Duncan Moran
Albuquerque, NM
I-40 (on the western end of town near the Rio Grande)
Aug 27, 2016
(The date assumes the Plague hit last year.)

Prologue
With his family dead - even before the Plague - Duncan had been more than fortunate to find himself in a decent foster family. It had been an older couple who had actually doted on him, finding him to be a model son. His grandparents wanted to take him in, but admittedly their health hadn’t been the best. So they had met with the foster parents, researched them, and given their approval - and even some financial support for their eldest grandson. Duncan had gone from living in near poverty to upper middle income overnight.

His foster father had worked at Sandia Labs. His mother was a doctor. It had probably been the best months of his life before the plague hit. As soon as his foster parents realized just how bad the situation was they overreacted - or thought they did. The single best thing his father did was start teaching Duncan some technological survival basics - and help the boy convert his book collection to digital format, creating backups. His foster father taught him how to convert a car to alcohol. Duncan hated mechanics, but paid attention. The man also left Duncan instructions on how to convert military diesel and expanded Duncan book collection. He also made sure Duncan got his driver’s licence.

When it became apparent that Duncan wasn’t getting sick even as he watched his foster parents die, they sent him out in a small RV to the Jemez Mts where they had a cabin. It was remote and well stocked to get the whole family through about 5 years of survival. But Duncan only stayed the winter. Finally heading out to see if anyone was alive. In 6 months the Plague had wiped out over 7 billion people. At least he assumed as much.

Duncan was the luckiest kid alive.

Duncan was the only kid alive.

That sucked.

He had imagined what it would be like to have a whole world to himself. He had thought it would be great. He didn’t like people. Oh he had - once upon a time. That was before his stepfather had beaten the empathy out of him. That was before his brother’s gang had half beaten him to death in a hazing ritual expecting him to join them. They hadn’t taken no for an answer. That was before their rival gang had killed his brother and come after him out of revenge for his brother doing something. Duncan still had no idea what. That was before the gang had broken into his home and killed his mother.

It might very well have been a miracle that Duncan had been taken in by the sort of foster family he’d gotten. He had taken to calling them Mom and Dad rather quickly. With them he had even begun to reconnect with people. Losing them had cost him more emotions that he had thought he had left.

Yeah, he was lucky. Good luck, bad luck. He had it all.

As winter drew to a close he packed up for a long trip and rolled out - well armed, well prepared. He crossed the US via the south all the way to Florida, then up the east coast, across the north to Seattle, down to LA … and finally back home. Along the way he monitored radio channels, looked for signs of people, fired off fireworks, guns, eventually even a small brass cannon. But the entire way he never saw signs of people.

He stopped off at a place he had researched in McAlester, OK, and took as much Zeolite as he could haul. He discovered a freezer half filled with boudon near New Orleans and ate so much he got sick. In Florida he went crabbing and floundering at a bay he used to fish at. He found a great catfishing place and smoked as much as he could. He shot a deer at 300 yards in Virginia, smoked that and used some of the meat for a stew. Instant rice took care of the rest. He went through the Smithsonian, White House (sat in the Oval Office - yes, THAT chair), saw a few other monuments, and moved on. He raided MIT for books. He stopped off at Punxsutawney, PA to see if he could find the Phil the gopher. But he figured the animal had been let loose to the wild and become some predator’s meal by now.

He ran across a pride of lions in North Dakota of all places. They were chowing down on a cow right there on the road. The king of the jungle hardly seemed to notice Duncan. Wisely Duncan made a detour. It seemed that some of the zookeepers had let animals lose when they could no longer keep up with feeding them. Joy.

He visited the Kansas City area and Little Rock, AZ grabbing as much ammunition as he could carry from a couple of manufacturing plants. In Cincinnati he visited the Kroger’s DC and stocked up on whatever supplies he could stuff into his trailer.

Duncan raided the Shell Oil refinery in the area of Carson, CA for technical data on oil refining. Then he cut across to Arizona where he picked up as many solar panels and inverters as he could carry. By this time he had ditched the RV in favor of a military heavy semi pulling a 53 foot dry van and a fuel tanker full of diesel. While it slowed him down, it got the job done. And he was able to carry enough fuel that he’d never have to stop again for a long time.

Oddly enough he had no problems with fuel. But he kept blowing tires. For over a months before he realized why. It wasn’t the rubber going bad, or the heat of the summer. No … be was overloaded by about 40,000 pounds. After that trip he started running lighter. And he avoided the long steep hills of the Pacific Northwest and I-15 coming out of California.

Today
Duncan had finally managed to convert his car to run on alcohol and was ready for a test run. It was really pretty stupid. He had picked a McLaren P1 for which to test his alcohol conversion. The very notion of such an attempt with so little knowledge on the subject would have made any car enthusiast cringe. There had been only 375 made. But he had a Lamborghini Veneno he planned to work on once he had the bugs ironed out. The P1 was at least a hybrid and could run even without fuel - though only a very short distance and nowhere near as fast. Duncan was still trying to dream up a way to make the thing solar - and even had some ideas. It really was a waste of time - time that he should be spending working on other things. But he needed an outlet - a new way to have fun. And while he had never been bitten by the car bug like most teenage boys, he did like go carts. To him this was just the life sized version. Once he was sure the car was running good he topped off with his new fuel mix. His initial test runs were on the airport runways - the flattest, most open area around. Then he took his show on the road…

He hopped on I 40 around at the exit closest to Kirtland AFB’s North east entrance and brought the car to a halt. He had measured out a distance to I-25 - where there was a major truck stop. He set his timer and hit the pedal on the right. He hit 60 in about 4 seconds. The P1 was rated at 0 to 100 km in 2.8 seconds, but he wasn’t the best driver around. And as the needle climbed something caught his eye on the eastbound side of the interstate that made him come to an abrupt halt. It was movement where there shouldn’t have been movement.

It felt so strange to be riding alone in a car, driving it herself, eyes on the road with no one to talk to. She'd begun to talk to herself less and less lately; it had now been more than a week since she had last said anything. What was the point, when there was no one?

It had taken her longer than she had thought it would to hotwire a car by herself this morning, but at last she had succeeded. It was so much harder to do, without the warm presence of someone beside her, placing his hands over hers to direct her to the right wire when she faltered. The group had been harsh at times. Disciplined. But after a few months of being with them... they had become more than just friends... an extended family.

Gone now.

Her mood was melancholy as she drove down the road. Driving on such an empty road needed little concentration, so her mind was free to drift, dwelling on the past. She had been torn between leaving or staying in Alamosa. Many memories were associated with the place, perhaps too many for it to be healthy. But at the same time those memories were the only things that could give her the courage to keep moving. Her right hand lifted to touch the pouch hidden beneath her shirt before returning to rest on the steering wheel.

She had never been particularly strong-willed. Nor physically strong. Not super smart. They were more talented artists out there than her. She wasn't witty. She wasn't skilled at making friends or holding conversations.

She had been content with being normal. She had never wished for a drastic change. Never. But the Plague had come anyway, and cruelly left her alone.

Darlene was too absorbed in her thoughts to notice immediately when the car began to have issues. The little warning light on the dashboard went ignored, not that she would have known what it meant or what to do about it. It was only when she smelled something that she was pulled out of her thoughts, noticing with some worry the smoke beginning to seep from under the hood of the car.

Whoa.

She overreacted, braking hard, automatically pulling to the side of the road even though there was no need to. She was no mechanic, had never even gotten a drivers license. So she had no idea what was going on with the car. Stepping out, she slipped the hatchet back on her belt on the opposite side to the pistol that was already there. For security of mind.

Darlene spent the next few minutes staring inside the hood, but she didn't know what she could do. The car still drove... at the moment. But what if it exploded soon or something?

She would have to walk, perhaps steal another car if the opportunity arose. At least she was near houses and buildings if had read the map correctly, so she wouldn't have to walk too far to get to an exit. Was it even stealing if there was no one there to own? She shook her head slightly and got to work. There were more supplies in the trunk than she would be able to carry, so she would have to leave the less important ones behind. Like the few books she had picked up. The sweets. But she wouldn't leave behind the paper and pencils. She began to separate what she would keep from what she would leave, before a sound made her freeze.

