Three Weeks Later
——
Day 85: July 2nd, Friday
Twelve Weeks since Ground Zero
"I think it's safe to say," Logan started, taking a bite out of his apple, juice running down the side of his lips. "—that the Alphas are all gone."
I looked at the man under my boot, close to my age, frowning, blood pooling beneath his head, a small, red-smeared hole at the bridge of his nose. I put Betty back in my holster. "Seems that way," I said. I scanned the living room; three dead bodies lay around us. Not a bad day.
"Well, in this town, at least," Logan corrected himself. "You reckon there's more of them?"
"One is too many already."
"Ah." Logan takes another bite. "Shame, that is."
"That's the last of them here in Colby. I doubt they'll return."
Logan chuckled. "After what we did? Yeah. I don't think they will."
"We haven't found those prisoners that escaped. Do you think the Alphas killed them all?"
"Yeah. That Elijah guy, right?"
I nodded. "Maybe they all left town that night."
"Pretty smart move. Only crazy idiots stay here." Logan gave me a knowing smile.
"Yeah. Only crazy idiots do." A week ago, we had checked the lakeside resort upon the mountains again, thinking that's where Elijah and the rest of the prisoners had gone to, but it was empty as I found it for the first time. As long as they are far away from here, I'm glad. I hope they make it safe to Pittsburgh.
I tightened my lip when I felt a slight pang of pain on my shoulder, thinking I had pulled another muscle there. My left arm was sore, could still feel that bullet weeks ago burrowing, then the itch and the excruciating sting of open flesh like being roasted in an open fire. I massaged the spot, healed now, but the scars remained.
"Still hurt?" Logan asked, concerned.
A small smile crept on my lips. "I'm not a baby, you know."
"Technically, I'm older than you, so you are a baby."
"I'm turning eighteen next month."
"My point exactly. And I'll be nineteen three months after that. See? Older."
Grumbling, I stomped back into the living room, though I tried not to. Logan noticed. "Yeah, but I'm more mature," I mumbled.
"Ah, come on, you big baby. Here. Peace offering." Logan handed me his spare apple from his pocket, almost tripping over one of the bodies. He's taking it in casually, like a day in a spa, I thought. But that was Logan. He tried to play off anything remotely serious, like hunting humans.
I shook my head, reminded of what we had done minutes ago. "Not hungry." And don't call me a baby.
"Suit yourself." He put the apple back in his pocket.
I doubted I had the appetite, anyway. Three weeks of hunting all the remaining Alphas around Colby, fifty-three dead in total, hiding like rats from a surging storm. We burnt houses, sent vectors to ambush and trap them, took their supplies from their outposts, and left them to hang every single one. And to think we've killed more during the vector siege of their home base...
I studied their final outpost from the map Logan had found weeks ago, a two-story house in the middle of an affluent suburb, boarded up in a hurry with trash everywhere inside, smelled like they hadn't bathed in weeks; it was a rough living. These bodies...their faces were all gaunt, skinny, realized they must be starving. I saw that their food supply was gone, probably for days, and to my brief horror, I had thought it was great mercy we put a bullet on them. We could have just left them alone to starve, made their fates slow and painful. Once I thought it, my stomach churned into a knot. How could I think about it like that? This...this is barbaric. But everything always is. I stared at a speck of blood on the back of my thumb, made a frown.
Three weeks felt like three months had passed. But time rarely turned normally anymore; it goes and goes and never stops, seasons passed, nights grew cold, days grew warmer. Yet, the smell of blood remains the same.
Three weeks.
No, this is for Miguel. For Haskell. For all of us. I stared at the man I had just killed once again. He begged like they always did, promised me that he would never return, to never speak or even think of me, but that's the thing about the future. It will always be uncertain, unpredictable, one you can't trust wholeheartedly. There will always be a small part that you hold onto that whispers, "they'll be back, and this time, they'll fight harder," and now you take that as the absolute truth, and suddenly, the world turns from a hazy gray to a rigid wall of black and white. It made it easier to move on, to take the days as they are, to pretend it will always be as it should be. Sometimes, that is all a man needs to survive.
