old virus."
Harrison was surprised and asked, "The Poppers?"
"Yes."
He wiped away his tears and shook his head. "I haven't seen a Popper in years. Are you sure?"
"I'll take you down there and show you if you want. But first we need to get out of here. The dogs in this area are some of the most aggressive I've seen."
Harrison held up his shotgun, a pump action Winchester that held eight rounds, and offered it to me. "Here, I'll drive. I don't feel like killing nothing right now." He shook his head and pressed his thumb and index finger into his eyes to stem the tears. "I can't stop thinking about those babies. Lord help me if they're dead. Lord help me."
I took the gun and waited as the preacher climbed down over the side and got into the cab. He was still shaking, as if the news of the town's demise had ravaged him. It had been a long time since I cared about the survival of anyone other than myself, and his emotions were hard for me to relate to. The old man was sobbing as he got into the truck and I watched him through the rear window as his shoulders trembled while he cried. He set his forearms over the top of the steering wheel and his head on them as he wept.
My life was devoid of familial bonds, and there wasn't a single person alive that I could call a true friend. I was content only when I was moving. Staying in one place, even for just a few days, made me nervous. Harrison's emotional response to the death of the people in the town was more of a shock to me than it should've been. Anyone else would've sympathized with him, but I was only able to stare at him in wonderment.
Finally, the truck rumbled to a start and shifted into gear. The noise of the rims grinding against the pavement was excruciating as we labored forth. I had to sit down and hold onto the side as the truck jostled violently.
The pack of dogs relentlessly hunted us, even as we drove away. They ran along the side of the road, in the weeds, and a few of them revealed themselves as they loped along. Feral dogs were a plague to the survivors of the apocalypse, but the ones here seemed ravenous and more vicious than most I'd encountered before. I didn't know why, but I theorized that they sensed the reemergence of the virus, and began to hunt food more intently in case supplies might soon run low.
We drove west, toward the mountains, for almost a mile before encountering the first road that turned right, which would allow us to drive down to where the industrial colony was hidden. The dogs had given up their chase, but I continued a vigilant watch since we were still moving slow enough for them to keep up if they wanted to.
When we turned, I noticed that there was another Juniper tree at the corner. Its branches leaned north, seeming to point the way to the colony. It was then that I realized the people of the town had deliberately trimmed or otherwise influenced the growth of the tree to direct knowing travelers to the site of their town. If someone wasn’t aware of the 'signposts' they wouldn't notice the otherwise obvious clues.
Harrison followed the road down to an unassuming driveway, shielded by two Juniper trees that intertwined over the gated entrance. The metal pole that could be used to block the drive had been opened, allowing us to continue without having to open it. Harrison moved slowly while the truck's rims grinded on the concrete below. They groaned with increasing intensity as if an axle was ready to snap.
We parked beside the covered vehicles outside of the plant's entrance and I hopped out. Stubs barked and ran up and down the metal bed, hopping desperately as I left him. His hind leg had healed nicely over the past few days, and he was very nearly able to jump out of the back of the truck. "Don't worry, buddy. I'm not going to leave you here for the dogs to snatch you up." I reached down and picked him up as Harrison got out of the truck.
The old man looked ashen, devoid of the vigor he'd displayed in the back of the
Harrison was surprised and asked, "The Poppers?"
"Yes."
He wiped away his tears and shook his head. "I haven't seen a Popper in years. Are you sure?"
"I'll take you down there and show you if you want. But first we need to get out of here. The dogs in this area are some of the most aggressive I've seen."
Harrison held up his shotgun, a pump action Winchester that held eight rounds, and offered it to me. "Here, I'll drive. I don't feel like killing nothing right now." He shook his head and pressed his thumb and index finger into his eyes to stem the tears. "I can't stop thinking about those babies. Lord help me if they're dead. Lord help me."
I took the gun and waited as the preacher climbed down over the side and got into the cab. He was still shaking, as if the news of the town's demise had ravaged him. It had been a long time since I cared about the survival of anyone other than myself, and his emotions were hard for me to relate to. The old man was sobbing as he got into the truck and I watched him through the rear window as his shoulders trembled while he cried. He set his forearms over the top of the steering wheel and his head on them as he wept.
My life was devoid of familial bonds, and there wasn't a single person alive that I could call a true friend. I was content only when I was moving. Staying in one place, even for just a few days, made me nervous. Harrison's emotional response to the death of the people in the town was more of a shock to me than it should've been. Anyone else would've sympathized with him, but I was only able to stare at him in wonderment.
Finally, the truck rumbled to a start and shifted into gear. The noise of the rims grinding against the pavement was excruciating as we labored forth. I had to sit down and hold onto the side as the truck jostled violently.
The pack of dogs relentlessly hunted us, even as we drove away. They ran along the side of the road, in the weeds, and a few of them revealed themselves as they loped along. Feral dogs were a plague to the survivors of the apocalypse, but the ones here seemed ravenous and more vicious than most I'd encountered before. I didn't know why, but I theorized that they sensed the reemergence of the virus, and began to hunt food more intently in case supplies might soon run low.
We drove west, toward the mountains, for almost a mile before encountering the first road that turned right, which would allow us to drive down to where the industrial colony was hidden. The dogs had given up their chase, but I continued a vigilant watch since we were still moving slow enough for them to keep up if they wanted to.
When we turned, I noticed that there was another Juniper tree at the corner. Its branches leaned north, seeming to point the way to the colony. It was then that I realized the people of the town had deliberately trimmed or otherwise influenced the growth of the tree to direct knowing travelers to the site of their town. If someone wasn’t aware of the 'signposts' they wouldn't notice the otherwise obvious clues.
Harrison followed the road down to an unassuming driveway, shielded by two Juniper trees that intertwined over the gated entrance. The metal pole that could be used to block the drive had been opened, allowing us to continue without having to open it. Harrison moved slowly while the truck's rims grinded on the concrete below. They groaned with increasing intensity as if an axle was ready to snap.
We parked beside the covered vehicles outside of the plant's entrance and I hopped out. Stubs barked and ran up and down the metal bed, hopping desperately as I left him. His hind leg had healed nicely over the past few days, and he was very nearly able to jump out of the back of the truck. "Don't worry, buddy. I'm not going to leave you here for the dogs to snatch you up." I reached down and picked him up as Harrison got out of the truck.
The old man looked ashen, devoid of the vigor he'd displayed in the back of the
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