Having lived in the Pittsburgh area most of her life, Morgan had never been to Greenfield. She heard of it, and for some reason she attached a bad rap section of town to it. She supposed it was like any other area, it had its shares of trouble, but there was a certain charm to the suburb. She just wished she was seeing it under better circumstances.

From where they were in downtown Pittsburgh, it was nearly five miles to Greenfield. She had set a route that was dismissed pretty quickly by Ross. Seeing how he was a police officer, she left it to his expertise. His route added a mile or so. Morgan didn't fret it, she walked further when she had gone to Vegas.

She believed at first they were looking for a car. It didn't matter, though. It was Pittsburgh, there were very little stretches of road where cars didn't block the way, at least a normal size car wouldn't get through.

The water remained high well out of downtown, beyond Duquesne University. It eventually stayed steady at ankle length, occasionally turning into a damp surface. Pittsburgh was a city of hills and slopes, if by chance the town was submerged in water, than they were in trouble.

They walked a main road that was blocked by overturned buses and cars, it was a mess.

The streets were empty and devoid of life. They passed the main hospital, and smoke rose from the roof. Fire had ravaged the entire building.

Every step she took, every painful step, Morgan hoped to see someone.

She didn't.

Sadly, seeing bodies was fast becoming common place.

They didn't speak much and they didn't discuss what was next after Ross' house. Morgan actually had nowhere to go, no one she wanted to look for. She supposed she could look for Craig, but they had been together long enough she felt his fate.

He was gone.

She realized as they walked she didn't know Ross. Only that he had a wife, kids, a big family and was a cop. Other than that, he was a mystery. He didn't ask any questions of her other than was she hurt and did she have kids.

He was a stranger to her and she had no choice but to place her trust in him. Either that or go off on her own which didn't make sense.

A little over half way on their journey, Ross veered off toward a squad car. The vehicle had crashed into a bus stop, the front end was like an accordion.

"Are you wanting to take the car?" she asked.

"No." Ross opened the door. "Ah, man."

"Do you know him?" Morgan asked of the dead police man slumped over toward the passenger seat.

"Yeah, yeah, I did." Ross reached inside and grabbed the radio microphone. He depressed the button. Nothing. He reached inside again and tried the ignition. "It's still in the on position. It ran out of gas."

"Like a lot of cars. It goes to figure," Morgan said. "They crashed and never shut off the car, they ran out of gas and the battery died. "

"That makes sense. Ross replied.

I have a radio at home. We'll try that." He moved away.

She wanted to ask, "Radio who?" She didn't. Morgan walked slowly, never once did Ross complain about her speed, or to tell her to "Keep up." He kept it steady, and Morgan did her best to stay close. When she drifted too far behind, he'd stop, wait, then move again.

Once they neared Greenfield, they hit the flooded area again, with water rising to her knees. A light drizzle started to fall. Morgan held out her hand and looked to the sky. A faint sound of thunder rumbled in the distance.

Ross' house was on a hill and had a safe and dry road. The river had spilled over at the bottom of his street forming a large pond. His home was near the top of the street. He paused as he stood on the sidewalk before the small front yard staring at the two story, gray siding home.

"You alright?" Morgan asked.

"Just getting up the courage before I go in."

"I understand."

"This is going to go two ways. I'm going to go in there and my family will be fine, or they won't. If they're fine, we all figure out the next step. If they're not, you and I need a direction because I won't want to stay here. I just can't."

She hated sounding like a broken record, but "I understand," was the best response she could come up with.

Ross' house had a great huge front porch. There was no furniture on it, they probably hadn't put it out yet. She took a seat on the steps, catching her breath, wiping the sweat from her brow. She'd wait there while Ross went inside his house. It was his to face and his to face alone.


There were three things that could be found in nearly every Pittsburgher's home. Chipped Ham, Heinz Ketchup and something Steeler related. Ross had those and he also had something else… a bottle of bourbon. He never ran dry, there was never less than half a bottle. That was just his thing.

He swore he could have drank the entire bottle when he saw the body of his three year old daughter on the living room floor. At first he thought she was alive, that somehow she survived. Her back was facing him, her blanket over her and she lay on her pillow in front of the television. She wasn't.

That's where she was and what she was doing when it happened.

His wife was at the kitchen table and his five year old daughter was still in bed.

A part of him knew and he felt they wouldn't be alive, but he was hopeful, and prayed a lot during the walk there.

Once he found them, he cried. Silently and into his fist, biting his hand trying to take away the pain of his loss. It would never go away, like his badge, he'd wear it on his soul forever.

There would be plenty of time to cry and grieve, but it was hard being in the house. He grabbed the bourbon, took a big drink, sought out the radio from the basement, grabbed his wife's car keys from the table in the living room and went to the front porch.

"I have a battery for this in the house. I'm gonna pack somethings and then we'll leave." He set down the radio and handed Morgan the keys. "Can you put this in the car? It's that blue smart car up there." He pointed two doors up.

"Oh, Ross, I am so sorry."

Ross nodded. "You're about my wife's size, I'll grab you some clothes. You need fresh clothes, too."

"Thank you."

Ross went back inside. He drank some more bourbon, grabbed a duffle bag and packed some clothes. Not much, he could get more on their journeys, wherever that would be. He grabbed food, water, and his extra gun. Before he did all that, he carried his youngest daughter and placed her in bed. He did the same for his wife and covered his family.

After he finished packing, he sat on the bed. He had been in the house a while, probably longer than he should have. He needed it. But it was a curse. The longer he stayed in his house, the more he thought about his purpose.

What purpose did he have? His wife was gone, his children, more than likely the rest of his family. He thought about his revolver and if he really wanted to make a journey, or was he already at the end of his journey?

In a moment of weakness he racked the chamber and lifted the weapon near his chin.

It was possible he would have pulled the trigger, he would never know.

Morgan called his name. "Ross."