Three bloody weeks, and we washed our hands with their blood.
I sat down on the plush couch, exhausted, left wanting to lay my head back and go to sleep. Two sleepless days we followed their trail, hiding, evading, but it still felt hollow once we found them and then tore them apart. Why do I do this? Why am I bothering with them? Must I? Killing after killing...should I stop? Is it worth it in the end? But bringing it to a close lets your guard down, gets you killed, gets your friends killed. I intend to keep on living and protect them.
The back door slid open, and Jun walked in, carrying an arrow in his hand, the tip dripping with blood. "Two tried to make a run for the river," he reported like a soldier, voice stern and unwavering, no hint of emotion at all.
"What happened?" Logan asked.
"I shot the slow one. The fast one wasn't a good swimmer."
"You sure he's dead?"
"He sank like a rock. I waited for five minutes. Nothing."
"Ah, good"—I let out a heavy breath—"That's...good." I tried not to let it bother me that Jun sounded like it was some normal job hunting humans, even if these people were disreputable. Between the three of us, I believed he enjoyed it more. Who am I to blame him? He had witnessed the full scope of the Alphas' atrocities from the beginning. I reckoned he must be happy we got rid of them, though he never showed it. I didn't know what went on inside that head of his, which only made him harder to trust sometimes.
Logan looked at me funny. "Are you okay, Bren?"
"Sorry, I'm just tired. Three days without sleep—"
"Hey, it's over now, man. They're gone."
That was the problem. It never felt like it was the end; it felt like there was always more. Is that why they called it? What's the word...ah! Bloodlust? Seeing red? Ripping like it never was quenched? How do you live through that?
"We should be on our way to Pittsburgh by now," I said out loud. We might be there already. But with three wounded, and one hardly able to walk...
Logan sat down next to me. Jun went up the stairs to take another look around the house. "Haskell said it'd take two more days to fix it," he said.
I let out a grunt. Two more days, huh? We've stayed too long in this town, and the vectors in the mall are starting to grow bold, heading west, heading toward us again.
"It'll be the Fourth of July by then," I said, shaking my thoughts away from those monsters.
"Heh. I doubt there will be fireworks."
"Or a president. Maybe he's dead."
"Or a government."
"It'll be a crappy Independence Day then. No hotdogs, no barbecue, no burgers, no water slides and trampolines, no parades..."
"The good old days."
"Ah, I miss your dad's barbecue."
"Yeah, right. Once it's edible."
"I wasn't kidding!"
"No, your mom's casserole was the bomb. I could eat them for days."
"Nah, barbecue. Give me those greasy, tangy, sauce-smothered red meat. That's the way to my heart."
We paused, chuckling, then, taking the silence in, realized we had stopped going to those things when our parents noticed we rarely talked to each other past sophomore year. They didn't ask, of course, and neither one of us wanted to tell them what happened. Nothing went over my dad's head, and he never pushed, yet he understood clearly. I was glad about that. It left me wondering if they were still alive.
Logan turned to me. "What if...what if we're the only ones left? What if ninety-nine percent of the world is dead? Or one of those things?"
"Then there won't be a home to go back to," I said. Hearing it out loud only made it hurt more.
I turned to Logan, studied his face for a second. Hey, at least I'm not facing this new world alone. His eyes found mine, and I reckoned he thought the same thing.
——
It took four hours just to go back home from the Alphas' last hideout, following the train tracks that ran across town, reaching the warehouses from the east side. Yousef gave a small wave on top of four stacked shipping containers, our makeshift watchtower.
My CB radio beeped from my belt, then Yousef's voice came through. "We thought you all are dead."
I took the radio close to my lips. "Still alive, Sef."
"Three days, man. Don't let us worry like that. Peter almost threw a fit and tried to have a search party for all of you." He laughed. "Miguel calmed him down, though."
