Isolation (Book 2): Going Out Page 21

  Walking through a darkened, empty storefront was about as creepy as Nick would've expected. He could almost imagine zombies lurching out of the aisles he passed to chase him screaming back to the moving truck. Or a gang of denizens dressed in leather and metal spikes straight out of some 80s post-apocalyptic movie, brandishing crudely made weapons and howling for his blood.

  Or just an empty store, the only denizen inside a halfhearted scavenger with a looted 9mm tucked into the front pocket of his jeans, creeping around with an inadequate flashlight trying not to give himself a heart attack imagining ridiculous threats.

  At times like this, he had his doubts about whether he was cut out for this sort of thing.

  Unfortunately, this current crisis didn't have much need for programmers, so he supposed he'd have to step up to the challenge. For the sake of his family and friends and everyone else depending on him. Maybe he could set up some sort of shooting range to practice with his new gun, in case he actually had to defend himself.

  And since he was in a sporting goods store anyway, he should probably find a bigger flashlight. Also maybe some lanterns to light this unsettling place while he worked.

  Nick found the aisle with the flashlights, picked out a nice big floodlight, then spent another few minutes looking around for batteries for it since of course it hadn't come with them. Finally, after ten minutes of poking around, he continued his exploration of the store armed with enough candlepower to temporarily blind his dark-adjusted eyes.

  On the plus side, it would probably have the same effect on any would-be assailants, too.

  Maybe it was his sense of vulnerability talking, but he decided to begin his search of the store with the gun aisle: a row of locked, reinforced display cases that seemed to stretch forever.

  He could honestly say that he'd never had much to do with guns. He'd fired them a time or two when he was younger, with friends or on group outings, but he'd never owned one and had only given occasional thought to whether one would be useful to have.

  If he recalled, Ellie had a little one that she kept carefully stored away. But he didn't think she'd ever shot it, and he'd never thought to go out with her to try it out. In retrospect that was probably a mistake, since both the shooting skill and the weapon itself would've been useful in their current situation.

  Not that Ellie would've been able to take her pistol with her on her trip, of course. And Nick could hardly have gotten any benefit out of it when she'd it hidden somewhere in her house, especially since the place had burned down.

  He had to admit that, whatever his reservations about plundering an abandoned town, seeing that row of untouched weapons finally felt a bit like Christmas. Everything was so clearly labeled that even a firearm illiterate like him had some idea of what he was looking at.

  Lines of carefully mounted rifles, ranging from ones that looked just a step above BB guns, to large caliber hunting ones with scopes, to what he assumed were civilian variants of those you'd expect to see soldiers toting. Slightly below that were revolvers and semi-automatic pistols that once again ranged from so tiny they could've been cap guns, to mammoths so huge they could probably bring down big game. Then in a section of their own there were rows of sleek black pump action shotguns.

  Across the aisle the row was lined with shelves of ammo of all calibers, from target loads to hollow points to FMJ rounds. Not to mention birdshot, buckshot, and rifled slugs for the shotguns. Above the shelves of ammo were more shelves with accessories of all types, including things he hadn't been aware of were important, or for that matter were sold separately from the guns you'd expect to see them with: spare magazines, scopes, custom sights, carry slings, holsters, cases, paper targets, and replacement parts, to name a few. To say nothing of the dizzying assortment of cleaning kits, specific caliber cleaning tools, and lubricants and solvents.

  Nick stared at the firearms with something akin to awe. Those punks who'd invaded his home and given his daughter Zolos would've been dealt with easily if he'd had even one of these weapons. And knew how to properly use it, of course. More importantly, if some roving gang decided to threaten Stanberry, these guns would go a long way towards helping them defend themselves.

  Not that the town was having problems in that area, as far as he knew.

  Then there was the fact that with the economy in the toilet, dollars weren't exactly a stable currency, and even precious metals and jewelry might be only so reliable. With how things were going now, before long people struggling to survive would need to start trading. At least for stuff like food or medicine or other necessities.

  Including, say, guns to defend yourself with and hunt for food, and the ammo needed to use them.

  Nick couldn't bring himself to loot valuables that would purely serve to enrich himself, but the fact that these weapons were useful trumped their value as trade goods, so he could justify taking them. Especially since he didn't like the idea of leaving them behind for criminals to potentially find and misuse.

  He could break into the cases if needed, but he figured first he should check the registers and in the manager's office for the keys. Save some time and prevent the need for vandalism both.

  The registers proved to be a bust, which wasn't too big a surprise. He didn't find much worth scavenging, either, since he had no interest in the cash and didn't want to waste time breaking into the registers in any case.

  So he headed to the back of the store, where a big sturdy door led into the backroom.

  The door was firmly locked, no surprise, and he'd already established that there was no key in easy sight in the storefront. Which meant that in spite of his desire to avoid vandalism there probably wasn't much choice in this case.

  Luckily, Nick had just passed an entire row of door openers, and was even carrying one from that first house he'd visited. He pulled the 9mm out of his pocket and pointed it at the lock, making sure his aim was straight.

  Then, steeling himself, he looked away and pulled the trigger.

