to the car.
“I think I might have crossed a line there, Alan.”
I turned and walked past Alan’s body to the brochure rack. I took every map there–both county and city. I figured they would make good additions to our future supply caches.
There was a toot on the horn from outside. I exited the building with my stack of maps. Some zombies were approaching, but I had plenty of time. I got in, put the machete in the floor at my feet, and pulled the revolver out of my pants to make sitting more comfortable.
Sara put the car in reverse and actually swerved so she could hit one of the nearby creatures. The thing flopped up onto the trunk then rolled off.
“I’m sorry if I made you mad,” I said. “I was just joking.”
“I’m not mad,” she said, putting the car into drive and ramming a second creature.
“If you say so,” I said.
She looked over at me, but she didn’t reply. She pulled out onto the road and headed south. I kept waiting for her to say something. I wasn’t used to the women in my life letting me get in the last word. My ex always got in the last word, as did Jen. Sara’s silence bothered me. It made me want to needle h er some more so she would talk, b ut I didn’t.
“I knew Alan from before,” I said, trying to make conversation.
“I could tell,” she replied.
“He always shot down my ideas. He was nice, but…you know…kind of passive aggressive.”
She looked at me and nodded.
“I just had to get some things off my chest….you know.”
“Yeah.”
“One time he told the city council that they should cut funding to the museum. He said it was a waste of money.” I shrugged and looked down at my feet.
“Sorry to have stolen that moment from y ou and your machete,” she said.
Ouch.
“Yeah…listen…I’m sorry about the Jesus joke. It’s just that I ne ver heard you cuss, that’s all.”
“Water under the bridge,” she said. “Open the map, navigator. We’re looking for Tucker Road.”
Tucker Road was out away from town and almost out of the county. It was one of those long, narrow, meandering back roads that probab ly started out as a wagon path more than a century before, its course determined by trees and barns and property lines that no longer existed. We took it slow on the road, not just because of its unnecessary curves, but because we were looking for a house with solar panels on the roof. We didn’t have a specific address. Luckily, the road didn’ t have that many houses.
We passed an intersection with another road, and I looked at the map.
“ That was Sion Lane,” I said. “We’re almost to the end of Tucker now. Are you sure it was Tucker?”
Sara sighed heavily and gave me an impatient, “Yes.”
“ M aybe Mrs. Somerville was mistaken,” I said.
“Maybe,” she replied.
We drove for another mile and the road ended at a stop sign where it connected to one of the main highways. Sara pulled out into the highway, did a U-turn, and head ed back the way we came.
“We must have missed something,” she said. “I ’m going to pull in at every house this time.”
“If we’re doing that, we should check for supplies while we’re at it,” I suggested .
She shook her head, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to focus on finding Nicholas and Judy.”
The first house was a newer mobile home with a small yard. The property butted up against a fenced cow pasture. To the side of the home was a child’s swing set. Next to the swing set was a scrawny, naked undead woman. She started toward us, dragging her feet. I stared at her, but Sara ignored her.
“The panels might not be on the roof,” Sara said. “In one of your Mother Earth News magazines, I saw how some people mount them on stands in their yard.”
“I don’ t see anything like that here,” I said absently as I kept my eyes on the approaching woman.
“I know,” Sara said, even more impatiently as she backed out of the driveway and back into the road . “I ’m trying
“I think I might have crossed a line there, Alan.”
I turned and walked past Alan’s body to the brochure rack. I took every map there–both county and city. I figured they would make good additions to our future supply caches.
There was a toot on the horn from outside. I exited the building with my stack of maps. Some zombies were approaching, but I had plenty of time. I got in, put the machete in the floor at my feet, and pulled the revolver out of my pants to make sitting more comfortable.
Sara put the car in reverse and actually swerved so she could hit one of the nearby creatures. The thing flopped up onto the trunk then rolled off.
“I’m sorry if I made you mad,” I said. “I was just joking.”
“I’m not mad,” she said, putting the car into drive and ramming a second creature.
“If you say so,” I said.
She looked over at me, but she didn’t reply. She pulled out onto the road and headed south. I kept waiting for her to say something. I wasn’t used to the women in my life letting me get in the last word. My ex always got in the last word, as did Jen. Sara’s silence bothered me. It made me want to needle h er some more so she would talk, b ut I didn’t.
“I knew Alan from before,” I said, trying to make conversation.
“I could tell,” she replied.
“He always shot down my ideas. He was nice, but…you know…kind of passive aggressive.”
She looked at me and nodded.
“I just had to get some things off my chest….you know.”
“Yeah.”
“One time he told the city council that they should cut funding to the museum. He said it was a waste of money.” I shrugged and looked down at my feet.
“Sorry to have stolen that moment from y ou and your machete,” she said.
Ouch.
“Yeah…listen…I’m sorry about the Jesus joke. It’s just that I ne ver heard you cuss, that’s all.”
“Water under the bridge,” she said. “Open the map, navigator. We’re looking for Tucker Road.”
Tucker Road was out away from town and almost out of the county. It was one of those long, narrow, meandering back roads that probab ly started out as a wagon path more than a century before, its course determined by trees and barns and property lines that no longer existed. We took it slow on the road, not just because of its unnecessary curves, but because we were looking for a house with solar panels on the roof. We didn’t have a specific address. Luckily, the road didn’ t have that many houses.
We passed an intersection with another road, and I looked at the map.
“ That was Sion Lane,” I said. “We’re almost to the end of Tucker now. Are you sure it was Tucker?”
Sara sighed heavily and gave me an impatient, “Yes.”
“ M aybe Mrs. Somerville was mistaken,” I said.
“Maybe,” she replied.
We drove for another mile and the road ended at a stop sign where it connected to one of the main highways. Sara pulled out into the highway, did a U-turn, and head ed back the way we came.
“We must have missed something,” she said. “I ’m going to pull in at every house this time.”
“If we’re doing that, we should check for supplies while we’re at it,” I suggested .
She shook her head, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to focus on finding Nicholas and Judy.”
The first house was a newer mobile home with a small yard. The property butted up against a fenced cow pasture. To the side of the home was a child’s swing set. Next to the swing set was a scrawny, naked undead woman. She started toward us, dragging her feet. I stared at her, but Sara ignored her.
“The panels might not be on the roof,” Sara said. “In one of your Mother Earth News magazines, I saw how some people mount them on stands in their yard.”
“I don’ t see anything like that here,” I said absently as I kept my eyes on the approaching woman.
“I know,” Sara said, even more impatiently as she backed out of the driveway and back into the road . “I ’m trying
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