Not barking, not growling, not the birds. Or the squirrels. Was that an engine? Or had she finally gone crazy and started imagining things? She stepped closer to the open door by the driver's seat in case it turned out that she needed to get away quickly. Dogs couldn't drive. Neither could cats.

That meant that... that... she didn't allow herself to hope. It's probably nothing. Probably just something breaking down. Something crumbling apart. Just something you haven't encountered before.

Except that a car soon rolled into sight, complete with human inside. And stopped.

Hallucinations? She needed to be careful. If there really was a man, he could turn out to be hostile. Or he could turn out to be a friend. She shook her head again, but even as she did so she forced herself to smile a little.

Be polite. But not overly accommodating. Don't look weak. Firm.

Her right hand came up to rest lightly on her hip, just over where her pistol hung. Close enough to show that she wasn't afraid to use it, but not close enough to come across as too threatening. Would a teenager even seem threatening? The man seemed young, perhaps maybe around her age. But still... her other hand drifted up once more to touch the pouch before returning to hang loosely at her side.

She made herself walk forward a few steps towards the car, until she was approximately four feet or so away from the barrier between them.

A nod. "Good day, sir," she called out. Better to be overly polite than to come off as rude. "It's been a while since I've seen another human, so I have to say I'm glad to see you." Glad to see him, if he didn't turn out to be hostile. If he was, well, there was the barrier. And the car that might or might not explode if she tried to drive it for any longer.

Duncan pulled the car to a hard stop - nearly skidding - on the far side of the freeway and opened one of the gull wing doors, grabbing a set of military grade binoculars.

The movement Duncan had seen came from a girl standing next to a car with black smoke billowing out. He knew every inch of the highway for about 20 miles in either direction by now and that car had not been there yesterday. But it wasn’t the car that was moving. It was … it was … a … girl. There was no mistaking the shape even at this distance. He brought up his binoculars just to be sure. And despite himself a slow wolfish smile tugged at his lips.

Now Duncan had never really noticed girls much that way. Truth to tell he had mostly homeschooled himself. Then his parents had decided he needed to mainstream so he could be with kids his own age. And even though he had technically graduated already, he had been forced to go back to school. He had learned one thing from kids his own age. They were complete idiots most of the time. They usually drove him nuts. There was one thing that he had failed to learn to deal with.

And he was looking at one right now.

Girls had been one mystery he hadn’t figured out. Most of the girls who spoke to him wanted one thing - better grades. Or rather someone to get the better grades for them. There had been that cheerleader. She’d been clueless. But what geek in his right mind says no to sitting next to the prettiest damned girl in class?

He watched as the girl cupped her hand to shield her eyes from the sun to the East. She was sort of short he guessed - not that he was much taller. He had noticed his height starting to change. He already wore size 12 shoes, his feet being first to sprout in size. He had gone through a new pair of shoes every couple months in the past year. He had yet to notice that his pants were starting to get a little short. He would have been entering his senior year and about to grow a full foot if the Plague hadn’t hit. Most teenage boys finish the biggest growth spurt by around age 16. Duncan had only just started and was nearly 17.

Duncan realized he was busy reflecting on his size while the first living human being he had seen in nearly a year was standing there looking at him - a very pretty human being at that. He tried to fight down the hormones that even now were making it hard to think straight. Instead he tapped his horn a couple times, made a few wild arm gestures, and revved the engine. Then he gunned the engine and took off like a shot … westbound to the next exit … where he pulled a U turn. If he had timed himself he might have realized that he had approached 0 -100kmh in just a little over 3 seconds. He got to the girl and car in about 2 minutes flat and actually skidded - unintentionally - to a halt when he arrived.

His face reddened a little. He hadn’t meant to nearly overshoot the girl or be so obvious in his excitement. For nearly half a minute he just sat there trying to get up the nerve to get out. Finally he worked up the courage, opened the gull wing door and stepped out.

“Hi,” he said awkwardly. “I’m .. uhm .. Duncan. Uhm … broke down?” He could have kicked himself. Of course she was. “Uhm … gas? I mean does it run on gas? Gasoline is starting to go bad by now.” He blinked as he realized he had a working car behind him. “Mine is a hybrid. And I figured out how to make pure ethanol and my own E85. I was just testing out the new fuel mix.”

Part of him just wanted to offer her a ride. Mostly he saw someone to talk to - a smoking hot someone. But the pragmatic side of him took over and he decided to see what she wanted first. “If it is the fuel, I can’t really fix it with what I have on hand. But I could convert it to run on alcohol maybe. Problem is you can’t use regular alcohol. You have to purify if with a molecular sieve. It isn’t that hard. Just have to know what you are doing and how pure the alcohol is you are starting with. Anything under 190 proof and you are wasting your time. I heard there was a way to make 194 proof, but I don’t have the equipment for that.

He looked back at her car. “Well, I can’t fix that here. But I can get a tow truck. Diesel is even going to go bad. Most fuels are mixtures. The volatile parts evaporate. Other parts autooxidize. I can check real quick to see if it is obviously the fuel. Just a minute.” He walked over and struggled with the gas cap before getting it off. He then went into his trunk to pull out a hose and a baby food jar. Then he walked back over to her truck to draw a sample with the hose.

“I tried searching for people. Drove all over the US. But … nothing. You are the first person I have seen since … “ his voice dropped away for a minute before starting over. “I missed most of the Plague. My foster parents sent me to live in a cabin when they got sick. When I finally came out … the world was pretty much a void. Part of me is wondering if you are real or just some dream.” He glanced over and tried not to smile, but failed. His jaw worked but all that came out was a short laugh.

“Sorry … but this is like …,” he stopped. Then his voice jumped up an octave and in volume for an instant before settling down. “SO! How to recognize bad fuel 101.” He paused. “You know why guys like cars? Because it is easier to talk about them than people.” He shrugged. “Bad gasoline smells sour. And I hate to say this, but this car probably isn’t worth fixing - at least not with my skills. The bad fuel has probably damaged the fuel lines. And adding good fuel won’t help as the lines are going to be clogged. Think of all the fuel as food that is turning into bad cholesterol in a body. Plaque forms and you get clogged arteries. You can do more harm draining the tanks and lines than good.” He paused and drained some of the fuel into the baby jar. “Yep … see how the fuel is dark? That’s the result of what I was talking about.

”The black smoke isn’t good either. My guess is bad oil, or no oil. Not worth fixing. That would mean the rubber in the transmission is gone. That’s a soft rebuild by itself.

“Tell you what, grab your vital supplies and I’ll give you a lift back.” He grinned and flushed a little. “I have a repair facility for a base of operations. If I am weirding you out, I can probably fix you up some way to continue on your journey. But I also have plenty of space. I’ve stocked up a little over the past year.”

He ran over and moved his military assault rifle (AR15) and spare clips out of the way. The Barrett Light 50 (50 cal sniper rifle) he pushed to behind the passenger seat, but pointed away. There was a hiker’s backpack in the back - probably his go bag. Even for a test run the guy took no chances of being stranded without supplies. He had covered the seats with plastic - probably trying to keep grease off them.

He adjusted his Ray Bans a grin breaking out on his face. Then he stopped, realizing he was being rude. Subconsciously his muscles flexed. He didn’t even realize he had any muscles. He still thought of himself as the 98 pound weakling. “Anything you need help with? Not much space. It isn’t likely that someone is going to steal anything. And if they do, we should count that as a good thing. It means more people.”

Duncan seemed unaffected by solitude. Perhaps he was a little overeager. But then any average teenage boy might be. Definitely a geek, and not shy about it or even defensive. He clearly accepted that role. But he also seemed a bit athletic. He showed signs of being accustomed to very strenuous work. He walked with a slight limp in his right leg, suggesting an old injury.

