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C-cry with happiness. Oh, Ni-i-ick my love!"She squirmed around, thrust an arm under his neck and the other round his back. "Oh Nick! Oh, Nick." She clung to him. He held her equally strongly, nuzzling the top of her head and whispering his love.At length the storm passed."I must go to the loo," he whispered, "then I'm going to make us some tea. Sound good?"She nodded against his chest.With one final kiss to the top of her head he prised himself away from her, slipped on his own dressing gown and went via the bathroom downstairs. He put the kettle on and looked in the larder. There, wrapped up in tinfoil, was some ginger cake from last weekend. It seemed all right so he cut four slices and put them on a plate. He smiled to himself. Living on his own he would never have used a plate. The smile became a wry grin. He would have cut himself a slice at a time and munched it without a plate subsequently sweeping the crumbs off the table into his hand. He got out two more plates and put. He went around to the backyard to look for a rear entrance. Set far back from the house and concealed among trees was a dull-green shipping container. Despite its size, it was unnoticeable from the road, yet its presence seemed odd and misplaced. The doors were shut with heavy duty locks.He wasn’t interested in tools, if that’s what the container held, but food. He quickly turned his attention to the glass storm door under a weathered aluminum awning. Weeds surrounded the doorsteps as well as the bulkhead door to the basement. He reached for the storm door and pulled. It opened with a painful cry.To his surprise, the inside door was cracked open by a few inches. A rubber boot kept it from closing completely. He gave it a push, but was met with resistance, bumping into something heavy behind it. A nasty odor of rotting flesh hung in the air. From his narrow perspective, the boot was connected to a corpse sprawled on the floor, its withered, moldering head lying in a dry puddle of.
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