The entire time he was in that house she never called out to him, bothered him or came inside. She gave him his time. So why call him now? She said his name once and there was something about the way she said it.

He stood from the bed, grabbed the two bags and headed down the stairs.

"Ross, you need to come out here."

He shouldered the bags and pushed open the screen porch door. He barely stepped out, about to ask her what was wrong, when he saw.

About a dozen people stood in the street.

They just stood there watching, arms at their sides all spaced apart a foot or so from each other.

"Something is wrong with them." Morgan looked over her shoulder, standing at the top step.

At first, Ross entertained the ridiculous notion that they were dead and had risen. They looked very much alive. "You got the keys?" Ross asked.

"Yes."

"Let's get to the car."

"Where are we going?"

"Just move," Ross instructed. He had his revolver still in hand and they walked down the steps. When he reached his yard, Ross recognized one. Tanner Stewart. Tanner lived a block over and his daughter was in preschool with Ross' five year old. He also knew him from being on the force, he had arrested Tanner twice for bar fighting.

But that was only one. He knew everyone on their street, so why did he only know one person. Who were the others?

They were dirty and sweaty, but they looked almost hypnotized.

"Why are they staring?" Morgan asked.

"I don't know. Did you try talking to them?"

"Look at them. Would you?"

Ross ushered her quickly to the car, when they arrived the group of people all turned and faced them. He tossed the bags in the car. "Get in." he instructed, then opened the driver's door and reached in with the keys, starting the car. "Get in!"

Morgan walked around to the passenger's side, continuously looking back at the group. She opened the door.

Ross took a step away from the car.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Get in. I'll be back."

"Ross!"

He took a few steps back toward the group of people, looking over his shoulder once to make sure Morgan was inside the car, then he walked directly to Tanner.

Tanner stared outward, not even looking at Ross.

"Tanner." Ross called his name. "Tanner." He snapped his finger in his face.

Tanner's eyes shifted and locked with Ross.

"Tanner, are you okay? Can you hear me? Can I help you with…?"

Before Ross could finish, Tanner expression unchanged, snapped out his arm and he gripped on to Ross' mouth. His thumb pressed against one cheek, while his fingers dug into the other. He squeezed so tight, Ross swore his teeth were going to pop out of their sockets.

He couldn't even say a word, his hand was cutting off his air. He reached up, trying to pull the hand away. He saw the rest of the group approaching.

Ross was a big guy, strong too, and he couldn't free himself.

In a final attempt to pull away, Ross struggled out the word, "Stop. Please." Then lifted his revolver, placed it to Tanner's chest and fired.

The grip didn't release and Ross fired two more times until he was finally free.

Tanner dropped to the ground and Ross fumbled to find his footing while aiming outward. He expected the others to immediately come for him, but they didn't. Lowering his weapon, Ross turned and ran to the car.

He didn't say anything to Morgan. He slammed the car door, put it in gear, and looked once more in the rearview mirror, before he sped off.


"My phone is one bar," Ray said. "Sorry, I can't talk anymore. I'm buried in eight feet of water, and we're trying to get out. It's getting higher. Storms haven't stopped."

"Have you had any earthquakes?" Judd asked.

"Some. Minor. Nothing compared to the water. It's the storms. That much water dumping in the ocean can shift plates. Don't they teach you that in school?"

"Oceans, I'm in Ohio. There are no oceans close. There's a lake."

"I have to go."

"Wait!" Judd yelled. "One more question. Have you seen… have you seen any strange people just lurking around."

Silence.

"Hello?" Judd called out.

"The quiet ones."

"That would be a good name for them."

"Yes. More and more are showing up. They didn't die, they just took a while to get up. Like they were in a coma. I think. Yeah."

"What's wrong with them?"

"I don't know. I just avoid them. They aren't good."

"So it's a virus."

"I don't know that either. I deliver pizzas for a living, I'm not a …."

That was it. The end of the call. Probably the last he would speak to Ray of Sunshine. Judd was rattled and he wanted to take away something from the call, but he couldn't remember what all Ray had said.

"He's in a big flood," Judd told Dawson as he kept looking out the window at Tire Man.

"Did he say anything about him?" Dawson asked.

"Not much." Judd hadn't bitten his nails since he was ten, yet there he was chomping away as he looked out the window. "They aren't good. Could be a virus."

"So he's a zombie. He doesn't move fast like World War Z. He's slow."

"I don't think he's a zombie. He was sweating yesterday. He's alive. Like that movie Twenty-Eight Days later."

"They ran in that movie. Super strong, too."

"You're eight. Why were you watching that movie?"

"I was allowed."

Judd bit a nail and peeked out. "This isn't good. I have to do something."

"You wanna kill him?"

"Yes. I mean no. I mean…" Judd looked at Tire Man. He just stood there, staring back. He stood in the same spot all night. He hadn't moved, in fact, his feet were sinking in the mud. "He's scary."

"Think you can take him?"

"Probably not."

"Why don't you see what he wants," Dawson suggested.

"We tried talking to him yesterday, remember. He didn't say a word. He just… stared. He's scaring the hell out of me and I don't like being scared. There's nothing in that survival book about catatonic lunatics."

"What's catatonic?"

"Don't worry about it." Judd bit his lip. He couldn't leave him standing there, he was unpredictable and dangerous. Judd was supposed to be protecting Dawson and he was more scared than the child.

How was he going to leave with Dawson if Tire Man was there, out there waiting? "Okay that's it." Judd backed away from the window.

"What are you doing?"

"Do you have a baseball bat around here?"

"In the closet." Dawson pointed to the one next to the front door. "Are you gonna beat him with a baseball bat? Make sure you hit him in the head."

"He's not a zombie. I'm gonna scare him away. I don't want to beat him." Judd opened the closet. A wooden bat was on the floor perched against the wall. "It would probably break on him." As he clutched the bat he felt the nervousness creep up and he jumped when thunder blasted. He could hear the instantaneous downpour hit against the house. Judd looked up. "Swell."