For one brief but horrible moment Darlene had thought that the boy was honking and gesturing to imply that she wasn't welcome here, especially when he ended up driving off. But not for long. Automatically she stepped back as his car came speeding towards her before skidding to a stop. So then... not entirely unwelcome.

Once he stepped out she looked him up and down subtly, her right hand never straying from above her pistol even though she kept the smile plastered on. Taller than her, stronger than her. Probably one of the kinds of guys that some teens back at school would have fawned over, though she didn't think much about that now. Her thoughts at the moment were not of such unimportant things, her thoughts were wary as her gaze never left him.

Duncan. Despite the situation, she couldn't help but wonder what the name meant. That had always interested her...

As the teen talked on and on she looked for breaks in his speech where she could introduce herself as would be proper, but Duncan seemed like he had a lot to say-- so she would be content to listen for now. And she was listening, very closely. Even as he used terms that she didn't know, Darlene didn't tune him out as perhaps some other girls might have done. This information could, would prove useful sometime. She would have been frowning in concentration by now, if she hadn't been so trained in keeping an amiable expression at almost all times.

Still, her smile dropped slightly as Duncan began to tell about what he had been doing in the past year or so.

He's so open. Too open.

He missed most of the Plague.

He didn't have to see all the people die off.

Luckily he continued on his techy talk before she could dwell too much on those thoughts, and the smile returned full force once more. Once he was done though, she had to make a decision. It seemed that he was already assuming she would come by the way he was clearing some space for her... so... it would be the most practical to go with him. Accept his offer, see if she could learn anything from him, and then... then what? Stay? Leave?

Leave? When he was the first person she had seen in months? Stay nearby instead, perhaps?

"Thanks for the offer." Darlene tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at his face quickly before looking away. She was nervous, though it didn't really show on the outside. But inside was a different story. Her stomach muscles were clenched as she resisted the temptation to bite her lip or cross her arms. "I'm Darlene Revie. A pleasure to meet you."

Should she try and shake hands? Maybe that would be overdoing it a bit.

"I think I'll take you up on that offer, if it's not too much trouble. Don't worry about the car. I can find another suitable one soon, if you don't mind getting me off this interstate." Then perhaps she could come back and grab the rest of her stuff later on.

Since she had already mostly sorted out her stuff, it only took her another minute of shifting a few more things around before she had two bags of stuff ready to go. One contained mostly just food and a few other random tools and necessary items. The other one, a backpack, contained her clothes and personal items including her art supplies.

She hesitated when Duncan offered his help, gazing at him for a few seconds before shaking her head. "I'm alright, but thanks." Darlene went over to the back of the car, and after glancing at Duncan again to make sure he didn't mind, opened the trunk to squeeze the first bag beside the other things he kept in there. She brought the backpack with her to the front and dumped it on the seat before going back to her broken down car to close the doors.

Then at last she got in his car. "Are you staying near here?" she inquired politely, straightening the plain blue shirt she wore. "Again, you have my thanks."

Duncan still seemed to try to mentally help her carry her pack over. And even after Darlene had tossed her gear into the car, he stood there as if he could get the door for her. It was a gull wing door that he had already opened. He still seemed to insist on closing it for her. Perhaps he was just being polite. He did measure most of his words. He offered a warning to avoid bumping her on the head or side before closing the door. Then he jogged around and hopped in. There was a boyish smile on his face that was priceless.

Duncan had one of those faces that spent far too much time being serious. When he smiled his eyes would fill with energy. They practically blazed. They were doing that now as he looked over and practically leered. Then he paused, stiffened and slowed himself down becoming serious. He had been about to show off. Slowly he forced his body to relax a little.

Then he put the car in gear and started forward. The car went all of about 30 feet, sputtered and died. He looked confused. He shut the car down and tried to restart. Nothing. Again. Nothing. He made a growling noise. He looked over at Darlene. Uhm …” He was clearly embarrassed. He cleared his throat and looked thoughtful. “I can’t be out of fuel. No way. Well … unless something popped loose and there was a leak. Excuse me.”

He got out, clearly looking frustrated. He fiddled with things, but mainly he just inspected for a leak. He was more than a little disappointed to find none. That meant he had no clue what was wrong. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had probably done something when he gunned the engine to get to Darlene faster. He dropped the hood looking grim and got back in.

“Well, it’s a hybrid. Should have enough power to get back to my base - one of them. I sort of have one main base - a place that I am starting to build up. But I will probably move closer to the Rio Grande. That won’t be until Spring though. I got back too late to start up any real crops. The place I have is stocked for getting me - us if you like - through the winter. And there is a garage there with a backup generator - one of those big military ones. I set up at the base motor pool.

“I actually have more than one ‘base’. I have a spot set up at the University - not the medical center. You don’t want to go anywhere near there. My Mom worked there. Foster Mom. My real mother died before the Plague.” His face hardened, he shook his head slightly as if it would make bad memories go away. “I also have a warehouse I am setting up - good reinforced concrete design, docks, offices, forklifts - propane and electric … and eventually a military generator. The truck stop where I-25 crosses had a backup diesel generator. I got it going and every now and then I run it to keep a walk in freezer cool. I plan to replace that eventually. But I cleaned it out and am keeping a couple deer in there. I am hoping they don’t thaw in between visits. I need to get a small freezer. I know where two are, but I haven’t decided how to move them - and they are filled with spoiled meat and vegetables.

“Really I am too spread out. That is what the ranch by the river will replace next Spring. The downside will be the loss of the base Motor Pool. It will still be there, but again still a drive to get there.” He sighed. Just talking about his plans made him tired.

The McLaren had an electric backup. Its top speed under all pure electric was 78 mph. And had a 50 km range. He was already looking worried by the time they got to the motor pool base. He pulled the car over by a child’s playhouse. He got out and opened the door for Darlene. Then he walk over to the playhouse and reached in, pulling out cables and stretching them to the car. Then he went back and cranked up the generator inside the playhouse. He was using the playhouse to suppress the noise. Then he hooked up the car to recharge.

“I have solar, but haven’t set it up yet. Well, I suppose I should give you the grand tour.”

For a 16 year old male, Duncan was almost obscenely organized. Oh his place was cluttered, but it was clearly organized. He started with the garage. Power was out - until he cranked up the main generator. But the playhouses he had filled with generators were hooked to LOTS of marine grade car batteries. So he had enough lighting to work with. He had a number of construction solar panels he had collected from the side of the road. They also offered light.

His kitchen and pantry were well stocked. He had multiple cabinets and book shelves filled with food, all organized with an OCD level of order. Canned hams, canned vegetables, canned fruit, fruit in plastic, sugar in tubes, honey, dry cereals, powdered milk, pet milk. He had a whole short truck filled with 20 gallon jugs of drinking water. Some of his supplies were still on pallets. He had Coleman stoves, a propane grill. There was a port-a-potty available - with a whole pallet of toilet paper.

Not merely organized, but industrious. He didn’t think small. He could take care of himself and maybe a dozen or more people through the winter easily.

There were other vehicles. The ones that seemed to get the most use were a NM state patrol SUV K9 unit and an F350 pickup rigged with racks, extra fuel tank and pump and aluminum storage boxes. It was probably one used by a small construction crew. There was also a burnt cinnamon lamborghini veneno, a military mobile command post, a tow truck, military humvees, golf carts.

“I have more cars - diesel. And I took care of them. I’ll let you pick one out and set you up with a go bag. The go bag isn’t a hint. It is a safety thing. I cleared out most of the big predators around here. But now and then I get a mountain lion straying in. Plus there are packs of wild dogs in the NE Heights area. I used to live up there. You can have the Lambo, but I don’t recommend it. Gas powered means that odds are the fuel lines are a mess. I can TRY to fix it, but I’m not the greatest mechanic. Diesel lasts longer - about a year.”

There was also another kennel like pen with another child’s playhouse set up on it. Bleating at the edge of the pen was a baby goat. There was a kids soccer ball in the pen with it. It started pushing the ball around with its head almost as soon as they arrived.

