Chapter 20 (Joshua’s POV)

  Anna Slipped away from her perch at the window, the sun was now high overhead as I spread an old city map across the kitchen island—creases so deep the paper felt like brittle skin. I circled three residential pockets Anna had said she hadn’t yet pillaged: two cul?de?sacs of Tudor cottages north?west of us, and a strip of low?rise offices that once belonged to a boutique mortgage firm.

  Anna tapped one corner with a scarred knuckle. “These little houses? Doctors and lawyers used to live there. They hid cash in dresser drawers, not in checking accounts.”

  I nodded, scratching notes into the margin. “And the office park probably held petty?cash lockboxes, maybe even a payroll safe. We load what we can carry, then come back for heavier vault toys later.”

  She rolled her shoulders, bow string humming as she flex?tested the tension. “What’s the target wish list this run?”

  “Hard cash and small?luxury,” I answered. “Jewelry, high?karat chains, diamonds—anything that melts down or pawns easy. Stateside I can flip gold by weight, but boutique stones net a premium.”

  “And pearls,” she added, patting the pouch at her belt.

  “Always pearls.” I hefted my war?hammer, checked the haft wrap, and slung the canvas money satchel over my shoulder. “We clear as we go, If a feral blocks an exit, we run.”

  Anna smirked. “Try telling the feral not to chase us while you’re pulping its skull.”

  “Fair point.” I tried—and failed—not to grin.

  09:40?a.m. — Graystone Crescent

  The Anna jogged ahead, arrow nocked. Thin morning light filtered through dead maple branches, casting lace?pattern shadows across sagging picket fences. Every house wore the same vacancy: curtains frozen mid?flutter, garden tools rusting where they had been dropped in 2018.

  We chose a ranch?style first. I pried the front door with a crowbar; hinges groaned but held. Anna slid past me—ghost quiet—and disappeared down the hall. I swept the living room: dusty sectional, overturned coffee table, a child’s toy piano missing half its keys. In the master bedroom I found a vanity with all drawers intact. First haul: a velvet roll of diamond tennis bracelets, two gold charm necklaces, and a man’s Rolex caked in dried cologne residue.

  Anna reappeared holding a floral cookie tin packed with banded stacks of twenties. “Hall closet’s back shelf,” she said, eyes bright. “Grandma savings.”

  “Count later—bag now.” I dumped the bracelets and watch into my satchel, Anna folded bills into hers, and we moved on.

  11:05?a.m. — Brambleton Medical Row

  The old mortgage office sat behind a prairie of waist?high weeds and toppled lampposts. Plate?glass doors gaped like busted teeth, but the interior looked untouched: cubicle rows, toppled monitors, a lobby fish tank mummified to brittle algae.

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  Anna took overwatch by the reception desk while I followed a sign to “Accounts Payable.” Filing cabinets lined one wall; behind them, a cheap safe squatted under a desktop. The dial yielded after ten minutes of Prybar work and a persuasive hammer tap. Inside: three cloth bank bags, each stamped FIRST CITIZENS and stuffed with fresh?strap hundreds—2018 series, crisp as new.

  We jingled them into the satchel. Weight increased deliciously.

  “Listen,” Anna whispered.

  Somewhere behind us: dragging feet on linoleum, the wet gargle of a roamer caught on phlegm. We retreated silently into a side stairwell, waited until the slurping moan faded down the corridor, then slipped out a broken ground?floor window.

  At the curb we counted quickly: twenty grand in cash, maybe another five?to?eight in gold weight once I cut stones from the bracelets.

  12:30?p.m. — Eastbank Savings & Loan

  A four?story brick box wrapped in ivy. Miraculously, the bronze security shutters still covered every window; double glass doors were barricaded from the inside with steel bars. I whistled low. “Somebody invested in mill?grade hardware.”

  Anna traced a finger over welded seams. “Empire tried torch?cuts here three years back. Gave up after alarms triggered a feral swarm.”

  “No scorch marks on the rear service doors,” I observed. “Could mean an unbreached vault.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You thinking we take it?”

  “Not today. First we need demo tools: rotary hammer, maybe thermic lance if the vault’s composite. Could pull the power bus and let oxidation weaken the bolts.”

  “And lure roamers from three blocks with the noise,” she cautioned.

  I pivoted to scan the street—silent but for wind shivering loose tin signage. “We prep. Recon the utility trench, map escape lanes. Then hit it next cycle.”

  Anna grinned, feral and eager. “Clarinet, then?”

  “Clarinet,” I confirmed—our safe?word.

  We marked vantage points on my notepad, sketched the alley grid, then slipped away before any watchful scavenger could place our interest.

  14:10?p.m. — Cottage Porch

  The cart groaned like an arthritic ox when we loaded it: cash satchels, velvet?lined bracelets, a shoebox of rings, an antique brooch shaped like a phoenix. Each clink sounded like rent money in the land of plenty.

  Inside, I locked the spoils in a footlocker, scribbled conversion estimates—auction house percentage, melt value, stone quality grades. Anna wiped grime from her cheek, eyes still wide. “Twenty grand. That’s more paper than I saw in the twelve months after the outbreak.”

  “Paper that buys pipe fittings and solar controllers,” I reminded. “Maybe even a propane stove.”

  She stretched, shoulders popping. “And bolt cutters thick enough to castrate that bank vault.”

  The imagery made me laugh despite exhaustion. We traded watch rotation notes—her turn tonight, my turn dawn—and inventoried pearls: my night patrol plus her feral kill put us at thirty?six spheres total.

  As twilight bled across the window boards, I brewed instant coffee, the bitter smell layering over dust and victory. Tomorrow we’d reinforce shutters again, maybe trench a wire trip?line. And I’d start calling pawn shops back home, planning which stones to fence first.

  “Hey Josh I have a question, you have been spouting military tactics all day, and talking about repairs and how to do construction stuff where or better yet how do you know this stuff.”

  I looked at her,

  “Honestly when I was a kid I wanted to join the Marines, so I studied everything I could that related to the military I was that weird kid in highschool you know the one that everyone thinks is going to go postal one day. Well that was me always talking about the newest weapon or tactic, though I didn’t get to go due to a misplaced romance that convinced me to attend college right after Highschool instead of Joining I never got to put all this useless knowledge to use…That and video games you would not believe the kind of games they have these days RTS’s where my favorites. stratagy games where you lead armys and build up fortifications and manage a steep financial empire where my bread and butter.”

  Anna licked her lips eyeing her me with crushed hopes, with a huff she turned away from me muttering.

  “Here I thought I had gotten lucky and you were some kind of Navy seal or something.”

  I grinned at her;

  The apocalypse never slept; neither did capitalism. And I intended to beat both at their own game.