Chapter Ten
“Wow.” It was the only thing I could think to say to Mr. Cooper, or as Luke had deemed him, the nutjob. The entire building was lined with shelves and gave off the sense of organized chaos. Food in cans, boxes and vacuumed-sealed bags, probably several years’ worth. Car batteries lined one wall and gas cans marched precisely along the other. Mountains of firewood stacked up the back wall. Weapons everywhere, munitions boxes of bullets ranging from shotgun shells to clips for a Glock and magazines for the semi-automatic rifles. I spied a bow and a quiver of arrows as well as hunting knives, machetes, even a medieval ax.
Cooper was opening canned dog food into stainless steel dishes. “Have a seat.”
Hell no, I was too afraid to breathe with that handgun in my waistband, never mind sit. I cleared my throat. “Mr. Cooper, you’re a survival expert, right?”
Cooper grunted. “Ready to go completely off the grid. That way when the world ends, I’m not gonna have to lose a wink of sleep.”
There seemed some holes in his plan, but I wasn’t about to point that out. He opened the fridge and I pushed on. “I respect the way you’re living, obviously this took years of work and—is that urine?”
Pint-sized Mason jars filled with yellow fluid were stacked up in his fridge.
He nodded and I threw up in my mouth a little. “I’m boiling it down to the point where it’s safe to drink.”
My stomach flipped over. “Why?”
He looked at me like I was the nutjob. “In case the water table is unusable. I got to get it right, to make sure all the bacteria is gone.”
“And if it isn’t?”
He unscrewed a cap and dumped it on the Alpo. “I test it on the dogs first.”
Yuck, yuck yuck. Okay, obviously reason wasn’t going to work here. Time to get tough. “Mr. Cooper, your landlord is willing to pay for a moving van to help you clear out.”
He slammed the dog food can down on the cracked Formica counter. “I’m not leaving. They won’t let me take it all.”
He was right, most moving companies wouldn’t transport gasoline, car batteries and ammunition.
“You don’t have a choice here and neither does your landlord. This place isn’t safe. The roof is about to cave in and the foundation is crumbling. What would happen if something landed on one of those gas cans? You’re a survivalist, Mr. Cooper, but you won’t survive in this place.”
He stared at me so long I wondered if he was contemplating hacking me to little edible Jackie pieces and feeding me to his dogs. Then slowly, he nodded. “How long have I got?”
I already had my cell phone out. “Just let me make a few calls.” If I could get the landlord to agree to compensate him for whatever he couldn’t move, it’d be that much easier.
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