“Oh yeah, we have a kid,” he chuckled at the joke and walked over to pet the goat. “His name is Pele, world’s greatest soccer playing goat. He’s a natural. He made a fist and raised it in the direction of the goat. The goat reared up and butted the fist with his head. “He’s probably starving. Still not weaned. My guess is his nanny fell victim to a big cat. I also have a small farm. That I have got to get to later today. Not much of a farm, but I am doing my best to keep the animals alive.”

Then he took her into the 5th wheel RV he had parked next to the garage. “This thing was designed for extreme cold weather - far worse than anything we’ll see around here. 5.5 kW LP generator. LP doesn’t go bad. Washer, dryer, stove, oven, full bath - and … the water is heated.” He blushed at that as the bathroom he was indicating was beyond the bedroom - in which there was a king sized bed - unmade. It was the first sign that Duncan didn’t manage perfect upkeep. In fact he had let the RV go a little. There were books here and there, DVD’s, CD’s near the big screen. There were stacks of notebooks and lab books near a few laptops on the dining room table. There was a soccer ball, an electric and an acoustic guitar, and a professional keyboard. And there was a crate full of ammunition and a few assault rifles, plus a case of grenades and a dozen rocket launchers.

THIS was Duncan’s base. This was where he called home.

Duncan sure talked a lot, though Darlene couldn't blame him. It gave her time to puzzle out the behavior of the teen next to her, even as she tried to keep up with all the information he was blasting at her. The car not working at first had worried her, and part of her was just waiting for the car to break down again, but she had to admit that she was impressed with how fast he was able to adapt. At how much he seemed to know. About how much he had been able to do within the past year. Had he learned all of this since the Plague had begun, or had this all just been common knowledge to him?

The tour of the base was so quick and brief, with not nearly enough time to her to take everything in. He had so much food and supplies meaning that he had probably been stocking up for quite a while. Unlike what she had been doing. But she had been planning to stock up once she found a suitable place... would that place turn out to be here?

The group she had been with, no, her group. Her group had been pretty much settled in one place. She had helped to scavenge for supplies and stock up the place. She had helped to build up the base, and it had begun to seem like a home.

Before everything had changed again.

By the time he finished the tour she was struggling to keep the smile up, and even the little goat wasn't able to cheer her up. She was suddenly feeling so tired again, a feeling that she was too familiar with. Tired, and she wanted to be alone. When she had been traveling alone she hadn't needed to hide her tears and sorrows, but she wouldn't show her weaknesses here. Not now.

But she was tired.

Darlene didn't notice Duncan's discomfort at showing her an unmade bed, a sort of distant and sad look flickering in and out of her eyes as she tried to keep her gaze bright and cheerful. Leaning against the nearest wall for support, she made herself grin. It didn't reach her eyes.

"This is really quite something, Duncan. I'll think about your offer concerning the car, alright? I wouldn't want to steal one of yours, so maybe if I can find another good car somewhere nearby, you could teach me how to convert it."

Teach.

"Darlene. Not like that. You have to put your whole heart into it, concentrate. Someone isn't always going to be able to help you." He had known that she was trying her hardest, but had pushed her anyway. But after they were done for the day she had seen it in his eyes, a hint of satisfaction and pride. His words hadn't bothered her after that, for she knew that he simply cared.

They had all cared.

And they had all died.

Even that simple word triggered too many memories, why was she so sensitive all of a sudden? Perhaps too much had happened too quickly. Shock or something. How could she tell Duncan that she needed to be alone for a little without offending him or seeming weird? Answer: she couldn't.

Darlene blinked a few times quickly, bringing herself back to the present abruptly. Without her realizing it, her hand had drifted up to touch that pouch again. As if she could feel them, nestled there. But it must look weird, for her to be constantly touching a spot between her breasts. Ugh. She dropped her hand quickly, flushing slightly. "Uh..." What was she supposed to say now?

Duncan only caught her gestures in his peripheral vision, locking his eyes there only once for an instant before discreetly avoiding staring.

“I don’t really know mechanics really great. I’m more like one of those guys that always ends up with spare parts. I probably should have tried a regular hybrid car. But now you know why I used a hybrid. At least I had juice to get back. All the cars I have set aside are diesel - which lasts twice as long as gasoline before it degrades and eats up the fuel lines. I flushed those with stabilized fuel. Stabilized fuel is good for 2-3 years. But if you didn’t stabilize it back when all this started, it is too late.”

He paused. “I know. I am talking a lot.

“I’m a workaholic. Anyways, I have only had a couple weeks back. To be fair, some of these ideas were the result of a hobby before the Plague. I used to collect Used books about how to do just about everything to rebuild civilization from Stone Age tech and up. My foster father did a lot more. They took lessons from the Mormons and prepared for an apocalypse. As soon as they realized they were getting sick - and I wasn’t- they made the decision to send me away. The Millers were good people - closest thing I had to a family since I was 6.” He face turned a little serious, but he didn’t explain himself.

He moved over and quickly closed lab notebooks filled with scribbled advanced calculus. There were some printed papers with the name Sabrina Gonzalez Pasterski. The title of the papers were something about gravitational something and supersymmetry. More of the same scribblings were on the laptop screen. It was Duncan’s ‘homework.’ He gave another poker face. “Light reading. Dr Paterski. She was touted as the world’s next Einstein. She might have been if she wasn’t distracted from her work so much by dinners and cruises. I read her early work. Definitely not an Einstein level of work. Math written for mathematicians. No layman was ever going to understand it. I call it a work in progress.”

“My foster father had all sorts of stuff in digital format, backed up on external hard drives. It is MIT stuff. My mother worked at UNM Medical Center. She included a lot of basics about first aid - I had some already, but she and my foster father organized it better. And she taught me a little about cooking - like how to make a simple stew, gravy, and such. I have made butter before - and ice cream. Grandparents on every side of my family had farms. Mr Miller was an engineer. He showed me the stuff about converting a car to alcohol, recipes for making diesel substitutes, and more. A lot he just wrote down. Like where to get Zeolite to make a molecular sieve. I know half a dozen ways to start a fire from scratch. I took a paleolithic anthropology seminar - think of a humanities class about stone age people. I learned primitive skills there. It is actually a standard part of 7th grade classes in New Mexico - but my seminar actually made us go through the motions.

“Now I did figure out how to do a lot of the stuff on my own. But I have always been good at that. I just made a list back before last winter. Mr Miller helped. But I spent the winter refining my list and planning. Then I came out and started my search. Along the way I picked up maps and phone books - the paper kind that have addresses. I learned to read maps in detail when I was 6 or 7. I collected maps starting at 8. I’m not some John Connor though. I was just thinking about running away from home.” He smiled. “I like to plan. I hate having to change plans though. Anyways, on my search I swapped up for an 18 wheeler. I found myself some working bobcats. To make a long story short … I stocked up.

“I have half a truck load of solar panels. And I can get more, but they were back in Arizona. I have plexiglass sheeting to build greenhouses. And seeds. And some hydroponics supplies. I tried to grab everything I could get, plus fertilizer. I still have a lot to collect up. I have only just got started. Problem is, it is really too late in the year to plant. So for the winter I am stuck with canned food again.” He finally paused.

“It is still early. I tell you what. If you have something to change into you can grab a shower. Or we can run by Tanger Outlets and you can clean up later. When you do, use up ALL the HOT water. One time offer. I will eventually need to ration. But there is nothing like a shower to make you feel human again. While you shop at Tanger, I’ll run grab another 5th wheel RV like this one. I have several set up, just not here. But that will give you more privacy. Then we can run by my garden and harvest some fresh food. Then I need to get back and feed the animals. Patches is probably feeling neglected. Horse. No, can’t ride him. He’s in really bad shape

“If you have question, feel free to ask.” He flushed a bit. “I haven’t spoken to anyone in about a year. I’m normally a hermit, but … even I have my limits.”

It was all Darlene could do to keep smiling and nodding when needed, not engaging in conversation. She did make an effort to take in the information he was giving out, perhaps she could go through it later when she was feeling better. Later.

