Conflicted Home (The Survivalist Book 9) by A American (learn to read books TXT) 📕

roof of this store was probably holding numerous pockets of fresh water from the recent rains. Not to mention, it was also where the air handling units were, and they were probably large enough to use as a shelter. Utilizing the roof access ladder inside the stockroom, you could get to the roof and have water and shelter. A stove could be fashioned to keep a fire above what I’m sure was a rubber membrane roof. It could offer shelter, water and security. But it could also be a trap with only one access and exit, pros and cons.

We found a stack of bags still in their boxes. We piled them onto the cart and rolled them to the open door. “I’ll go get the truck,” Aric said as he turned and headed for the front of the store.

“I’ll go with you. We should stay together. Safer that way.”

He nodded. “Good idea.”

As we walked out to the doors, I saw someone looking through the truck. Aric saw him as well and I grabbed his arm. “Let’s just wait a minute and see if he’s alone.”

The man sat in the driver’s seat of the truck. He was going through the glovebox, pulling the visors down and checking them. Finding nothing, he sat there for a minute looking around. Then he got out and lifted the seat to inspect behind it. That was when I told Aric to move. We’d not seen another person, and while his head was buried behind the seat, we quickly moved out the door.

With our weapons shouldered we stepped wide around the truck, getting a clear view of him. A rifle was leaning against the side of the truck. I hoped he didn’t reach for it. Satisfied with his inspection behind the seat and coming up empty-handed, he stood up and flipped the seat back. Then he saw us. The look on his face said it all. We had the drop on him and he knew it.

“Step away from the truck,” Aric said.

“And don’t think about reaching for that rifle,” I added.

He half raised his hands and stepped back. “Easy, fellas. I didn’t mean no harm.”

“Maybe not,” Aric replied.

“But I would imagine that if the keys were in that thing, we’d be walking home,” I said.

The man shrugged. “I was just checking it out.” He nodded at me, “You the Sheriff?” He asked.

I nodded, “I am. Now keep backing up. You got any other weapons on you?”

“I have a pistol.”

Aric and I both moved in behind the truck. “Turn around and put your hands on your head,” Aric said. He did as instructed and Aric looked at me, “Cover me and I’ll go get it.”

I nodded and called out, “Don’t move and there won’t be any trouble. He’s going to come get that pistol off you. We’ll give it back when we leave.”

The man half turned his head and asked, “You promise?”

“I do, now face away.” Again, he did as instructed.

Aric moved quickly to him. He pushed his carbine around to his back to hang from the sling, and drew his pistol. Keeping it close to his body, I heard him ask, “Where is it?”

The man dipped his chin, “It’s in my waistband.”

Aric reached around him and removed what turned out to be a snub-nosed revolver, stuffing it into a cargo pocket. Using his free hand, he did a quick pat down on the man before looking over his shoulder and announcing, “He’s clean now.” I relaxed and stepped out from behind the truck.

The man looked over his shoulder and asked, “Can I put my hands down now?”

“Yeah. You’re good,” Aric replied as he holstered his pistol.

“What are you guys doing?” The man asked.

“We’re getting grocery bags,” Aric replied.

“What in the hell for?”

“We’re putting together food bags,” I replied as I walked up. “We’ll be giving them out tomorrow.”

“Food? Where’d you get enough food you can give it away?”

“Aid is starting to come in from around the world. The Army is distributing it. We’re putting together bags to make it easier to hand out.”

“Where are you going to be doing that?”

“Tomorrow in Eustis, at the armory,” Aric replied.

The man scratched at his scruffy face. His clothes had a sheen of grime on them and his skin was oily looking. Hygiene was not a high priority for him. His shoes were tattered and I could see his sockless feet through them. “We’ve got shoes too,” I said.

He looked down. “That would be nice.”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Alex Mackinnon,” he took off his hat and mopped his forehead with a filthy rag. “I was down here for an IT conference. I’m from Canada.”

Aric whistled. “Damn. That would suck. From what we hear, most of Canada is fine.”

Alex nodded his lament. “I figured. No one wants to do anything to Canada. We’re almost like Switzerland. And here I am, stuck in hell. And this damn heat!”

The scattered clouds from the morning had burned off and the sun was now blazing high in the sky. It was burning off the rain from the previous several days. You could virtually see the humidity in the air. Looking out across the parking lot, steam rose from the puddles. It was going to be miserable.

“Where’d you get the guns?” Aric asked.

“I acquired them over time. America is not a place to go unarmed. Especially now.”

“Acquired them, huh?”

“I didn’t hurt anyone to get them. This country is overflowing with guns. I don’t have many bullets though, so I try real hard not to use them. Not to mention, I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Well, Alex,” I said. “We’re going to drive around back and load up the bags we have. Then we’ll come back and give your guns back.”

He nodded. “Fine by me.” He pointed to the covered entry of the store. “I’ll be waiting up there. In the shade.”

Aric ran in and grabbed the cases of bags we’d left by the front door as I took Alex’s guns and put them in the cab