For the first time since it had been built, Interstate 35 was perfectly still.
A cool summer breeze flowed across the highway, knocking glass from windows of overturned cars. Above the dilapidated cars a committee of vultures hovered, waiting for their meal. Their food would be provided either by those left in their vehicles, or… the fresh entrees the kettle had been stalking for a while now.
Off the side of the road, a little ways, was the real prey of the vultures; a group of humans walking alongside it. Such a sight was hardly unusual these days; with roads all but backed up with abandoned vehicles or ones scrapped for parts and supplies it was far more sensible to trek on foot, least of all because feet didn’t have the roar of an engine or the blinding gaze of headlights. What was unusual about this particular group of humans, apart from the fact that they were a group at all, was the size. While they weren’t the size of a troupe in the traditional sense, most groups above a certain number tended to not remain such a size for long. Be it from splintering off or losses along the way, big groups were almost as much a liability as they were a boon. Strength in numbers was a great concept in theory - but when their numbers always remained higher it mattered little.
The travelers spread along the stretch of road, an arm’s length from the guard rail and another from a still, stagnant pool that ran beside it. It stank of disease and death, but, mercifully, no corpses (or stray body parts) could be seen from their position. Clouds of bloatflies stood as the only indication that there was anything amiss with the water at all.
Even with filtration, there would be no drinking that if their supplies ran low. An inevitability. It was only a matter of time until they couldn’t scavenge enough to support a group as large as theirs while on the road, ‘til they came across a town picked clean and had to eat into their reserves. Already, those who kept track of their rations would notice that they were barely breaking even, with clean drinking water at a premium in the hot weather and good eating required to avoid fainting on the long journey northwards.
Around noon, when the sun was at its apex and the breeze did little to cool them down, those at the front of the party stopped beneath a large road sign. Within a few minutes, even the stragglers at the rear of the group had caught up to gather in what appeared to be a safe spot: no trees for the dead to hide in, and an area fairly clear of cars to an overturned truck a few metres away. Animals and people alike paused to drink from bottles of water. Restraint was necessary to prevent from drinking all that they were allotted for the day in one large gulp.
The committee had been stalking the humans for a few days now, flying overhead constantly. They’d followed the group of people from the last place they’d stayed a few days. The humans had left because they’d realized they needed to scavenge before they ran out, and the only way to scavenge was to keep moving forward. Picking out old towns, and stores, and taking what they could find. It wasn’t often they won, but…
The vultures had a feeling the humans were feeling lucky. One of them had noticed a sign just that morning, and had seemed happy. Perhaps, the committee was going to lose its food… But, for the heroes of this story? Their luck may have just turned around.
The direction they were heading, the sign they were following… it was pointing them toward a store.
Thump thump
thump thump
thump thump
Freddie Jones had been staring down at the inside of the car for a few minutes now — a little bit ahead of the bulk of his group, as he often was. It wasn’t really a morals question of whether or not he should do it. The monster trapped inside of the car was already dead, and really, he was putting it out of its misery, but… the way it was now? It was damn near harmless.
Thump thump
thump thump
thump thump
Its seatbelt had it strapped into the driver’s seat, and all it could do was thump its hands against the car door in an attempt to get at him. At this point, Freddie Jones was almost completely out of remorse when it came to killing these things. Times like this? It was a waste of energy. It wasn’t hurting anything… maybe he could just reach into the backseat and pull out what he wanted… that was too dangerous though. There was a chance it would grab him and bite him, and then what? Alexandria was raised without her mother and without her father by some random nurse who liked Ben & Jerry’s too much, a sword wielding museum curator, a guy named after a gun, and his annoying little sister.
Not happening.
Freddie Jones sighed and lifted up the fire poker he’d borrowed from June, and thrust it through the car door, and through the head of the zombie, whose incessant thumping against the car door ceased almost immediately. Brain trauma seemed to do the trick. Freddie Jones yoinked the poker back out and leaned it against the car — he’d have to remember to clean it before he returned it to June, but… that wasn’t important. What was important was the case of Kirkland brand bottled water sitting in the back of the car.
Rémy leaned against the trunk while Freddie Jones worked, keeping one eye on a silhouette in the distance as it limped in their direction. Their slow pace may have been faster than the gait of the dead, but the dead always found them in the end, attracted by the noise they were trying desperately not to make. “Nicely spotted, by the way,” he said, nodding to the contents of the back seat. As soon as the car was still and silent he pulled the case out and onto the roof. “We’re running out of –– well, everything –– but the three days without water rule’s the one I’m most worried about. Didn’t want to say in front of the others.”
“Water, I think, is the most important thing. I don’t know, I’m not really a survivalist. I’m learning though, wasn’t given much of a choice. We’re lucky we found this too, ‘specially me. Gave what I had left to Alex.” Freddie Jones explained, while eyeing the case of water. He’d wait until it was rationed out before he drank any, he could at least be patient. “I think we should go to the Costco. I really do. It’s probably been picked clean, but at this point, it’s either go to the store and find food, or walk past it and die in two to three weeks anyway. I choose life. Might even have twinkies.”
“I agree.” Rémy might have agreed with Freddie Jones simply by virtue of him keeping his sister alive for so long, but this time they were on the same page. “We need to settle down for a night or two in a town to resupply. This ‘scavenging as we go’ thing tides us over, but the closer we get to the Twin Cities, the less there is left.” There was, of course, the promise of shelter in Minneapolis proper, a safe-zone run by what was left of the military, but the road was still long in spite of their good progress. What would be the point of heading there if they let their own people die of thirst or starvation or exhaustion on the way there?
The doctor ripped open the plastic covering the case and eased out a bottle, rolling it over to Freddie Jones with a look that said, ‘don’t be a martyr, take the damn water’. “Let’s go see what the others think of this plan, shall we?” he asked with a strained smile. “Maybe it’ll be the last straw, the one issue so divisive that the group splits up. Wouldn’t that be neat.”
“Something like that.” Freddie Jones said as he took the water bottle and cracked it open, taking a drink. “Either way, I’m going in the place, though I don’t know why they'd disagree. The whole group thing works for us, even if we’re a bit large.” Freddie Jones was nothing if not optimistic.
“It’s true, I suppose. We haven’t lost anyone yet.” A grimace followed, wondering if he might have jinxed it. Two weeks wasn’t a long time to prove that there was safety in numbers, even if it felt like an eternity. Readjusting his backpack and picking up the case under one arm, he tilted his head in the direction of the group, milling about along the road.
Freddie Jones led the way back to the group, carrying his bottle of water with Remy behind him, carrying the case of water. Once they arrived back to the people, Freddie Jones looked over at Remy, gesturing for him to raise the case of water like a trophy — which it basically was. “It’s warm, but it’s water. I think we should press forward; there’s a Costco a few miles off the Interstate from here. I think it’s important that we go check it out; we’re not doing so hot on resources, and Costcos have fucking everything. We might get lucky.”
The first person to react to Freddie Jones’s words was his daughter, who looked incredibly disappointed in her father.
“Sorry, I meant freaking everything.”
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