Jase pulled the door open and jumped back. I stepped forward, ready to swing the machete at anything that moved. Nothing came forward from the dark. The air was cold but fresh. A beam of light shone from over my shoulder, and I could see a single compact car sitting under a layer of dust.
“It’s clear,” I said and stepped inside.
Tom followed, and he shone his light around the small garage. The undisturbed dust showed no signs of recent activity, so I relaxed my grip on my machete.
Paint cans and boxes sat on open shelves. I walked past them and opened the car door. The keys were in the ignition, and I sat on the seat. Holding my breath, I turned the key but nothing happened. No lights came on, not even a growl of an engine trying to start.
I looked at Jase and Tom, frowned, and shook my head.
“This car won’t work,” I heard Tom say from behind the car. “Two flat tires.”
He kicked the side of the car, and I cringed at the noise.
Jase popped his head in the door. “Geez. Can you make a little more noise next time?”
“Oh, sorry,” Tom said sheepishly.
“Let’s check the other garage,” I said, not bothering to shut the driver’s door.
Jase was still standing watch outside.
I slid my sunglasses back on. “See anything?”
“Not yet,” he replied. “Maybe we’re far enough out of any towns that there isn’t anything out here.”
“We can hope,” I said.
As we walked down the driveway, Tom slowed near the house. “I wonder how all the people who were at home during the outbreak became infected.”
I shrugged. “Maybe a loved one brought the virus home. Maybe a neighbor. Maybe they also ate the infected food. Given enough time, it seemed as though the infection found a way into every house.”
We crossed the highway and approached the ranch. This one had an attached garage, with two grain bins and a white tin building in the yard to the left. The building reminded me of the stocked Humvee we’d hidden before we entered New Eden. We really could’ve used that vehicle today.
A doghouse stood next to the garage. A corpse that was nothing more than fur and bones lay inside the kennel. A chain attached to the doghouse was still connected to the dog collar. I swallowed and looked away. I always hated seeing reminders of how the virus killed things even outside its reach.
“Poor thing,” Jase said softly.
I continued forward to the garage. This one had windows in the garage door, making it easy to peer inside. “Shit.”
“What is it?” Tom asked from behind me.
“The garage is empty.” I turned around and frowned. “I guess we have to check the bigger buildings.”
None of us delayed in walking past the kennel. As we passed the grain bins, I made a mental note to check it for grain that we could use. Staring at the metal, vivid memories of the first innocent I killed filled my mind. She had been a young girl who’d been hurt worse than any doctor could fix. Her tears still haunted my dreams. When I put the barrel to her temple and pulled the trigger, I killed more than her. I killed something inside me that day.
My innocence.
When we reached the big building, I clenched my eyes shut briefly to squeeze away the vision. When I opened them, she was gone, and I sucked in a deep, cold breath to ground me.
Like the garage, this building also had windows in it, and had shrubs planted around it. I imagined it had been a meticulously maintained place by its proud owners, but weeds and grass had overgrown and given everything an unkempt appearance.
Jase jogged up to a window. He spun around, his eyes wide. “Hot dog. You guys have got to see this.”
Tom and I cramped in around him and looked through the window. Sitting under a stream of sunlight sat a pristine, 1950s Chevrolet truck.
Tom whistled. “Now, that’s style.”
“If we can keep anything running, it’d be that,” Jase said.
Tom’s brows rose in disbelief. “An old truck? Why?”
“The old stuff isn’t as finicky with gas. Fewer computers, I guess,” Jase replied. Not staying around to converse, he hustled to the door and peered through the window. “Everything looks clear. You guys ready?”
I couldn’t help but smile. He sounded like a kid at Christmas. I walked over to him. “I’ll take the door. You can be first in.”
His grin widened. He threw a glance back at Tom and lifted three fingers. He quickly counted down to one, and I threw the door open. Jase jumped inside, and Tom followed.
The windows let in enough light that we didn’t need flashlights. I stood watch at the door, looking from outside to inside and back outside again. After a few minutes, Jase jogged over to the yellow truck and waved me inside. “All clear.”