His invitation for her to shower was met with obvious relief, and she nodded quickly. "That would be most welcome," she said, standing up straight again. "I have clothes, don't worry." She wasn't sure what to make of his offer to get a whole RV for her, so she didn't say anything about that, deciding to leave it up to him whether he really wanted to go through that trouble for her.

He meant that she could shower now, right? Sure seemed like it. Going back to collect her backpack, she left him as she headed into the bathroom. Closing the door behind her and making sure it was tightly shut and locked, she leaned against it wearily for a few seconds. Alone. Her smile dropped and Darlene had to blink back tears as she removed her clothes. Don't think about the past.

Everything was piled into a neat pile in a corner, the pouch around her neck on top as she had removed it last. Then for the hot water. She ended up taking a much longer shower than she had meant to. The warm water was really too inviting. It gave her a chance to pull herself together again while she was still alone, and she let a few tears escape as the water ran down her face. Her shower ended abruptly when the hot water did actually run out, slightly to her embarrassment. She hadn't meant to really use up all the hot water, but it was too late now.

Drying herself with a towel she found that looked unused, she pulled on a fresh set of clothes. Long, plain blue jeans without any patterns or designs and grey socks was what she wore on her lower half. For her top, she chose the only slightly fancier shirt she had. Most of her clothes were entirely practical, but this, a fitting long-sleeved deep blue button down shirt that was made of a light and airy material, had some green embroidery along the bottom.

It might have seemed surprising to some to see her wearing long clothes even in summer, but it wasn't unusual. Plus, wearing long sleeves concealed the scratches and bruises on her arms, and some part of her did want to look sort of pretty. The only downside was that the shirt was a little on the small side, therefore clinging to her curves a little more than she would have liked, but it couldn't be helped.

She even did her hair carefully too, putting it up into bun, but making it fancier. She was finally ready then, but before leaving the bathroom she took out sheets of paper from the pouch around her neck, gazing at what was on them for a few minutes before putting them away with a determined smile.

Time to face the world again.

Her eyes didn't really show any signs of crying unless you were very observant so as to notice the slightly red tinge. She had spent over half an hour in the bathroom before she finally stepped out of the bathroom and then out of the RV, looking around for Duncan.

While Darlene was getting her shower he Duncan decided to feed Pele. And as it turned out 30 minutes was almost perfect timing. He was just walking back in with the large bottle he used to feed the baby goat. He was smiling a little and nodded to the girl as he walked over to the sink to rinse out the bottle and set it to soak.

Before washing the bottle Duncan finally removed the left glove he normally wore. That glove had gotten him teased early on in the school year at the Academy. He had been nicknamed Duncan Jackson. The rumor was that he had a bad scar there. Now, for the first time, Darlene was allowed to see that scar. The scar was about 2 inches long and had clearly been a blade punched through his hand.

He had been heaping a plate with a thick layer of white rice which he stuck in a small microwave. The lighting dimmed a little while he heated it. When he was done he added a heavy layer of deer stew. He pulled that out, then tossed in another smaller plate of rice while pulled out a couple small slabs of unidentified meat, and some very sharp Ginsu styled knives. It didn’t take long to realize they were for the … Sushi … heavy on the meat.

By the time the deer stew had finished he’d already made his sushi. He frowned, glanced up at the girl. “No avocado. I miss avocado.” He smiled and held up a finger, smiling again. “I’m working on that. Not so spicy imitation salmon that should be tuna with sriracha mayo. The Millers made the mistake of taking me out for Japanese. I distinctly recall them laughing over the ‘mistake’ of taking a teenage boy out for sushi. I guess the stuff was expensive. I’ve watched a video on how to make this stuff … but it is a work in progress. Mostly I make a mess. If you don’t like it, leave the rest for me. I am a human garbage disposal. You are welcome to some of the sushi if you like - or deer stew. Or if you just want some canned food…. Wait, if you are vegetarian I have some vegetables that need to be eaten up before they go bad.”

He spent the next 15 minutes trying to interspace talking to Talia while inhaling his food. But the brief time in which he wasn’t talking was enough for him to come up with an alternate plan.

“I have a better idea. Why don’t I drop you off at Tanger while I go and get the RV. I can come back and get you in about an hour. That should be plenty of ti-- … uhm .. time … All you need to get today is a couple outfits. We can always come back for more. You are going to want to see the peaches. I am not exaggerating their size. They aren’t the tiny, bitter things you see in grocery stores. Wait, I never actually mentioned them. Softball sized. And we can grab more strawberries. Probably some more fresh asparagus too, and tomatoes. Spinach may be ready too. I wanted to do broccoli and cauliflower, but that takes a lot of time and water. It is the single biggest reason I am considering a move to the Southeast. I am close to a decision point - Stay the winter and suffer another couple years without broccoli, having to start over with asparagus, and such. But if we were to move now, we have to start very, very soon. It will take at least a month to get ready. But we can think on that tomorrow. I almost hate to leave this place.”

Duncan chose to drive an 18 wheeler tractor to the mall, explaining that while Darlene was shopping for some new clothes and any other necessities he wouldn’t have thought of, he was going to grab a 5th wheel RV (the sort towed behind a pickup with a 5th wheel, not stand alone) and take it to the base camp and get it hooked up. He figured he’d need an hour. He handed Talia a contraption that resembled one of those electronic auto keys used in rentals.

“Invention my foster father and I developed. It is a programmable skeleton key. It will open any mechanical key lock - and store the pattern to make a spare. Mom was NOT amused. But we swore not to market it. But we did consider the CIA. Anyways, that will get you into any typical store or car.” Of course, Duncan had no idea that Talia could pick locks.

Duncan dropped Darlene off, making sure she was well armed - a new Glock 17 police issue with 4 extra clips … and 6 flash bang grenades. He made it a point to do a drone scan before he left. That was more important than ever now. He had people to protect. He mused over the idea that men were hardwired for that role.

While he finished waiting he decided to gather some flowers from the flora that grew around Tanger. Tanger Outlets was one of those malls that liked to spruce up their appearance with good landscaping. It was one of the reasons he had volunteered for this. He didn’t bother to explain the floral arrangement he had collected by the time Darlene was done. She would find out soon enough.

Without traffic, the 20 mile trip to the house where Duncan’s garden was, took very little time. And for the first time since they had met him he hardly spoke. It was his turn to be quiet. It was a middle class neighborhood, all with landscaped yards, now starting to give way to nature. The house he pulled up in front of had the name MORAN on the mailbox. It wasn’t hard to figure out how he knew about the place.

The windows were boarded up and yellow tape with the words CRIME SCENE stretched across openings. Duncan grabbed the flowers wordlessly and calmly said, “Come on. You may as well see. Instead of simply taking them through the gate to the side yard, he used the front door. He had already removed the plywood on an earlier trip and turned it into a gate using hinges. He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.

The first thing they saw was the Den to their left as the entered the main hallway. It was a southwestern Spanish styled design, with wrought iron bars filling arches. Inside the room they could see it was filled with Turkish antique furniture with marble tops, a roll top desk, and lots and lots of shelving. The room was FILLED with teddy bears and dolls. There was also a collection of trolls. Every single one had a tag with a name, maker, and year. You could hardly walk in the room.

“My Mom - biological Mom was a collector - over 1500 each dolls and teddy bears. Compo, bisque, Steiff's, collector finds.” He set the flowers down and stepped in, glancing about, then picked up a few of the bears before stepping back out and taking his floral arrangement. “They were made for hugging. My Mom wouldn’t have objected.”

He then led Darlene further back. “The Plague hit before they could even put the house on the market.” There were white outlines of people and blood stains on the floor of the dining room that the entry hall opened into. To the left was the kitchen. There the story really unfolded. In a corner of the kitchen near the sink was another outline. On stands around the form were a few teddy bears. “Time for a changing of the guard, if you two don’t mind.” He smiled. “Mom was partial to Humphrey Beargart. One of her favorites.” He swapped the bears out and replaced the floral arrangement already there.

The reason Duncan had stuck around Albuquerque so long made perfect sense now.

