her mouth full, “but we’ve got peanuts, hallelujah! Also, we’re good to go if we want cocktails.”
Maybe there was some real food stored in the kitchen cabinets, to go along with that OJ and almond milk that had been in the fridge. Tash grabbed another bottle of water and went back into the kitchen and opened cabinet doors one by one to find dishes and mugs and glasses of all varieties from highballs to martini glasses to the most delicate, long-stemmed wine goblets.
A cabinet with spices—getting closer...
The next cabinet was her holy grail. It held one of those large, round containers of instant oatmeal, an unopened box of corn flakes, several more packaged boxes of almond milk, a small tin of English breakfast tea, and some Starbucks instant coffee packs—medium roast.
Ted had definitely been down here very recently, no doubt prepping for an early morning rendezvous, complete with his idea of the perfect—i.e. easy—breakfast.
“I haven’t found a radio,” Thomas said, coming into the kitchen. “Have you seen one?”
“No, but I haven’t been looking.” Tash handed him the bottle of water she’d grabbed for him.
“Thanks,” he said, and immediately drank it as she ate more peanuts from the jar, rattling them at him enticingly.
“Oh, my God,” he said, coming up for air, the water bottle drained. “Yes, please.”
Tasha handed him the peanuts. “There’s also this.” She showed him the cereal, and then opened the fridge, too, before quickly going through the rest of the kitchen. But each new cabinet was as empty as the last. “Other than that, it’s peanuts and olives. Do olives count as vegetables, in terms of preventing scurvy?”
“No one’s getting scurvy.” Thomas handed her back the jar and went to look for a radio in the pantry. “Besides, wasn’t that OJ in the fridge? I think we’re safe.”
She followed him, crunching as she went. “There’s a party-barge of alcohol, too. And sugared sodas.” She helped herself to another bottle of water from the case she’d opened.
“But no radio,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. “What kind of bomb shelter doesn’t at least have a short-wave? There’s a landline in the living room, but it doesn’t even have a keypad, plus it’s dead.”
“It was probably connected to the main house,” Tash said as he led the way back out to the central living area. She spoke in a Ustanzian accent, faintly British-sounding with a tinge of French, “We’re running low on Glenfiddich. Have one of the more comely serving wenches deliver it to me here in the party bunker. I’m pretty sure this hasn’t been anything close to a real bomb shelter since Prince Tedric-the-first renovated it. Nuclear annihilation was low on his likely-to-happen-in-1995 list—way, way below having sex with powerless servants, assuming there were no wives-of-his-friends in the vicinity.”
Thomas crossed the room, pushed the heavy door closed, and locked it. There was a deadbolt on this side of the door, and he threw that, too, with a very solid ca-chunk. Only then did he put down the rifle, leaning it against the wall.
It was clear that he finally believed they were safe—or at least safe enough. Tasha took a deep, steadying breath, because the reality of what they’d been through—and how close Thomas in particular had come to being killed—was a tad overwhelming.
“The toilet’s not chemical,” he told her, motioning for her to give him back the peanuts. His seeming non sequitur completely blew her up.
“The what’s not... what now?” she asked as she passed him the jar.
“The toilet,” he said, crunching peanuts. “In the bathroom. It’s a real flush toilet.”
She rushed to look. “Oh, my God, Thomas, you found me the peeing-tree of my dreams!” The gleaming bathroom was about as big as the kitchen, with a soaking tub, double sinks with more of that gray granite for the counter, and a glass-encased shower. She opened the medicine cabinet to reveal—yup—dozens of trick-kits—packets of personal care items for “unexpected overnight guests.” She ripped one open and found the toothbrush, but then realized, “Is it safe to use the water?”
“There’s a high-end filtering system in the utility room, so yes.” Thomas stood in the open doorway, watching as she washed her hands using the soap that was out on the counter, then blissfully, gloriously brushed her teeth. “There’s also a hot water heater that was left running.”
“Hot shower’s already on my to-do list,” she told him around the toothbrush and the foam, “right after checking out clean clothing options, and a sumptuous dinner of cornflakes and