it, and decided to bring my M1A. Jake cocked an eyebrow at me, but pulled out his rifle as well.
“Just in case our friends from the tracks happen to be in the neighborhood and want to say hi,” I explained.
Jake nodded and then said. “You want the house or the buildings?”
“What do you mean?”
“For the desk. For all we know, it’s an antique they stored in the loft of the barn.”
“Good point. God, I hope not,” I said, looking at the size of the barn.
“Your choice,” Jake said.
“I’ll take the house,” I said, figuring it would be easier to be in one place than hunting around several buildings.
“You suck,” Jake said sulkily, heading off to the garage.
“Don’t give me a choice next time, dope,” I laughed, stepping onto the porch. I looked into the windows, trying to see as much as I could before going in. The big room looked like it was full of antiques, so I may hit jackpot right away. There was a big bookcase in the room, so the books we may have wanted would likely be there.
I walked off the porch and around to the front of the house. The entire area was still, no sound, no wind, no anything. It was very peaceful, all things considered.
At the front, I looked into the parlor windows, but didn’t see any desk. That was okay, it might be in another room. I would find it when I went inside. I walked around the house some more, looking into windows, but didn’t see anything that was going to be a problem.
I was just about to open the kitchen door when I caught something in the corner. It was a shoe, and by the angle it was to the floor, someone’s foot was still inside it. I tapped on the door, watching the foot, but it didn’t move. I banged a little harder, but the foot stayed put.
Not much in the way of choices. I slung my rifle over my arm and pulled out my tomahawk. While my rifle was useful, firing inside small places really hurts my ears, and I tried to avoid it as much as possible.
I tried the door handle and was pleasantly surprised to find it unlocked. I opened the door and kept my eyes on the foot. It never moved, even when I circled around the table in the small kitchen. I snuck a look outside, and saw Jake working his way through the tall grass towards the barn. I guess the garage was a bust.
On the far side of the table, in front of a pantry, I could finally see the owner of the foot. It was an older gentleman, long dead, slumped back in a chair. A rifle was between his legs, and the man’s head was back, revealing his neck, which showed a wound under his chin. His left arm was on the table, and I could see the faint outline of a bite mark on his wrist.
Same old story. We had seen this hundreds of times. Someone gets bit, they find a gun, and they kill themselves before they turn. Can’t say as I blame them. I’d probably do the same, if I couldn’t find anyone to do it for me.
I pulled the rifle out and looked it over. It was a .22 Anschutz-Savage; at least that’s what it said on the barrel. I didn’t know if this was the .22 rifle we were looking for, but I put it by the door anyway.
Leaving the body where it was, I looked into the main room. There was a large stairwell leading up, and a couple of rooms to the north and east. I looked into the north room first, and found a bunch of books lining the shelves. Scanning the books quickly, I found the volumes we were supposed to look for and brought them to the table. They were a collection of Mark Twain novels and collected stories, and at first glance, they didn’t seem to be anything special besides old.
The other room was a dining room, and there wasn’t anything in there. A small bathroom off the main room was the only other area to check, and then I made my way upstairs to check the bedrooms. At the top of the stairs was the main bedroom, and it looked fairly normal, except for the dead woman lying in the bed. She was
“Just in case our friends from the tracks happen to be in the neighborhood and want to say hi,” I explained.
Jake nodded and then said. “You want the house or the buildings?”
“What do you mean?”
“For the desk. For all we know, it’s an antique they stored in the loft of the barn.”
“Good point. God, I hope not,” I said, looking at the size of the barn.
“Your choice,” Jake said.
“I’ll take the house,” I said, figuring it would be easier to be in one place than hunting around several buildings.
“You suck,” Jake said sulkily, heading off to the garage.
“Don’t give me a choice next time, dope,” I laughed, stepping onto the porch. I looked into the windows, trying to see as much as I could before going in. The big room looked like it was full of antiques, so I may hit jackpot right away. There was a big bookcase in the room, so the books we may have wanted would likely be there.
I walked off the porch and around to the front of the house. The entire area was still, no sound, no wind, no anything. It was very peaceful, all things considered.
At the front, I looked into the parlor windows, but didn’t see any desk. That was okay, it might be in another room. I would find it when I went inside. I walked around the house some more, looking into windows, but didn’t see anything that was going to be a problem.
I was just about to open the kitchen door when I caught something in the corner. It was a shoe, and by the angle it was to the floor, someone’s foot was still inside it. I tapped on the door, watching the foot, but it didn’t move. I banged a little harder, but the foot stayed put.
Not much in the way of choices. I slung my rifle over my arm and pulled out my tomahawk. While my rifle was useful, firing inside small places really hurts my ears, and I tried to avoid it as much as possible.
I tried the door handle and was pleasantly surprised to find it unlocked. I opened the door and kept my eyes on the foot. It never moved, even when I circled around the table in the small kitchen. I snuck a look outside, and saw Jake working his way through the tall grass towards the barn. I guess the garage was a bust.
On the far side of the table, in front of a pantry, I could finally see the owner of the foot. It was an older gentleman, long dead, slumped back in a chair. A rifle was between his legs, and the man’s head was back, revealing his neck, which showed a wound under his chin. His left arm was on the table, and I could see the faint outline of a bite mark on his wrist.
Same old story. We had seen this hundreds of times. Someone gets bit, they find a gun, and they kill themselves before they turn. Can’t say as I blame them. I’d probably do the same, if I couldn’t find anyone to do it for me.
I pulled the rifle out and looked it over. It was a .22 Anschutz-Savage; at least that’s what it said on the barrel. I didn’t know if this was the .22 rifle we were looking for, but I put it by the door anyway.
Leaving the body where it was, I looked into the main room. There was a large stairwell leading up, and a couple of rooms to the north and east. I looked into the north room first, and found a bunch of books lining the shelves. Scanning the books quickly, I found the volumes we were supposed to look for and brought them to the table. They were a collection of Mark Twain novels and collected stories, and at first glance, they didn’t seem to be anything special besides old.
The other room was a dining room, and there wasn’t anything in there. A small bathroom off the main room was the only other area to check, and then I made my way upstairs to check the bedrooms. At the top of the stairs was the main bedroom, and it looked fairly normal, except for the dead woman lying in the bed. She was
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