Commodity by Shay Savage

takes out the electricity for days, the country getting attacked, or some natural disaster.  It’s good to have certain things on hand.  Honestly, I never expected to need any of it.”
    “You have a big collection of guns.”
    “It’s not a collection .”
    I look to the lineup of rifles on the closet wall and raise an eyebrow.
    “Yeah, it is.”
    “It isn’t.  It’s just enough.”
    “If I could get to the internet right now, I’d be looking up the definition of the word collection just to prove my point.”
    He eyes me for a minute.
    “Do you know how to use one?” he asks.
    “No.”  I shake my head.  “I’ve never even held one.”
    “I can teach you.”
    I look at him sideways, trying to decide if he’s being serious or not.  There’s nothing in his expression to indicate that he’s joking.
    “Do you think that’s necessary?”
    “Don’t you?”
    He is serious.  I can’t imagine myself holding a gun, let alone firing it.  The idea of aiming at some living thing and firing a gun is completely incomprehensible.
    “I really don’t think I could do that.”
    Falk takes one of the handguns out of its holster, holds it pointed toward the ceiling, and pulls the clip out of the handle.  He pulls back on the top of it, dropping a bullet into his palm, and then looks inside the chamber before holding the weapon out to me.
    I take the heavy, metal object in my hand, holding it loosely.
    “Don’t put your finger on the trigger,” Falk says.
    “I thought you unloaded it.”
    “I did,” he says, “but only put your finger on the trigger if you intend to fire it.”
    He shows me how to place my finger along the body of the gun, right above the trigger.  I hold the weapon for a moment before handing it back.
    “Not so bad, is it?” he says.
    “It’s heavy,” I respond.  “I still don’t think I could use one.”
    “What if you had been armed when those men came for you?” Falk asks quietly.  “What if you had been able to protect yourself?”
    “I don’t know…”  My voice cracks.  I can’t think about this.  I won’t.  I do anyway.  “Maybe they would have killed me.”
    “They were going to kill you when they were done regardless.  If you had been armed, maybe you would have gotten away sooner.”
    My throat is burning.  I can barely get the words out.  He’s right about one thing—they were planning to kill me.  I don’t have any doubt about that.  Maybe if I had a gun with me, things could have been different.  Maybe if Daniel had one, he would still be alive.
    “I don’t want to talk about this.”  I turn away from him and stare at one of the footlockers, wondering if it’s the one full of ammunition for all those guns.
    “I’m going to teach you to use one.”
    “Fine.”  I can’t argue with him about it.  Arguing means thinking and remembering, and I don’t want to think about it anymore.  “Are we still going to go to Washington?”
    “Once I get a better idea of what’s happened around here, then yes.  I think that’s our best course of action.  D.C. has a lot of shelters in place.  There are bound to be more survivors there.”
    “How will we get there?”
    “By car,” he says simply.  “We’ll see what we can figure out locally, collect what we’ll need for a few days, get in my car, and I’ll drive you there.”
    “What about gas?  The pumps aren’t going to work without electricity.”
    “I can siphon gas from other cars,” he says.  “Newer models are a little tricky, but there are plenty of older ones around.  Don’t worry about things like that.  I got it.”
    I nod, accepting what he says as truth.
    “Shall I make breakfast?”
    “Sure,” Falk says.  “The eggs in the fridge should be fine, and there’s bacon in the freezer that needs to be cooked and eaten, too.  Feel free to cook anything and everything that might go bad.”
    “I’ll pack up some things for later, too.”
    “Perfect.”
    An