from hunter to hunted

Why are these so old?

"I should have known, they will probably be here any minute." He throws his motorcycle gear into the bed. "Change into more casual clothes, and throw all of that into the bed."

"Change here?!?" came from Izzy.

"No time, go on the other side of the truck or something," Michael took the 5 gallon jug of gas and starts to soak everything in the bed. He throws his rifles and the P90 in the back as well.

Izzy goes behind the truck, and changes into some jeans, and a shirt. "What are you doing?"

"We have to burn it, and we will have to walk. We can't look out of place, keep your handgun in your bag. I'm keeping mine in mine."

Michael put all the rifle ammunition under the truck, lit a napkin he had dipped in gas, and threw it on the truck. The flame grew rapidly.

"We need to get walking," Michael looked over at Izzy.

"Do you have any idea how far away the next town is?"

"No, I don't," Michael took a deep, heavy breath as he holstered and hid the m9 under his jacket. "I don't even know where we are at all."

Michael starts to walk the direction they were driving. Izzy throws her handgun into her backpack and follows.

"I have a friend I'm gonna drop you off at, and then I'm going to tear down my former employer," Michael says with a tired anger.

"Would you need help?"

"I'm not going to risk it. I'll do it on my own, that is not up for debate."

"And why do you get to decide this?"

"'Cause the last time I brought someone with me, they got shot, and they had years of training. You have merely a few hours with a single rifle." Michael was irritated. "No means no. Let it go, ok?"

Izzy scrambled, threw her back pack, and pulled her glock on Michael "See, I can..."

Michael had his m9 pointed at Izzy. He pulls the hammer back on his pistol. "Don't try me. You stay where I put you, and you will let me be, alright?"

"Fine," came from a very irritated Izzy.

Michael dropped the hammer and put the handgun under his jacket. Izzy put her glock into her belt. They walked in silence for a few hours till they were in a new town.

The town looked older, almost forgotten. Houses had broken windows, and not one wall was untouched from paint.

Michael looked around. "My company tried to have safe houses and staches in every town. This one should have one around here." He walked around, saying something under his breath for about half an hour, till finally he got to a holding shed. He kicked in the shed door, the rotting wood falling apart. He moved some boxes and opened a hatch. He jumped down, landing on the cracking concrete. He pulled to find a long forgotten stash. He pulled out a small, but powerful flashlight and found crates of rifles and pistols from the 40s to the 60s. He pulled open a crate to find some mosin nagants and m1 garands.

"What the hell? There are Russian and American rifles?" came from a surprised Michael.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that the Russians were part of this somehow."

Michael then starts to pull open more creates, finding SKS's, Thompsons, Macro VS, PPsh-41s, m14s, and other american and russian rifles and pistols.

Michael then picked up a Thompson and a stick magazine. "Remember the first firearm you picked up?"

"How could I forget 'you know that's not loaded, right?'"

"Well this one is, you are gonna have to use it for a while." Michael handed Izzy the old submachine gun.

"And I suppose this one is loaded?"

"With questionable ammo at best, yes."

"What do you mean by that?"

"That ammo has to be 50 to 75 years old."

"And any way to know if it works?"

"Yeah, long complicated process."

"What's that process?"

"Shoot them," Michael said with a snicker.

"So, no real way to tell, till they are needed?"

"Absolutely, but based on no rot on the creates, and no puddles of leaking water, the ammo should be fine." Michael grabbed an old 1911 and racked the slide. "Me likey."

"That old thing? Wouldn't it be just as outdated as this?" she raised the SMG, gesturing to it.

"Yep, that's why I'm keeping the m9, and putting this in my backpack," he cleared the 1911, putting it, 2 more magazines and a 50 round box of ammo with it.

He then picked up an old m14. "I'm probably going to have to use this thing, never liked this rifle. It does make a decent sniper rifle with a good scope."

"Is that not outdated?"

"Hmm, yes and no, this is far newer, but it has a lot of old features of these rifles, including the wood stock."

"What's wrong with the wood stock?"

Pretty sure they were expensive to keep nice, and possibly heavier then polymer, but I really don't know"

"What do you prefer?"

"Anything as long as it is comfortable, I'd prefer a pistol grip, but these don't have any."

"How are we going to travel with these weapons anyway?"

"I, uhh, I didn't even think about that, I'll try to find a car around here so I can get to work."

Michael, holding the m14, climbs the ladder, as Izzy grabs a few magazines for her SMG and follows with the thompson strapped to her back. As he looks around, he sees a few old square body trucks and starts to try and start them "Izzy, cover me with someone starts shooting at us, I'm going to attempt to get something working."

He gets into a truck to find a key in the ignition. He turns it, but does not hear anything. He pops the hood to find the engine was missing the carburetor and that the battery was far too old to work. He then noticed the belt was on the ground, rotting under the truck. He looked around, and found a set of box wrenches that had been scattered in the bed of another truck.

"Wait, the gas in these things would be way too old to do anything" Michael realized before he could pop the hood of another car.

"What does that mean?" Izzy asked, concerned.

"That means that we need to keep walking, we might have to leave our new found weapons."

An engine roar was fast approaching, as Michael grabbed Izzy and pushed them both into a house. It was a black van, as 4 men got out the back, they all toted around m4 carbines.