He took a deep breath and let it out. “It happened before the Plague. Twelve members of a gang.” He stopped and shook his head. “No, I should back up. My brother was in a gang. I don’t know why, but a rival gang killed him - allegedly. His gang decided to recruit me - something I think he prevented for years. They never bothered me before that. I said No. The rival gang thought I said yes. I think my brother must have done something to piss them off, because they came after me here. Twelve of them. I managed to get my little brothers out the window of my bedroom in back. After that, the fight was on. I was the last one standing.

“Hardest part is that when people get sick, you get a chance to say good bye. When they get shot in the head, you don’t. But It HAS been over a year. Yes, I had some counseling. Yes, I had LOTS of dealings with the police. They suspected that I beat the living Hell out of my brother’s gang, but couldn’t prove it, or thought I had justifiable cause.” He smiled. “Guilty as Hell. Only fights I ever started.

“My Stepfather ended up in prison - Child Abuse and Child Abandonment. The abandonment charge was him throwing my then 14 year old sister out of the van on the Las Vegas strip and driving off. Never went back for her either. The Abuse, was the broken ribs and beating he gave me when he thought I was in a gang. Wasn’t the first beating. Those were a daily thing. But the broken ribs and punctured lung was new.

“You would think I’d be more withdrawn. But you can thank the Millers for that. They were more a family to me than I had had for a decade - even if it was only for a few months. Now you have an idea who I am and where I am from. This was my home before the Millers. No, I don’t expect you to talk about stuff - not for a long time. I had counsellors, shrinks. That happens when you kill people - even in self defense.

“Shall we go and see the Garden? This place is depressing. You are going to love this stuff though. Feel free to grab and eat.”

When she spotted Duncan coming towards her she gave him her own small smile as a greeting. She observed him as he went over to the sink, eyes widening as she saw the scar that lay beneath the glove he wore. What... had happened? She couldn't help but glance at his hand a few times even as she began to eat-- rice and the deer stew. She decided to keep off the sushi, letting him have it all to himself. She thought of protesting that she didn't need to shop for more clothes, but in the end just went along with it.

It was a little funny, how much care he took to make sure the area was safe before leaving her to shop. And the key? Quite ingenious, but she could pick locks. Not that she said anything, though. The Glock and grenades were quite over the top though, and it began to make her feel like she was being babied. She survived the Plague, after all. She could take care of herself. Nevertheless, she took it and smiled. Thanked him. Then went to shop.

She got three new full sets of clothes, which actually didn't take her too long. It was quite unlike her, but one of those sets were actually fancy: a skirt and blouse. She was also able to find some of those feminine necessities before she walked back out with two plastic bags of stuff.

For a moment she thought that the flower arrangement was for her, and was prepared to accept them before she saw that he made no move to give them to her. She wasn't sure why he would give them to her anyway, to be honest. But still, she was confused. Were they for decorating his place back at the base?

The house. The crime tape. The fact that Duncan had a key to enter that wasn't like the one he had borrowed her. She was even more confused, but warily followed him inside.

The collection of toys. The outlines of people and blood stains that told her that this house had a sad story even before Duncan explained. The way the teddy bears stood guard, an idea that she would have thought only children could come up with. The entire atmosphere of the house...

His story. Gangs. Abandonment. Abuse. Killing people. Though of course Duncan would not have known, it had been a bad idea to introduce Darlene to more death.

Darlene's head began to spin as she began to comprehend his past. It was horrible, and she felt so sorry... except that "sorry" was too weak a word. Tragic. And he still smiled so much. Talked so much. But it was weird, how the brain worked. As Duncan finished his story and suggested seeing the garden, all she could think of was the death that had occurred here. Or rather, more specifically, that he had killed. Duncan. The person standing in the same room as she was. It didn't even matter that it had been in self defense. It was still a fact.

Well, looks could be deceiving.

Darlene's heart was thumping in her chest, and she was pretty sure she wasn't seeing properly. Her vision could only zoom in on one thing at a time, the bears, the outline, the blood spots, and Duncan. Her gaze flickered from place to place, searching for words, searching for some way to calm herself down. On the outside, it was very obvious that she was panicking and distraught.

She hadn't realized it until now, but perhaps she had been hoping that Duncan would turn out to be comparatively "normal".

Had been hoping that since he had stayed in a cabin during almost all the Plauge, his story wouldn't be so fucked up as she thought hers was. She had watched her family die, found new friends, and then watched them die along with her last living family member. But he had been abused, he had killed. He wasn't normal.

He could kill you. Abuse you. A voice whispered through her head, so unlike her. And that did it. She took steps backward away from him until she hit the counter top behind her, and then clumsily she grasped at the ledge with her left hand for support. If there was anything on the counter top, there was no doubt that she had knocked something off. The other hand? Gripping the pistol tightly, though she left it in the holster. For now.

Duncan looked intensely at Darlene sizing up her reaction. His voice was gentle and calm though. “Backyard. Now. Let’s get you out of here. Crap.” He wore softly.

He led them into the backyard. “Sorry about that back in there, but eventually you were going to see scars and wonder what happened. But believe it or not, this place has some good memories for me too.” He smiled a little and pointed at the bedroom window on the back of the house. You can NOT imagine how many times I snuck out that window.” He grinned sheepishly as his ears turned a little red. “There was this girl that lived down the street …” he paused and laughed …”who was unfortunately more interested in my older brother.” He shrugged. “I was only 13 at the time. He was popular; I was not.”

He looked down at the peach, then over at the eastern end of the yard. “I forgot about the raspberries. And there is a small grapevine - that hasn’t done so well. Without pampering this garden has not flourished. I wonder if the potatoes are ready? I planted a bunch. A lot of them didn’t make it, but they are a relatively low maintenance crop.

“I never could figure out why our peaches were so huge.” He hadn’t exaggerated the size of the peaches. They were softball sized. “I think we are all just used to the ones in stores that are picked unripe. I never liked those. As kids we were selling peaches left and right at ridiculously low prices to everyone around us….”

There was a shed set on a concrete slab that Duncan cautiously opened. He growled a little - a habit he seemed to exhibit when frustrated. “I forgot again. I keep meaning to bring a large cooler to store some supplies here. He dragged out a bag of bird seed, some dried corn cobs and a bucket of peanut butter and grinned. “Time to replace the feeding stations. I had to get smarter than the cats. Basically I drill a core through the corn cobs so I can string them onto a heavy duty fishing line, smear the cobs with peanut butter and roll them in seeds in layers. Then I also have a few hummingbird feeders. Those I have up outside the kitchen window. There’s a ladder already there. Plenty of sugar water, plus extra jars of honey. The honey was so old it was starting to crystalize. But the birds don’t mind that once it is dissolved in water.”

He finally paused and spoke matter of factly. “Are you going to be okay? I won’t lie to you - ever. And I have never started a fight in my life - ever. But I never lost one either. I said I missed most of the Plague. But that isn’t the whole truth. I spent weeks in a morgue before my foster parents sent me away. I have the videos to prove it. My foster mother wanted to teach me how to stitch up wounds and stuff like that. She nearly ran out of smelling salts. I even learned how to deliver a child. The cadaver we used was a Plague victim who made a tape for me. She wanted her death to mean something. So I made myself learn.

“I am not normal. Or maybe I should say not average. I tried to be as much as I could. If all this is too much, I understand. I meant what I said, you are free to stay or go.”

For a few seconds Darlene didn't move, watching with wide eyes as Duncan led the way outside. But then she followed, staying as far as she could from Duncan without actually walking away. Being outside the house instead of in that site of death helped a little, but she was still far from calm.

She really tried to focus on what Duncan was saying, but it was hard when the person who spoke was the one who was the source of all her agitation. Happy times... crushes... crops... sales... all so irrelevant at this time. There wasn't such happiness anymore. Would there ever be? Answer: no. Everyone who had survived, basically two people, had sad pasts. She should have seen it coming, really, for since when was it survival of the weakest? Of course, she wasn't exactly strong, but she still had some skill.

But Duncan was strong. Too strong. Killed.