"It's raining again."

"I know." He shut the closet door and reached for the front door. "If something happens to me. Just… just… good luck. I don't know what to tell you." He opened the front door. "Jesus." He took a breath of courage and stepped out.

Tire Man stared at him.

Judd jumped a little when the door slammed. Another breath and he stepped from the porch. "I can do this. I can do this. Think big. Think angry. Be intimidating." He raised the bat that raised his voice. "What do you want!" Judd blasted.

He stepped off the porch into the pouring rain. His feet melted into the soft mud and water on the lawn.

He charged toward Tire Man. "Go away!" He moved closer. Tire Man didn't change expression. "Didn't you hear me!" Judd blasted in his loudest voice. "You got three seconds to go or I swear to God I am gonna bash you. You hear me?!"

Nothing from Tire Man.

"One." Judd stepped closer, it rained so hard, the water pooled in his eyes blurring his vision. "Two." He swiped the water from his eyes and moved within three feet of him.

He had played baseball all of his life, softball when he was older. He was good, he was a slugger and Chuck the Tire Man was a threat. Something was wrong with him, and as much as Judd wasn't violent, as much as he hated to hurt anyone, he couldn't take the chance with Dawson in the house. Tire Man was a big guy and Judd knew, he had one shot. It had to be good, or else he could be in trouble.

"Three!" Full force he lifted the bat and like stepping into the plate, he moved his leg forward and with all his might brought forth the bat.

A split second before connection, inches from his target, Tire Man lifted his left hand, tilted his head and closed his eyes while making a noise. A groaning noise that sounded like a cat, as if he had no vocal chords, ability to talk or hear anything.

Judd stopped. His eyes widened.

Tire Man lifted his hand again and flinched.

"What the hell?" Judd said, and lowered the bat in shock.


The blinking yellow stop light told Ross and Morgan that the town twenty-five miles north of Pittsburgh still had power. Once they made it out of the city and to the expressway, it was easy to maneuver around the cars. Rush hour was over when everyone dropped, and HOV lanes were clear and empty because they were closed at that time.

It was smooth sailing until the expressway met the interstate, then it was quite a bit of weaving. The tiny smart car worked well, but performed poorly when they ran into wet areas. For that reason alone, they needed a bigger vehicle.

Although, Morgan had no idea where they were going.

"We'll figure it out when we stop," Ross told her.

Morgan wasn't a go with the flow person, it made her antsy. She didn't bring it up to Ross because she knew he was dealing with a lot. His hands shook a lot when he drove and she really wished he'd stop sipping from the bourbon bottle as if it were a bottle of water clutched between his legs. She wanted to blame the booze for the shakes. Like Ross was some alcoholic who needed a fix, but she was with him the entire previous day and unless he was hiding his adult beverage, that wasn't the reason.

The tremors were brought on by emotions. He assumed that his family was gone and then he had the confrontation with the crazy people. It was a lot to handle.

She was happy when she saw that flashing traffic light, it signified to Morgan they were going to stop. It started to rain again, not quite as hard as the night before, but it was steady.

It was already mid-day, and without a plan, Morgan had no idea where they would stop for the night. They needed direction.

She also needed Ross to talk to her. That was something he hadn't done until they stopped the car at a convenience store and gas station named Sheetz. It was a common store to see in the area, the 'It' place for gas and decent late night food.

An SUV was parked by a pump, the nozzle wasn't connected and that meant they either pumped the gas already or were just about to.

Ross stepped out of the car. "We should be good here from any flooding. The elevation is good." He moved to the SUV and opened the driver's door. "The keys are here." He said as he started it. "Full tank, too. I think they have gas cans inside. I wanna fill some. I'll unload the car…" He rested his arm on the door. "I saw a sign for a motel up the road. We should stop there, even though it's early. You look pretty pale and should rest. How are you feeling?"

"I'm not feeling too bad. The pain pill is still working. I'd like to unwrap my ribs and redo them. Plus, you know, change into dry clothes."

"I bet. Me, too." He went back to our car and opened the back, grabbing one of the bags. He pulled out a tee shirt and a pair of those stretch and comfortable pants that fit tighter. "I didn't know what size you wore in shoes. She wears an eight." He handed her sneakers.

"They will work, thank you."

"Meet you inside."

She took the clothing and her purse and headed toward the store.

"Morgan," Ross called her. "Want me to go check it first?"

"No, I'll be fine."

"Be careful."

Morgan nodded. She probably would have thought the 'careful' was unnecessary had they not ran into the group of people outside Ross' house.

She kept her eyes peered and when she got to the store, she looked around. The air conditioning was on and it felt good, the odor wasn't as bad as it was outside either.

Once in the store, she saw the toppled ribbon that marked off the waiting line for the register, two customers were on the floor. She didn't see any employees, they probably were behind the counters.

By the soda machine was the body of a construction worker, he still wore his reflective vest. She stepped over him, grabbed a cup and filled it just a little with soda. It was cold and tasted good.

After spotting the rest room sign, she made her way there. The tiny health and beauty aids section was near there and she grabbed a comb that was ridiculously priced, a bar of soap and a roll of paper towels.

An employee mopping the floor had dropped not far from the rest room, Morgan had to step over him.

Once in the bathroom, she double checked the stalls, then she opened the towels, laying a bunch on the floor to have a clean spot to stand on. She was a mess, her face was dirty and injured, her hair looked tangled and muddy. If she could bend over the sink to wash it she would have, but she would wait until the hotel. A shower would be best. She undressed and threw away her clothes.

Undoing the binding felt so good, almost the same free feeling of taking off her bra at the end of the day. She took deep breaths while she washed up. Paper towels and a bar of soap did a great job. She needed to clean up so her injuries didn't get infected, she had no idea what was floating in that water.

Ross hollered in to check on her, then said he was filling gas cans, he'd be back and for her to get supplies.

