Fireside by Brian Parker Page A

class at the University of Texas before things went to shit. It was the simple things that he’d overlooked as a kid that could end up saving his life now that they were living in the apocalypse.
    He thought for a moment longer and shook his head while he pushed himself to his feet. “There’s nothing that we can do. We can’t just sit here, and then go back to San Angelo, with Russ dead and nothing to show for it. I’m going to the door.”
    The big man stormed towards the metal grate covering the entrance and smiled to himself when he heard Nicole’s boots scrape against the cement a step or two behind him. “Hold on, Tyler. I’m coming,” she breathed heavily.
    They reached the door and saw that the grate was comprised of two large pieces of metal that collapsed into place from either side of the door. The large, fake plants in the planters flanking the door had hidden them from sight while they were on the road. He glanced off to the right, the ones covering the windows had slid down from above. By hiding the security gates, anyone driving by wouldn’t have noticed that there was anything different about the building. Hell, he’d had his own doubts about the community center as a place holding a lot of food. He would have thought to look in a school cafeteria, gas station, bank, or a grocery store, not the community center. The person who’d set this up knew how to deceive others.
    It was also fascinating to see the ingenuity in the metal grates’ construction. Whoever built them had drilled holes through the thick metal rods to allow bolts to pass through. They used large bolts with the ends bent over and wrapped the joints with heavy wire, finally securing everything with some type of soldering so the joints couldn’t be easily broken. The molten metal would ensure that nothing short of a large hacksaw, and hours of hard work, would get past the grate.
    They stared at the door for a long time until Nicole reached around him and pounded the flash suppressor on her rifle into the door. It echoed loudly outside, Tyler could only imagine what it sounded like inside the large cinder block building.
    After a full minute without any indication that anyone was inside the building, Nicole banged on the door once more. This time, in response to her knock, a small metal plate set high in the door opened.
    “What is it?” a man’s voice drifted from the hole above their heads.
    Tyler tapped Nicole’s arm and said, “Hi, sir. Do you have a moment to talk about your lord and savior, Jesus Christ?”
    “What the hell?” the voice asked. “No, I don’t want to talk to you. I’m doing quite fine on my own. Please go away.”
    She slapped him hard across the bicep. “I’m sorry. My idiot friend thinks he’s funny. We’re from a city called San Angelo. Have you ever heard of it?”
    “Of course I’ve heard of it. What do you want?”
    “We’d like to talk to you about becoming a member of our community,” Nicole continued.
    “Why on earth would I ever do that? I’m perfectly safe here.”
    Tyler recovered from his amusement and interjected, “Did you know that the residents of Midland-Odessa are out, actively looking for supplies?”
    The man inside the community center snorted, “They should be. We’re all so stupid for living out here in the middle of nowhere without any resources or way to replenish what gets used.”
    “Do you have many people living with you?” Nicole questioned.
    The voice didn’t immediately reply, prompting Nicole to ask, “Sir, did you hear me? Are you alone?”
    “I… Yes, I heard you. I’ve been alone since my wife was killed back in December. One of the pumpjacks collapsed on her.”
    Garden City was surrounded by the useless pumpjacks—the large, above-ground pumps that pulled oil from the ground and fed the crude into a storage container nearby. Tyler absentmindedly placed a hand on the metal grate blocking the doorway. The metal could have come from the oil