The cycle started all over again, Darlene thinking too much about the death and past. She subconsciously tuned out the last part of whatever it was that Duncan was saying while she lost herself in her thoughts, until she heard him ask if she was going to be okay. Forcing herself to look at him properly and processing his words slowly, she didn't know what to say.

Break it down.

Duncan said he wouldn't ever lie to her. Honestly is always the best policy? She wasn't so sure. He didn't start fights, but he never lost any. That was a mark against him, at least while Darlene was in this state. She was... scared. Of him just as much as she was scared of how she might not survive by herself.

Death, death, death. Death of family, friends, death of innocence. Death of happiness. There was the death that the person with her had caused. There was her possible death, which could happen so easily if she allowed it.

Why did I decide to live again?

There was a reminder... she had a reminder as to why she had decided to live. Feeling as if she was swimming outwards out of sludge, she clutched tightly at the pouch around her neck with both hands so that it was now obvious that something was there. She wanted to sink to the ground and be left alone, but after a few seconds she let go and the wall came down again.

Polite. Composed. Standing tall. The change happened so quickly it was absurd. Inside though, she was still unsure. Should she leave? She wanted to, wanted to leave this person who could remind too much of bad things that had happened. But he had so many supplies, had so much knowledge... teaming up for him would most likely mean survival for both of them.

Still...

Just for a little while?

She looked him in the eye, so unnaturally composed on the outside. "I understand. Thank you for telling me the truth. I thank you for your hospitality, but I would like to leave." She raised her chin slightly. "I can take care of myself. I can pick locks, and I hotwired the car by myself. I have been by myself and made it this far, even while-" A slight hitch in her voice could be detected. "Even while taking care of another."

Darlene felt that she should specify that she might return some time soon-ish, but ended up saying nothing. Some part of her understood that he probably wouldn't turn her away if she came back, and if she didn't, well, at least she wouldn't have made any promises.

She continued looking at him, waiting for his response.

Duncan looked at Darlene with a hardened look, almost pained. But he slowly nodded his acceptance. He kept his voice even. “Alright.” He slowly smiled and held up the 4D Skeleton Key. “Pick locks …. Right. So … you didn’t need …” He grunted a laugh at himself. “Well, thanks for humoring me. And I was so proud of this thing.”

He sighed. “Well, I hope you will take some advice about what to take.

“A. A 10 speed bike. Just toss one in the back so you have something to get around once the car breaks down. I give it about 50 miles if you try to do everything on your own and don’t accept any help.” Duncan tried not to sound sullen.

“B. Water. We are surrounded by scrub desert. South follow the Rio Grande. You came from the North, so unless you plan to backtrack, south is it for water being a short distance away. Avoid the river or be really careful, especially near any areas where there were zoos. People let all the Zoo animals go rather than leaving them to starve. Watering holes are a favorite for predators.

“C. As much of these fresh fruits and veggies as you think you can use before they go bad. I can barely eat all this stuff myself as it is. Take, don’t. I don’t care. Just good advice.

“D. One of my Go Bags. Plenty of ammo. You seem to like a pistol. I favor a rifle myself. Again take or don’t. I don’t care.

“I am sure you can figure the rest out for yourself. If you come across isolated groups who have never been exposed to the Plague - avoid them. You are resistant. Odds are they won’t be and you will kill them all just by saying hello. I probably know more about the Plague than anyone you are likely to meet. For example, noone is immune But you and I are Resistant. We probably both got sick. Then we got better and everyone chocked it up to Flu or Common Cold and we thought we were Immunes. Only about 1 in a million will be ‘Immunes.’ Most will be in North America and Europe. That’s about 70,000 people. And some of those have died of starvation, violence, and even failed experimentation. Too many of us just don’t know how to take care of ourselves.

“There is a prayer you should remember:

God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change.
The Courage to change the things I can.
And the Wisdom to know the difference.

“You will be welcome back if you choose to do so. But I won’t be here much longer. I don’t know what your problems are. But if you decide to come back, leave your problems in the desert. If you want to talk about them with a living person, I am right here.”

After that he was silent and went back to harvesting the garden.

Perhaps under different circumstances, she would have felt bad for Duncan. She might have noticed the pained way he looked. Would have felt bad for revealing to him that she hadn't needed his key. But she merely listened to his advice without any emotion showing on the outside, and once he was finished she turned to leave. "Thanks." The words were only a formality. Spoken without feeling.

Darlene didn't have much to prepare for her departure, so it didn't take her long once returning to Duncan's base to gather her stuff... along with a bike, some vegetables, ammunition, and a Go Bag. She considered not taking anything, but practicality won. He didn't need all this, and he had told her to take it. She wandered around the nearby area until she found a good car that Duncan hadn't taken for himself yet, hotwiring it and loading her stuff in.

On a map she found in the car, she marked down the approximate location of Duncan's base before driving to her broken down car and getting her items from there too.

Then she was ready.

Darlene drove for hours, not sure where she was going even though she was somewhat following Duncan's directions without realizing it. All she knew was that she was going away. To be alone. Again. For how long? Perhaps forever. Her thoughts flew back to the prayer that Duncan had recited to her. Was there really a heaven that she would make it to when she died? Or was it hell for her? Was there really such a thing?

She didn't want to think. She was tired of thinking. Dwelling on everything: the happy past that lived no longer, the tragic past, the tragic present, doubts of how capable she really was, doubts of what was real, what could be done. Spending time alone meant being alone with her thoughts all day, for weeks and then for months. But even when she had at last found someone... she hadn't been able to stand it.

Where was that social part of her? The one who spent hours talking with friends either in person or online?

Where?

Where was the happy her? Still riding in her car, Darlene let out a mirthless laugh. Gone.

Or not.

Apparently some part of her still hoped for happy, huh? With all that stupid hoping that Duncan would have been some... untainted person, even if him being untouched by all the unhappiness during the Plague would have meant that he would not have been able to understand what she had gone through. Stupid.

Darlene's thoughts ran on for hours as she drove, until the sun set and she pulled over to the side. Transferring her belongings from the trunk to the front passenger seats and passenger seats, she curled up in the trunk for the night.

---

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Sleep. Eat. Drive a little if she felt like it. Think. Cry. Sob. Lament. Sleep. Eat. Drive.

Again. Again. And Again.

The same things done over and over for three days, but she didn't care. Didn't know where exactly she was going, as long as her supplies lasted.

But when Darlene woke up from a nap to see the sun setting, she paused. Actually paused properly, with her senses about her instead of zoned out of reality. She looked at the sun, about to disappear. Forced herself to look at it and not block out the memories as they came flooding in.

"Isn't it so pretty? Some claim that there's no difference between sunrise and sunset, that it's all the same. But you know what? They're different. Sunrises? Those who like sunrises better lack strength, and for that I will always pity them. Sure, they have a point. A new day, right? But it takes strength to look at the sun setting, the star that keeps us alive, and keep smiling as it fades away. Because they have faith that it will come again, and so they embrace that part of the cycle. They don't cry for the sun to come back... they... they watch peacefully as it slips away. They love to watch it slip away. You know what I mean?"

She hadn't understood. She had always been a sunrise kind of person.

She had nodded anyway.

"You're going to have to be strong now, Darlene. It's not going to be easy. We may not all make it through. But you have to find your fire somewhere, I know you have it in you. And even when the sun has set, you need to keep burning. Got it?"

She had nodded. Believed she could do it.

"I'm scared of the dark, 'lene. Can I sleep with you? Please?"

A hand flew up to where the leather pouch had always lay. When Darlene felt nothing lying there, she panicked. Where was it? She spent a minute that felt like eternity looking for the small item that meant so much to her, at last finding it buried under one of her bags. Where she had cast it, not wanting to remember.

She made herself slow down so as to carefully take the folded papers out, so as not to tear it by accident. The creases were soft and worn from being unfolded and folded many times, and it was with the utmost care that she smoothed the paper flat. The moment she saw the young face staring out at her from the pages, she burst into tears.

