“It’s a bit more drastic than that,” Carla’s voice was soft and strong at once. “We’re thinking we should cut off her ear.”
Chapter Three
The Agent dressed in black set the box of machine gun magazines into the back of the SUV and wiped the sweat away from his face. The vehicle was full. He covered his vast array of weapons with a tarp and closed the back hatch. He was ready for war.
Just after noon, he could reach his destination in an hour, depending on traffic. He’d done his homework; he had detailed maps of the Griffith Observatory, the L.A. Zoo and the surrounding areas. He’d searched Joe Carter’s file and had printed out photos of the brother, Jack, and the niece, Anna. Procuring civilian clothing and shoes suitable for hiking, he was especially pleased to find night vision goggles, bugs to plant so he could listen to them, and a bullet-proof vest.
All he needed was fresh food. Never mind the instant meals he’d packed, he wanted one good meal. Even if it was the last one. From the information he’d gleaned from previously secure military sources online, he understood the world outside was out of control. Stopping at a diner, or even a drive-thru, was risky business.
He glanced toward the building he had just left. Surely, there was a mess hall. He couldn’t eat the refrigerated food, as it had been too long without electricity to keep from spoilage, but there should be plenty of canned and packaged goods.
Just one more time, he told himself. For better or worse, he picked up his backpack and machine guns and headed back inside.
* * *
As expected, the kitchen was in disarray. Hash browns, eggs and bacon lay on the huge commercial stove top, gathering mold while flies swarmed. The agent, whose name was Cole, took in the sight of broken dishes, overturned pots, and dried blood on the floor. It was a miracle the stove had been turned off during the melee. Otherwise, he could be looking at a charred mess instead.
He sat one of the guns down and crossed to the refrigerator. He covered his nose and mouth with his free hand; the spoiled odor was overwhelming. The fridge door had been left open, void of any meat. Moving quietly into the storage room nearby, he listened while his heart pounded violently in his chest.
Seeing only institutional sized cans of food, Cole chided himself for thinking he could find a nice little can of chicken soup or chili. He’d have to make do with a couple of large beef stews. He unzipped his pack and deposited them as quietly as he could, grimacing at the weight.
He stopped at the walk-in freezer before leaving the kitchen. Couldn’t hurt to look. Maybe he’d find some still-frozen fruit or vegetables. He glanced at the machine gun he’d left sitting on the table, raised the other while making sure it was ready for immediate us.
Cole opened the door, flipping the light switch. Of course it didn’t work. Hard to make out anything other than the shelves and their bigger contents in the dimness, the room felt fairly cool. Quickly, he stuffed a couple of sealed green beans and mushy peaches into the pack.
Anxiety setting in, his instincts were telling him to get the hell out of there. Out of the building before something unpleasant befell him. Prepared to step out of the storage room, Cole set his weapon down on a shelf while adjusting the backpack’s weight on his shoulders. That’s when he noticed his other gun had disappeared from the table in the kitchen.
“Don’t move,” came a hard, cold voice from beside him, as he stepped out to investigate.
A woman held the weapon trained upon his head. He guessed her to be in her early forties. When she warned him again not to move or look at her, he complied, except to raise his eyes to the stainless steel covered wall in front of him. It served as a dim mirror revealing the figure now slightly behind him. Dressed in civilian clothes, she was slightly overweight. More importantly, she didn’t hold the automatic rifle properly, shaking noticeably.
Quickly processing all potential outcomes, the good news was he could easily overtake her. The bad news, however, was her nervousness. She could erratically discharge the weapon and kill them both in the process.
Cole smiled angelically, slowly raising his hands.
“I’m not here to hurt anyone, Miss.” His voice was soothing, assured.
“I’ve heard that before!” came her sour reply.
“Really? If you’ve been watching me, I think you’re smart enough to see I’m just getting some food. Just something for the road.”
“Who else is with you?” she asked suspiciously
“No one.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Can I please turn around without you riddling me with bullets?”
A pause. Then, “Real slow, mister.”