He pushed the door open an inch with the muzzle of his weapon. No one fired. He pushed the door back, stepping out of the potential line of fire.
He waited a moment, listening, then walked in, AK-47 leveled, quickly scanning as he entered the living room. He knew Bev was behind him. She also had her TT-33 up, both of her hands on it as she had seen in movies.
The house was not trashed outside, but it certainly had been inside. Against the far wall was a built-in unit with cubicles, like boxes, for holding a wide variety of stuff, everything from a television to knickknacks and vases with flowers in them. But the cubicles were empty. The contents had been pulled out onto the polished wood floor in an obvious attempt to find valuables.
Everything else was a mess as well. A couch and two chairs had been ripped up and virtually disassembled. The base molding had been pried off and the electrical outlets pulled out.
Jim lowered his AK-47 and Bev followed suit. Jim turned and made a silence gesture with his finger over his mouth and just stood there. She knew that he was listening for any sign that someone might be in the house.
He moved and continued his scanning of the living room. One of the walls was covered with built-in bookcases but there was not a single book in them. All had been pulled out, torn apart, apparently in an attempt to see if any money had been slipped between the pages.
In essence, the room had been reduced to a pile of junk.
Jim thought it was unlikely that anyone was still in the house, which he guessed had at least a dozen rooms, but one never knew. As he left the living room he kept his guard up, his ears peeled for sounds, just as he did when he was hunting grizzlies in the woods of northern Idaho.
They went down a long hall, off of which were a number of rooms. Everything they saw had been torn apart, reduced to junk.
At the back of the house was the kitchen and pantry, and there was a back door. Pots and pans and utensils were all over the floor, dishes and the like pulled out of cabinets and smashed.
The laundry room held a very unpleasant surprise. Someone had defecated on the floor and stuck a crucifix in it. Without comment, Jim went over and pulled the cross out and went over to the sink and turned on the water. The water sputtered, but then flowed—hot. Jim washed the crucifix, dried it off with one of the T-shirts he found on the floor, and placed the statue on a shelf above a washer, leaning it against the wall so it could stand up straight. Then he used two pieces of soft cardboard to pick the crap up and went into a nearby bathroom and flushed it away.
Bev, who had witnessed what he did, said when he returned, “Thanks for doing that.”
“It’s the least I could do,” Jim said.
“I bet it was the Rejects.”
“I wouldn’t bet against you,” Jim said.
When you’re on the road as Jim had been for weeks—the places where you can actually buy food no less find it are few and far between, so you’re reduced to your own looting of sorts. During the last few days, however, Jim had not found much of anything, so he felt doubly good when he saw, strewn all over the floor among the debris, unopened and intact, a treasure trove of canned goods, everything, at a quick glance, from tuna fish to Spam to spinach.
“Look at these canned goods,” Jim said. “We’re going to travel in style.”
“You mean we’re not going to starve?” Bev added.
“Yeah, that’s what I meant,” Jim said, his face lighting up with a smile, his teeth appearing very white against his tanned skin.
Bev’s look at him lingered. The sight of him was, she thought, doing strange things to her stomach.
They continued their search.
In a closet in a hall that she almost passed by, Bev hit pay dirt as well. It was a narrow closet, its contents intact. The looters had obviously neglected to go through it. In it Bev found a dozen clean, thick fluffy towels. She knew there was hot water, and she had
He waited a moment, listening, then walked in, AK-47 leveled, quickly scanning as he entered the living room. He knew Bev was behind him. She also had her TT-33 up, both of her hands on it as she had seen in movies.
The house was not trashed outside, but it certainly had been inside. Against the far wall was a built-in unit with cubicles, like boxes, for holding a wide variety of stuff, everything from a television to knickknacks and vases with flowers in them. But the cubicles were empty. The contents had been pulled out onto the polished wood floor in an obvious attempt to find valuables.
Everything else was a mess as well. A couch and two chairs had been ripped up and virtually disassembled. The base molding had been pried off and the electrical outlets pulled out.
Jim lowered his AK-47 and Bev followed suit. Jim turned and made a silence gesture with his finger over his mouth and just stood there. She knew that he was listening for any sign that someone might be in the house.
He moved and continued his scanning of the living room. One of the walls was covered with built-in bookcases but there was not a single book in them. All had been pulled out, torn apart, apparently in an attempt to see if any money had been slipped between the pages.
In essence, the room had been reduced to a pile of junk.
Jim thought it was unlikely that anyone was still in the house, which he guessed had at least a dozen rooms, but one never knew. As he left the living room he kept his guard up, his ears peeled for sounds, just as he did when he was hunting grizzlies in the woods of northern Idaho.
They went down a long hall, off of which were a number of rooms. Everything they saw had been torn apart, reduced to junk.
At the back of the house was the kitchen and pantry, and there was a back door. Pots and pans and utensils were all over the floor, dishes and the like pulled out of cabinets and smashed.
The laundry room held a very unpleasant surprise. Someone had defecated on the floor and stuck a crucifix in it. Without comment, Jim went over and pulled the cross out and went over to the sink and turned on the water. The water sputtered, but then flowed—hot. Jim washed the crucifix, dried it off with one of the T-shirts he found on the floor, and placed the statue on a shelf above a washer, leaning it against the wall so it could stand up straight. Then he used two pieces of soft cardboard to pick the crap up and went into a nearby bathroom and flushed it away.
Bev, who had witnessed what he did, said when he returned, “Thanks for doing that.”
“It’s the least I could do,” Jim said.
“I bet it was the Rejects.”
“I wouldn’t bet against you,” Jim said.
When you’re on the road as Jim had been for weeks—the places where you can actually buy food no less find it are few and far between, so you’re reduced to your own looting of sorts. During the last few days, however, Jim had not found much of anything, so he felt doubly good when he saw, strewn all over the floor among the debris, unopened and intact, a treasure trove of canned goods, everything, at a quick glance, from tuna fish to Spam to spinach.
“Look at these canned goods,” Jim said. “We’re going to travel in style.”
“You mean we’re not going to starve?” Bev added.
“Yeah, that’s what I meant,” Jim said, his face lighting up with a smile, his teeth appearing very white against his tanned skin.
Bev’s look at him lingered. The sight of him was, she thought, doing strange things to her stomach.
They continued their search.
In a closet in a hall that she almost passed by, Bev hit pay dirt as well. It was a narrow closet, its contents intact. The looters had obviously neglected to go through it. In it Bev found a dozen clean, thick fluffy towels. She knew there was hot water, and she had
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