  The deafening blast of firing a gun indoors without ear protection, even in the relatively large space of the storefront, momentarily stunned him. He staggered and covered his ringing ears, too late for it to do any good, then cursed himself for not thinking to grab some earplugs from the gun aisle.

  Shaken and embarrassed by his rookie mistake, he hurried forward and pushed on the door. It didn't budge. Frowning, he tried the doorknob, which was slightly warped from the bullet's impact.

  Still locked.

  Huh. In movies opening doors was as easy as pointing any old gun at the lock and pulling the trigger. But Nick supposed if he thought about it, a door that you couldn't open with a solid kick probably wouldn't budge from a bullet, either. And it would have to be a serious shot, or a bunch of them, to destroy the locking mechanism or the mounting or whatever.

  A shotgun, then? It seemed like a shot or two from one of those would obliterate anything keeping him from getting through that door.

  Although if a pistol had been this loud, then even with ear protection he was a bit leery about shooting one of those indoors. Not to mention he would prefer not to make a ton of noise and draw any attention. Also, even if the physics made it seem impossible for a ricochet to fly directly backwards and hit him, short of firing into a U-pipe or something, he wasn't sure he wanted to destroy whatever was behind the door trying to get it open.

  So Nick decided to start using his head and headed for the other row of door openers, grabbing a good solid axe from the home and gardening aisle.

  Again unlike the movies, it took a surprising amount of effort to chop his way through the door. Part of that was lack of experience and, he'd admit, not being in the best shape, but mostly the door was tough. Finally, though, he was able to chop at the wood around the lock enough that a solid kick sent the door flying open.

  Which, he had to say, felt awesome.

  After all that work, the end result was a complete disappointment. Beyond the door the stockroom, or warehouse
space or whatever, was smaller than he'd expected and almost completely empty. Aside from a few pallets in one corner, which looked like they held shoes and clothes.

  Nick stared around the room in dismay. Near the loading door was a space set aside for crushed boxes, presumably intended to be sent for recycling, and near it a small pile of empty boxes waiting to be disposed of. Aside from random strips of that plastic stuff used to seal crates and pallets, and a few random pieces of packing foam and discarded sheets of plastic, the floor was surprisingly bare.

  At least there were a small assortment of tools like hand trucks and box cutters. The former would've helped him as he loaded the truck if he didn't already have one, but he supposed the latter might come in handy.

  Still, it was a bit disheartening to realize that the stockroom wasn't packed to the ceiling with twice as many goodies as were on display in the store itself.

  Now that he thought about it, though, he seemed to recall hearing Ellie mention something about this when she was discussing a business she was consulting for. Apparently these days brick and mortar retail establishments used computer systems to track sales and make predictions on what products would be needed to restock. That allowed them to reduce overhead by having just enough merchandise on hand at any given time to keep the shelves full in the store area.

  The programmer in Nick was actually interested in seeing what sort of system was used to keep track of such a large number of moving parts so deliveries were made just when needed. Especially in larger corporations that would have store locations all over the country.

  Although that was a consideration for another time. Specifically, one before society collapsed under the devastation of a global pandemic. Last minute restocking was great for maximizing profits for businesses struggling to compete with online retailers, but not so great for scavengers hoping to find treasure troves of useful necessities.

  Maybe he should see if there were any warehouses or distribution centers in the area that would offer a more substantial haul. In the meantime, though, the storefront certainly had plenty of stuff worth taking.

  Speaking of which, he still needed to find the manager's office and the keys. He headed back out into the store and looked around until he found a door in the front corner of the storefront, close to both the gun aisle and the cash registers. He had to chop his way through this one as well, with the audience of a cheering Tallie watching him through the front windows, waving eagerly when he turned to smile at her.

  And he had to admit, her delighted squeal when he kicked open this door made him feel pretty cool.

  The office was full of shelves stacked with paperwork, a safe in one corner he guessed probably didn't have anything worth taking, and a desk with a computer at least a decade old and a few pictures and knickknacks. He found mostly office supplies in the desk, and felt a bit discouraged about not seeing the keys in there until he looked back towards the doorway and saw a line of hooks with a few sets of keys dangling from them.

  Jackpot.

  Nick pocketed all the key rings but the one with the most keys, which he spun jauntily on his finger as he headed back out into the storefront. They made a merry jingle as he walked down every aisle, deciding what was worth taking and mentally prioritizing what he should take first.

  Unfortunately, once the fun part of scouting through the store and deciding what was worth bringing back to Stanberry was done, that just left getting started on the less exciting task of loading it all into the truck.

  Even with a hand truck available, that was easier said than done. Nick was a bit embarrassed that so far, surviving the end of the world hadn't involved much in the way of strenuous physical activity. Aside from dragging a sick man around and digging two graves, that is.

  Still, he remained in such bad shape that the work of loading the hand truck, moving it outside, and then unloading it into the cargo area of the truck, not to mention arranging things to stack to the ceiling, soon had him panting and his muscles burning.

  On the plus side, if scavenging was his new job for the foreseeable future, he'd soon be in great shape.

