Apocalypse Asunder by David Rogers Page B

rope emerged from the opening to the storage tank, and she grasped it by the thick doubled-wire handle.  Carefully she poured it into the waiting gas can next to her, adding another gallon to their reserves as the liquid gurgled down the funnel she’d rigged up from cardboard, foil, and duct tape.  As she fed the can – an old paint can that had been scraped and scrubbed clean – back down into the tank, she glanced around again.
    They were nearly a hundred miles from Knoxville, somewhere north of Albany.  Bypassing any sort of actual town or village or whatever made the going slower than she’d expected, but there had been no problems.  Tracking back and forth, sometimes having to go south two miles before north-east three just to then be able to go south some more was a little frustrating; but she was willing to pay that price.  So long as it kept them away from any heavy concentrations of . . . anything.  At this point she was fearful of people as much as zombies.
    She knew it was an unrealistic attitude; the world wasn’t full of rampaging marauders.  Not full .  But she was only just now starting to breathe easier.  Maybe once they cleared Georgia she’d be able to finish compartmentalizing Knoxville and its bad memories.  Maybe then she’d be able to put it behind her.  But she’d had proof of what some people were capable of doing when there wasn’t any rule of law to rein them in.
    “It only takes one mistake.” she thought tiredly.
    “You okay?” Austin asked.
    Jessica realized she’d been day dreaming a little, and shook herself.  “Fine.  Just . . . I’m fine.”  She started hauling the paint can back up, once more full of gas.
    “I could spell you some you know.” he offered.
    “No, I need you healthy.”
    “I’m okay.”
    “This isn’t as easy as it looks.” she said as she pulled the rope up, bringing the can with it.
    “I know, that’s why I’m offering.”
    “Right, which is why I’m telling you to sit your . . . butt up there and play watchman.  Where are we going to be if you pull something open and start bleeding internally?”
    “Okay Mom.” he said.
    Jessica paused with the can finally in hand once more to give him a narrow look of wry amusement.  “You love that don’t you?”
    “I’m just keeping watch.” he said innocently.
    “Right.  Candice, you’re doing a great job helping him.”
    “Four eyes are better than two.” the girl said from the hood of the SUV.  She could easily scramble down and duck into the SUV, or up on the roof with Austin, if something really dangerous developed; and her presence reduced the amount of twisting and turning Austin had to do for a complete watch on their surroundings to be maintained.
    “That’s right.”
    Jessica emptied the can into the gas container, then lowered it for another measure.  Twenty-two gallons for the SUV, then nine out of thirteen so far to refill the gas cans they had on hand.  One gallon per ‘trip’ with the paint can, more or less; which was thirty-one trips so far.  Thirty-one times hauling up roughly six pounds per trip.  Austin had helpfully informed her gas weighed less than water.
    She’d already hauled more gas than her body weight, and still had another four gallons to go before the cans were full.  Her arms and back were aching, and her knees were bruised from kneeling on the concrete for so long – even with the pair of folded towels she’d positioned as cushions – but she kept at it.  It wouldn’t get done if she didn’t do it.  Candice might be able to haul a few cans up, but Jessica would be surprised if the ten-year-old had the endurance to keep at it for very long.
    And Jessica was quite serious about Austin pulling something.  That she was sweating so hard was proof this was rough work.  He was tough and determined, but willpower didn’t keep flesh from tearing when you abused it.  The sooner he was returned to full health, the better for all three of