Broken Orbit | ONC

Ram

   With the water-resistant pack over my shoulders and the smaller satchel across my chest, I picked Chance back up. It was the second morning we had done this routine. He seemed to be understanding it now. I zipped him into my coat, pulled up my hood, made sure my scarf was set, and began heading in the direction of the icicle. We hit the road once more and then it was another long morning of walking.

   I was hit by a dilemma when I finally reached the town. I could keep walking, gain more ground, but that would risk another night in the snow. I wasn't sure I could manage that. I needed the warmth of a fire, and sooner rather than later. On the other hand, staying in a town this long would allow a more thorough check for supplies and longer to rest. It was also more dangerous. The chances of someone finding me rose the longer I stayed in one place. Eventually, I decided that I needed the rest if I were to survive. I could fight off someone. I couldn't fight off someone if I was too exhausted to see straight.

   The town was closer to a city. I passed multiple oil rigs on the way into the civilization. The buildings, half-buried, grew taller the further I ventured. I didn't bother to check the buildings that had broken windows or doors. They would already be ransacked. Logically, more houses on the rougher side of town would be unopened. The more expensive homes would have more things to take, and I'd always had more luck with the other side of the class spectrum. People left those houses alone most often.

   In the direct center of the neighborhood, I found a house. It was a small trailer home with a solid door, closed windows, and a full roof. Hopeful, I moved to the window that seemed the least frozen and grabbed a rock. The window hardly budged with my best throw. I frowned. Even frozen, glass was easy to break...

   The hairs on the back of my neck rose as I peered into the window, seeing nothing but darkness. Maybe the outline of one chair. This house would definitely have not been looted, seeing as it was taking effort to break in. I untied the crowbar from my hip and wedged it into the door. A few grunts later and it didn't budge. Bewildered, I stepped back and stared at it. Shaking my head, I moved to one of the windows and swung the bar at it with all of my strength. It finally cracked. I beat it a few more times, Chance watching eagerly, as it finally began to crumble away.

   I wiped some snow away from the bottom, ducking through the opening. The first thing I noticed was that it wasn't as cold in the building. That and it smelled like smoke. Someone had made a fire in here, and recently. How had they gotten in? More importantly, were they still here?

   My answer was questioned in the form of a shotgun barrel appearing through a curtain in the room. I mentally cursed myself for not realizing it sooner. Someone had fortified this house. Obviously, someone lived here. I put one hand over Chance, wedging him back into my coat, and lifted the other. "I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone lived here."

   A small eye peered through the fabric. "I don't believe you."

    It was a small boy's voice. He was Hispanic. I exhaled. "I really am sorry. I'll close up this window and leave."

   He blinked. "You will?"

   "I will. Please, just lower the shotgun."

   "I don't want to."

   "Okay, then don't shoot me. I'm not a bad guy. I was a police officer, okay?"

   His eye widened. "You are?"

   I nodded. "I'm Drifter Webster. What's your name?"

   He faltered with his shotgun. "I'm . . . Ram. Why did you break into my house?"

   "I thought there might be food that no one was using."

   "Well, I am using it."

   "I see that now. I won't touch it, I promise."