Chapter 4 - The Caravan "Industrial Park Compound" (Merged)
The thing about throwing in with people that you weren't sure were about to slit your throat, rob you, or a combination of the two while you slept was that it got you into the habit of keeping very good track of your possessions. Especially weapons.
Lorenzo was already on his feet when Dominic called out to him and he paused from his very angry string of swearing just for him. Really, Dominic should be honoured. "Got it, doc," he snapped, then immediately resumed cursing under his breath. It made him feel better. Soon he was just too pissed to keep it under his breath, so he shouted and growled darkly, especially when the water started rising over the tops of his boots.
This was ridiculous. Lorenzo had seen flash-floods, but this was just bullshit. The SKS was easy to find, and the knife, he rarely took off. Everything else, he couldn't find beneath the rapidly rising waters, and he couldn't be assed. He kept his small flashlight trained in front of him and bobbed it over the surface of the water, looking for anyone who had been unfortunate enough to fall. The kid, that girl, he was especially worried about. And Sarah. Top priorities. If he saw Janice, he was liable to put his foot on her head and hold her there.
There didn't look like there was anyone. Which meant the short time frame he had spent looking for survivors was up. Worried the rising water may effect his cigarettes, he moved them up to the front pocket of his flannel workshirt.
"Aha, cojeme! Qué chingados!" he half-laughed, half-shouted, slapping a hand to his forehead. "No me jodas."
He braced a hand against the wall and grabbed his own bag from the floor, and a mostly empty sportsbag. He dumped the scant contents unceremoniously into the water. It was junk. If he had anything to say about it, they'd be getting out of this crapshack with assloads of supplies.
"Me cago en la leche..." he muttered. The water was steadily reaching his knees, which made walking... Not so much scary as it was annoying, but feeling any small amount of fear usually made him become unreasonably frustrated- mostly with himself.
Very stubbornly, he forced himself to where the bulk of the supplies were kept and clutched onto the doorway. He panned his light over the dim room, and raised his eyebrows when he saw Sam already by the cabinets.
"Look at that!" he jeered. "The old bastard's makin' himself usef-"
Lorenzo broke off very abruptly when he saw what the man was actually doing. Now, he had little understanding of the situation. His homelife had been abnormal to say the least, so it wasn't the fact that a full-grown guy was manhandling one of the smaller members of the caravan that disturbed him. It was that the middle of a flood seemed to be an odd time to do it.
"Back off the fuckin' kid," he demanded in a snarl, pushing himself into the room. The SKS had been empty for weeks. He clutched the hilt of his hunting knife and advanced toward the struggling pair, staggering slightly in the water. "Now, Sam, or I'm gonna cut your belly wide fucking open."