She acknowledged his request and continued on. She combed her hair and pulled it as best as she could into a ponytail. It hurt to raise her arms, then she did an adequate job of rewrapping her ribs.

Morgan took a while, but she felt so much better, and when she stepped out of the bathroom and looked to the right, she smiled.

She remembered when Sheetz got their state permit to sell single serving beer and malt beverages and one of those Margaritas in a can sounded good while she sought out something to eat. She was hungry.

She visually scanned the cooler, finding one of those margaritas on the shelf to the right. She opened the glass and reached in. Just as she touched the can, she gasped and stepped back, when a woman in an employee smock stood in the cooler directly behind the shelf.

She was one of them. Her eyes were dead and she stared blankly at Morgan.

For some odd reason, Morgan wasn't scared. The woman must have been in there for days, she had a blue and hypothermia look to her, her lips were white and she huffed shallow breaths.

Keeping an eye on her, Morgan quickly grabbed the can and shut the cooler. She retrieved the mop and stuck the end of it through the handles to brace the doors. She popped open the can and sipped while watching the woman in the cooler for a few seconds.

Ross was still outside and while there were a bunch of snacks in the store, Morgan needed something with substance.

Figuring since the electricity was on, chances were there were items in the fridge that were still good. It was only two days since the event happened.

The grease in the fryers was cold, and they were off. Probably an automatic shut off to prevent fires. She grabbed a clean cloth, wiped off the counters and then after pulling a pack of buns, she opened them and laid them all out. She would make some sandwiches for them both.

She pulled out the luncheon meats, sipped her margarita, then through the corner of her eyes, spotted one of those blenders for frozen coffee drinks.

"Oh, wow." she paused in the sandwich making to follow the directions on the wall and make herself a coffee shake.

It actually went well with the margarita, sipping through the straw was tough, it hurt her ribs.

She had both beverages going when she began her sandwich making stint.

"That's quite a contrast of drinks," Ross said.

Morgan wasn't expecting his voice and jolted a little. "I was thirsty."

"I see that." Ross stood on the other side of the counter.

"Then I saw these." She held up the coffee. "It's refreshing."

"You look better."

"I washed my face. The pain pill is starting to wear off. Hence this…" She held up the margarita.

"Did you grab supplies?"

"No, I'm making sandwiches right now."

"Good thinking."

"Ross," Morgan paused in her sandwich making. "You aren't going to go off on your own or kill yourself, are you?" She listened, his footsteps stopped.

"Why would you ask that?"

"A feeling. You don't talk to me. You shut down."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"I don't believe that. We're it, well with the exception of those people that are strange and the lady in the cooler."

"There's a woman in the cooler?" Ross asked.

"One of those Starers," she said. "We're it. I want to know who I'm traveling with and you should, too."

"Did you examine everything when you were married."

"I did. This situation makes me think you're planning to kill yourself. It makes sense. You lost everything. I mean, it's your choice. I will ask you not to, I hope that you wouldn't, but it's your choice. I just ask if you do, please let me know so I can be prepared and maybe get a chance to talk you out of it."

"You won't have to. I won't leave you or kill myself." he said. "I faced that… I almost did."

The bread dropped from her hand and she turned around.

"When I found my family, my gun, I just… had a moment of weakness. Then you called my name. I put the gun down."

"If you have a moment of weakness will you let me know? I'll try to help you."

"I will," he replied. "What about you? Are thinking about it?"

"Not right now," Morgan replied. "I did months ago. When my husband left me for some woman with three kids. That was fleeting, though. No, I didn't really lose anything. I didn't have friends, my family had already passed. I had no children. The way I see it, my ex-husband is dead so I don't have to think about him with another woman, I have no deadlines on my job, I don't have to worry about my high insurance payment and I'm out of debt."

Ross chuckled.

"You smiled. That's impressive considering everything."

"Well, I thought what you said was funny. I mean..." Ross' hands went to the counter.

Morgan braced as well when the ground shook. Things clattered and the ground swayed.

"Are you kidding me?" Ross asked. "Was that an earthquake? An earthquake in Pennsylvania?"

"Probably. It's not the first. There's been many. You just don't feel them." Morgan answered almost nonchalantly, wrapping the sandwiches, placing them in a bag.

"You're not phased?"

"Not at all. I was expecting it. You've shared your theories." She handed him the bag. "When we settle for the night, I'll share mine."

"Share now."

"It's a little more difficult than that. My job was to be pretty anal," she said. "I have visual aids."


The prior evening, before the lights went out, before he heard from Ray of Sunshine, Judd read Dawson's mother's email. He was curious after finding the Dawson is 'special' email what it all meant. To him Dawson was a normal boy, not much different than Judd remembered being at that age.

An email from Dawson's teacher expressed concern about Dawson's lack of being in touch with reality. How he would easily escape to a different mental world when things weren't how he wanted them. Dawson's mother insisted that her child had an odd and keen sense about him. He often said things, or told made up stories, that somehow would happen or come true.

His teacher dismissed that. Judd guessed that was the reason she was writing the psychologist.

Dawson was unique. Sometimes he seemed to childlike, maybe even younger than eight. Other times he seemed different and reasonable. Like after Judd went for Tire Man with a baseball bat.

The second the Tire Man flinched, Judd couldn't hit him. He was afraid of Judd and couldn't communicate.

Yet, Judd wasn't completely trusting, After all, Chuck the Tire Man still stood in the yard staring with that dead pan look.

Judd simply carried the bat back into the house and locked the doors.

"Is he deaf?" Dawson asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean maybe that's why he didn't respond. He's deaf."

"I don't think so."

"Good thing you didn't kill him," Dawson said. "I can't believe you wanted to kill a deaf guy."

"Dawson, I don't think he's deaf. Look at him. Something is not right."

"Yeah," Dawson said. "He's standing in the middle of the yard. It's raining out and he doesn't notice or know anything."

"That's exactly it," Judd said. "Brilliant. He doesn't know anything."