"Well, it wasn't a fun ride on our end, I'll tell you that."
"So, how did it go?"
"We got the job done at least."
"No more Alphas?"
"Every single one."
A pause. "Oh, okay. I'll pray for them later tonight."
I didn't say anything back. A few people weren't so thrilled of me going after the Alphas, Yousef among them. Still, if we stayed in Colby for how many weeks until Miguel and Haskell's wounds healed, I certainly am not sharing that space with a hostile group freely roaming around. You don't leave alone a coyote by your borders knowing he'll go for your chickens. And besides, we needed bullets, supplies, and the Alphas had plenty of them scattered all over the city.
I want what they have, so I took it by any means, even if it's barbaric, I thought grimly—the ancient tenet of civilization since the dawn and evolution of Man. Perhaps nothing changed at all. Could it be instinct, I wonder? Modernity suppressing what's been inside us all along, lying dormant? Nothing defies evolution except evolution itself.
"Is everyone up?" I asked through the radio.
"Yep. You know where to find them."
Logan patted me on the back, grinning. "Yeah, home sweet home."
I nodded. For now.
The railyard warehouse was our haven, all thanks to Jun. After the mall, we got rid of the vectors wandering around the area and compared to the south side where the mall was, it was infestation-free. A week ago, I could have my morning runs around the perimeter without even attracting a single vector. See? Progress.
Morning runs. I snorted. Three months ago, exercise was not even on my mind. But the world had drastically changed since then, where dog eats dog, and if I ignored my weaknesses, I am one step away from an eternal trip six feet under. At least it's not a bad motivator to wake up early. Logan came with me since he did the same routine during football practice back in school, then I taught him a few moves and defenses I had learned from my dojo (Logan was quite a fast learner, to my surprise). It was nice to have a little company, safer in numbers and all that.
As I approached the warehouse, I could already hear the tinkering and welding coming from inside. Peter's voice rose from the cacophony of metal and machine, barking orders as usual, though when did that ever stopped him?
"Damn. Do they ever fucking sleep?" Logan pointed ahead.
"You know what they say. Busy bees don't have day-offs."
"I thought we did more work."
"It's on par, I think."
Jun walked past us. "And we have a high chance of getting killed." He headed off to the stairs, disappearing from our view.
I raised my brow to Logan. "See? Even Jun agrees with me. Nothing beats Death."
Logan sighed. "Touché. But Jun always agrees with you."
I shook my head. "No, he doesn't."
"But, ah, strange man, that one."
"Come. Let's say hello to the others."
Haskell's legs poked out from underneath the RV with Alfie and Peter on the roof, carefully placing the solar panels we had scavenged, the latter two with their shirts off. It was another hot summer day, after all. Peter showed his rippling Herculean physique packed over weeks of running, hunting, working without stopping, then the scars, too, displaying a history of violence and horror in such a short timespan. We all have scars. I had mine, but there are only a few of us who are proud to let the world know it.
Alfie had none, yet still muscular and statuesque, had the arms of a climber, I reckoned, one that you could cut out of a Men's Health magazine, though not quite like Peter. Wasn't he an Instagram model or something? Logan mentioned that to me before. My eyes lingered on Alfie for a second, sweaty and resolute in his task nailing the solar panels on the roof, body slightly bent forward, butt raised, curly hair matted and wet which clung all over his forehead, trimmed stubbles on his rugged jawline, looking like the end of the world had not touched his skin.
He looks good...when was the last time I—
I caught Logan staring at me.
I shrugged—too late to feigned ignorance or utter deniability. "Hey, I'm not made of wood."
"And here I thought you might be."
"It's good to prove you wrong sometimes."
"Well, if anything happens between you two, don't have sex next to me again."
I rolled my eyes, trying to hide my reddening cheeks. "That was one time! It never happened again."
"Uh-huh. The sky's blue, too."
I threw my hands up and strode toward the RV, leaving Logan in the dust, trying not to let his words sink in further and let more blood rushing to my cheeks.
