“I want to show you something.”
I followed him past the vegetable beds and toward the back of the property. He stopped beside a section of old wooden fencing that I had walked past hundreds of times without noticing anything unusual.
Then he pushed against one of the boards.
The fence opened inward.
I stared at him.
“There’s a gate here?”
“There has been for years.”
He stepped through.
Beyond it lay another section of the property. At first, I saw only more garden beds, a few fruit trees, and an old metal shed with peeling green paint.
Then Ray reached beneath the shed’s lowest plank and pulled out a small brass key.
He unlocked the door.
The hinges groaned as he pushed it open.
I stepped inside—and stopped breathing for a moment.
The shelves were packed with food.
Glass jars held preserved peaches, green beans, tomatoes, and other vegetables. Sealed containers held rice, flour, and dried beans. There were potatoes stored in crates, carefully labeled seed packets, and boxes of basic household supplies.
