Maria sneezed and went to the next box she'd found in the crawlspace over the garage. After hours of searching she discovered only three things of any interest amongst a lifetime of stored relics and treasures. The item she was most grateful for she carried in her bandaged hand. It was an ancient propane lantern that had probably last been used when Richard Nixon was president.
A large knife with the letters USMC engraved on the blade, near the hilt, with a sheath was also reassuringly strapped onto her belt.
The third item was potentially the best thing she could have hoped for; a heavy handgun. She couldn't even guess exactly what kind of gun it was. All she knew was that it was heavy. She cried with joy after finding it next to the knife in the old green steamer trunk, but after barely starting back to the crawlspace entrance she'd had a horrible thought and stopped to check the ammo clip. She stared in shock and nearly threw it away when she saw the clip that slid up into the handle was empty.
Looking at the hundreds of boxes of various sizes and shapes, she knew there had to be bullets up in the crawlspace somewhere and kept searching.
Opening a badly deteriorated cardboard box, she saw yet another enormous collection of pornographic magazines stuffed inside. She couldn’t help reading the cover of the first one- Naughty Norris’ Nine inch Knockwurst and the girls of Nebraska. Disgusted, she pushed the cardboard box full of magazines off of a big wooden crate and they slid across the floor exposing women in all manner of poses looking enticingly up at her. Shaking her head, Maria looked for a way to open a large wooden crate that the cardboard box had been resting on top of.
It was old and had some kind of stenciled writing on the top. There was so much dirt and dust she had to wipe at it with her bandana for awhile to decipher most of the words. “BERLIN to,” she skipped a part of the message that was badly stained and continued to read aloud, “New Mexico, care of Captain H. Remlap, USMC.”
Maria knew enough about World War Two to have hope that inside the crate there might be the bullets she needed. Using the large knife she pried at the lid for a long time. The old nails and wood creaked and moaned as she pried and whispered, almost praying, “Bullets, bullets, bullets.”