"Think maybe his mind got erased?" Dawson asked. "One time my tablet fell in the toilet."

Judd looked at him oddly.

"It wouldn't start, but after my mom put it in rice, it did. However, it wasn't the same and we had to redo the whole thing. She kept saying we restored it. You think maybe he fell like everyone else, but when he woke up he was restored, so he's like a new tablet."

"Holy crap," Judd scratched his head. "That's pretty freaking brilliant dude."

"To make him the way he was you just have to download things. Teach him."

"Maybe. But I am not… teaching him anything." Judd walked away.

"Why not? Don't you feel bad for wanting to kill him?" Dawson followed him into the kitchen.

"No, absolutely not. Hopefully by tomorrow he'll be gone. Even if he's not, we have to go."

"Go where?" Dawson asked.

"I don't know. I wouldn't even know where to begin." Judd sat at the table.

"Does the survival book say anything?"

"Just to keep moving, look for others but avoid dangerous groups," Judd said.

"That doesn't sound very helpful."

Judd shook his head. "It's not. We do need to go. The weather is bad, it's getting worse and I think we need to get away from the city. With all the bodies out there, it's not good. So…" Judd folded his hands on the table. "Any suggestions?"

Dawson darted away into the other room and returned with a brochure. "Here. Can we go here? We were supposed to go there in three weeks. We were even getting a couple of days off school. My dad was gonna have a con... something."

"Conference?" Judd asked.

"Yeah, that's it. He was gonna do that and my mom was taking me to do the fun things. So can we?"

Judd looked down at the brochure. On the cover was a family on an amusement park ride and another picture was of a small storybook town. "Branson, Missouri. Wait …wait… you woke up this morning shouting Branson."

Dawson nodded. 'I was dreaming about it. I dreamt some man on a hill was waving his arm saying come to Branson."

Judd looked at Dawson then down to the pamphlet. More than likely, Dawson's dream was because he was thinking of his parents. However, just on the outside chance that Rita was right and this was one of Dawson's special moments, Judd wasn't going to dismiss it. Branson was a distance away, but it looked nice. Judd knew when they finally left, they had to have a place to aim for. The affordable and fun family vacation spot of Branson, Missouri was a path to follow. Besides, a destination and direction was far better than wondering around aimlessly hoping to find a suitable end game.


Ross gave a lot of thought to what Morgan asked. Did he want to kill himself? He was glad he was honest and told her that it had crossed his mind. Even though he didn't want to die, he still had no idea why he wanted to live.

The rain was steady. Oddly heavy and steady and there didn't seem to be an end in sight. When he commented on it, Morgan kept saying, "It makes sense." Almost like a verbal trailer to her big theory.

"Morgan, this isn't a company presentation," Ross told her. "What do you think happened?"

"Wait."

He groaned about her response as they made their way, convenience store bags packed, to the Motel 6. It was difficult to figure out what rooms were empty and what rooms weren't. The last thing he needed to do was find a room with bodies.

The computer system was rocket science to him. They figured it out but ended up just staying in the lobby. It had the small table area where the hotel served continental breakfast and the lobby had two couches.

Ross cleared the three bodies from the lobby and Morgan found an empty room and used that to shower. After Ross had gotten the lobby in order he set up his radio he brought from home and then found some blankets. Then he too took a shower and changed into clean clothes.

He felt better after cleaning up and changing clothes and was surprised when he returned to the lobby and found Morgan had set one of the tables for a meal.

"That's odd," he said.

"You don't have to sit here with me. I just thought it would be nice to stop and eat. As much as you say I need to heal, you do as well."

"Thank you." He pulled out a chair and his eyes drifted to the lobby window. "I can't believe how bad it's raining. Please don't tell me it makes sense."

"It does though." Morgan said a bit frustrated he kept dismissing her idea before he heard it.

Ross sat down. "Are you gonna tell me your theory?"

"Yes." Morgan lifted her purse, reached in and then placed a stack of folded papers on the table.

"What's this?"

"Visual aids."

"You printed up things to support your theory?"

Morgan nodded.

"So why don't you just tell me?" Ross asked.

"Last night, before the lights went out, I went on line. I started thinking about what happened, people just dropping like that. I felt like I was suffocating which tells me something in the air changed. Even just a smidgeon, it could cause asphyxiation. You called it an atmospheric blip."

"Yes, I remember," Ross said.

"Anyhow I thought what if it was a chemical weapon or virus, how would it get across the globe, I started looking at prevailing winds, global winds, and jet streams." She lifted out a sheet of paper and unfolded it.

"Westerlies and trade winds I assume."

"Yes, now bear with me." Morgan said with irritation.

"Oh, I have nowhere else to go. Go on." Ross replied sarcastically.

"A weapon would dissipate becoming less deadly. How do you get everyone on earth to drop dead at the same time? I kept thinking atmosphere."

"Everyone didn't drop at the same time. I think it started in the Marshall Islands."

"Or that area, so I started searching. Atmosphere, oxygen, that sort of stuff. Then bam! I found it."

"Okay, I'm game. What?"

"Geoengineering and cloud seeding."

Ross sat back. "Geo what?"

"Geoengineering is when you deliberately manipulate the climate and weather to fight the effects of global warming."

"Weather manipulation, like the HAARP. Morgan said.

So you think this geo thing caused people to drop dead?" Ross asked shaking his head.

"It's two things. Cloud seeding being the start. It's been going on since the nineteen fifties," she said. "United States did it all the time. They fly a plane, drop chemicals into a cloud, which produces rain. That's the simple method... however…" She pulled another sheet of paper forward. "China does it on a grander scale. The night of the 2008 Olympics they launched eleven hundred rockets into the sky to prevent rain. They don't drop down on the clouds they shoot rockets up. They've been doing this for decades. Fire a thousand rockets for rain, fire a thousand rockets for dry. China really took an extreme route to manipulate their climate. I'd say look it up, but the internet is now down."

