CHAPTER 3: Road to Minot
Nothing happened. It felt like it should be such a momentous occasion, like a golden (or perhaps black) ray would shine down on me as I slowly lifted into the air, arms spread while slowly rotating. Nope. Just sat there freezing my balls off. I really needed to do something about that. March in North Dakota is no joke. If I remember correctly, this week was supposed to have highs in the mid-to high 30s. I also desperately needed a shower and a change of clothes. I smelled of dried blood and vomit, with looks to match. Luckily, right next door there was a sportswear store, so suitable clothes shouldn’t be an issue, but the shower would have to wait. I had to break the door glass to get in, as it had been too early in the morning for most businesses to be open when the world went to shit. I quickly found some thermal underwear, some good weather-resistant clothes and some hiking boots. The heat hadn’t been off too long, so the store was still relatively comfortable as I stripped down and got my new clothes on.
Although I had been stationed at the base for only three months, I already knew the nearby town fairly well. It was, after all, the only town near enough to the base to be visited regularly, and, believe it or not, there really isn’t much else to do in the middle of nowhere, North Dakota except hang out in the only town within an hour’s drive. The small town, approximately five miles across, still surprisingly well supported chain stores like Dick’s Sporting Goods, Wal-Mart, and Home Depot, among others. They even had a zoo. Having no clue what I should do, and in the relative comfort and safety of the mom and pop clothing store on the edge of town, I figured that was a pretty good time to explore my interface.
The interface was, annoyingly, the most user-friendly thing I’d ever used. Not a clunky HUD. No tutorials. Just a series of neat, mentally swipeable tabs floating in my vision, like Apple and Google had a VR love child. I blinked at the "Character Sheet" tab, and it opened with a polite little chime.
NAME: Joseph Vane
RACE: Human
CLASS: REAPER
LEVEL: 1
MANA to next level: 0/500
Strength: 6
Agility: 7
Vitality: 6
Perception: 6
Intelligence: 9 - Current mana capacity: 90 mana
Absorption: 1 - Current mana absorption: 10 mana per hour
Stat points available: 37
Being a gamer, none of this was too unfamiliar. The stat points were odd. Not only was it way beyond the amount I would have expected given my current stats, but typically, at least in games, round numbers were the norm. You would create a character and have ten stat points to spend upgrading them was pretty standard. Thirty-seven was confusing.
Mana requirements for your next level were also something I had never heard of in my games. It was always experience points for levels, mana for abilities. Apparently mana was the be-all and end-all, in this new, dumpster-fire of a world.
The store's backroom was the place where time and sunlight went to die; cinderblock walls, fluorescent lights hanging from dust-covered chains, the concrete floor painted battleship gray, and a couple of small, nearly opaque block glass windows high in the wall. I stacked a couple of boxes into a makeshift recliner and sat, exhausted by the simple act of living. My new boots felt stiff, but they beat the hell out of a pair of blood-soaked service shoes.
I had found a few bottles of water and unscrewed a cap, took a drink, then focused on the interface. An action that was rapidly becoming second-nature.
I scrolled down, and a tooltip popped up from the bottom of the screen. “For more information on system functions, select the HELP tab.” I did, because even in the apocalypse, I was a nerd.
The opening paragraph read like a pitch deck from a megacorp, which, based upon the name, I supposed it was.
"Welcome to the Autonomous Multiverse Integration System! This help tab will answer questions you have regarding functions, classes, currencies, and system-wide standards. Please explore the submenus for more detailed information. The Multiverse runs on Mana. All living and non-living things within the assimilated Multiverse exist within the context of a Mana Core, typically rated from A to F. Once your planet's Mana Core is active, it will convert ether from the surrounding cosmos into Mana, which radiates outward and supports all life and magic on the planet. The current rating for Earth's Mana Core is D. Mana is the standard currency for all interstellar commerce and is required for the use of abilities, class advancement, and stat gain. The efficient use of mana is a major predictor of future planetary and personal success. Please see the dedicated Economy tab for more information. To gain additional information on any entry within your interface, simply focus on the entry and more information will be supplied. Tooltips may change over time based on assimilation status and personal progression, as we aim to provide the most relevant and helpful information possible. Thank you for choosing Autonomous Multiverse Integration Systems Inc.!"
I read it twice, and the second time, I actually processed a little. So: Multiverse. Mana. Earth was a D student, and I had apparently “chosen” to make Pol Pot look like an amateur.
Begrudgingly, I was understanding why the System needed to kill so many people right out of the gate. It wasn’t just for drama. It was probably, in its own sick logic, a necessity, if not a mercy. If mana was in short supply because of the subpar mana core, do you let eight billion people slowly fight it out while effectively starving to death, or do you rip the band-aid off in one go? In either case, they can go fuck themselves.
With what was probably an overly dramatic sigh, I focused on the elements of my stats page one element at a time.
Name: Joseph Vane. It’s your name. Names may only be changed at an authorized AMIS pillar.
Race: Human. Humans currently occupy 11,326 planets within the multiverse and are the eleventh largest multiverse assimilated population by species.
Class: Reaper. The Reaper class is an S-tier class available only upon new integration with specific System requirements. Upon receipt of this class, three class specific abilities may be chosen from the abilities tab.
It took all my effort not to immediately switch gears and find the abilities tab, but I held firm and kept on track.
Level: 1. You are level 1, with 0% progress towards your next level.
Mana to next level: 0/500. Do you wish to allocate mana to level progression? YES/NO.
Well, that was interesting. I almost clicked on YES out of instinct, but once again, my superior willpower kept things moving.
Strength: 6 - Starting values for this stat range from 1 to 13, with 13 representing the pinnacle of human strength without mana-based enhancement. This stat determines the force you can apply to an object.
Agility: 7 - Starting values for this stat range from 1 to 13, with 13 representing the pinnacle of human agility without mana-based enhancement. This stat determines both the accuracy and the speed at which you can apply force.
Vitality: 6 - Starting values for this stat range from 1 to 13, with 13 representing the pinnacle of human vitality without mana-based enhancement. This stat determines your overall health (durability), the duration that you can apply an amount of force, as well as the speed of mana-based body reconstruction (self-healing).
Perception: 6 - Starting values for this stat range from 1 to 13, with 13 representing the pinnacle of human perception without mana-based enhancement. This stat determines your awareness of the world around you, both your physical sight and, at higher levels, additional senses, including but not limited to mana sight, trap detection, and treasure sense.
Intelligence: 9 - Starting values for this stat range from 1 to 13, with 13 representing the pinnacle of human intelligence without mana-based enhancement. This stat determines both the capacity to learn new abilities, and your total mana reserve capacity.
Absorption: 1 - Starting value for this stat is 1. This stat determines the absorption rate of mana from a planet’s mana core. (mana regeneration)
Holy shit … mana really was everything. The implications of this stat system hit my gamer brain like a truck. How the hell do you properly budget your mana? If you stat dump into any one area, you would severely handicap yourself in others. The old “min/max’ing” strategy was immediately out the window. Do you go heavy into absorption and allocate all that into level progression? Seemed like the smart thing to do, but what if the guy around the next corner put all his stats into strength, agility, and perception? I would probably be dead before I even noticed him. I couldn’t think about it anymore right now … the “stat points available” was calling to me like a siren song.
Stat Points Available: 37 - This stat is the number of points you currently have available to upgrade base stats. You can purchase additional stat points at any time at a progressively higher mana cost. Please visit an authorized AMIS pillar for stat point purchases. Humans receive ten free stat points upon assimilation, with a base allocation of two additional points provided per level up. Purge performance may affect this allocation. Your purge performance has granted you an allocation of 29 stat points per level.
“Twenty nine stat points per level.” The realization of where those stats came from was a gut punch. Additional stat points effectively stolen from the millions of people I had supposedly killed. It must be some sort of sliding scale, I assumed. 10,000 kills were required for the class, as that is a killing spree of epic proportions for a human to manage in sixty minutes. I tried to figure out some rational proportionality of the numbers, but I soon decided that attempting to unravel the intricacies of an omniscient alien corporation’s algorithm was a waste of time and moved on. After a candy bar. Mental math was never my strong suit, and my brain was hurting. I needed fuel.
A couple of minutes chewing and staring at the ceiling later, watching an industrious spider weave an absolutely massive web. I dove back into the interface.
“What the actual fuck?” I whispered as I stared at the five abilities I had to choose from.
“Genocide” This is a passive ability that affects all of your hostile actions against other humans, causing double damage from all sources when used against humans. Cast time / Instant - Cost / none - This ability is not upgradeable.
“Meltdown” This is a single-target ability that fires a beam of condensed radiation at a target, causing immediate and massive radiation damage as well as inciting massive tumors to grow in those it does not kill. Victims of this ability will lose five points of vitality every second while the beam is touching them. This loss is permanent without the intervention of a skilled healer. Cast time / Instant - Cost / 10 mana per second - This ability is upgradeable.
“Fallout” This is an area of effect ability, creating total darkness and high levels of radiation in a circular area 30 meters in diameter, with a duration of 30 seconds. Victims of this ability will lose one point of vitality every 5 seconds while they are within the area of effect. This loss is permanent without the intervention of a skilled healer. Cast time / instant - Cost / 20 mana - This ability is upgradeable.
“Cancer” This is a single-target ability that slowly infects the victim, causing one point of vitality to be lost every forty-eight hours. Its casting is undetectable, and the vitality loss may only be halted by an extremely skilled healer, but never restored. Cast time / Instant - Cost / 5 mana - This ability is upgradeable.
“EMP” This is an area of effect ability that causes an electrical overload within a circular area 30 meters in diameter. It deals an immediate five vitality loss to all victims and can interrupt or even completely disable some electromechanical entities. Cast time / Instant - Cost / 20 mana - This ability is upgradeable.
These abilities were monstrous. An accurate reflection of the heart of somebody who would willingly kill nearly 80,000,000 people in the most horrifying way possible. “BUT I DIDN’T DO IT!” I screamed at the spider above me. She didn’t seem to care. After a few more moments of considerable weakness, I tried to view the abilities rationally, ignoring their disgusting names as best I could.
One, I know every human still alive has killed multiple times. Logic dictates that those already prone to violence would have gotten the jump on those who were passive. An image of Lacy, four years old, with big brown eyes and beautiful black hair that had never been cut, knee high to a grasshopper, and proudly holding up a poorly drawn picture of me with my misspelled name over it inserted itself into my head … “What the heck Lacy? It’s only three letters, how can you misspell J O E?” That was the day that I had left for bootcamp. One week before my father died.
I continued my analysis as I wiped away tears.
Assuming that many of the remaining humans were not gracious people, I selected “Genocide” as my first ability. What if I just punched them? Just because the ability made me a man-killer didn’t mean I had to use lethal force. But to the best of my knowledge, humans were still the most dangerous thing on this planet, and with the System, that was only going to get worse. I toggled the ability on. It cost me not a single point of mana. Amazing how little a human life was worth.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
I took a few deep breaths, whispered “it’s just a little thing” to myself and refocused. Beyond that, I had no clue what I should take, so I chose none of them for now. I did not know what was in store for me in the future, and there didn’t appear to be any sort of time restraint on choosing my abilities.
Next, I considered my stat point allocation. If I would not be casting doomsday spells, I needed to be tough, fast, and able to take a hit. This thought made me decide my next stop at least … EZ Arms; a gun shop a couple of blocks down on the other side of the street. Hopefully, it wasn’t cleared out.
Since I wasn’t using mana for anything right now, I went back to the MANA stat and allocated 100% of my absorption to leveling. That’s ten mana per hour with 500 mana needed for level two. In less than three days I would have twenty-nine more stat points to distribute without doing a thing. It really looked like the best strategy was to find a deep hole, fill it with food and water, and focus on leveling. You could walk out a month later, an absolute monster. Well, I could anyway.
I immediately put nineteen points into absorption. I would be level 2 in under thirty minutes. I had eighteen points remaining. I put three into each of the other stats, then dumped the rest into Absorption as well. Less than twenty minutes to level two.
My current stats put me well above average in every physical stat compared to pre-system humans, but I knew I had to be careful. I didn’t believe all the remaining humans were thugs, but I knew many of them would be, and as far as I knew, rational decisions regarding stat allocations might not be their forte. There were going to be plenty who dumped their ten free points into strength and went out looking for a fight.
“Ding … congratulations, you have reached level 2. You have twenty-nine free stat points to allocate.”
“Holy shit.” I whispered … if I lived more than a day, I was going to be unstoppable. After a quick allocation, my stats were:
NAME: Joseph Vane
RACE: Human
CLASS: REAPER
LEVEL: 2
MANA to next level: 0/1000 - Current leveling allocation - 290 mana per hour
Strength: 15
Agility: 15
Vitality: 15
Perception: 15
Intelligence: 12
Absorption: 29
Free stat points available: 0
I noticed that some of the information in my stats had been trimmed down a bit. I assumed the interface was intelligent enough to know I didn’t need a reminder that gaining one point of intelligence gave me ten mana capacity every time I looked at my stats. Nice, I guess.
I was faster, stronger, and healthier than anyone on the planet had ever been just three days ago. Oddly enough, I didn’t feel or look much different. Perhaps in this new world you didn’t need to look like a bodybuilder to be stronger than one. I definitely noticed a difference in my perception, however. It was as if I had been nearsighted and had my ears plugged my entire life until now. To clearly read the mailing address on a small label on the other side of the room with weak light was disorienting, but I realized pretty quickly that I could kind of dial it back, much like the interface. It was there with a bit of intent, but not intrusive when I didn’t want it to be. I added no more points to intelligence, as my only current ability didn’t require any mana to run indefinitely. In less than four hours, I would level up again. Unless I ran into some serious trouble, I had already decided to pretty much dump it all into absorption. Who had 4 hours to wait on a new level? Also, it looked like the mana requirement doubled for each level … that was gonna get out of hand real quick without massive amounts of absorption. When I thought about it, the System message had mentioned Earth possibly becoming a mana mining colony. I may not yet be at the pinnacle of human intelligence, but I’m pretty confident that this meant that there were other means of gathering mana beyond passive regeneration. It was time to get geared up and go greet this terrible new world.
I missed my watch. I couldn’t take a phone into the bunker, but I had a nice smartwatch my father had given me on my seventeenth birthday that was allowed inside. Despite the standard military-issue white dial clock on the wall, I must have glanced at my wristwatch a hundred times a day. Occasionally, I would get an emoji message from Lacy using Mom’s phone. I glanced at my wrist. Somewhere in all the chaos of the last few days, I had lost it. Not that it would work now anyway, but it just felt like a knee to the nuts to have lost absolutely everything that meant something to me. Judging by the sun, it was probably 9:00 a.m. or so. I stood back a few feet from the door with the broken glass, and with my new upgraded perception spiked, I peeked out, searching for any sign of movement or noise. A few birds flying around, a cat screaming for its breakfast a couple of blocks further down the road. There wasn’t anything I could see or hear to warn me of humans, nor was there much cover between here and the gun shop, especially considering that I had to cross a four-lane divided highway to get there. After an internal debate about whether I should low crawl or sprint, I decided that if anyone were watching the store for easy prey, knowing full well how important weapons would be to the survivors, that crawling slowly along the ground was a pretty surefire way to get shot. I could theoretically put an Olympic gold medalist to shame, and was pretty damned curious how fast I could run.
Mind made up, I burst out the door and sprinted for all I was worth directly across the highway to the back edge of the event venue property on that side of the highway. There was a mobile home out back, probably the venue owner’s, but all was quiet. I listened intently, but not a peep came from inside. I continued south along the back side of the business properties, with maybe 400 yards to go to get to the gun shop. A comic shop, a place that sold hot tubs and fiberglass pools, a junkyard, then the gun shop. I knew the purge was over, but couldn’t get it out of my head that everyone left on Earth besides me was a rabid gangbanger who probably had a cannibal class or some shit. I really needed to get out of my head… it’s not a cheerful place these days.
The rest of the way to the gun shop was smooth. No angry mobs, no tripwire deathtraps, no lurking glassy-eyed children with knives. My upgraded stats pushed me through slush and gravel so fast my thighs burned after a block, but I didn’t stop. The air tasted like winter and ozone, metallic and clean in a way that made my teeth ache.
There was a sign, half-blown over, that read EZ ARMS in block letters. The lot out front was pocked with potholes and spattered with a rust-brown that I classified as "probably not blood". The gun shop itself wasn’t much—cinderblock, tiny barred windows, a battered American flag hanging limp off a rebar pole. The front door was wide open, which wasn’t ominous at all.
I scouted from behind a battered F-150, new senses dialed up. The place was quiet. Not "nobody home" quiet, but "someone holding their breath" quiet. I crept closer, stepping around a bunch of spent shotgun shells and a rotating display rack of camo hats that had somehow made its way outside. My sidearm only shook a little in my hand as I crept the short distance to the door. I reached the door and peered in.
Inside, every display case was busted open, plastic shards covering everything like glitter at a six-year-old’s birthday party. There were a few rifles stacked on the floor, just bolt-action hunting stuff from what I could tell at a glance. Some empty ammo cans, examined and hastily discarded. There were a few handguns on the wall behind the counter, a couple of revolvers and three or four .22’s. Better than nothing, I supposed, but not what I was looking for. Along the back wall there was what looked like a hastily made barricade, consisting primarily of a tattered leather couch and a couple of merchandise racks. The couch had obviously seen some shit, as several giant holes and too-many-to-count small holes riddled the thing.
I was halfway to the bolt-action rifles when I felt it: the cold steel of a muzzle pressed to the back of my skull. None too gentle.
"Drop your weapon," said a voice. Woman—older, strained, and not especially polite. "Slowly. You so much as twitch and I’ll trim your bangs for you."
I did as instructed, letting the pistol hang from my fingertips and fall. She kicked it away, then frisked me with the barrel for anything else. I counted to ten in complete silence. I knew she was deciding whether or not to kill me, just to be safe, when I almost felt more than heard a quiet, slow sigh. She had decided, and I had zero confidence it was in my favor.
“I didn’t come here hunting people.” I said, keeping my voice low and calm. “The purge is over. I survived only by defending myself up on the base and have no intention of ever killing another human being.” I meant what I said, but had also accepted the unfortunate reality that I would almost certainly have to do just that regularly in the future. I would do it … but that didn’t mean I wanted to. “May I turn around?” She said nothing, but the pressure on the back of my skull relented and I could feel? Hear? her step back … these new senses were going to take some getting used to. I slowly turned around, hands still raised high.
She was late forties, or maybe early fifties, with short platinum hair, a level of tan that you see very little of in a North Dakota winter. I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was spray-on or a tanning bed. Some weird shit can go through your mind when you’re about to die. Denim jacket, jeans, combat boots, and grim, steady eyes. The shotgun she leveled at my chest was pump-action, sawed-off, and sawed off recently by the look of the shiny bare metal capping the end of the barrel.
She studied me like a hungry man eyes a slightly gray steak—skeptical but tempted. “So you’re the King of the Hill from the base?” Correctly identifying me as a soldier… must have been the haircut.
I shrugged. “Not even a little. It was pure chaos, and I just did what I had to do to get out alive. Lucky for me, I guess it was just enough to make the grade.”
After a long moment, she finally relaxed her grip, just a hair. “Nora,” she said. “I run this place. Or did.”
I nodded. “You own the shop?”
“Me and my husband.” A muscle twitched at the edge of her jaw. “Used to, anyway. He’s out back. We live in the trailer behind the store. Or did.” That pause again, heavy as a cinder block. “He got caught up in the initial clusterfuck. Defended the shop like a moron. Got shot for it. I leaned him up against the propane tank around back if you want to pay your respects. The ground is too hard to dig a grave.” It was then that I noticed her hands. They were covered in dirt with several nails missing, dried blood rivulets between most fingers. She noticed my look and held up a hand as if to evaluate a recent trip to the nail salon. “I couldn’t find a shovel. I tried to give him some rest … but …”
She stopped talking. I had the urge to hug her, knowing exactly how she felt right now, but she was still a quick twitch of the finger away from blowing my head off, and I didn’t want the motion to be misinterpreted.
“I’ll make you a deal.” She said, rather loudly as she suddenly stood ramrod straight, as if trying to clear the air by changing the subject. “I got a boy, works down at Starbucks. You know where that is?” I nodded silently. I worked a graveyard shift staring at a computer screen that didn’t even have a keyboard attached to it. Caffeine was my life. Well, after things settled down a bit, I talked to him on the phone. It was just a couple of minutes before the purge ended, so as far as I reckon, he’s still alive, holed up in that Starbucks. He, of course, wasn’t supposed to have a gun at work, but he must have, and just like me and you, I reckon he did what needed doing to come home. You help me get to him, and you can take whatever you want from the shop.”
I looked around rather skeptically. A few bolt-action rifles, scattered ammo that I would have to sift through to find the right ammo for, and a few pistols, either relics or suitable for not much more than coyotes.
Nora barked a laugh that may have been a cough. “Forget that shit, we keep the good shit in the safes. I promise you won’t be disappointed, but I ain’t opening shit until you give me your word you’ll help, and I’ll just have to hope that your word means half of what it should.” I thought about it for a few seconds, then decided. I remained silent for a full ten count; however, not wanting to appear anxious. I held out my hand. “I’ll do anything short of sacrificing my skin to get you to your boy.” I said. She took my hand in a surprisingly forceful grip and held it for far too long. I got the feeling she had been on the edge of a nervous breakdown, and meeting somebody “normal” in a world that had suddenly become a lethal free for all, that human contact was exactly what she needed. Hell, I probably needed it just as much as she did.
“Follow me.” was all she said, finally letting go of my hand and lowering the shotgun, then headed towards the back of the shop and down the stairs to the basement, grabbing an old oil lantern from the ledge as she went. “Seemed the power was out as much as on this winter, so it didn’t hurt to have something reliable to hand.” She stated as she lit the lantern before continuing down the stairs. I followed, visions of a sacrificial altar briefly flashing in my head. Instead of the altar and its attendant cultists, a row of gun safes greeted me, taking up an entire wall of the large room. There were racks of surplus military gear, MREs and various survival supplies all on neatly ordered shelving units. Whatever had taken place upstairs, nobody had thought to ransack the basement. It was surprisingly clean and dry. Nora saw me looking around with an open mouth and rightly guessed at what I was thinking. The basement is the nicest part of this whole property. “When you’ve got your entire life wrapped up in one little room, you make damned sure it’s safe and dry.” I chuckled to myself as I noticed the tanning bed occupying one corner of the dark basement, barely visible in the soft light of the lantern.
Visions of a safe full of .50 caliber sniper rifles and giant machine guns got my pulse up a bit. I just had to find a bandana and some camouflage paint …
Nora’s voice brought me back to the present. “Now I know one cubic meter of storage space ain’t much, all things considered, but you should be able to fit one long gun, a couple of handguns and a fair amount of ammo alongside your food and such. Bigger than a cubic yard, at least. Finally got that metric system, whether we wanted it or not.” She turned, eyeing my bulging backpack and continued. “Your storage is all full? You may have to leave some stuff behind unless you want to try carrying it all in your hands. Might squeeze some ammo into your inventory though, as is.”
I said nothing out loud, but the dumb look on my face must have given me away. “Let me guess.” Nora said. “You didn’t think to see what that “inventory” tab was all about? Well, you’re in luck. You are the proud owner of one cubic meter of extraterrestrial … or was it extra-dimensional? storage space. Touch something you’d be able to pick up if you wanted to, focus on it being in your inventory, and if you have space … poof. gone. Want something from your inventory, just do the opposite. This is all bullshit.” She said, waving her hand up and around, apparently indicating the world as a whole, “but that inventory is a thing of beauty.” I opened my mouth to protest any ignorance on my part, but she only did that laugh/cough thing again and turned back to a safe, holding the lantern up close to see the small numbers of the dial.
I opened my interface and selected the “Inventory” tab.
INVENTORY: 0% full out of 279 cubic meters. An extra-dimensional storage space that holds items in stasis until removed. WARNING: anything living that placed inside the standard storage space will die. Specialized inventory and standard inventory expansion modules can be purchased at an authorized AMIS pillar.
Note: Your standard storage space of one cubic meter has been expanded by 278 cubic meters because of your purge performance.
An involuntary shudder ran through me. Nearly 80,000,000 souls. At least I knew Nora hadn’t gone ‘above and beyond’.
“Here we go!” Nora interrupted my self-recrimination. I turned to look at the safe, visions of a belt-fed machine gun in each hand returning. There was none of that. There were, however, some very nice AK-47’s and AR15’s in pristine condition, along with hundreds of boxes of ammo. “Help yourself.” Nora said as she turned towards another safe. “I’m already locked and loaded with everything I need.” I glanced briefly at the sawn-off shotgun lying on a shelf, but she just sighed loudly and held out her hand. A beautiful Colt 1911 was suddenly in her grip, then gone again just as quickly. Another grunt, and she was back to work on the next safe. I couldn’t take nearly as much as I wanted to, or I would have given myself away, but I grabbed two of the AR15’s and every box of ammo for them I could see. The next safe turned out to be handguns, but nothing as notable as the 1911 Nora carried. I settled on four Glock G40 10mm pistols and probably fifty boxes of ammo. Nora was looking at me with a raised eyebrow with all the ammo I had grabbed, so pretending I hadn’t noticed, I picked up another box, pretended to be unable to place it in my inventory, then turned her way with what I hoped was a disappointed look on my face.
“Time to go.” Nora said. “He ain’t gonna be able to hold out forever.” I was wondering why he would need to “hold out”, when Nora amended her sentence. “Not with that pillar thing popping up right in the middle of the store.” I couldn’t help but smile a little; it was indeed time to go.
