ago, and knew that interstate twenty led to Shreveport, and then to Dallas.
Jake piped up asking. “Are we going to walk to Texas from Vicksburg?”
“We are going to do exactly what we have to do to survive. If we have to walk all the way to Texas, then that’s what we’re going to do,” I answered.
Billy cringed, and said. “That sounds like fun.”
“Well hopefully we won’t have to walk the whole way,” I continued. “A truck might be the best option to have; we could carry other modes of transportation with us such as bicycles if we can find any. We need to keep an eye out for anything and everything that we might be able to use in some way.”
"Rule 10," Gin said smartly.
"Have you ever been to Vicksburg?" Jacob asked.
"Yes a long time ago, but not on the river, that’s why I made sure I packed the GPS. The satellites are still working, and as long as the batteries last we'll know where we are.”
“The reason we’re in this boat, instead of our van, is because you said we wouldn’t get fifty miles on the highway, and now you’re saying we’re going to take interstate twenty hundreds of miles into Texas?” Billy barked, seeming quite annoyed.
“Look, I said, we wouldn’t get fifty miles the way things were when we left home, it’s going to be a few days before we get to Vicksburg, and maybe by then things will have calmed down a little. And it's not like we really have a choice.”
I leaned back against the side of the boat and said. "Listen everyone, I don't have all the answers, and I really wish I did, but I don't. Life is going to be tough from now on; living is going to be tough from now on. We’re just going to have to do the best that we can. We’re going to have to lookout for each other, and protect each other, and just take things as they come. And let's face it, we can't stay in this boat forever.”
“Okay then,” Gin said. “Do you have any idea how long we’re going to be on this stinking river?”
“Well, it’s about five hundred miles to Vicksburg from where we started, and it looks like we’re traveling a little over one mile an hour, let’s say one point two miles per hour. If we divide five hundred by one point two.”
“Never mind,” Gin interrupted, rolling her eyes. “I guess we’ll get there, when we get there.”
“I’m hungry, can we eat something?” Jacob asked.
“Me too,” Billy said. “Hand me one of those cans of tuna, and a bottle of water.”
“The bottled water is in that box beside you,” Gin said, pointing to the box.
“Did we bring a can opener?” Billy asked.
“I didn’t,” Gin said.
“Neither did I,” Jacob added.
"Great, we have all of this canned food and no way to open it," Billy stated nastily.
“Everybody calm down, I have a P-38 on my key chain. Lucky I put my keys in my pocket back at the dock, force of habit I guess.” I replied as I reached into my pocket.
“You have a WWII German gun on your key chain,” Billy said smiling, trying to add a little levity to the situation.
“No,” Jacob said, also smiling. "He’s got a WWII fighter plane on his key chain.”
“You two are so silly, it’s a can opener, even I know that,” Gin said.
“Yeah, some people call it a John Wayne,” I said, as I pulled a lump of keys out of my pocket, and held it up for them to see.
“See, it flips open like this, and you hook it onto the side of the can. Toss me your tuna can Billy and I'll show you.”
I gave them a quick demonstration on how to use the John Wayne can opener, then cans of tuna and bottled water were handed out to everyone, and as we slowly drifted along surrounded by the floating bodies of the dead, and inhaling the foul stench of their decomposing flesh, we choked down our meager meals.
The next several days were pretty much the same as the days that had preceded them, groups of zombies were occasionally sighted on the riverbanks, stumbling around, snarling and growling at us, still afraid to
Jake piped up asking. “Are we going to walk to Texas from Vicksburg?”
“We are going to do exactly what we have to do to survive. If we have to walk all the way to Texas, then that’s what we’re going to do,” I answered.
Billy cringed, and said. “That sounds like fun.”
“Well hopefully we won’t have to walk the whole way,” I continued. “A truck might be the best option to have; we could carry other modes of transportation with us such as bicycles if we can find any. We need to keep an eye out for anything and everything that we might be able to use in some way.”
"Rule 10," Gin said smartly.
"Have you ever been to Vicksburg?" Jacob asked.
"Yes a long time ago, but not on the river, that’s why I made sure I packed the GPS. The satellites are still working, and as long as the batteries last we'll know where we are.”
“The reason we’re in this boat, instead of our van, is because you said we wouldn’t get fifty miles on the highway, and now you’re saying we’re going to take interstate twenty hundreds of miles into Texas?” Billy barked, seeming quite annoyed.
“Look, I said, we wouldn’t get fifty miles the way things were when we left home, it’s going to be a few days before we get to Vicksburg, and maybe by then things will have calmed down a little. And it's not like we really have a choice.”
I leaned back against the side of the boat and said. "Listen everyone, I don't have all the answers, and I really wish I did, but I don't. Life is going to be tough from now on; living is going to be tough from now on. We’re just going to have to do the best that we can. We’re going to have to lookout for each other, and protect each other, and just take things as they come. And let's face it, we can't stay in this boat forever.”
“Okay then,” Gin said. “Do you have any idea how long we’re going to be on this stinking river?”
“Well, it’s about five hundred miles to Vicksburg from where we started, and it looks like we’re traveling a little over one mile an hour, let’s say one point two miles per hour. If we divide five hundred by one point two.”
“Never mind,” Gin interrupted, rolling her eyes. “I guess we’ll get there, when we get there.”
“I’m hungry, can we eat something?” Jacob asked.
“Me too,” Billy said. “Hand me one of those cans of tuna, and a bottle of water.”
“The bottled water is in that box beside you,” Gin said, pointing to the box.
“Did we bring a can opener?” Billy asked.
“I didn’t,” Gin said.
“Neither did I,” Jacob added.
"Great, we have all of this canned food and no way to open it," Billy stated nastily.
“Everybody calm down, I have a P-38 on my key chain. Lucky I put my keys in my pocket back at the dock, force of habit I guess.” I replied as I reached into my pocket.
“You have a WWII German gun on your key chain,” Billy said smiling, trying to add a little levity to the situation.
“No,” Jacob said, also smiling. "He’s got a WWII fighter plane on his key chain.”
“You two are so silly, it’s a can opener, even I know that,” Gin said.
“Yeah, some people call it a John Wayne,” I said, as I pulled a lump of keys out of my pocket, and held it up for them to see.
“See, it flips open like this, and you hook it onto the side of the can. Toss me your tuna can Billy and I'll show you.”
I gave them a quick demonstration on how to use the John Wayne can opener, then cans of tuna and bottled water were handed out to everyone, and as we slowly drifted along surrounded by the floating bodies of the dead, and inhaling the foul stench of their decomposing flesh, we choked down our meager meals.
The next several days were pretty much the same as the days that had preceded them, groups of zombies were occasionally sighted on the riverbanks, stumbling around, snarling and growling at us, still afraid to
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