Looting

With a pale face, Jack looked down at the now crimson kitchen in front of him. The mountain of unmoving flesh in its center was now twitching gently, half a head slowly gushing a mottled pool of red, black, and cream cheese white. He took a step back, not allowing his shoes to touch the growing tide. This one felt like murder.

His chest was tight. It was hard to breath. He took another step back before reaching up and gently smacking his own face. It was numb. He was definitely having a new panic attack. But it was one that allowed an overlaying layer of rationality while the subconscious was reeling, failing to process the implications of what had happened. He was certain he would wake up in a cold sweat years from now, with nightmares of the torn and battered face of a friend being blown to bits by his own hand. Nightmares in which he did it again and again and felt nothing. The same numb emptiness he felt now.

Jack's mind was starting to buzz, speeding up in a cycle of critical errors. He focused on the numbness. This panic was a good one. It was good. He barely needed to influence his mental state to stay functional. This room didn't have anything of value. This was his chance to collect a lot of useful items for the days ahead, including, but not limited to, the Red Candy. He'd have to find her, and anything else, soon. That shot hadn't been quiet, who knows if something else was coming. He had to leave soon. Leave this house.

With a trembling step, he turned away from the kitchen entrance, blocking the room and its musty, metallic smell from his mind. His first target was the room closest to the front door, this should be where she was charging. He returned to the hallway which had led to the kitchen and found a light switch. Flicking it on, he went to the leftmost end of that hallway, and saw a path stretching from the back door he had came through, past a staircase to the second floor, and opening into a foyer in the front of the home. Within that foyer, he found her, plugged into the wall through a large charging battery.

The Red Candy was sleek, a mobility scooter of the highest quality. Iconic cherry finish covering the metallic body, with handlebars resembling a motorcycle's aerodynamically curving down the front of the vehicle towards the powerful suspension of her two front wheels. Within that curve of frame were inset two headlights, triangular and angled along curve, looking like eyes with a menacing glare. There was plenty of room between that front and the padded captain's chair, ergonomically designed with comfort in mind and sat upon a storage compartment and (relatively) powerful engine. Behind the seat was a deep basket for further storage. Ron had replaced the meager shopping cart version that had come with the base model, instead opting for one with a close nit, shining black weave. Her key was in the ignition, near a dashboard full of indicators comparable to a car and a speed dial that went up to 15MPH. She was perfect.

Jack ran his hand along her smooth front. Caught aback by her beauty, or maybe the beauty of the hope she represented. But he shook himself out of it. He needed to move. His first move was to unplug her charger from the wall, storing it in the compartment under the seat. It was much larger than a standard charger, the main block connecting the wires seeming to have a substantial battery system itself, so it filled up most of that space. His next move was to head towards the stairs, as he now had a basket to fill with anything he could grab in the next ten-ish minutes.

The stairs themselves had an electronic lift. Jack wanted to ride it so badly but forced himself not to. His legs would be faster. Even if it meant he'd never get the chance to ride one of these… for the rest of his life, once the power cut off…

One slow chairlift later, Jack jumped from his seat to the second floor. The primary space was occupied by a large living space similar to the living room on the first floor. This one had a desk next to the window with a desktop computer glowing in as many colors as a computer could, four monitors on the desk stacked in a square formation, and a VR set…? How had Ronald made his money? Jack thought he had said something about an inheritance or trust fund.

It was a shame that none of this would be useful in the end of the world. Unless Jack was some sort of engineer. Or tech guy? Unless he was a super-tech-guy-engineer thing. Maybe if Jack found one of those when searching for survivors, he could come back here to get them materials. His Trope-Recollection informed him that tech-geniuses were a dime-a-dozen in most apocalypse stories. But on the tech theme, given Ron's spending habits, maybe he had a drone or something? Jack could see Ron buying a drone, using it twice, then forgetting about it, like many other people with too much disposable income had done.