After one final look outside, I stepped inside and shut the door. The air smelled lightly of a car shop. Oil, rubber, and gas. On the walls hung various hubcaps and Chevy signs. A large chevron was painted across the center of the floor. Clearly, the truck’s owner was an aficionado and loved this truck dearly.
Tom continued to walk around the shop, inspecting various items, and I watched Jase. He opened the door and sat gingerly onto the leather seats. He ran his hands across the dash. “This baby is a work of art.”
“Yeah, but can this work of art start?”
He held up a hand. “You can’t rush perfection.”
After long moments of cooing words to the truck, Jase turned the key. The engine moaned but didn’t catch. After a couple attempts, the engine moaned less and less as what little juice the battery had left was now gone. Jase patted the dash before stepping out. “The good news is she’s full of gas and ready to start. We don’t need to change batteries. She just needs a jump.”
“But we don’t have any electricity,” I said.
Jase shook his head. “Don’t need it. The battery from the other truck should be enough to get us going.”
“There are some garden supplies in back,” Tom said. “We could use the wheelbarrow to transport the battery. It will be easier than carrying it a mile.”
“We have about two hours until sunset,” I said as I checked to make sure the door locked. “We need a secure place for the night.”
“Why can’t we keep going? Omaha can’t be more than an hour or two away.”
“Which puts us getting into a town full of who knows what after dark,” I said. “We can’t risk moving at night. And, I think this is as good a place as any for tonight.”
“I’d rather be out there searching for the squadron,” Tom said.
“If you drove faster, we could be in Omaha by now,” Jase countered.
“We’re here for the night,” I said. “Bundle up. It’s going to get pretty dang cold in here, colder than it is already.”
“Never fear,” Jase said. “I saw one of those propane heaters on a shelf. That’ll keep us toasty.”
“That solves one problem,” I said. “But the bigger problem is all these windows. If we use any light whatsoever once the sun sets, we’ll be in a fishbowl. Anyone or anything in the area couldn’t help but notice. Maybe the house will be easier to hide in.”
Jase shrugged. “But, we’ve already cleared this shop. We can do what we used to do. We get settled in early so when the sun sets, we go dark. And, we rotate shifts through the night.”
I smirked. “You really want to stay in here, don’t you.”
He grinned. “Heck, yeah. I don’t want to leave this girl all alone.”
I sighed. “Okay. Let’s get this building secure for the night. When the sun sets, we go dark. Tom, you take first watch. I’ll take the midnight shift, and Jase, you get early morning. As soon as the sun rises, we’ll grab the battery and get Jase’s new baby up and running.”
It took the full two hours to prepare for the night. We had to clear things from the floor so we wouldn’t trip in the dark. We set up a tin wire with tools tied onto it at the door to serve as a noisemaker in case someone managed to open the door without us noticing. We had to set up the propane heater—which was full of propane, thank God—and our bedding for the night. Jase, of course, quickly claimed the front seat of the truck. I unrolled my sleeping bag on the bed, while Tom set his bag on a camp chair he’d found somewhere.
We ate together as the sun turned from bright yellow to deep gold to finally a reddish glaze before disappearing. I tried to reach Clutch on the radio again, but we were still too far away, their batteries were dead, or they couldn’t answer. I prayed for either of the first two options.
As I lay down to squeeze in a few hours of sleep before my shift, I felt the silence. There were no dog or wolf howls. It was a sound I’d grown accustomed to at New Eden. A constant reminder that danger trolled outside the fence. But here, even within sixty miles or so of Omaha, there was nothing but silence.
I fell asleep fast and hard.
I woke to the sunlight peeking through the windows, and I jerked up. I looked around to get my bearings. Tom sat in his chair, snoring softly. Jase was a tangle of limbs on the front seat. I jumped onto the concrete, ran to the door, and winced when my calf reminded me it didn’t savor quick movements in the morning. Luckily, outside, nothing had changed. I double-checked to make sure the door was locked before going to each window and looking outside.
Once I was comfortable we were alone, I walked over to Tom’s chair and kicked him in the leg.
His eyes blinked open. “Wha—what it is?”
“Why didn’t you wake me? No one was on watch this morning.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Oh. I must’ve dozed off. Sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” I opened my mouth and then closed it, glaring at him. “What if something happened last night? What if someone or something attacked?”
