Allen flipped the lid off a large silver canister in front of him. It was filled with grains of rice, a large plastic scoop sitting in the middle. "I got rice."
"Shit yeah. Rice travels. Lots of good energy in rice."
"We're just gonna sit around eating plain rice?"
"You think they got grocery stores in the mountains? Only food up there walks on four legs, man. You'll be happy to have that rice when we're in them mountains."
"You're from Alabama. What the fuck do you know about mountains?"
"More than your Midwest ass," Epps smirked. "My family went on a ski vacation once."
"You? Skiing?"
"Yeah, my dad was like the type of guy that wanted to make sure that we weren't stereotypes. He wanted us to be 'well-rounded' individuals as he'd always say. So, he taught us to swim. He took us places other black people didn't go. He showed us the world. This one time, we went to Colorado in the winter. Man, I ain't never been so cold in my life, at least until now."
"So, you know how to ski?" Allen asked.
"Fuck no. That shit was boring. I sat in the hotel room on my phone the whole time. But, when I did go outside, there wasn't nothing out there. Just pine trees and snow. We get into that kind of situation, you're gonna want some goddamn rice."
"Good to know," Allen said. "So how are we going to carry this shit? The canister's too big to throw in my bag."
Epps ran around the room, opening cupboards until he found what he needed. He pulled a small rectangular box out from underneath the cupboard and began pulling Ziplock baggies free. "Here, this oughta do. Measure that shit out. Fill each bag up equally. Then we don't need the canister."
Allen set about the task of scooping out the rice.
"Wish we had some soy sauce for all this rice."
"You sure it's not too spicy?"
"Fuck you."
****
They stood in the lobby, their food supplies augmented by the rice and some pasta that Epps had discovered. The others brought back various candied items that had been stashed in the old people's rooms. They stood ready to go. Their rifles were loaded. Their bags were packed. Tejada stood leaning on the shoulders of Rudy and Amanda.
Walt was ready. He was always ready now. He felt the reassuring tug of the bowling ball on his back. If he ever ran out of ammo, he would be glad to have it. When he had first started his training, the bowling ball had acted like an albatross around his neck, but he had grown used to its weight, his body adjusting his muscles until the bowling ball became like an extension of himself. He would need it, perhaps soon.
He had maybe fifty rounds of ammo for his rifle, and unless they stumbled upon an untouched store that sold ammunition, that's all there was ever going to be. But the bowling ball, American Express… that never needed to be loaded.
Of course, his body was sore today. He had never trained with this much weight on his back. Altogether, he probably carried around fifty pounds of gear between his food, his sleeping bag, the bowling ball, the hatchet, and various other odds and ends. He looked forward to the time when the pack became lighter. Though that would only happen if he survived long enough to eat his food supplies.
Overnight, the snow had piled up, and their footprints were just shallow shadows on the surface of the snow. The dead swayed in place as if they were conserving energy. He watched them wave from side to side as if they were bobbing slightly to a gentle song that only they could hear.
"No time like the present," Tejada whispered.
The group moved down a hallway to a side door, away from the front lobby. They weren't entirely sure what was on the other side of the door. Only a small parking lot could be seen through the rectangular window, but it certainly had to be better than stepping out into the front of the building where the Annies waited for them.
The first blast of cold wind stung his face, and his hands, glued to his rifle, went cold immediately despite his gloves. He knew it was temporary and that as soon as they started moving, his blood would get going, and he wouldn't be as cold. But in the meantime, he cursed the weather, the clouds, and even though he didn't think there was a god, he cursed him as well.
They filed out the door silently. The courtyard abutted an apartment complex. From what Walt could see, the complex was large and sprawling, a ghetto without charm. They had to cross a chest-high fence.
Walt hopped over easily enough, and Masterson followed him. Together, they received Tejada from Day and Gregg as they passed him over the fence. Tejada stood hobbling while the rest of the people climbed over, and then they were fleeing through the parking lot of the apartment complex.
Signs of death and destruction were all about. To his left, a ground-floor apartment sat with its curtains billowing out in the wind, the glass smashed months ago. To his right, the burned-out hulk of an SUV sat gray and smudged, its tires melted into nothing. And then there were the Annies.
They were spread out, and Walt wondered when the Annies had last seen a living human being. He wondered if there was some sort of scientific formula one could craft to judge how long it had been since a human had passed by examining the spread of Annies in a particular area.
The snow was two-feet deep here, and they had to work to move through it. Walt had a frightening image of an Annie popping up from under
