May Day (The Erelong Trilogy Book II)

Candles

The wet stink of rot and mold was almost overwhelming when they entered the house. They found almost every window broken. The rain had soaked the carpets and left water pooled on the tiled floor in the kitchen. And yet, the damage looked, for the most part, to have been caused by bad weather. They saw no sign of looting. That was odd, given the lack of electricity, the damaged buildings, and the lack of any authorities or even the presence of neighbors.

Inside the kitchen, they found the cupboards filled with tinned food. They gorged themselves on spaghetti, beans, sausages, peaches, and lychees. The owners had not only stocked up well enough to last several weeks without the need to venture outside. They had also made sure they would not suffer from lack of variety. The two men did not bother with the order of their courses, or with plates. They spooned the contents of the tins straight into their mouths.

"There's plenty of food," Cameron commented through a mouthful of cold beef stew.

"All in tins," Storm replied. "I wish we could heat it up."

"We could," Cameron replied. "But I would prefer we keep what gas we have for making hot drinks."

Storm nodded in agreement. He really wanted a hot cup of coffee.

"Strange the house is wide open like it is," Cameron said. "And that others haven't emptied it a long while back."

"The suburb might be quarantined because of some virus," Storm suggested.

"Don't know," Cameron replied. "It's so odd we haven't seen anyone around here, but for those—"

"Deadheads?" Storm suggested.

"Yes, that fits them," Cameron gave a nod of agreement.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence.

His stomach full, Cameron pushed his plate aside and stood up. He walked over to the open cupboards. After some rummaging around he selected a jar of instant coffee.

"It's going to have to do," he said. He poured the last of the water from his flask into a pot then turned the taps over the sink to find more.

"There's nothing coming out of them but air," Storm told him. "I tried to fill a glass."

"For fuck's sake!" Cameron cried out in exasperation as he turned the taps back and forth in vain.

"Do you think the whole electricity grid is damaged," Storm asked.

"We saw some street lights when we flew in, so the grid is not the problem," Cameron replied.

"Maybe they're saving power by cutting water to parts of the city."

Cameron gave him a nod of agreement. "That would make sense."

The kid was smart, he thought as he walked into the garage to rummage about for the tools he needed.

Back in the house, he filled all the pots and buckets they could find from the hot water tank. Finally, Cameron pulled an army stove from his kitbag and made a brew.

Storm eyed the mug of coffee Cameron had pushed under his nose with suspicion.

"It won't taste as bad as it looks," Cameron told him. "Drink! It'll help you stay positive—and all of that."

"That's something Taylor would have said," Storm told him. "Only he'd have said it funnier."

Cameron laughed. It was the rattle of dry brush in the height of summer. He stared into his cup.