“Nothing did.”
“If something did, we would’ve been sitting ducks.”
“But, there’s no one around here. We’re safe in here.”
“There’s no such thing as
safe
anymore.” I spun on my heel and stuffed my bedding into my backpack.
Jase had wakened, and he looked around, frowning. “Why’d you let me sleep through my watch?”
“I didn’t,” I said. “Tom fell asleep, and I slept straight through the night.”
Jase scowled in Tom’s direction. “Dumbass.”
Tom held up his hands. “I said I was sorry.”
I slung on my backpack. “Let’s go get that battery so we can get back on the road.”
Tom had the common sense to stay quiet during our walk back to the truck. He pushed the wheelbarrow. It squeaked relentlessly, adding a headache to my already frustrating morning. The good news was that the truck was exactly as we’d left it. The bad news was the battery took us longer than we’d planned to charge the old Chevy. Once Jase got the truck running, he found an oil leak, and the two men spent the next ten hours improvising a solution. By then, it was dark, and we stayed a second night. Tom fell asleep again, but I hadn’t let myself sleep, so I was ready.
When Tom woke the next morning, neither Jase nor I had any interest in talking with him. I opened the shop door, Jase started up the Chevy, and we piled into the front seat. We drove back to our stranded truck and loaded one of the drums of gasoline onto the back of the Chevy. When we pulled away from the truck, I squinted at the house to the north. “Stop,” I said and rolled down the window.
Jase hit the brakes.
“What is it?” Tom asked.
“Give me a minute.” I rummaged through my bag and pulled out the small pair of binoculars. I zoomed in on the house the opposite direction of the two houses we’d checked out. “There are horses with saddles in the yard.”
“You sure?” Jase asked.
I nodded and handed my binoculars across Tom to Jase. “See for yourself.”
“We should stop and talk to them,” Tom said.
Jase and I both stared blankly at him.
“What?” he asked. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“Yeah, if you want to get us killed,” Jase said.
“It’s not the smart thing to do,” I said. “We have no idea how they would greet strangers. From personal experience, you’ve got about a ten percent chance they’re going to welcome you with open arms.”
“Cash was an actuary in a past life. She knows,” Jase added.
“We have a mission already,” I said. “We have to find the squadron and bring them home. No detours. It would be nice to be back to New Eden before Thanksgiving is over.”
“So far, this Thanksgiving sucks,” Jase said and hit the gas. He didn’t stop until we reached the outskirts of Omaha. The dead city showed its gashes from being bombed. Splintered buildings stood in the distant city center. Only the suburbs remained somewhat intact, and many of those buildings had burned or collapsed.
With every mile, more and more stranded and crashed vehicles filled the interstate. But, unlike Des Moines, I saw no zeds standing outside. Only remnants of bodies. Lots and lots of bodies. I examined the map in between glances out the window. “We should see the store any time now.”
Tom pointed. “There it is, a Costco.”
Jase took the exit ramp. Vehicles had been pushed out of the way far enough for us to weave through a narrow path. The first zed I found was sitting in the driver’s seat of one of the cars. The zed’s hand gripped the steering wheel as it stared at us with lifeless eyes, but it made no movement.
“See? Frozen solid,” Tom said.
I grabbed my binoculars. Frost-covered minivans, SUVs, cars, and trucks were parked outside the store. “No sign of the squadron’s vehicles,” I mumbled.
“They must’ve continued on to find another store,” Tom said.
My eyes narrowed. “Someone blocked the main doors.” In front of where the main doors should be, a semi-truck and trailer sat, obscuring any sign of entrance.
“There.” Jase pointed up.
I followed his direction, and saw a man waving down at us from the roof of the building. I could see his wide grin, and my heart leapt. “It’s Clutch.”
I rolled down my window and waved back, squealing in delight. Clutch motioned to the back of the store, and I nodded. “He wants us to go to the back entrance.”
“They must be parked behind there,” Tom said.
Jase gunned the engine and sped around the corner. “Now,
this
is Thanksgiving.”
Something wasn’t adding up. “Why are they still here?”
When we turned the next corner, it started to make sense. “Where are the trucks?” Tom asked.