"That was fast."

"Yeah," Morgan said. "Think about it. Rockets, Ross. Every major holiday, every national day, they do this. Here's where it gets good and makes total sense. Three days ago, they launched fifteen hundred rockets in an attempt to create snow, and New Zealand, with help from the UN, on the same day did the same thing only they wanted it for drought. All you need is for them to miss the mark and punch into the mesosphere. Even as far-fetched as it sounds, what if it was just done one time too many?"

Ross took in what she said, listening intently, rubbing his face. He looked at her perplexed.

"Now you have a breach of atmosphere, the weather goes haywire, and we get crazy storms. All that water dumping into the ocean at once causes the plates to shift, and now we have earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. Things will get messy fast and worse than anything we've seen."

"So in a nut shell, rockets fired to the sky one too many times, punch a hole into the mesosphere, the oxygen balance goes off a smidgeon, people choke and die, then the weather goes haywire. Explain us and how we're alive"

"I can't explain you, but I know me, my heart was racing out of control, what if that had something to do with it. When you're anxious, you're breathing is off, it becomes faster. What were you doing?"

"Trying to stay calm."

"See?" Morgan nodded. "This is it."

"What about the, what did you call, them Starers?"

"They suffered lack of oxygen to the brain." Morgan said matter of fact. "When they woke, they were able to function just not the way they remember so they act on instinct."

Ross mumbled his thoughts. "Instinct. Tanner was violent… no." He stood up. "No. This is science fiction. While I appreciate this theory, I really do, but please forgive me when I say this is crazy."

"It's plausible." Morgan stated emphatically.

"You did all this work, all this research, why?" Ross asked curiously.

"I need to know what happened."

"But you'll never know," Ross said. "Ever! Not for certain."

"This feels right," Morgan said quietly.

"Did you ever stop to think it was just an act of God, that maybe God said enough is enough."

Morgan laughed.

"That's funny?"

"Yeah, it is. I can't just accept and say," She deepened her voice. "Oh God did this. I can't. Besides, didn't the bible say he would never destroy the earth again?"

"No," Ross answered. "He would never flood the earth again."

"There you have it. We're probably gonna get a flood. A big one, too. All this rain, earthquakes, shifting… flood. If that happens it's not God or else he broke His promise. This…" She tapped on the table. "Is something. If we, or at least I… follow this theory, I can at least rationalize what is happening."

"All this…" he sat back down and shuffled through the papers. "Why did you print a picture of the globe."

"Trade winds and Westerlies? I was trying to see if maybe there was a pattern that this atmospheric blip followed. Maybe areas that weren't hit by the oxygen depletion."

"And you think there might be some area?"

"Yeah, at least not hit as bad."

"Like where?" Ross asked.

"Um… middle America, Kansas, Colorado and a little west."

Ross laughed.

"Oh, so now you're laughing at me?"

"The whole world dropped dead except middle America." Ross couldn't help laughing again.

"I'm not saying that as fact, I was just…" Morgan stopped her thought.

A hiss of static rang out on the radio and Ross jumped up so fast his chair fell backwards.

"This is NP67, QST all locations. Do you copy? Anyone there?"

Ross rushed over.

Static.

"This is NP67, QST all locations, Do you copy? This NP76 QTH, Branson, Missouri."

Upon hearing the location of the radio operator, Ross looked at Morgan and she just smiled back at him, feeling vindicated.


By the next morning the tremors were frequent. They were similar to labor, each one getting longer with shorter intervals in-between. Judd was extremely worried, he didn't know what they were building to, but it was something big. By morning it was time to go.

They had packed a lot of supplies to take with them, he wrapped his guitar in a garbage bag and duct taped it. He just wished they had a car at the house because looking at a map, he believed he found a series of backroads that would get them to a highway. They had to walk to the car, and in the hard falling rain it wasn't going to be easy.

"Maybe we should just stay and wait until it stops," Dawson suggested.

"No," Judd told him. "It's not stopping and it doesn't look like it's stopping anytime soon."

"How we gonna carry all this stuff?"

"We'll try."

"Can't we just stop at places on the way?" Dawson asked.

"We can. But chapter six says never assume there are supplies out there. I mean, what if there are gangs that claimed them. Then we go tromping out without food and starve. No, we need to leave now and with supplies. We wait any longer we're gonna need a boat."

Dawson smiled.

"What?"

Dawson gabbed Judd's hand and led him to the back kitchen window.

"What?"

"Why don't we take that?"

Judd peered out the window. Two doors down, in a neighbor's back driveway was a boat, it was about twenty feet long and covered, already on a trailer attached to the truck.

"I was joking about the boat."

"We should take it just in case."

"Dawson, I really don't think…" Judd looked up when the thunder clapped loudly and the ground vibrated. "Yeah, maybe that's not such a bad idea. You know, just in case."

"What about gas?"

"I don't know. We'll figure it out. Hopefully he'll have gassed it up."

"Enough to get to Branson?"

"Probably not. Wait... that's not Mr. Westerman's yard is it?"

"Yeah, it is..."

"Shoot. Well, he probably washed away by now. Let's go see if we can find the keys."

"Should we bring the stuff with us?"

"We'll wait until we pull it in front of the house. But we have to go out there now."

"Want me to stay here?"

"No, you'll come with me. Do you have a coat?"

Dawson hurried to the living room closet, he pulled out a rain coat and his rain boats.

To Judd he just looked so cute all dressed in the blue plastic wear. He took a hooded jacket and placed it on. It wasn't going to matter, he was going to get drenched. At least Dawson would stay semi dry. Judd had avoided one thing though, looking out or opening the door.

When he did, sure enough, Tire Man was still there.

"Why is he here? Maybe he's hungry," Dawson said. "Like a stray cat."

Judd took Dawson's hand and never taking his eyes off of Tire Man he stepped off the porch. The water covered his shoes, along with ankles, and came to Dawson's lower shin. He took a few steps and stopped.

