door.
Despite my earlier check of the outside, Stan knelt to the side, favoring his bad ankle, when he unlocked the door. If someone was hiding inside, he sure didn’t want to present too easy of a target. With the girls sticking by the truck, I stood behind Stan until the metal fire door swung open and waited a beat before rounding into the room.
I moved carefully, “slicing the pie” as my dad called it. With the fading sunlight, visibility was low inside and the jumble of computer monitors and assorted parts, boxes, and shelving along each wall made the job more difficult. In addition to the piles of supplies and such, the large room featured three computer work stations and what looked like a small repair cubby with soldering irons and voltage meters. That told me they did more than sling software here, anyway.
“Wish I had a grenade,” I said barely above a whisper, and I saw Stan stiffen in the corner of my eye as I completed my visual inspection of the back room. The Glock 21 in my hand traced my line of sight and I stepped fully into the room once I decided nothing was going to jump out at me.
“Clear,” I said and waved Stan in behind me. We paused for a brief consultation and he informed me the only other rooms in the building were the store front and a unisex bathroom.
“Why did you wish for a grenade? And don’t blame it on the Boy Scouts,” Stan said, stealing my line.
“It was just a joke. My dad always complained about all the dangers inherent in clearing rooms. From the fatal funnel of the doorway to all the little crawlspaces and hidey holes, going into buildings is always a good way to get shot. If I had a grenade, I could just toss it in and wait outside for the dust to clear. My dad said they almost never did that though, since it violated their Rules of Engagement.”
“That’s cold, but I see what you mean,” Stan agreed, and he turned to wave the ladies into to join them. “You want some help clearing the other two rooms?”
“Nah, I got this. Something I’ve had a lot of experience doing in the last few months.”
I did the job right and took my time, using the small flashlight to search as my pistol followed my sight line through the spaces. My Dad taught me the rudiments of room clearing as a game, playing paint ball of all things, but I hadn’t exaggerated about my recent experience. Every single time you entered a home, or office, or retail business, you either checked for other predators or you got eaten.
Judging from the dust, though, no one had been in this building since shortly after the lights went out.
“Place looks a little jumbled but not looted,” I reported to Ruth and Stan, joining them at a quartet of seats arranged in the back room. Sophia claimed place of honor in her carrier on one of the tall tables, being entertained by Stan as Ruth went around the room making sure the few windows would be adequately covered by the heavy curtains already in place. Amy, I was proud to see, had waited just to the side of the inner doorway, pistol in hand as she served as my backup.
“Yes, Sid and my Aunt Martha live next door and I am sure they hauled everything they could gather up over to my folks’ place. We kind of had a plan, in case of emergency.” Ruth spoke with her head down and seemed to avoid making eye contact with anyone else in the room.
“Okay. I figured they were preppers, too.”
Ruth gave me an owl-eyed stare but Stan just chuckled at my offhand response.
“What?” I said in mock protest. “You didn’t think I could figure
Despite my earlier check of the outside, Stan knelt to the side, favoring his bad ankle, when he unlocked the door. If someone was hiding inside, he sure didn’t want to present too easy of a target. With the girls sticking by the truck, I stood behind Stan until the metal fire door swung open and waited a beat before rounding into the room.
I moved carefully, “slicing the pie” as my dad called it. With the fading sunlight, visibility was low inside and the jumble of computer monitors and assorted parts, boxes, and shelving along each wall made the job more difficult. In addition to the piles of supplies and such, the large room featured three computer work stations and what looked like a small repair cubby with soldering irons and voltage meters. That told me they did more than sling software here, anyway.
“Wish I had a grenade,” I said barely above a whisper, and I saw Stan stiffen in the corner of my eye as I completed my visual inspection of the back room. The Glock 21 in my hand traced my line of sight and I stepped fully into the room once I decided nothing was going to jump out at me.
“Clear,” I said and waved Stan in behind me. We paused for a brief consultation and he informed me the only other rooms in the building were the store front and a unisex bathroom.
“Why did you wish for a grenade? And don’t blame it on the Boy Scouts,” Stan said, stealing my line.
“It was just a joke. My dad always complained about all the dangers inherent in clearing rooms. From the fatal funnel of the doorway to all the little crawlspaces and hidey holes, going into buildings is always a good way to get shot. If I had a grenade, I could just toss it in and wait outside for the dust to clear. My dad said they almost never did that though, since it violated their Rules of Engagement.”
“That’s cold, but I see what you mean,” Stan agreed, and he turned to wave the ladies into to join them. “You want some help clearing the other two rooms?”
“Nah, I got this. Something I’ve had a lot of experience doing in the last few months.”
I did the job right and took my time, using the small flashlight to search as my pistol followed my sight line through the spaces. My Dad taught me the rudiments of room clearing as a game, playing paint ball of all things, but I hadn’t exaggerated about my recent experience. Every single time you entered a home, or office, or retail business, you either checked for other predators or you got eaten.
Judging from the dust, though, no one had been in this building since shortly after the lights went out.
“Place looks a little jumbled but not looted,” I reported to Ruth and Stan, joining them at a quartet of seats arranged in the back room. Sophia claimed place of honor in her carrier on one of the tall tables, being entertained by Stan as Ruth went around the room making sure the few windows would be adequately covered by the heavy curtains already in place. Amy, I was proud to see, had waited just to the side of the inner doorway, pistol in hand as she served as my backup.
“Yes, Sid and my Aunt Martha live next door and I am sure they hauled everything they could gather up over to my folks’ place. We kind of had a plan, in case of emergency.” Ruth spoke with her head down and seemed to avoid making eye contact with anyone else in the room.
“Okay. I figured they were preppers, too.”
Ruth gave me an owl-eyed stare but Stan just chuckled at my offhand response.
“What?” I said in mock protest. “You didn’t think I could figure
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