The streets themselves are beautiful, the roads and sidewalks are cobblestoned, gas-lanterns stand watch in regular intervals. Trees line both sides of the sidewalks, which even overgrown appear gorgeous.
Colin swings open a low fence gate. "Let's go have a look-see."
At the main entrance door, we stop unsure on how to proceed. Colin shrugs and knocks first. I can't suppress a nervous smile, to which he grins sheepishly. When nothing happens, he takes a step back and kicks the door in. It doesn't take much; the door makes a noise like it's hurt and swings inward.
My knife at the ready I follow Colin quietly inside. We step into what looks like an entryway. Dust covers all the visible surfaces, a lone luggage bag stands by a small table, next to a purse. It's darker and cooler inside; whoever lived here drew all the curtains before leaving.
We stir dust modes as we walk through the darkened rooms; they swirl through the air, teasing my nose until I can't hold the sneeze in any longer. Colin stares at me reprovingly, I shrug my shoulders, and we stand still, listening if my sneezing brought anybody out, but nothing happens.
We open the door to a small storage room, and I can't believe my eyes; canned goods are stacked neatly on bottom to ceiling shelves, while water and other drinks are stacked on the other side. "What is this? Some kind of prepper?" I ask in amazement.
Colin shakes his head and reaches for a can with a pear pictured printed on the label. "No, it wouldn't surprise me if we found the same in almost all the houses."
"Why?" I breathe disbelievingly.
"During the Cold War, all German citizens were required to have their pantries stocked with at least two weeks' worth of food. It was the law, especially in Berlin. If the Russian's wanted, they could've just closed the wall up, like they did before and starved the population."
I tilt my head, wow. Something they definitely did not teach us in history class.
"How do you know all this?" I ask carefully.
He has the good grace to look sheepish. "When I was stationed here for a little while, I may or may not have dated one or four German girls." He finally admits.
I stiffen. "One or four?"
"Maybe more.... depending on your definition of dating and which tour we're talking about." He admits.
"Okay, whatever, continue with your story," I mutter. I successfully suppressed all memories of Colin's compulsory serial dating, at least until now.
"Well, it's just something that was taught down the generations. Even the girls I dated had stocked pantries, and when I laughed about it, they explained their moms or grandmas would always make sure they had enough food stored."
"Well, good for us," I exclaim.
I make my way back towards the entryway where I saw the luggage bag. I empty it out and take it back towards the pantry. "Let's not rely too much on having the same luck everywhere and stock up."
"Good thinking." He smiles approvingly. "I knew I keep you around for more than just your good looks."
I stop my search of the area, unsure if he just complimented or insulted me. He laughs at my muttered curses, while he packs some water and cans.
"Any chance we find a stockpile of guns too?" I ask from the living room a few moments later.
"Fat chance of that happening. Guns were highly illegal in most of Europe."
"Worth looking for?" I inquire.
He zips up the bag and steps towards me, speculating. "We might get lucky here or there, but I wouldn't count on it."
"Pity."
"Let's keep going while we still have daylight." He suggests. "It's a long walk."
We exit the house, and I eye the empty cars around us. "How far is Russia from here?"
I wish we were still able to use our phones; they were handy in California, making it much easier to find things. I hate the damn aliens even more just for that fact alone.
Colin looks thoughtful. "About a thousand miles, I think, give or take a few hundred."
"Awesome," I mutter sarcastically.
His eyes follow my gaze towards the cars. "It'll take us about two weeks to get there if we walk. Stealth or speed?"
I consider his words. Stealth would mean to go by foot, easier to make out threats. Speed would mean a car, fast but loud and making us more vulnerable.
"I don't like how quiet it is here." I think out loud.
"I agree, so let's hoof it for a while, get a feeling for our surroundings and reassess tomorrow."
"Deal." I concur.
Colin carries the bag in his left hand while his right reaches for mine; hand in hand, we walk down the charming but utterly deserted, suburban streets. We don't see any human life, but plants and animals seem to thrive in abundance. Birds sing in trees, which are just changing colors from green to yellow; a few hedgehogs scurry across overgrown lawns and bunnies, I even see a deer.
A slight scent of rot hangs in the air, not too bothersome, but it's there. Inside some yards are dead dogs, probably starved to death when their owners died or never came back. I feel sorry for the poor creatures, who never stood a chance. The cats seem to have fared better; every once in a while, one hurries across the street or up a tree, nimble as can be.
Colin entertains me with mostly drunken stories about the times he spent in Berlin during his enlistment, and it's nice to be able to just talk, something we haven't had much time to do lately. Despite the peacefulness, we keep our eyes peeled for any kind of danger we might encounter, our ears open to any out-of-place sounds.
After five blocks of suburbia, we reach a wider street. On one side are three and four-story
