The government had installed discreet security cameras at the facility’s entrances. As part of his evening routine, he logged into the internal monitoring system to look for anything amiss in Self-Storageville.
If the small man currently pounding on the heavy-gauge commercial rolling door had been carrying a pot of gold in his other hand, Ray would have only been mildly surprised. The cameras filmed in black and white, so he could only speculate on the color of the bizarre hair. Surely it was red.
He rolled his office chair backward, slamming it into his bunk, then reached into a file cabinet used as a bedside table. The Glock had not been fired since the shooting range in Gatlinburg prior to Chicxulub, but he continued to clean and oil it every month. The clip contained ten bullets. He hoped none would be required now.
As he ran toward the commotion, he passed by Lizzy’s corridor.
“We hear it too, Ray! We wonder if it has to do with your flying excursions!”
She said something else that he didn’t catch; he was already two cavernous aisles away.
He stopped at the rolling steel doors, fire-rated and custom-fitted to accommodate the space. Equipment brought to the facility over the years had arrived discreetly on generic long-haul trucks and unloaded under cover of darkness. The government did not want the self-storage facility’s nosy neighbors to witness the unusual variety of supplies being fed into the maw of the building. It owned the entire compound. The purpose of all those empty units surrounding Ray’s home was merely to provide cover for the operation. The treasure trove of supplies contained in the primary building was worth millions, so the security of the facility was necessarily austere. The double rolling doors where he stood now hadn’t been opened for three years. The final shipment brought through them had been of a personal nature, and he had been the only employee to unload it.
After tapping a numerical code into the electronic pad next to the door, the monitor sprang to life. The man standing outside held his arms up in a gesture intended to express innocence. Ray studied him from the odd hair down to the well-worn boots before pressing the white button on the pad.
“Step away from the door. I have a gun, and I will use it.”
The grin that appeared within the beard seemed genuine.
“Absolutely, sir. Stepping away now.” The man sprang down the metal steps, then turned to face the doors from the lower vantage. “I mean you no harm. I carry no firearms. I’m interested in neither pillaging nor plundering, but would appreciate a moment of your time. There’s a matter of some forest-dwelling children and the goodies you’ve been leaving for them.”
Ray’s finger flew to the keypad. When the corrugated steel groaned and clanked, then began to rise, he crouched in the expanding opening with the Glock pointed downward.
He had been right about the hair color.
“I’m Fergus,” the intruder said, slowly climbing the metal steps, then extending a hand. The other hand still reached innocuously toward the darkening sky.
For a reason he could not explain, Ray accepted the handshake, but kept the gun aimed at the small chest during the process. He felt a warm tingling sensation when their palms came together. For such a small man, he had a firm grip.
“I’m Ray,” he said.
“Yes, you are.” The man grinned again. His teeth looked clean and well-maintained. Smart folks took care of their teeth in a post-apocalyptic world.
“Tell me about the children, Fergus.”
“May I come in? I’ll remove my jacket so you can frisk me, but I think you know I’m not here to make trouble. You can sense it, can’t you?”
There was no denying the benevolent body language, nor Ray’s own gut instinct. This strange little man was telling the truth. The notion of human interaction probably compelled the potential lapse in judgment. It had been so long since he’d enjoyed the company of someone who wasn’t a monster.
“You may come in. I’ll keep the gun on you, just in case.”
“Excellent,” Fergus said, springing through the opening and removing the jacket with slow, exaggerated motions. “I’ll just lay it here on the floor, then do a pirouette so you can inspect my clearly harmless person. See? Nothing to fear.”
Ray conducted a quick pat-down. “I’ll take the jacket for now.”
“Of course. Any cautious person would do the same. This is quite a place you have here, Ray. I’m guessing government, yes?”
“Tell me about the children.”
“Very well, but first may I offer you a nip of social lubricant? I have a flask in my jacket. I find conversations grow exponentially more enlightening with whiskey. I’ll take the first sip so you know it’s not poisoned.”
Ray couldn’t help liking this strange man. He may regret it, but he decided to take a leap of faith.
“I’ll pass on the whiskey, but you may join me for dinner. I’m still keeping the gun on you, if you don’t mind.”
“Don’t mind at all. I’m famished. I’ve been walking for miles navigating the Fire Swamp and fighting Rodents of Unusual Size.”
“You’re a movie buff.” Ray chuckled. He had watched the The Princess Bride dozens of times. It was one of a hundred DVD titles delivered to the facility on the final shipment.
“Over here,” he said, using the Glock’s barrel to direct the small man toward the improvised kitchen area. He’d selected that corner of the building because of its proximity to the food pallets. When he was ready to microwave his dinner or brew a pot of coffee, he didn’t have to travel far for supplies. The washer and dryer were there, too. They’d arrived on that last shipment before the
