Free Dead Hunger: The Flex Sheridan Chronicle by Eric A. Shelman Page B

floor.   We stayed keenly aware of sounds other than ours, and kept our gun barrels high.  Only head shots were of any value.  This had become instinct now.  I imagine even Hemp – especially Hemp – had learned that lesson.  He brought up the rear as the only guy without a loaded weapon. 
    Then I remembered.  Hell, how could I forget?  I reached into my waistband and handed him one of the Berettas.  “Check the clip.”
    I hadn’t considered that Hemp may have never handled a gun before except during his emergency in the cell, but he quickly pressed the clip release button, dropping it into his hand.  He looked at the side of the clip at the view slots counted the rounds, and slammed the clip back home.
    I shook my head.  “Good.   You seem to know your way around a pistol.   Now just r emember to aim high and don’t shoot if we’re in the general direction you’re pointing .”
    “Understood,” Hemp confirmed. 
    I took Trina from Gem again.  She was getting awfully heavy, and I was ready to get this done and get back on the road.
    “This is it,” Gem said.  She put her key in the lock and turned it.  The lock spun and the door clicked open.  Our crew of Ghostbusters, or whatever we were these days , walked in.  The power was out – not sure why, but the emergency lights were running on fast fading batteries and were no longer very bright.  The lighting was equivalent to that of a romantic restaurant and the more time that passed, the worse it would be come.   Flashlights were effective, but they also screamed “I’M RIGHT FUCKING HERE!” to anyone within view.
    “ I’ll get the back wall and first couple of aisles.  Hemp, get these two.  We’re looking for badass firearms and ammo of any and all kinds.”
    Gem found a two-tiered rolling cart with a rubber-lined surface.  Perfect to transport our swag .  I headed down the far wall, and Gem hit the middle.  I could hear her sliding some drawers open, and Hemp was already investigating his rows .
    I reached a wide, metal two-door cabinet around three-quarters of the way down the aisle.  It was locked, but it did not appear to be designed for strength, because I was able to force the flimsy knob to turn .  I yanked hard on the handle and the door popped open.
    I stood back and whistled, throwing my caution of the things that ate people to the wind. And then I laughed so hard I almost pissed my pants.  Trina started to stir in my arms and I tried to contain myself.  But I had a damned good reason.
    I’d hit the m otherload.
     
    *****
     
    “This one is a US built weapon, the Calico M960,” Hemp said.  His sandy, almost white-blonde hair hung into his eyes and he shook it back to the side.  “The beauty of it is the high-capacity, helical-feed magazine.  This firearm holds . . . hold on.”
    He went back to the cabinet and sorted through a few of the boxes.  Wh en he turned around again he had a round , steel magazine in his hand.  “This one holds 100 rounds.  There’s a fifty in there too, but I thought this one might make us all a bit happier.   With a full magazine it’s going to be quite heavy – not something you’d want to run too far with. ”
    Gem looked at me.  She was holding Trina again, who was more awake, but nodding off now and then .  She shrugged, then asked, “And you know all this because you do what for a living?”
    “Scientist,” he said.  “ Biology degree with a focus on e pidemiology, primarily.  That’s why I’m so interested in this infection, or whatever it is.  Everything I learn and observe might help me understand more about it.  How it spreads, what it does.”
    “So you study human epidemics, that sort of thing?” I asked.
    Hemp nodded.  He was just under six feet tall, and a good looking guy.  I liked him immediately. 
    “But how do you kno w about guns?” I asked.   “ That’s the obvious question.”
    Hemp smiled.  “I’ve had a fascination with guns of