One fifty-seven, one fifty-eight, one fifty-nine. One sixty. He stacked the bullets back in their case, made the appropriate hash marks in his notebook, and moved on to the next box. Every week, Mason did an inventory count of the number of weapons and bullets he had in storage. For a while there had been a steady supply coming in, cases he found throughout the city, bodies he looted. But for the past little while, he’d begun to notice a decrease in the number of bullets he was able to find. There was enough to last for a while yet, as long as he was more careful about when he used firepower.
Mason finished up his task, stacking the boxes back in place and picked up his shotgun to head back through the main part of the shop to the upper floor. He opened the door to the storage room, pulling it closed behind him, and paused when he saw a small beam of light bouncing around his darkened shop. He crossed the room to the light control and flicked one of the switches. A single fluorescent ceiling light, the farthest from the windows, came to life. He’d taken the bulbs out of most of the other lights. One was all that was needed to navigate the hub of the shop.
He had his shotgun raised, pointed at the intruder, before he recognized the head of blonde hair. Another one of Ren’s mates. Mason narrowed his eyes and lowered the weapon. Seemed like every day someone his cousin knew was appearing out of the woodwork, invading his space.
“The fuck are you doing, messing around down here?”.