The warehouse was noisy and clamorous, too many things going on at once, but thankfully, the building insulated the clangor, or else we'd have a horde camping out by now. They had been working on the RV for many weeks, turning it into a shell of its former self: tinkering the engine until it had a four-wheel drive, the interior completely uprooted and changed, welded armor plates and wires, barred the weak points with wood or metal panels, replaced the tires for rougher terrain, among many others they added and then removed as they pleased. The beauty of an empty town was all these parts and equipment just lying around. All we had to do was scavenge for them. It would be our temporary mobile home to Pittsburgh for the next four hundred or so miles, and it wouldn't hurt to ride in a vehicle that fit all eight of us while also protecting us from monsters.
That includes people, don't you forget. I walked closer to the RV. The last time I left, it was painted white, now it was matted black. Hard to see in the dark. We can move at night then. Haskell and Peter thought of everything.
"What did Haskell say this thing is again?" Logan sidled next to me, dropping what we had discussed earlier. I was glad about that.
"Uh, three hundred percent vector-proof?" I answered, unsure.
"Hm. Vector-proof," Logan muttered to himself. "Heh. Three hundred percent. I see it now."
"Last time, it looked like a motor home for the Brady Bunch."
"Now, it'll fit right in for Mad Max. Nothing will bother us riding that."
"No, it'll still attract attention. Machines this size makes a ruckus."
But Logan didn't let that bother him. He let out a wide grin. "I guess that's where the armor comes in, particular that up on the back...is that a freaking flame-thrower?"
"More like a fire hazard." Fire that up, and we'll have burning vectors around us in a split second. I told them not to make one, said to them that if the vectors caught fire, then the RV would too, but Peter chucked it as a last resort. The last resort will just be us getting cooked inside that tin can once the vectors are done burning around us.
"Haskell didn't cut corners. It's a fortress! We can probably drive to Portland with that thing."
I wondered the same when Haskell laid out the plans. Then we'd be extending a four-hundred-mile trek to three thousand miles. Given the road and the country's state, that might take a full year instead of a couple of weeks. But Margot, Henry, Tessa, and Clemons might still be in Pittsburgh. I can't leave them behind. I have to know they're okay. Margot has the right to know what happened to Felipe; Also with Tessa about her family.
We had barely moved from Albany to Colby, hindered by our skirmish with the Alphas, which started with their ambush. What more could happen within three thousand miles? Perhaps more things that want to kill us. And probably all will. It's funny to think that if they hadn't ambushed us, they'd all probably be alive by now. My imagination quickly vanished when I realized the prisoners and the townsfolk they had enslaved would probably be stuck in those disgusting cells back in the mall. I shuddered to think what could be.
"Bren!" Alfie shouted, pulling me out of my dark thoughts.
Peter and Haskell stopped what they were doing; the latter rolled back from the trolley underneath, his white wife-beater tank top smudged with soot. He almost tripped over himself when he got back up. I noticed that his gait had improved, though he did complain that his butt was still sore. Welcome to the Club of Scars and Pain. Alfie and Peter climbed down the ladder from the rear, tried to ignore how Alfie's pants hung low, showed the rim of his black Diesel underwear. What the fuck is wrong with me today? I could still feel the blood faintly pumping from my adrenaline earlier in the morning.
"Glad you all are safe," Peter said, smiling, wiping the dirt on his hands on his shorts. His smile dropped when his gaze landed on Logan. "You too," he said forcibly. "So, is it done?" He turned to ask me.
It was Logan who answered him. "All the rats are off the ship."
"Then we won't have to worry about them anymore. We're thinking of hitting downtown again, scour for more supplies and equipment."
"What do you need?" I asked.
Peter gestured for Haskell to answer. "Uh, there's a dealership not far from here. We need Tesla batteries."
"Why Tesla?"
