day and ending up in the hot belly of some slavering mutie beast.
Slowly, the long hours passed as the companions expertly combed the Deep Storage Locker for all its precious treasures. Carrying bundles of equipment, they started forming neat stacks in a clear area near the open door and began to organize the materials into piles. Calling a halt for food, Ryan passed out some MRE packs, and the hungry companions devoured the predark meals of beef stroganoff with sour cream and noodles, with the usual nut cake for dessert. It was just food, nothing more. But there was also coffee, wonderful coffee for dessert. Greatly refreshed, the companions returned to the work of choosing supplies and weapons. New backpacks were found to replace their old patched ones. Mil bedrolls were exchanged for the civie versions dug out of a collapsed department store in a distant land.
Neat piles of ordnance were formed, and decisions made. Some of the simpler blasters were set aside as possible trade goods, in case there was a ville nearby. But for once, the companions didn’t need anything from the outside world. There was food and clothing galore, plus enough weps and brass to fight the most powerful baron in the land if necessary. Ryan took a new pair of combat boots. A case of U.S. Army socks and underwear was greeted with cries of delight, and everybody helped themselves. Placing aside her med kit, Mildred sat on a box of landmines to exchange her socks right on the spot. The stiff cloth was cast aside, and the new soft socks were gratefully pulled on, her toes wiggling almost sensuously in the clean cloth.
After a couple more hours, the companions broke for dinner, MREs again; chicken stew with dumplings. It was better than the beef stroganoff, and the packs were licked clean.
Fed and fully armed for the first time in a long time, the companions left the Deep Storage Locker, closing the door in their wake. It had been a long day, but there was still a lot to do before sleep could even be considered.
Chapter Six
As the terrible throbbing in his head slowly eased away, Edward awoke groggy on a grassy field, with the bright sun high overhead. Forcing himself to move, the man groaned from the herculean effort. His head hurt, his gut was roiling, and every bone felt as if it had been removed, then shoved back in again.
“Well, it’s about nuking time you came around,” John snapped irritably, walking closer. The elder Rogan was holding a tin cup full of something that gave off wisps of steam and smelled incredibly like coffee. “We were starting think you’d gone on the last train west, ya lazy bastard.”
It took Edward a few times to get his throat working. Blind norad, he felt as if he’d been run over by a baron’s war wag!
“Where—” Edward broke into a rough cough and tried again. “Where the frag are we? And is that coffee?”
“The Zone,” Alan said as he joined his brother and passed him a canteen. “And yes, it is, bro. But this will do you more good.”
Eagerly taking the canteen, Edward really didn’t care what the contents of the container was, as long as it was wet. He all but ripped off the cap and poured the cool water down his parched throat.
The other Rogans said nothing, waiting for their brother to get fully awake. There was a lot to discuss.
Finally lowering the canteen, Edward sighed then gave a loud belch. “Okay, where are we?” the man repeated, scowling at his younger sibling. “The Zone, ya said? But that’s halfway around the radblasted world!”
“Not quite,” Robert croaked in his mangled voice, the sound vaguely similar to a chuckle. “But close enough.”
Weighing his thoughts, Edward took another long drink from the canteen. “How fragging long have I been out?” he demanded curiously.
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