They had been ransacked. The basement door was swollen or tweaked and difficult to open. The odor of mildew wafted up to fill their noses. There was shallow water at the bottom of the stairs. By peeking around the stairwell wall they could see a large gun safe. It showed no evidence of tampering. Not surprising, since it was easier to continue on than to tackle a mass of metal meant to keep people out. They would have looked for a nearby key except it had a combination lock. It saved them from getting their feet wet anyway.
They left the house, and Deo shared the licorice that Lecti had found, breaking off bits as they walked up the street. They spoke without saying anything, pointing, nodding, shrugging. Lecti moved easily, feeling nice to be quiet with each other again, without Toshi.
A higher street had a residence that looked good. The front door was in a steel frame and fastened too tight to succumb to the bar. Windows had been covered in ornamental iron security grates, so Lecti suggested that they move on. Thinking that the back might be better for access, Deo persisted. Sure enough, after climbing the back fence, they found the rear of the house to be mostly glass looking out on a beautifully overgrown, xeriscaped, garden courtyard. Deo threw a piece of lawn furniture at a floor length window. On the third try the glass shattered, and they entered.
The master bedside tables each held a pistol. A double-action .357 revolver in a holster on one side was loaded with an empty chamber under the hammer. It was an older gun with some wear but still retained a coat of light oil covered in lint. Lecti was confident that the pistol was serviceable, and after wiping it down and giving it a visual check, she traded holsters. This weapon felt better than the pistol she had lost. She liked wheel guns better than automatics.
Deo picked up the pistol from the other table, also a .357 revolver. It looked new with no noticeable wear. The grip was laminated wood in a beautiful red and turquoise colored grain. Like the other, it was loaded with an empty chamber. In checking out the weapon, Deo found the rounds swelled in the cylinders to the point that he had to force them out. If the pistol hadn’t been oiled properly when stored, it would have been more difficult. Boxed shells fit easily.
Lecti tossed him her old holster, and Deo tested it for fit. It would do just fine. Deo followed Lecti’s lead and wiped his pistol down, testing its mechanisms and putting the holster on his belt. The boxes of fragmenting shells in the drawers found a place in their deep pockets.
There were no bodies. No stories to tell other than the pictures on the bedroom dressers and in the living spaces. Before the dust settled thick on everything, the house was clean, well organized, and attractively appointed.
A closet used for storage in a bedroom office yielded two rifles and a bag of weapon related accessories. One rifle was scoped and looked fairly new. Deo chose the other, older, lighter, and without a scope. Two twenty-two caliber pistols were set aside, not deadly enough.
The cleaning tools in the bag were used to freshen the .357’s and the rifle. It was a good replacement for the twenty-two rifle that Deo had lost, a light, bolt action weapon with a nice, old style, carved, wooden stock and a
They kept to the hillsides and the view lots by taking a side street. A big house set back off the road had vehicles that looked like the right kind. Pulling her wrecking bar from her belt, Lecti approached the front door. It was open, forced, as evidenced by the broken jamb. Leaves and windblown sand drifted into the entry. The interior was bright with sunlight illuminating debris from a huge hole in the roof.
The main floor bedrooms held nothing. They had been ransacked. The basement door was swollen or tweaked and difficult to open. The odor of mildew wafted up to fill their noses. There was shallow water at the bottom of the stairs. By peeking around the stairwell wall they could see a large gun safe. It showed no evidence of tampering. Not surprising, since it was easier to continue on than to tackle a mass of metal meant to keep people out. They would have looked for a nearby key except it had a combination lock. It saved them from getting their feet wet anyway.
They left the house, and Deo shared the licorice that Lecti had found, breaking off bits as they walked up the street. They spoke without saying anything, pointing, nodding, shrugging. Lecti moved easily, feeling nice to be quiet with each other again, without Toshi.
A higher street had a residence that looked good. The front door was in a steel frame and fastened too tight to succumb to the bar. Windows had been covered in ornamental iron security grates, so Lecti suggested that they move on. Thinking that the back might be better for access, Deo persisted. Sure enough, after climbing the back fence, they found the rear of the house to be mostly glass looking out on a beautifully overgrown, xeriscaped, garden courtyard. Deo threw a piece of lawn furniture at a floor length window. On the third try the glass shattered, and they entered.
The master bedside tables each held a pistol. A double-action .357 revolver in a holster on one side was loaded with an empty chamber under the hammer. It was an older gun with some wear but still retained a coat of light oil covered in lint. Lecti was confident that the pistol was serviceable, and after wiping it down and giving it a visual check, she traded holsters. This weapon felt better than the pistol she had lost. She liked wheel guns better than automatics.
Deo picked up the pistol from the other table, also a .357 revolver. It looked new with no noticeable wear. The grip was laminated wood in a beautiful red and turquoise colored grain. Like the other, it was loaded with an empty chamber. In checking out the weapon, Deo found the rounds swelled in the cylinders to the point that he had to force them out. If the pistol hadn’t been oiled properly when stored, it would have been more difficult. Boxed shells fit easily.
Lecti tossed him her old holster, and Deo tested it for fit. It would do just fine. Deo followed Lecti’s lead and wiped his pistol down, testing its mechanisms and putting the holster on his belt. The boxes of fragmenting shells in the drawers found a place in their deep pockets.
There were no bodies. No stories to tell other than the pictures on the bedroom dressers and in the living spaces. Before the dust settled thick on everything, the house was clean, well organized, and attractively appointed.
A closet used for storage in a bedroom office yielded two rifles and a bag of weapon related accessories. One rifle was scoped and looked fairly new. Deo chose the other, older, lighter, and without a scope. Two twenty-two caliber pistols were set aside, not deadly enough.
The cleaning tools in the bag were used to freshen the .357’s and the rifle. It was a good replacement for the twenty-two rifle that Deo had lost, a light, bolt action weapon with a nice, old style, carved, wooden stock and a
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