"We get more power out of those solar panels if we had their batteries. Normal RVs can output twelve volts max like that one back there, but Tesla batteries are made with lithium, much lighter, advanced in design, sure, but in the long run, it makes Cora sing well in twenty-four volts without breaking a sweat, and half the wiring to do it. Each of those solar panels is two-hundred watts, so that's...a thousand total. We have that. We're pretty much self-sufficient."
"Er, Cora?"
Haskell smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, we named the RV Cora last night. She's ready once we get the batteries, plus, finish up those solar panels."
"As long as you guys avoid anything south of downtown."
Alfie nodded. "Right. Right. Um, are you sure we can't try to get rid of them? Lead them out of town? There's a lot of supplies the Alphas left in the mall that we can probably use."
"Especially guns and ammo," Peter added.
"Or a better generator for the RV," Haskell chimed in. "Man, I'd turn this baby into a hybrid."
I shook my head. "Too much of a hassle and very dangerous. I don't know how many Alphas had turned into one of them, and I doubt we can pull it off with thousands of them—maybe if there's a thousand less, we can. Anyway, as long as they stay where they are, and we don't attract their attention, I'm happy."
"Still. We were gone three days, and a lot of shit got done. I'm impressed, guys," Logan commented, patting Alfie on the back.
Alfie, grinning, glanced at Peter. "We did have an annoying drill sergeant over here. If you had taken Peter with you, I doubt we'd be done this fast."
Peter stood erect, head held high, clearly proud at what he had done, though he tried to be humble. "I can't take the credit. I have to thank you, Bren. You got rid of the Alphas, so it's easier for us to rummage through town. Hey, want a tour of our ride?"
I smiled. "Sure."
"Awesome."
It used to be something called a Class-C motorhome, barely thirty feet in length and nine feet wide, made only bigger due to the armor that Haskell had put on the side, rendering any vector from latching onto the vehicle yet it still looked...small. How are eight people going to fit inside of that thing? They also attached a massive breach bumper at the front, which Alfie took apart from a snow plough. We would be able to drive through any obstacle on the road (unless it got stuck), but Haskell already built a mechanism to raise and lower it to avoid that from happening. The windows had shutters to open and close from the inside with portholes for guns. Floodlights were built at the corners, rain catchers on the roof's edge, spare tires hanging on the side (and as extra protection), and they had fastened three mountain bikes pressed together at the bike rack on the rear. Used for scouting—quiet and efficient, and only needs our endurance as fuel.
"Come! Come, guys! You should see what we did inside!" Alfie bellowed, trying to suppress his excitement. He opened the central door on the right side—the only entrance into the RV (except for the two emergency hatches found at the top and the bottom).
"Are you sure we're going to fit?" I asked.
"It might look smaller on the outside, but it's quite spacious. You'll see." He picked up a shirt hanging on the back of a chair and slipped it on.
Three steps in, I was proven wrong. They had changed most of everything inside when we found it weeks ago. Haskell led me to the kitchenette.
"It's a lot smaller, this one. We're not going to cook overcomplicated meals or grill a lot of stuff, so I took out a lot of the counters and left us plenty of space to add this,"—he pointed at the sofa bed—"which leaves plenty of sleeping space. We still have the microwave, the fridge, and the coffee maker, as you can see. Over the sofa bed's the TV. No dishwasher, though, but we can live without it. The dinette also becomes a bed, drop down the table, and we can just put a mattress over it. Over that is another bunk bed, though small, but we're able to fold it out of the way."
"How many could sleep here?" I asked.
"Two on the dinette bunk bed. One on the sofa bed," Haskell answered. "Four more in the room back there."
"Is the TV working?" I asked, hopeful. It would be nice to watch the news and get to know what was going on worldwide.
"Not yet. We're just setting up the antenna on the roof. It's almost done."
"That's good to hear."
Haskell then gestured to the hatch leading to the roof right above the kitchenette. "And here are the buttons for the window shutters,"—Haskell pointed at the button right next to the door—"and the windows will close within a second, so you better be inside when it does. Any hands or fingers still clinging on the windowsill will get chopped off. Bye, bye limbs! Pretty neat, huh?"
