“That is a fuckton of gear you got here,” Snow let out a long whistle.
“You gonna let us shop in it?”
He stepped back from a fenced in cage set in a corner of the big box building.
“That?” Tritt kept moving. “That shits just for show.”
“You can use them as clubs,” Aldean kept the six men moving to the far side of the room.
“That’s a show I can watch,” Boyd cast a longing look at the racks of dusty weapons resting in rows and stacks against the metal wires.
“No ammo,” Aldean said.
“Then why are you keeping them?”
Tritt stopped in front of a metal door.
“General had this idea. Figured the gang bangers in Los Angeles had more weapons than anybody. Hell, they had better weapons than us. So he sent us to collect them.”
“This is what’s left,” said Aldean. “We burned through all the bullets waiting for the Cavalry to arrive.”
“What happened to the gang bangers?” Boyd raised an eyebrow.
Tritt shot a look at Aldean.
“We got a lot out,” the younger man said.
He couldn’t hide the haunted look in his eyes.
“And a lot wouldn’t leave,” Tritt added.
“Stupid,” Snow cut in. “I’d leave this shithole in a heartbeat.”
“Where would you go?”
The question made the blonde haired man tilt his head in confusion.
“Somewhere else,” he said. “Anywhere but here. Where do you take them?”
“To the mountains,” said Tritt. “But they get to them, they’re on their own. You any good at hunting, fishing?”
“Hiding?” Aldean said. “Lick patrols go out looking for survivors.”
“We’re going to finish the mission,” Norman glared at the others.
“There are people here,” Boyd argued.
“People who aren’t going to give you your fucking bombs back so you can cut that shit talk out right now,” Tritt snarled.