  Nick prioritized taking everything gun related first, weapons and ammo and other gear for them, as well as the small assortment of hunting bows and crossbows and arrows for them. He also grabbed all the knives and hatchets. Then he stripped the home and garden aisle of all the tools, especially shovels, pickaxes, axes, and hammers and nails.

  Next was the camping gear, especially fire starting and cooking supplies, grills and portable stoves, and all the charcoal, propane, butane, kerosene, and firewood available. From a personal perspective, having one of those would make preparing food for him and Tallie much more enjoyable, now that he had his own supply and didn't need to count as much on the charity of the Norsons.

  From there he moved on to tents, sleeping bags, tarps, rope, and flashlights and lanterns with the kerosene and batteries to keep them running. He also grabbed several camping backpacks and some kind of frame that looked like it was for carrying large loads of firewood on your back.

  Long term, he was he thinking they'd be useful if he and Gen and the Norsons ever needed to evacuate Stanberry and for some reason didn't have access to a vehicle. But more practically at the moment, he could probably use a pack to carry scavenged items out of areas where a hand truck would be a pain, like places that had lots of stairs or close confines. And the firewood hauler pack would probably be even better for that.

  As for anything edible in the store, it almost went without saying that he stripped it of whatever he could find. Which turned out to be a surprising amount given the energy bars, trail mixes, dehydrated meals and other camping food, and the rack of snacks in front of the register.

  Large as the back of the moving truck looked as he was loading it up, by the time he'd filled it to the point where he had trouble closing the doors, after several hours of work including brief breaks to check on and care for Tallie, it was obvious this store alone would take multiple trips. Then there was also the fact that it had taken more than half the day to load the truck, and he was exhausted to the point where he needed at least a break, if not to call it a day.

  Not to mention how long this would all take to unload. Nick knew from even his limited experience with moving that unloading always took way less time than loading, but on his own it would still be the work of a few hours at least. Hard work, on top of the exhausting effort he'd already put in.

  Yup, by the time he finished with this truckload he'd be able to confidently say he'd put in a good day's work. One truckload a day might even be a good goal moving forward.

  Time to head home.

  Nick opened the passenger door of the cab, stepping up to lean in and gently shake Tallie's shoulder. She'd fallen asleep while he worked, which was good since he'd been afraid she wouldn't get enough rest on this trip.

  As she groggily lifted her head he tussled her dark brown curls. “You did great today, sweetie,” he whispered. “Time to head home. Need to go potty before we get started?”

  She did, of course. He carried her into the store, making sure to shine the floodlight around so she could see everything and wouldn't get scared by the gloom, and took her into the small bathroom. Afterwards as he was carrying her back towards the truck she began to squirm feebly in protest.

  “Daddy, you didn't let me come inside and watch while you worked,” she complained.

  “That's because you were asleep,” he told his daughter gently. He bounced her up and down a few times. “Are you seriously trying to get down? You don't have the strength to stand.”

  Even in the dim store, unevenly lit by the glaring floodlight, he could see her pout. “Can we look around, pretty please? I've never been in a closed store before.”

  Nick bit back a sigh. “Okay, but let's grab you something to drink while I show you the store.” There'd been some sports drinks in a small display fridge by the cash register, and Tallie had been ecstatic about them after having nothing but
water, sometimes mixed with electrolyte tablets, for so long.

  As expected, she brightened. “Yay!”

  It didn't take more than a few minutes for his daughter to be satisfied with her tour of the store. It was dark and there was nothing really cool to see, after all. She did beg him for a little carved wooden rabbit from a display of other carved animals, which he gave her as a gift for being so good all day.

  Then they were back in the truck and he was laboriously maneuvering them in the direction of Stanberry, finding the loaded vehicle slightly more difficult to manage than when it had been empty. Especially going up and down these rolling hills on a narrow, winding road.

  Yet again Nick thought about the silver lining of the roads being unused, so he could crowd the other lane when needed. Although he tried to avoid doing that coming over hills or around turns.

  Aside from that minor difficulty, the drive back was as uneventful as the drive there had been. He supposed even in these chaotic times, only an idiot would try to rob passing vehicles. Especially ones with Zolos contamination warning signs plastered on the sides.

  Unless of course they were also immune, a disquieting thought he did his best to push out of his mind.

  A mile outside of Stanberry Nick pulled over, grimacing in irritation as he struggled in the close confines of the cab to pull on the hazmat suit the city officials had given him. Then he took a container of chemical wipes and painstakingly wiped down the interior of the cab and the exterior of his hazmat suit.

  All that, just to be allowed to set foot in town when he wasn't even planning on going near anyone. Shaking his head, he got the truck moving again and pulled up to the manned roadblock barring his way into town, motioning through the closed window at the people huddled warily behind the barricade.

  One waved back, lifting a radio to talk into.

  After a few minutes of impatient waiting a man in a hazmat suit who turned out to be Darrel arrived and waved him forward, then onto a side street. From there the man led the way on foot towards what turned out to be one of those places where you could rent storage units: three rows of units inside a U-shape of inward-facing units, all surrounded by a heavy chain-link fence topped with coils of barbed wire.