Logan giggled. "Brutal."
"Pretty neat." I looked at the dinette, which could seat two people on each side. Then, I saw three small monitors propped opposite of that with a video feed of the outside. "What's this?"
"Ah, that's our security cameras. It is tiny, grainy, only gives out a black-and-white picture, but it pulls only a tiny amount of power from our solar panels. It saves energy, really. This covers all our blind spots around the RV. If we hear a threat from outside, we're going to be able to see them. And here next to it, we flick that switch, and voila! Floodlights." He turned on the floodlights. I stuck my head outside the door and was surprised at how bright they were. I went back inside. Haskell added, "Unfortunately, those floodlights use a lot of our energy, so we can't leave them out for more than an hour. We won't be able to make coffee after that." He laughed.
"Cool," I heard Logan whispered behind me.
I chuckled. "And I'm guessing Miguel is not too pleased with how you downsized his kitchen?"
Haskell threw his hands up. "I'm sure what he cooks will still be good. When we get to Pittsburgh, he can cook whatever he likes."
I watched the monitors again, guessing that the first two cameras were each placed on the driver and passenger side, facing the rear. The last monitor was an overhead shot from the back. I'm impressed.
"We took apart the entire windshield and replaced all of it. I mean, come on, it's the weakest side of Cora. Now, it comes with grated coverings, coiled barbed wires out the rims, and shutters." Haskell showed me where the plow's buttons were (just beside the stick) and another button for the floodlights (next to the radio tuner). On top of the glovebox was a mounted CB radio next to another monitor with a different rearview feed, acting as a backup camera. The fewer accidents, the better.
"And here is where I sleep," Haskell gestured to the bunk bed cubby above the driver and passenger seats. I could already tell it had a memory foam mattress and at least four pillows, and a warm blanket (a luxury now in this new world). It was probably the best place to sleep in the RV. Though, it only had space for one. "Since I'm gonna be the one driving Cora around, I gotta be close to the wheel, you know."
"Hey, wait a minute, wait a minute. I thought I was the one driving. We discussed this," Peter said.
"Did we?"
"I'm pretty sure we did."
"Huh. Slipped my mind."
"Hoss..." Peter put his hands on his hips and glared at Haskell.
"Oh, come now, Gauthier! We have to let your brain and muscles rest, bud! You're one of our top fighters! You're our best line of defense, you know? You gotta be ready, no, primed before a fight, then get tired driving around on a boring road, get sleepy and all that..." Haskell said, arm around Peter now, who tried to pull away. Haskell wasn't letting him.
Peter rolled his eyes. "Asshole. Fine. You can take care of your precious Cora."
"Aw, thanks, Pete. I knew I can count on you. Be in your best fighting shape like Bren and Logan here!"
"Have you forgotten you're a soldier, too?" Peter raised his eyebrow. "Be on your fighting shape."
"Let's face it. Once Westpoint is done, I would be a technician or a mechanical engineer on a base somewhere, anyway. Here, I put my awesome skills to good use. Plus, I'm still wounded."
"Bah. You always give that excuse." Peter slapped him on the butt, and Haskell yelped. "It ain't that bad now."
Haskell shook his head and sauntered to the back of the RV. "You gotta work on your flirting skills, Pete. You're getting rusty."
Logan and I followed Haskell, who then showed us the bathroom-slash-shower room, which could only fit one person at a time. The opposite was where the water treatment tanks produced our freshwater (and where the rain collector barrels were connected to the tank). On the next cabinet were the generator, batteries, and electrical panels. He gestured to the lower shelves where the Tesla batteries were going to be placed.
"And here's where the rest of you are sleeping," Haskell said.
The door was gone leading into the cabin and was exchanged for a gray privacy curtain, which Haskell pushed aside. What used to be a queen bed was now replaced by bunk beds, propped on each side.
"This room sleeps four people, and both bunks have twin beds, so there's extra legroom for ya'll tall, fine folks." Haskell look at Logan, Alfie, and Peter. "And there's the second hatch"—he pointed to the floor between the bunks—"a quick escape below, if need be."