There was her sister. Her father. Mother. Friends. The faces and characteristics of all those close to her who were gone, preserved carefully on sheets of white. That was all that was left on them. The drawings weren't perfect, some parts a little lopsided, some parts drawn in a shaky hand. But they were still pretty good likenesses of the people she had been trying to draw, and she had captured their expressions well-- happy, sad, angry, thoughtful...

She was living, scraping an existence out of life by depending on these sheets to carry her through the night.

When there was a very alive person some miles back. Whom she had left without a second thought.

"You will be welcome back if you choose to do so. But I won’t be here much longer."

Not much longer.

"I don’t know what your problems are."

"... leave your problems in the desert."

She couldn't leave her problems in the desert. Her so called "problems" consisted of people who were now gone, and she would not leave them. She carried them with her always. But perhaps she could leave her current mentality in the desert. Try to become strong? Like everyone had told her to be?

Reaching over to draw a blank sheet of paper from one of her bags, she got out a purple pen. There were things she needed to tell him, things that she was afraid she might mess up if she tried to speak them to him. So she would write.

She spent the all the time until all the light faded writing in her small neat script. By the time she was finished the page was dotted with some tear stains, and many words were crossed out and rewritten. In the end though, she ended up with this:

---

---

---

---

She arrived back at Duncan's base the next day, having found it without too much trouble. Pulling up nearby, she felt so nervous. Her heart was thumping vigorously inside her ribcage, and she couldn't say truthfully that her hands weren't shaking a bit.

But she stepped out. Taking a few deep breaths, she attempted to steady her nerves. (She failed.) Then she took one more, deeper breath, calling out loudly, "Duncan?" In her hand she held the folded letter, which she would hold out to Duncan should he show himself.

He wasn’t there when she arrived. However, as Darlene returned from her trip east she had spotted lights from over 10 miles away - the sort used to light up an industrial lot or a stadium. They were just off to the south side of the intersection of I-25 and I-40. Lights that bright took power, not just some small generator. But if anyone was resourceful enough to figure out a way to get that kind of energy going, he was certainly the sort. Maybe a solar farm?

The goat was still at his main base. He wouldn’t have simply abandoned it. And he had mentioned a horse he was nursing back to health being kept in the grass field just south of his base. The temporary coral was still there complete with a wrapping of chicken wire and a very simplified electric fence on top to keep predators from crawling over.

Duncan had said he probably wouldn’t stick around much longer if he planned to leave. Half of his supply containers were already gone - as was the 18 wheeler tractor - and the 5th wheel trailer he had picked out and set up for her. He was still working and using the lighting to work after dark. Darlene was almost the point of having to decide whether to stay and wait, or roll out and try to find Duncan when she heard the sound of the 18 wheeler returning.

++++++++++

Duncan had already been alerted to Darlene’s approach almost half an hour earlier. He had simply kept working. He wasn’t about to drop everything and come running like some puppy needing attention. His face was impassive as he climbed out of the truck. He didn’t even look at the girl.

Duncan was clearly passive aggressive.

And he was still mad.

He took the paper - still without looking. He didn’t even bother to read it. “You can sleep on the couch.” His voice was dull and flat. “I already loaded the RV onto the train. I’m tired. I haven’t eaten all day. I need a shower. I am going to eat or I am likely to say things I might regret later. There’s enough for you too.”

He kept walking toward his RV without another word.

It was deer stew again. He seemed to be the sort of guy that would cook the same thing over and over again if he could get away with it. He was wearing blue jeans and a black T shirt - again. Come to think of it, that was all she had seen him wear. He had been drenched in sweat and stank. He had helmet hair. His face looked a little sunburned around his sunglasses.

As soon as they walked into his RV he set the letter on the table, turned to head for his bedroom, pulling off his shirt as he went and tossing it into the trash can. For the first time Darlene saw the criss cross pattern scars of whip marks across his whole back, as well and the 6 inch scar from a knife wound to his stomach. That was the exit wound.

He showed back up in the dining room cleaned up and wearing brand new jeans and - you guessed it - a black T shirt. The shirt still had a sticker on it that he had missed.

As Darlene waited to see if Duncan would appear, she noticed how the place seemed more deserted than it had been a few days ago. He hadn't really...? No. Those lights she had spotted in the distance, that must be where he was. She considered going to look for him there, but decided to wait a while longer in the car.

Sure enough, he returned. She felt herself getting jittery as the sound of an approaching vehicle reached her ears, not sure how she would be received. The answer: not very nicely. Her hopes plummeted as Duncan didn't even look at her or read her letter. His first words told her that she could sleep on the couch. That was... so very nice of him? She hadn't come to take up space, but she didn't voice that thought. If he read her letter, he would know.

It was fine. She could deal with mad. He couldn't keep it up forever. Still, internally she compared the previously cheerful and welcoming Duncan... to this now. So different.

Nice to see you too. That remark wormed its way into her mind, but she pushed it away, refusing to voice those words.

Instead, she followed Duncan inside. She wasn't sure which was more shocking, him removing his shirt so nonchalantly in front of her, or the scars that adorned his back. He didn't really care, did he? Didn't care about concealing... and didn't care that she was a girl. Not that it was anything outrageous, removing a shirt, it was just that... well, the only person she ever really saw without a shirt was her father, but he was older. Oh, and one or two times at the swimming pool. But she didn't really swim much.

Anyway. She averted her gaze for both reasons, trying not to dwell on the scars too much.

The shirt went into the garbage can? Though Duncan did look quite dirty, she didn't get why he wouldn't wash it. Perhaps it was easier for a man to throw stuff away and get another new one, especially since now you didn't have to pay for anything with money.

She waited patiently while he showered, running over the possible things she could say if he still didn't read her letter. When he finally appeared, she took a second to look over his attire-- identical to what he had worn earlier. It didn't take long for her gaze to narrow upon the sticker left on his shirt.

"I'm sorry." She spoke as she got up from where she had seated herself. Sorry. For leaving like that. For not being able to deal with his past calmly. For not accepting him as he was. For so many things. Darlene moved towards him, reaching out to remove the sticker from his side. "Please... just read what I wrote. Just that one thing, and then I will leave you alone if you wish things to be that way."

Duncan didn’t even look at Darlene. “After I eat. I’ll … just … trust me that’s better.” He was definitely trying to be angry.

He grabbed some deer stew and heated it up, sat down and and wolfed down a few bites. But soon it was apparent that his appetite was off. The letter was bugging him. He got up and grabbed it off the table and sat down to try and read while he ate. But he had barely glanced at it before setting it down again.

For a short time he seemed deep in thought. Then he finally spoke again. “Neither of us is ever going to find anyone who hasn’t lost someone ever again. The Plague hit everywhere. I didn’t just make up those numbers. The last head of CDC did her residency under my foster mother. They were in contact. It was an influenza type virus similar to Spanish flu, but deadlier. I guess that doesn’t mean much to you.

“I didn’t ask you to leave you memories in the desert, only your problems. The idea was for you to accept that there was nothing you could do. Best thing I can suggest that that you ask yourself everyday what those people would want for you now. I lost my family twice. But my both my mothers and my foster father would have wanted the best for me. So I am making the best of things.

“I got through all this by staying busy, by not thinking about how messed up everything is. By how close the human race is to extinction. Then you came along … and left.” He closed his eyes for a moment. His voice was quiet. “That hurt.”

He went back to eating for a little bit before starting again. “I spent years trying to be normal. But I got my GED at age 11, published my first book at age 12. Got my first college degrees at age 13 - and published another book. At 15 I published my first bestseller and had my first PhD’s. Three weeks after I got all shot up I joined the football team and led them to a State Championship from last place - as a Kicker. I was going to be the team captain last fall. I was supposed to play the Prince in our version of Disney’s Descendants. I tried to be normal.

“I thought I could handle being alone. It’s never bothered me. But when you took off.” There was pain in his face. “Like I said, it hurt.” He paused, then added. “I could go and get your RV again. I was just mad. Or you could sleep in the bed. I can use the couch. But I started loading up to go to Florida. It is going to take a good week or so to load everything. The animals and feed are last.”