Taking a position near the sofa, Ryan motioned Krysty forward with his rifle, and she opened the door leading to the corridor outside. When nothing happened, she knelt low and took a quick look outside in both directions.
“Clear,” the redhead announced, standing. “No sign of anybody.”
“Leave it open,” Ryan decided with caution. “Doc, go stand guard.” The old man saluted with his sword-stick and moved into the corridor, his LeMat resting comfortably in the crook of an arm. Longblaster in hand, Ryan stood guard while Mildred glanced under the furniture and J.B. peeked into a corner. Checking behind the door leading into the trans-mat chamber, Dean saw the usual sign posted there: Entry Absolutely Forbidden To All But B12-Cleared Personnel. It was the same in every redoubt they had ever visited.
Suddenly, Ryan glanced about. Had he just heard music? The man held his breath and listened hard, but heard nothing.
“Anything in the desk?” Mildred asked, rifling through a file cabinet. Officers often hid things inside the locked cabinets they didn’t want to share, but not this time. Nothing but status reports, correspondence and shipping-receiving manifests, the endless effluvia of the predark military. In triplicate.
“Just papers and comp disks so far,” J.B. reported, checking drawer after drawer. Paper clips, rubber bands. He slammed the last one shut. “Nothing useful.”
Walking over to the small wet bar, Jak checked over the array of bottles. Liquor was a good item for trade, and vodka could also be used for cleaning wounds and degreasing weapons. “Son bitch,” the Cajun said in surprise. “Look that!”
The others gathered close as he turned, holding a squashed cardboard box in the palm of his hand. The lid was ripped off, exposing the neat rows of red and brass shotgun shells nestled inside.
“Army issue,” Ryan said, scowling. “The owners of those boots must have left in a hurry.”
“And left ammo behind?” J.B. scoffed, lifting a round. Sixteen gauge, too small for his 12-bore shotgun, but he pocketed the shell anyway. “Damn good condition. Almost perfect.”
Jak agreed as he put the rest of the box into a pocket of his vest. “Air dry,” he offered as a possible explanation.
“Or the armory has been recently emptied,” Krysty countered dourly. Just what they needed, another empty redoubt.
“No signs of battle, so they weren’t attacked,” Ryan said thoughtfully. “Not directly anyway. Could have been chased out.”
Hoisting the Uzi onto his shoulder, J.B. checked the radiation counter on his shirt collar. “No rads,” he announced. “Place is clean.”
“It’s clean now,” Ryan said, the barrel of the Steyr steady as a rock. “Mebbe it wasn’t when they departed.”
Feeling ill to his stomach, Dean stood firm and addressed his father. “I’m ready for another jump, Dad.”
The elder Cawdor almost smiled, then reached out to ruffle his son’s hair. “First we recce the redoubt,” he said. “Jumping is what you do when a plan fails. It’s never the plan.”
The boy nodded in understanding.
“Check the barracks first?” Krysty asked.
“Armory,” Ryan replied, wrapping the strap of his longblaster around his forearm for a better grip. “We’re almost as low on ammo as food. With any luck, we’ll find something there.”
“Sure as hell hope so,” Mildred stated, shifting her backpack into a more comfortable position. “I’m about six shots away from throwing rocks.”
“And me,” Dean added.
Jak snorted. “Why got so many knives.”
“Agreed, my friend. The one great benefit of blades,” Doc espoused, leaning on his ebony stick, the silver lion’s head peeking out from between his laced fingers, “is their complete lack of ever needing to be reloaded.”
Heading for the stairs, the companions swept through the corridor in a standard two-on-two coverage pattern. At an intersection, Ryan and Krysty stopped, allowing Doc and Dean to move past and secure the other side.
At the stairs, Doc and Dean stood as anchor while Jak and J.B. moved up the steps. Mildred followed grumpily along with the others. The landing was covered with trash, MRE food pack wrappings and empty cig packs. The bright yellow of an official military notice peeked out from among the refuse, and Ryan speared it with his rifle.