"Uh, what about our clothes?" Logan asked.
"Back there's the wardrobe, and since we don't carry lots of clothes anyway, I made it smaller for space. I reckon we can fit all the stuff we have for both warm and cold weather, brrr."
"I call top bunk!" Peter and Alfie shouted out.
Haskell looked at me. "Miguel already called the sofa bed. The dinette is for Yousef, and the bunk over that one is Jun's since he insists on being closer to the door and the cameras. Something about wanting to be more aware...I don't know. If I were you, I wouldn't fight him on that one."
I shrugged. "Lower bunk works for me. "I pointed at the bed on the right. "That's mine."
"And I guess this is mine," Logan said, sitting on the opposite bed, eyes going wide. "Wow. It's pretty...comfortable. Not going to lie."
"Memory foam," Haskell said.
"Ah."
"Look at the bright side. At least all of these are free!"
"This is nice and all, but how well does it run?" I asked.
Peter smiled. "We did drive tests around the yard right after you guys left. We used an engine that runs well, about twenty miles per gallon."
I let out a whistle. It saves us fuel, but this thing's not going to be able to outrun a charging horde, unlike other cars.
"Are you sure we're ready?" I asked.
I noticed that Haskell, Alfie, and Peter all shared a mischievous grin.
"What?"
"Come. We saved you the best part," Alfie said, leading us out to the main lounge. "The RV already comes with two storage spaces below, but we managed to make a weapons pit here."
I paused. "A weapons pit?"
Alfie smiled and kicked a rug to the side, revealing a latch. He pulled, placed the latch door on top of the table. I looked down at two rectangular baskets shaped like a meshed storage chest, filled with all sorts of weapons and ammo. Then, Peter and Haskell took a rope tied to the side of the handlebars and hauled it up, kicking some metal contraption below, snapping a grating upward from the sides so that the basket did not fall back into the hole. In both baskets, all the guns we had taken and raided from the Alphas' outposts were all in there. I could see Bean's crossbow sticking out of the pile.
Logan whistled. I smiled, said, "Now we're talking."
——
It was still in the middle of the afternoon, and I helped the others fixed the RV up. Though I am not a tinker nor a machinist by any means, I was left to follow what Haskell or Alfie wanted. I ended up fixing the solar panels since screwing them tight was much easier than fixing and then manipulating the electrical wirings underneath the vehicle with a greater chance I would just fuck it up. I had no intention of ruining our ride out of here. As the sun began to dip, Miguel called us out for dinner (another packaged, out-of-the-carton mac'n cheese) and prepared ourselves to secure the perimeter before nightfall.
Over dinner, we would discuss the same things. The vectors, the disease, families, loved ones, memories, the favorite thing we wanted to do in the old world, and sometimes, when we're brave, we'd talk about our future. In a time when it was so fleeting, sometimes, it scared us to think that far ahead. One day at a time was our philosophy.
But Pittsburgh was on our mind just because that's the last time we believed Margot, Tessa, Henry, and Clemons were. Also, it's one of the big cities in our path westward. Peter still talked about Binghamton, but the maps that we stole from the Alphas already showed they were in the process of moving in and taking the city for themselves. Part of me didn't want to risk it going toe-to-toe with them again, yet another part of me wanted to help the CRA and whoever was left holding down the fort. Perhaps they can help us go to Pittsburgh safely? Another helicopter? The latter only made my stomach churned, flinched, trying to shake off that night, the screams and the falling debris...
We then talked about our routes, where the "Top Two" had been debated for many, many weeks since we found the RV. I tried to avoid the topic, seeing as it didn't matter which way we went as long as we made it safely. Others disagreed.
The first route was the safest. However, it would take us into more farmlands, into forgotten backroads and off-beaten passes. Then, into sparse little towns, villages, and hamlets, and then through the Appalachians, make food and gas more difficult to find, especially if we were driving with a heavy vehicle like the RV. On the upside, there would be fewer vectors. A lot of people in the group found that attractive, including me. However, I wasn't sure about extending more of our trip four times as long as it would take with the other...
