Snippets of the Multiverse

Fortunate Are We (Thanksgiving 2022)

Put-tuttle-puttle-tut went the old engine, the van's rusted frame complaining with every pothole in the overgrown roads. The windows that weren't broken were closed tight against the dawn's earliest light, and the heater would have been cranked up, if they could have spared the power for it. Even something as simple as having the headlights on threatened to stall the engine, and they would be sitting ducks if it broke and they couldn't fix it. Walking was an option; the risk of happening across one of those wandering husks wasn't very high, especially in woods rural as this- but you could never know one of the dang things would lunge at you from the gaps in the trees, and their main base was many miles away- it would take a couple days to walk back.

But if they found what they were hoping find, it would be well worth the risk. Provided they could get in, of course.

See, these three had gone out to try and find a military base that was rumored to be off in the woods southwest of Rosewood. Supposedly, there had been a training ground nearby, all fenced-in with barbed wire atop chain-link. Obviously, the three were hoping to find some real firepower in the armory, and maybe there would be some canned goods in the kitchens that were still edible. The real jackpot would be fuel, specifically gasoline, but they weren't really expecting to find any. Something like a Tommy Gun would be real nice, and explosives could be lifesaving in certain situations. But they would be happy with almost anything they could find, because whatever it is, it can be used for parts and scrap if nothing else.

But let's take a step back here. I keep mentioning three people, so I should prolly tell you some of the details about them.

There's two dudes and a girl. The girl's driving the van, dirty-blonde hair tied up. She's young, prolly still in her teens. The guys are sitting in the back, having a heated discussion about something-or-other. One has mostly grey hair, the other's hairline a little higher than the week before, as if not quite middle-aged. They've all got about ten-to-fifteen years between one another.

Just then, they hit a particularly deep pothole, the suspension giving a fierce groan. The girl and the old man both wince, for two different reasons.

"I'm sorry, girl. Just hold on for us a little more, okay? Just a little more... Don't give out on us now."

"Blimey, my lumbar is enjoying this about as much as the van is."

"Oh, hush-up, old man. This is no time for jokes."

"There's never a time for jokes with this bloke, is there? Always so serious. I mean, look around 'chu! The world's already ended, far as we need to be concerned. When else have I got to tell me jokes, ya nitwit?"

"I oughta slug you, old man."

"No matter how much he might deserve it, I would appreciate it if you didn't hit my father. I don't think his frail bones could take it."

"Oh, what is this? Time to bully the Englishman, is it?"

"Dad, you know how bad your jokes are. And I don't even know if you could call whatever accent you have 'English.'"

"Wow, even your daughter's joinin' in on the fun now. Howzabout that, old man?"

"I can't believe you would betray your own father!" Said the graying man, pretending to be offended, "And stop calling me old, 'cause you ain't exactly young either!"

And so they continued, as the van shuttered down the overgrown path, farther and father into the woods, until they finally saw a shadow loom through the dawn's light snowfall. The group fell silent for a moment. It looked quite intimidating, especially when obscured by the remains of the previous night's darkness.

"Wonder if there's any o' the husks in there."

"It would be rather unfortunate if there were. We don't have the weapons to fight a horde, and my knees are screaming as-is."

The trio climbed out of the rusting doors (those that were left, anyway,) and examined the gate. There seemed to be some sort of mechanism for opening/closing the entrance, but it had been simply chained shut, a handful of padlocks keeping it that way. Odd as it was, the balding man got to work picking the locks, and after a short time, the chains came loose, granting the looters entry. It was unsettlingly quiet, just their footsteps against the hard-packed dirt, and the puffs of mist from their breaths against the deep blue sky.

There was a solid two dozen tents, all damaged to some extent. Then there was an actual building, presumably containing anything that needed running water or electricity to function properly. Beside it were some tanks of various gases ("Score!") and two big, long metal crates, like what would be on an eighteen-wheeler.

"Wonder if there's anything 'round here we could use to open those."

"Let's look through the tents- maybe there's something in there."

So they did, finding small guns and some more durable clothes, which they put on to help ward off the cold. There was an occasional processed good or canned item, which they took; there's no such thing as too much food when preparing for winter in the apocalypse.

Eventually, they found a set of keys in one of the tents, which ended up being for the large building. Inside, they found a whole lot of nothing at first- seems whoever was last here took everything of value when they left. Odd, considering how much was in the barracks, but the three decided not to question it. They did find a few trucks, in various conditions, and most of them had gas. If they could find a jack or two, and a lug wrench, they could probably hotwire a few of them, which would save them worrying about the van, and help with transporting what they've found. There was also a few metal rods lying around, possibly pipes at some point. One of them found a sledge, and beat a rod into a makeshift crowbar.

Now armed with tools, two of them headed back outside, one with the sledge, the other with the crowbar, they set to work getting the big storage containers open, while the other looked for a jack and toolbox. Eventually, the doors gave way, and the true jackpot was revealed- crate upon crate of guns and ammo in the first container, and processed foodstuffs in the second. There was so much, they wouldn't be able to get to all back to March Ridge in one trip. Maybe not even in two. And they sure weren't trusting the van to hold up for that long.

Fortunately, there was a jack in one truck, and a lug wrench in another, with a toolbox nearby. So the group got to work swapping parts and siphoning gasoline until they had two of the trucks up and running. They then went back and took everything they could carry from the old van, and loaded it into the trucks beside the mountains of food and weaponry.

"I'm not sure if there's anything else we could have hoped to find here that we didn't get. Really makes you wonder if there's some greater power looking out for us, eh?"

"Let's just get this back to town before a horde migrates over here."

"Sounds good to me."

And, with a rather quite janky transition on part of the author, the group rolled out, significantly more hopeful than they were a few hours prior. A figure watched from the woods, smile hidden by midmorning shadows. And yet the snow continued to fall.

---

The group arrived back in town just in time for the beginning of the Harvest Feast, which heralds the oncoming winter, and marks the end of their "bulking season." At this point people started to eat less, and tried save it for the deeper winter. But maybe this winter, nobody would succumb to their starvation. And at least they wouldn't have any trouble fending off any wandering undead hordes.

("Look there! A wild turkey!")

(*Runs off without writing a real conclusion*)