Surviving the Day by Matt Hart Read Free Book Online Page B

these three mowers over to the fence to block it,” he said, gesturing at three of the mowers without seats. “I took them out of gear, so they should move easily.”
     
    I started pushing one of them, and it did move quite easily. I steered it into the fence, then got the others moved into place. “All done,” I said.
     
    Mark shined his light at the fence. “Line them up sort of neatly. That way if someone sees them, they won't immediately notice anything odd.”
     
    Good point, I thought. I shoved and heaved them around—they were a lot heavier if you were trying to shift them rather than just roll them. I finally got them into a semblance of order and looked back at Mark. He had arranged a few of the larger ones into a kind of square against the side of the building, and he had moved one of them right in front of the door that went inside. I walked over and looked into the square. There were seat cushions bits arranged on the ground like a lumpy mattress. He was cutting and trimming the seats to make them flat.
     
    Mark looked up and gestured to the seats. “Ta da,” he said. I smiled.
     
    “Looks cozy,” I said.
     
    “It'll do. Better to be off the ground than worry too much about a roof over your head. I don't think it'll rain, but this area is covered so we should be fine.” He rummaged in his pack. “Here,” he said, handing me a spray bottle.
     
    I took it and looked. It was insect repellant. I sprayed it all over myself, put some on my hand and rubbed my face, then handed him back the bottle.
     
    I spread my hands out and looked down at my outfit. “Gonna be cold,” I said.
     
    “Nah,” said Mark. He sprayed himself and put the bottle back into the pack, and then pulled out a bright red felt jacket. “This'll help, and I have some emergency blankets.”
     
    I took the jacket and scooted closer to him. “Thank you,” I said. I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. It tasted a bit like bug spray.
     
    Mark nodded, reached into another pocket in his pack and pulled out two tiny packages. “Here you go.” He handed me one of the packets. “Emergency blanket.”
     
    The package was about half an inch thick, the size of a compact mirror, and weighed about as much. I held it up with a wry look. “A blanket?”
     
    He laughed and opened his, then started to unfold it. It was shiny, like aluminum. He kept unfolding and unfolding and unfolding. It really was a pretty big blanket.
     
    “Space blanket, Mylar,” he said. “Holds in body heat.” Mark spread his blanket down, then reached into his pack. He pulled out a small bag and opened it. He removed some of the items—bullets and shells—and put them into his pockets. He replaced it and zipped up his pack, and then he turned his waist pack around so that the pockets were all in the front.
     
    I opened my space blanket and unfolded it. I set the rifle and flashlight down on the floor of one of the mowers and stepped into the square of bedding. Mark put his pack inside the square and lay down, sliding under the noisy Mylar blanket. He switched off his headlamp and we were plunged into darkness. I lay down under my blanket and tried to be as still as possible.
     
    “Noisy blankets,” I said.
     
    “Yeah,” Mark agreed. “I don't really have anything else.” He paused. “Except...” He shuffled around in the darkness and I heard him unzipping his pack. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the partial moonlight. I saw him pull something out. “Fold up your blanket,” he told me. I saw him folding his.
     
    What a mess—it took ten times as long to fold those things up, and they were never going to be as small as they were. I grumbled under my breath, but it was impossible to hear with all the crackling sounds. I finally had mine somewhat neatly folded. Mark took it and put it in his pack, then spread a new blanket out. “I forgot about this one,” he said. “It's my dad's heavy duty emergency blanket. Shouldn't be as