...which was the second route.
"We can't go to the cities again," argued Peter, shaking his head and wanted to be done with the conversation. He put his empty bowl aside.
"But think about it! "Logan exclaimed. "Most of the people have already fled, leaving many supplies for us to find. We already know the RV can't hold the number of supplies we need for weeks traveling to Pittsburgh. We're bound to stop and look for supplies."
"And it will be dangerous. Can't you think? There could be other militias that have formed aside from the Alphas, hostile survivors that now control those cities, and then we have to face a bigger horde of vectors, which is just probably waiting to eat you!"
"I mean, Logan's right, Pete," Miguel chimed in.
Peter's eyes bulged, not anymore hiding how surprised he was that the conversation had turned against him. "I thought everyone wants to stay safe! We can take it to the mountains and forage what we need there. We have Jun to teach us, right Jun?"
Jun kept silent, still eating his share of mac'n cheese. Peter waited for him to answer, but he got nothing. "Uh, I'm sure he agrees with me. We'll go to the mountains. End of discussion."
"But that's what you want from the start!" Logan bellowed. "We wouldn't be here if you hadn't forced us to go up there. We wouldn't have been ambushed."
"Don't you fucking blame that on me!" Peter turned beet red, and I was afraid he was about to jump on Logan and started punching him with his fists. I placed my bowl on the floor, ready to jump in if needed, but Miguel, thankfully, interjected.
"Guys, guys! Let's keep this civil! Pete, no one will argue that we do want to be safe—"
Peter groaned. "I'm sensing a but coming."
"—But we also need fresh water. The treatment tank can only do so much, but not enough for the eight of us. Look, it's in the middle of summer, and it's just the beginning of July. The days will grow hotter and hotter, and we won't collect any rain for days. You guys might have lived in Oregon, where the weather there is different, but this is the Northeast. Summers here are hot. Our bottled water would run out before we can get to Pittsburgh, even if we rationed it. We'd have days without water."
"There's plenty of that in the mountains!" Peter moaned.
"No," Jun said nonchalantly.
Everyone turned and stared at him as if hearing a ghost for the first time. "What did you say?" Peter narrowed his eyes at him.
"Hot summer, yes, unusually hot. You don't have to go far to feel how hot it is. The creeks will be long dry. No rain for weeks, so no water is going to the tributaries, the lakes. You name it. Hard to find water in the forest. we'll find plenty in the big tributaries or rivers."
"You can't be sure."
Jun shrugged. "Cities are built around big bodies of water since forever. It's always there, and so it's easy to find. The mountains and the forests are too big. We'll have to look for days, time which we don't have when we're dehydrated."
"Thank you, Jun!" Logan clapped his hands, giving Peter the 'I told you so' eyes.
Jun added, "And if we go to the mountains, all dehydrated, how are we going to fight the vectors once we come down from it? How are we going to protect ourselves from other people when we arrive at a fortified town like this one?"
Miguel nodded and continued, "We can follow the river, and yes, that means driving through populated areas, but we have ways to go around them. I know there are already four major cities on our way if we take I-81, but I think the rewards justify the risks we're taking. More food to find, and we have water."
I didn't have to listen further to know that the debate was over. I stood up and patted Peter on the shoulder. "Cheer up. We can pull it off."
I strode off the room to take a piss, shaking my head and amused about everything, trying not to laugh at Peter sulking like a child at the corner, angrily eating a second helping of mac'n cheese, and then shooting daggers at Logan across from him. Logan, in return, smugly held his head high, and he wasn't afraid to let Peter know it.
One day, these two are going to kill each other. I wonder why they haven't already?
I let out a heavy sigh. Still, it'll be a long trip, no matter where we go. I just prayed it would be smooth sailing from here on out.
The universe didn't abide by those rules.