Something was wrong. He looked left and right.

"What is it?" Dawson shouted over the downpour noise.

"The water is moving. The book says not to go out with moving water." He looked all around. It moved like a stream but it was a flat area, no slopes. It didn't make sense.

Clutching Dawson's hand they moved faster, they had to make it across the lawn, avoiding Tire Man who didn't move. As they made it from Dawson's yard, he then noticed the street. The water wasn't running one direction. It was going back and forth, unnatural looking.

A few more steps, the ground vibrated and the water moved faster. Then Judd felt a strong jolt, it nearly knocked him from his feet. He stopped walking when the water began to disappear.

"What the heck?"

Another tremendous jolt hit as if someone dropped a heavy object beneath his feet, and before he could register what was happening, not only did the ground crack, it split, separated wide and a huge chunk dropped, taking Dawson with it.

"Judd!"

Judd was still holding his hand and had to lower to the ground to keep his grip on the child.

Dawson balanced on a slab of concrete, his one hand joined with Judd's.

"Hang on!" Judd hollered. He couldn't see anything below Dawson, he didn't know how far down it went. Judd panicked, he begged in his mind to not lose Dawson. However the rain made it impossible and slippery. He struggled to pull him, losing his footing. Dawson tried to climb, but slipped back.

"No!" Judd pulled. "Please." The rain fell against his face and the grip he had on Dawson was slipping.

"Don't let me fall! Don't let me fall!"

"Try to climb." Judd grunted pulling harder.

He had Dawson's wrist, then his hands, then fingers… until finally, a sickening feeling hit his gut when Judd realized he was going to lose him.

His little fingers slipped from his and Judd cried out, ready to dive in, but before Dawson could fall into the hole, he was hoisted upward, gripped by his little rain coat and set on the ground next to Judd by Tire Man.

Shaking and on the verge of tears from fear and horror of what could have happened, Judd grabbed on to Dawson, grunting outward in desperation and wrapped him tightly in his arms. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He wasn't letting go. Not for a second, even with the rain coming down.

Judd had to calm down, he couldn't move. His whole body spasmed out of control. On the ground he took a moment, squeezed Dawson tighter and looked up to Tire Man with gratitude.


The couch was comfortable. Morgan had propped pillows behind her back and was able to sleep without too much pain. In fact, after she had fallen asleep, she didn't wake up like she had the previous night. Then again, her injuries were still fresh.

Ross was a good man, a family man. He had been with his wife his entire adult life and they waited awhile before having children. His job as a police officer and his wife not wanting to put her public relations job on hold to have a family caused problems early on in their marriage. They worked it out with the help, he claimed, from God, family and their church.

Morgan wasn't real big on the 'God" thing.

Ross picked up on that and shook his head when she was dismissive.

She was quickly learning a lot about Ross, one thing she realized was they were going to butt heads, and often. They were both hard headed people and their journey ahead was going to be interesting. The difference between them was she was more heated and he seemed a lot more even keeled.

They actually got into her life, too. How her husband left her for a woman with children, when he was the one that didn't want them.

He started doing some counselor, long term married man bullshit to her and she cut him off.

"I wanted him to stay, he didn't want to." Morgan blasted.

"Marriage is not fifty-fifty, it's a hundred percent on both parts." Ross stated with passion.

"Really?" she snapped. "So his cheating was my fault too." Seriously?

"No 'one' person is completely innocent." Ross insisted.

"Oh, that's so not true. That is such male shit." Morgan stated dismissively.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "This is coming from someone who was cheated on."

"Okay, so why is this important now?" Morgan asked. "He's dead."

"That's cold." Ross said shaking his head.

"It's true."

"You don't feel loss over a man you shared your life with?"

"No! I felt loss when he left me for her," Morgan said irritated. "I grieved. Now I'm relieved, so it's not important. The problem is now over and finished."

"You still need to forgive him."

Morgan laughed. "What for?"

"You'll carry this the rest of your life. Plus, I am sure his soul could use it."

"I don't care about his soul. Not now and I don't want to forgive. Come on, you've been there. How long did it take you to forgive?"

"Not long."

"Then you're a better person than me. If I need to forgive I will, but not now. It's a moot point."

"Are you in pain?" he asked, changing the subject, or so she thought.

"No. Why?"

"You're being very snippy, or is this just because of the radio call?"

The radio call? Morgan thought about it for a bit.

Actually, it did set her off, or rather Ross' take on it.

They both were overwhelmed when they heard it and despondent when they were unable to reply.

The man on the radio simply called out. His call number, his location and asked if anyone was there. Three times he repeated his call and then he added a, "I received a message and have information I need to share about an extinction event," then he gave a specific date that a pilgrimage to life would leave Branson. It was in one week. It was urgent, the man said, that all come to Branson.

That was it.

Yet something so basic was a source of contention between them.

Morgan saw it as a man who had information too in depth to give over the airways, so he simplified it with urgency. Pretty simple, Morgan believed, it was a join me message.

Ross on the other had delved deeper into the simplistic message. He believed the message was somehow more spiritual.

Again, Morgan laughed. "I hate to think of what the extinction event is. I mean, what does he call most people dropping dead? Think maybe he's in touch with a scientist or something?"

"I don't know," Ross said. "I think you were right in believing there may be pockets of places with people."

"So you don't think it's a God thing."

"Oh, I think it's a God thing." Ross nodded emphatically.

"Ross, you are a cop. I can't believe you are thinking this way. Blaming God is a cop out. You are going to feel awfully silly when you're wrong." Morgan said dramatically.

"Won't you feel silly when you are," Ross said a bit irritated.

"Um, it will take the skies opening up or Jesus himself making an appearance for me to believe this was something other than one that has a scientific explanation."

They agreed to disagree on that aspect, but did find themselves in agreement on leaving. They would head towards Branson and give it their best shot at getting there. A man called out on the radio, it was one more survivor in the world, and they wanted to find people. Survival in the aftermath would be better if they joined, or formed a community.

