Masterson and Brown were the last ones over, and the dead pressed against the wrought-iron fence, trying to push their faces through the bars. They turned and headed to the storage facility, ignoring the grunts and groans behind them. Rudy tripped over a curb buried in the snow and tumbled to the ground. She couldn't help but laugh a bit. Better to stumble behind the safety of the fence than on the other side of it.
She bent down and helped a blushing Rudy to his feet. Without warning, Whiteside took the butt of his rifle and bashed in the window that looked in on the main office of the storage facility. He vaulted through the window, and Amanda had the thought that Whiteside looked like a natural at breaking and entering.
They watched as Whiteside shined his flashlight inside the building. It was abandoned and unoccupied. Whiteside bashed a large metal box on the wall repeatedly with the butt of his rifle. The small door swung open, and Whiteside's flashlight illuminated a row of keys.
The other soldiers entered the small office while Tejada, Rudy, and Masterson had to wait outside. There wasn't room enough in the office for all of them.
"What do you got there?" Tejada asked.
"Keys," Whiteside said. "One of these oughta open up this door, and then we can get in inside."
"Why don't we just shoot the fucker open?" Brown asked.
"You kidding? With your aim?" Epps scoffed.
"Just find the goddamn keys," Tejada said.
"Here we go," Gregg said, pointing to a set of bolt cutters that leaned against the wall behind the tall counter in the office.
Gregg lifted the bolt cutters up and into the air, regarding them with a smile on his face. "These ought to come in handy."
It took some time for Whiteside to test each individual key in the door's lock. Behind them, the dead lined up at the fence, watching the short man struggle. By the time Whiteside found the right one, a line of Annies twenty-feet long pressed their faces against the fence, groaning.
The office door swung open, and they filed through, closing and locking the door behind them.
Amanda had never been so grateful to be out of the wind. It felt like the wind had flayed the skin off her lips. Her nose was raw from wiping away dripping snot, and her fingers didn't even feel attached to her body anymore. They were just blocks of finger-shaped ice attached to the end of her wrists.
"Alright, lights on," Tejada said.
In the darkness of the hallway, their flashlight illuminated a row of orange rolling doors that ran for a good fifty yards.
"Well, since we didn't have a real Christmas, this'll do. Let's open these fuckers up," Tejada said.
Amanda could feel herself and the others smiling. Breaking into the storage units would be a hell of a lot more fun than slogging through two-and-a-half feet of snow.
"Who's gonna be Santa?" Amanda asked.
Everyone looked at Rudy, and she knew he was blushing in the darkness. "Just because I'm fat?" he whined. She gave him a friendly nudge with her elbow, and they all laughed quietly.
"You think any of those keys work for these locks?" Allen asked.
Gregg held up the bolt cutters and said, "I got your key right here."
"Do the honors," Tejada said. "Let's see what Santa left us."
Gregg walked to the nearest rolling door and squatted down. The door was secured by a heavy padlock secured to a metal loop set into the concrete floor. He spread the bolt cutters wide and then strained to shear the lock. He shook with the effort.
"You got that?" Day asked his rat-like eyes nothing more than slits in the darkness.
With a great groan, the bolt cutters finally bit through the loop of the padlock, and Gregg pulled it free. He lifted the rolling door, and it slid up on a well-oiled track, rattling like thunder.
"Jesus Christ, Gregg. You trying to call every Annie in the whole damn state?" Masterson asked.
"What are the odds they got cigarettes in there?" Whiteside asked.
"You just got some from the store, man," Brown said.
"You can never have too many smokes."
Tejada ignored the byplay and clicked on his flashlight.
The first thing they saw was a jet ski underneath a tarp.
"Dibs," Masterson said.
"What the fuck are you gonna do with a jet ski?" Walt asked.
"Oh, I thought it was a snowmobile," he said, his dopey face looking crestfallen for a moment.
The storage unit was filled with nothing more than weekend warrior garbage, the type of shit that someone with too much money and too much time would buy. Amanda would bet good money that the jet ski had been used maybe once or twice. They shut the door on the skis, and snowboards, and kayaks and headed to the next unit.
"I got whatever's in this one," Gregg said before he cut the lock.
Tejada sighed and said, "No one's calling dibs, dammit. This isn't a fucking game show."
Under his breath, Gregg muttered, "I still called it." He tossed the sheared lock on the concrete with a clatter and slowly lifted the door this time. Amanda didn't think it made much difference. Those rolling doors were going to make noise no matter how fast or slow you opened them.
Tejada shined the light on a pile of landscaping equipment. The unit was piled high with garbage bins, weedwhackers, lawnmowers, clippers, and gasoline bottles, along with a various assortment of rakes, shovels, and hoes.
Day slapped Gregg on the shoulder and said, "It's all yours."
"There is no goddamn dibs," Tejada said, though he didn't seem to be winning this battle.
Day continued mocking Gregg. "What
