Free Pickers 4: The Pick by Garth Owen

The building was so old that it become part of the scenery. The roof was provided by the thick foliage of a tree that had first undermined, but now supported, the walls at one corner. Foliage sprouted between the stones, and the walls were more green than grey.
    Still, there were hints that the hut had seen use more recently. Thin branches that had been growing across the gap of the door had been broken off to allow access. Fresh, lighter green shoots were growing from the breaks, so it hadn't been done this season.
    Still, they approached slowly and carefully, weapons drawn and placed to cover each other. Maxine stalked toward the door sideways, feet lifted high at each step to clear roots and vines. Her uncle's shotgun hung on the lanyard she had fashioned for it. The trusty 9mm was in her right hand, but she could use the room clearer with her left if needed.
    Georges was working his way along a ridge that had once been a wall, an assault rifle held high but ready. Right up until she was practically standing in it, he could spray a short burst through the door without any risk of hitting Maxine.
    This was the first man made structure they had come across since leaving the Valley, and they were going to be careful approaching it.
    Maxine stopped short of the door. Georges nodded at her glance his way and started moving round to look for holes in the wall.
    The door lay flat, just in front of the opening, barely recognisable after being chewed up by frosts and roots. Maxine stepped carefully onto it, and it cracked and crumbled some more. She raised the 9mm, bracing it with her left hand.
    The leaves filtered light through as rough shafts and a dark green glow, but it was still much darker in the hut than outside. Maxine moved slowly as she approached the threshold. She checked the dark corners. Anything waiting in ambush would be in them.
    The branches of the roof rustled, and the scratches of light danced around the interior. Maxine stepped back, and raised her gun. Her gaze went up, past the lintel of the doorway and to the tree. A familiar shape was moving up through the branches.  Georges hadn't found a break in the wall, so he had gone looking for one in the ceiling. It was a bit silly, but just the sort of thing she would have done.
    Maxine stepped through the door, then quickly to her right, out of the frame of light. She swept her gun around the room, eyes over the sights all the time. There was a shape in the far corner, but it wasn't going to move. She holstered her pistol and pulled the lanyard over her head. "It's clear. You can come on down."
    Georges did come down, dropping through the branches until he found one that couldn't bear his weight. He only had a short way to fall to the floor.
    Maxine was over by what had been a bed, but was now flaky slivers of powdery wood in a rough frame shape. The bundle atop it was mostly covered by a blanket, only the grey bones of a skull showing. The empty eye sockets stared at Georges, and he found himself moving aside to avoid them. "How long do you think they've been here?" he asked.
    "A year or two." Maxine drew back the blanket to reveal the corpse's torso. Whatever creatures had cleaned the skull of its flesh, hadn't been as successful on the rest of the body, leaving leathery flesh glued to its clothes. Insofar as Raiders had a uniform, the corpse was wearing it- a battered dark denim jacket, sleeveless top and jeans. Not a mere foot soldier, he had been important enough to merit genuine vintage clothes, but not the leather jacket of a leader.
    "He didn't die naturally, either." Maxine said, pointing to the dark stain in the top and jacket, which had spread out from a neat, straight stab just below the rib cage.
    "I wonder if he was spying on the Valley?" Georges said.
    "Go through his bag, maybe that'll tell us." Maxine had spotted something on the floor. Overgrown to the point that she had to tug it free of knotted grass, was a belt with two holsters, each