Famine

Kier waited for several minutes after he’d disappeared from view before climbing down. He’d packed all his things and adjusted the rucksack once he was on the ground, then he grabbed his eggs and hurried around the building and up the library steps. 

He needed books about greenhouse growing, but since all the books he’d once owned had gone up in flames, he might grab a few on preservation, herbal medicine, and maybe he could indulge and get a fiction book for the fun of it. 

Books were heavy, so he couldn’t get too many, but if he was going to stay in the greenhouse, he could start stocking up again. He’d start with a handful. He could grab a few every time he was here. 

A library was an eerie place when it was deserted. Most of the books had wobbly pages. Someone had tipped over a couple of shelves near the entrance. So unnecessary. He didn’t know why people had to be so destructive. But apart from the tipped-over shelves, only those books closest to the entrance and by a crashed window on the second floor were in such bad shape that he’d avoid them. 

Leaving the eggs on a table, he browsed the shelves. 

He’d be quick. He didn’t want to risk getting trapped in here should someone come by. 

He found a thick book about how to grow a kitchen garden, one on greenhouse growing, one on herbal medicine, a couple about preserving, and then he hurried over to the mystery shelf. 

Before the collapse, he’d read a lot of dystopian and post-apocalyptic books, but they weren’t as fun these days. Maybe he should look for something with swords and dragons. Nah, he snatched up a book with a mostly red cover and added it to the stack without reading the blurb. 

By the table, he shrugged off the rucksack and placed the books inside before hefting it onto his back again. 

Time to go. 

He grabbed the eggs and hurried toward the exit. He looked around before stepping outside. He couldn’t see anyone, but there was a creepy silence. Or maybe he was going insane. 

With one last look around, he walked down the street. He moved as quickly and soundlessly as he could without looking as if he was running. Carrying eggs was a bad idea. If someone saw him, they’d know he had something they could take. 

His heart sped up, and he looked around again. 

Nothing. 

He went on, stopping when he believed he heard something behind him, but when he whirled around, there was nothing there. Someone could’ve followed and dashed into an alley, but most likely it was his imagination running away with him. 

Blowing out a breath, he studied the shadows. Nothing moved. 

He continued forward again. Soon the buildings would grow more sparse, and it would be easier to tell if someone was trailing him. 

Time passed as he hurried forward, and while he looked over his shoulder every tenth step or so, he never caught anyone following him. 

Maybe he was losing his mind. He was always a little rattled after having met up with the others, and today there had been new faces. He’d be uneasy for a while, but it would be fine. 

Hopefully. 

He found the narrow road leading to the community garden. When he’d walked around yesterday, he’d found an old sign welcoming him to Roots and Leaves Community Garden. When he’d arrived, he’d come from the other direction and hadn’t seen the sign. A community garden made sense. 

He lingered for a bit, stayed partly hidden for several minutes, but no one showed. Blowing out a breath, he walked on. 

He’d light a fire, boil an egg, and leaf through the books. 

Tomorrow, he’d start planning. He needed somewhere to sleep where he’d be warm, somewhere he could store food and things, and he wanted to be able to tell if someone was approaching. Hard when there were no electricity and no way to set up security cameras. 

Tripwires and bells? 

It might give him enough time to run. 

He needed a gun and ammunition. He had collected a few knives these last few months, but he needed to be able to shoot people. A bow? Kegan sometimes carried a bow when he came to trade. He should look for one. And learn how to shoot it. Arrows were much quieter than bullets, and if there were invaders, he could perhaps down one or two before they reached him. 

What happened if you shot someone from the military? 

He shook his head and snickered to himself. He was losing his mind. He’d never killed anyone, but maybe it was time to start. He didn’t think Dylan would’ve spent two-thirds of a year—the most important and productive thirds—wandering around in a daze. He’d have defended his home. 

He’d heard the stories. No one got close to Dylan’s cottage. 

Kier had never gone there, didn’t know exactly where it was, only that it was a lone cottage somewhere near the bay, but he’d heard Dylan shot people who came there. 

From now on out, he’d be like Dylan.