Chapter 12 · Whoever Holds the Gate

The armory door hung off one hinge. I stood there with a crowbar in one hand and a flashlight in the other, staring at rows of rifles that hadn't been touched in god knows how long.

Cole came up behind me. His breathing was still rough from the climb through the tunnel. "Holy shit."

"Yeah." I stepped inside. Dust everywhere. The air smelled like gun oil and rust. I swept the light across the racks. M4s. A few AKs. Crates stacked along the back wall with stenciled labels I could barely read. "Grab Leah. Tell her to bring anyone who knows how to count."

He didn't move. Just stood there looking at the rifles like they were made of gold.

"Cole."

He blinked. Nodded. Took off running.

I walked down the center aisle. Most of the rifles were in decent shape. Some had surface rust but nothing a cleaning couldn't fix. I pulled one off the rack. Checked the chamber. Empty. The magazine well was clean. I set it down and moved to the crates.

First one I opened had magazines. Thirty-rounders, still in plastic wrap. The next crate had loose ammo. 5.56. I did a rough count.