They planned to leave in the morning.

Morgan knew life on the road wasn't going to be easy and she self medicated and slept.

Ross must have spotted her open eyes.

She smelled the coffee.

"Made you a cup and filled a thermos," he said.

"Thank you."

"You might want to fill your belly."

"What time is it?"

"Almost noon."

Morgan started to sit up and then groaned. "Why did you let me sleep that long?"

"You needed to rest. Are you still in pain?"

"I'll know more after my body works out the kinks," she said. "I'm nowhere near the pain I was in yesterday."

"Good, Good. You need your strength and wits about you. In fact, we need to figure out some things out. We have a problem."

After telling her that, Morgan grabbed the coffee and took a big drink. Then another. The coffee helped her 'wits' and she stood from the couch and followed him across the lobby. "What's going on?" she asked.

Ross walked to the automatic doors. "I shut them down. Take a look."

She didn't really see anything through the slightly tinted glass, and the SUV along with canopy over the driveway blocked her view some. As soon as she joined him at the door, she saw the problem and gasped.

Outside of the motel, in the parking lot and not far from the door were people. Like the ones back at Ross' house, they just stood there staring, only difference was, this time instead of a dozen, there were hundreds.


It took a while for Judd to get it together. He felt like an utter failure. He nearly lost Dawson. Granted there was no way for him to know the street would break, but then again, had he paid any attention to the warning signs in the book, he wouldn't have gone further.

Moving water means danger.

Still, Dawson fell down that hole and had it not been for the heroism of the mute Tire Man, Dawson would have died.

Judd wasn't sure Tire Man understood what he did exactly. After setting down Dawson, the big guy stepped back. Judd didn't know how to react. He still didn't trust Tire Man, hero or not. Something was missing in his eyes. A soul, a conscious, something. No matter how good the dead, Judd wouldn't allow himself to trust him. He nodded a thank you, but then after embracing Dawson, he hurried through the rain to get to Mr. Westerman's house to get the truck and boat. Dawson didn't say much, just 'thanks and wow you're cool'. Judd didn't tell him that it was Tire Man that pulled him out. He would, just not now.

Judd felt a little silly getting the boat. After all, it was just rain, and really, where would they be going that it would get so flooded that they'd need to float their way to Branson?

However, something inside of Judd told him they needed the boat, it wouldn't hurt. If they didn't need it and were wasting gas, then he'd simply ditch it. If they did end up needing it, at least Judd knew how to man it.

He was right. The rain had washed away the gross remnants of Mr. Westerman and his lawnmower incident. All that remained was his lower torso and left arm. Apparently, Mr. Westerman was going on a fishing trip. The twenty foot, aluminum motor boat was secure on its trailer and hitched to the Chevy four by four.

A cooler was in the back of the truck, but it wasn't full. The fishing gear was in there, but the keys were not.

They had to find them.

"You okay buddy?" Judd asked. "Wanna just stay near the garage and I'll check the house?"

"You should check Mr. Westerman."

"I am not checking Mr. Westerman. Besides, there's nothing left."

"You have his legs." Dawson corrected him.

"Just stay put," Judd told him and walked into the basement door.

Dawson didn't listen, he followed.

"Does he have a wife?" Judd asked. "Just wanting to be prepared. You know, for another body."

"No. He lived alone."

"Good."

"Except when his son came over, then he wasn't alone. But I don't see his son's car."

"Just help me look for the keys."

"I still say…" Dawson stopped speaking.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Listen. It stopped raining."

Judd lifted his head, peering up to the ceiling. He didn't hear the rain. The faint sound of rolling thunder was still present, but for the time being, it had stopped pouring down.

As if he weren't in debate enough about the boat, the lack of rain made Judd really wonder if they should take such a gas hog as the truck.

He pushed forward on the search, they checked everywhere. Every place in the house. They did find the boat key. All by itself on a ring with a keychain from Bruce's boats.

No truck key.

"Try Mr. Westerman," Dawson kept saying.

Finally, Judd relented and said, "Fine. I'll try Mr. Westerman."

"Want me to?" Dawson offered.

"No!" Judd snapped. "Why aren't you traumatized, you fell in a sink hole?"

"Because you saved me. I feel really safe with you."

Judd groaned out a swell, and was at least grateful it wasn't raining. He headed back outside to check Mr. Westerman, or what was left of him.

They exited the house back out the basement door. Judd was a little surprised that their shadow, Tire Man wasn't anywhere around.

He looked up to the sky, it was still overcast with dark gray storm clouds. He walked toward the back yard and stopped at the edge of the grass staring out to Mr. Westerman's remains.

"Go on. Go check," Dawson said.

"Shush," Judd told him. 'Have some respect."

"Should we pray for him?"

"No, I don't think that's gonna help."

The yard wasn't huge and the back portion of it was at a slight slope. That was where Mr. Westerman's remains were.

There was about six inches of water that flooded the yard. Not enough to cover the body. First step into the yard, the ground vibrated. Judd without hesitation, grabbed hold of Dawson's hand.

"I'm fine."

"I'm not taking a chance."

"Are you going to make me come with you?"

"Just stay close. Don't look. It's pretty bad," Judd said.

"You should have seen it when the mower was running."

Cautiously, holding Dawson's hand super tight, he walked across the yard.

He knew immediately why Dawson squealed out an 'ew'. A part of Mr. Westerman's hand was all by itself a good ten feet from the other remains. Probably tossed aside when he was getting chopped up.

The closer he got he could see a bit of shredded shirt, a few bones, and what remained of Mr. Westerman's torso. It was mowed clean.

"Hopefully, he didn't have the key in his shirt pocket," Dawson said. "Should we check the grass."

"If it's in the grass we won't see it with all the water."

Judd cringed both facially and internally. He hated, really hated that he actually was going to check the lower remains of Mr. