Chosen, Christine Pope [e reader pdf best .TXT] 📗

Strangely, although at first glance the Home Depot looked exactly the same as the last time we’d left it after we’d gotten the supplies for the chicken coop, when we went to fetch a trailer to haul the lumber home, only one was still sitting there. The other three were gone.

That did take Jace aback; he stood there for a moment, hand on his chin, staring at the spaces where the trailers had been parked. Finally he said, “What the hell?”

“So you’ll admit they’re gone.”

“Of course they’re gone. It’s kind of obvious, don’t you think?” Then he shook his head. “Sorry, Jess. Didn’t mean to snap at you. But this is just weird.”

That was a good word for it. I could see survivors making off with GPS devices and hiking boots and multi-packs of toilet paper. But equipment trailers?

“Well, at least they left us one,” I offered.

That didn’t seem to mollify him much. He stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, clearly discomfited by this evidence that there were survivors, and that they seemed to be organized enough to make off with most of the store’s trailers. I saw the troubled glance he sent toward the entrance at the lumberyard end of the building, and guessed he was worried that the stock inside would be similarly picked over.

We were here now, though, so we might as well go in and see what we could find, once we had the trailer hooked up to the Cherokee. That didn’t take long, though, and afterward we headed toward the building, both of us grimly silent.

Several big orange flatbed carts sat near the entrance, so Jace took one and wheeled it in, glass crunching underfoot as he did so. It seemed clear enough, even from a quick glance around, that someone had been in here since our last visit. The battery displays were almost all emptied out, and a lot of tools seemed to be missing, too. But at least the lumberyard didn’t look as if it had been raided, so Jace was able to get the supplies he needed. Tools we already had back at the compound, up to and including a belt sander and a jigsaw, so the looters were welcome to take anything that still remained here.

“I wonder what they’re doing with all of it,” I ventured as he began shifting the lumber from the cart and into the trailer.

“Who knows?” he replied. “They’re probably people like us — you know, with a place where they’re holed up and safe but still need assorted odds and ends. Actually, I have a feeling they would need more, since our compound was so well stocked when you found it. And you’re probably used to seeing stores getting restocked on a regular basis. Things can start to look pretty picked over when no one’s coming in with new products all the time.”

Well, that made sense. It was true that I didn’t have much experience yet of a world where stores weren’t magically restocked when supplies ran low. Even so, something didn’t feel right to me. Batteries and hammers I could understand. But the trailers? I supposed if they had enough stuff to haul away, it made some sense. But that would have to be a lot of stuff.

Jace finished tying down the lumber, then threw the nails and fasteners and other small items he’d collected into the cargo area of the Jeep. From the way the corners of his mouth were turned down, I could tell he wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of having to compete with other survivors for supplies we might need to get through the winter.

But no, that wouldn’t happen. We were stocked on food, and now we had milk and eggs and cheese and butter, so really, once we got the goats sheltered, we wouldn’t have much need to come back down to Santa Fe proper unless we were just dying to. And I didn’t see that happening anytime soon.

Thinking about our goats made me recall the herd we’d taken them from. They were just as much out in the cold, although I thought I remembered seeing a few ramshackle outbuildings on the property where they were grazing. Still, it couldn’t hurt to check on them. It wasn’t that out of our way.

When I mentioned my concerns to Jace, he nodded. “That’s probably a good idea. They would have more shelter there than our own goats, but we might as well look. If they’re in trouble, we can unload this stuff, get the horse trailer, and then bring them back to the compound. It might take a couple of trips, though.”

I said I wouldn’t mind that at all, so we got into the Cherokee and drove off, angling away from our normal route so we could get to the edge of town and the small ranch where we’d first found the goats. But when we got there, the animals were all gone. I would have said they’d wandered off on their own, but I could see tire tracks in the dirt, tracks that were fatter and wider than those of my Jeep. Some big off-road truck, if I had to guess.

Jace seemed to be of the same opinion, because he squatted down to take a closer look, one finger digging into the rutted earth. “Probably a half-ton pickup, judging by the tread and how deep it is.” He stood, following the tracks along the narrow dirt road that led to the pasture gate. We’d come in that same way, but it looked like the truck had turned and headed west afterward, rather than to the east, the direction of town and our own hidden compound.

“Where do you think they were going?” I asked.

“I have no idea. I don’t think there’s much out that way, unless they were headed to the highway. And if that’s the case, their home base could be anywhere.”

“So you don’t think they’re local?”

For a second or two, Jace didn’t answer me. He just stood there, gazing off to the west, straight brows pulled together in a frown. The wind blew his loose hair, turning it into a shining raven cloud around his head, but for some reason, I didn’t find myself quite as lost in admiration as I might otherwise have been. Instead, a shiver of apprehension went down my spine. Whatever thoughts might be occupying his mind, they didn’t look as if they were pleasant ones.

“I don’t know if they’re from around here,” he said at last. “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe one of the survivors knew this ranch existed, then noticed some of the goats were missing and came back to get the rest before they disappeared, too. And maybe they’re holed up someplace remote, just like we are.” He turned and began heading back to the Jeep, walking quickly. I practically had to jog to keep up with him.

I almost asked what the rush was, but he seemed to know what I was thinking. Jaw tense, he told me,

“I think it’s better that we get back. We’ve been gone long enough.”

Nothing else, but the implication was enough to make me hurry into the passenger seat, to hold on as he drove faster than he really should have on the way home, the trailer rattling and bumping behind us. It was a beautiful, brisk fall day, but I couldn’t enjoy the scenery. I just wanted to get home and make sure everything was all right.

If anything had happened to Dutchie….

But when we pulled up and opened the gate, everything looked fine. The goats were still wandering around, eating dried grass, and I could hear the hens clucking away in the chicken coop. Jace maneuvered the Jeep around so he could back the trailer up to the edge of the yard. That way, he wouldn’t have to carry the lumber as far. He left it, though, to come with me to the house.

“Let me go in first,” he said, and I did as he asked, allowing him to walk in front of me.

All that did was subject him to the first of Dutchie’s onslaught. She came bounding up to us, panting, tail wagging, nose busily sniffing the bags we carried. Since all they held was the clothing we’d pilfered from REI, she lost interest soon enough, instead hanging out by the pantry, clearly angling for a chewy treat.

“I think it’s safe,” I told Jace, going to get the dog her treat. Maybe she hadn’t exactly earned it, but I was so happy to see her and the rest of the property safe that I didn’t much care.

“Probably. I’ll go drop this stuff in the bedroom, though. That way I can check the rest of the house.”

I didn’t bother to stop him. If it made him feel better, he was welcome to search every inch of the property.

After I gave Dutchie her treat, I paused and surveyed the kitchen. Nothing appeared out of place, unless you wanted to count some water slopped on the floor around the dog’s bowl. The world’s neatest drinker she was not. Otherwise, though, it was