The Remnants of Yesterday by Anthony M. Strong Page B

that?”
    “My father taught me. He used to jack jewelry stores when he was younger. Now he mostly does bank jobs.”
    “Really?”
    “No, of course not. God you’re gullible.” She punched my arm. “My father is an engineer in Boca Raton.”
    “Oh.”
    “Come on.” She stepped across the threshold into the restaurant.
    Emily followed suit, glancing sideways as she passed me. “So gullible.”
    I stood there for a moment, bemused.
    Clara turned to me. “Well, are you coming or not?”
    “Yes. Of course.” I hurried inside, and instantly recoiled.
    The smell was pungent, a combination of decomposing meat and rotten vegetables. Some of the odor was surely coming from a salad bar on the back wall, still stocked with a selection of lettuce, tomatoes, and several tubs of dressing, though the fare was past edible. Even if it had been in any condition to consume, the swarm of buzzing flies that hovered around it would have been more than enough to put me off. More flies circled a few half-eaten dinner plates on a table near the door behind the hostess stand.
    “Ew.” Emily wrinkled her nose. “It smells like ass in here.”
    “Better get used to it,” I said. “With the power out, any food that isn’t pre-packaged will be going rotten, and it will only get worse. We’ll run into this more and more.”
    “Perfect.” She wafted a lone fly away from her face. “Suddenly I’m not hungry anymore.”
    “The kitchen must be through here.” I stepped toward a set of double swing doors inset with two small round windows. “If there’s anything useable it will be in there.”
    “We should be careful what we take,” Clara said. “We can only carry so much.”
    “We can ditch most of the snack food we took from the gas station. It’s all sugar anyway.”
    “Not all of it though,” Emily said. “Sugar is good if we need a sudden burst of energy. I watched a documentary on TV last year that said chocolate is a good emergency ration. Soldiers use it as part of their survival kit.”
    “We’ll keep the chocolate then.”
    “And the beef jerky.” Clara chimed in. “Easy source of protein.”
    “Fine, the jerky stays too,” I said pushing through the doors. They swung back in place after us. “But the chips are history.”
    “Suits me.” Clara shrugged. “Too fattening.”
    “Really? You’re worrying about your weight at a time like this?”
    “Hey, I’m still a girl.” Clara replied, wandering deeper into the kitchen. “Even if I can jimmy a lock better than you.”
    “Funny. Real funny.” I saw a long bladed carving knife on one of the prep counters and picked it up, then decided that it was too much trouble to carry safely. I put it down again next to a cluster of yellowed and odorous raw chicken breasts that never made it as far as the skillet. “There must be a pantry or something around here somewhere.”
    “What about that?” Emily pointed to a heavy silver door set into the wall next to a row of shelves that held commercial sized tins of tomato sauce, mayonnaise, cooking oils, and all manner of salad dressings.
    “That should do it.” A heavy-duty latch secured the door, keeping it closed. I gripped it, depressed the button on the underside of the mechanism, and pulled.
    The door opened easily, swinging outward to reveal an oversized walk-in with metal racks lining both sides. The racks contained an assortment of foods. Fresh produce, vegetables and fruits packed into open top cardboard boxes, occupied one section. Next to that were several blocks of cheese and a large package of grated cheddar, while on the other side meats filled the shelves. Hamburgers separated by small grease paper sheets, steaks in tubs labeled Rib Eye, Sirloin and Flank.
    This was not a pantry, but rather a walk in cooler. The food was in better shape than the stuff left out on the counters, but without electricity to keep the room chilled, it was already starting to go bad.
    However, it was not the food that