Twenty-gallon tins lay empty in the seepage, all the seed jars shattered and the seeds eaten, spices spilled in fans, cans tumbled off the shelves, jars of fruit smashed into shining pieces. Her flashlight beam flashed from the surfaces of pools of seep water and broken glass. It seemed like some Siberian tomb where there had been a final orgy for the dead. A few things were left. Meat floated in solution in glass jars, twelve to a box, several tins of flour and quinoa that had been wired shut. Vacuum tins of butter and a bottle of what appeared to be wine. The rats had destroyed and eaten everything else and Nadia stared at it with a subzero feeling around her heart. Curiously numb. She found an empty wooden crate to sit on and put her head in her hands. This needed thinking out. This was entirely new. There was no food. None that they knew how to garner, net, search out in the tide or the ocean or among the firs that stood guardian on the island. At some time people had fed themselves with animal products and gardens but neither she nor James had any idea how to go about this.