Closets were where nifty gadgets went to die. He went around opening as many doors as possible, seeing if he could find one. Door 1: A large bathroom, lots of equipment attached the wall looking like rigging. Door 2: A guest bedroom, nothing special. Door 3: A closet! But only for towels and cleaning supplies. Door 4: Ron's bedroom? He'd come back here in a bit to search it. The last door was ironically near the staircase and opened to reveal itself full of beautiful tech junk.

Within it, Jack found:

1. Multiple cases of batteries, some rechargeable with an associated device.

2. A few old speaker systems using colored audio jacks.

3. MANY tangled wires leading to non-descript connective devices.

4. Two decrepit laptops.

5. Three RV cars and two RV helicopters.

6. A mini foldable USB solar panel (!!!)

and

7. On the top shelf, a shining jewel in the crown of all this tech garbage, one beautiful, almost new drone, charger, and associated controller!

This was a haul. A triumph. Not only had his flash of inspiration worked out, but Jack had found two very useful sources of portable power. The miniature solar panel had probably been the biggest surprise, it probably wouldn't do more than partially charge a phone battery, but that also meant he had some capacity to keep a device alive for electronic records. Most of these items actually seemed like they could have some use with a bit of creativity, but right now he only had time and space for the most important. Jack carried the batteries, solar panel, and drone equipment downstairs. Once the ride down was over, he stored the loose items in the remaining space under the Red Candy's seat and the drone sideways in the basket.

Peeking throught the curtain covering the front door window, Jack saw a variety of 'people' coalescing in front of the house. They seemed like tourists lost in a foriegn land, moving their heads on broken hinges from side to side. Each searching with muffled fervor and egging the others on with their interest. Jack quickly let the curtain down, not wanting to catch their attention.

He had been afraid of this. His shot had started a cascade which would inevitably draw a horde on his location. It wouldnt be long until one broke a window, and they'd all start pushing in. Surrounding and absorbing the house like a giant, hungry, amorphous being. If he was inside when that happened... he was running out of time.

Jogging up the steps, the electronic lift mocking his former whimsey, Jack skimmed through Ronald's former room. This was the only place that could be worth the risk. There were a lot of clothes, any of which dirty and crumpled on the floor, and it was filled with a distinct bodily odor. Between that and the fantasy pariphinalia on the walls and shelves, it was overwhelming to the senses.

The first thing he noticed was the gun safe. It was unlocked. But only a half-full ammo box and six magazines stored inside, fully loaded. But with no gun. They were useless without the gun. The bullets were long, as if for some type of rifle, maybe? Jack NEEDED to find that. Given his current ammo he was practically defenseless right now and couldn't afford the chance to fix that.

It wasn't in the closet. There was, however, a decently large fanny pack. He wore it and stored the magazines and a handful of loose ammo inside. With those contents, it only partially zipped closed, but it looked like it would hold.

It also wasn't in any of the spaces between the furniture, but there was a metal bat leaning next to the bed near a cabinet. Ron had also left his phone charging on the nightstand on the other side of the bed. Jack stuffed them into his pocket. Ron had not been a diligent man, and his phone's drawn lockcode was a single, diagonal line.

These would be his consolation if he had to give up on the real prize. Which might happen soon. He heard a loud thump outside. Jack started going all out, tearing open drawers and emptying their contents. However, among the resulting piles of detritus he only found a few sequestered adult items.

As he went through each storage space in the room, the pressure of the ticking clock pushed his hands to move faster and faster. When he had finally gone through through the last one, Jack found himself huffing. Maybe it wasn't here? It would be a great find, but it wasn't worth getting trapped here. He couldn't fight his way out without it. Maybe even with it.

Thumping down on the bed to catch his breath, he paused to let his heartrate settle. Then, in an act of true cliche revelation, he patted the bed to his side. Where did literally everyone and everything hide in a horror movie? Without fail, under the bed. Swinging down to his knees, Jack pulled aside some filthy, used sweatpants and underwear to find a matte black weapon of death.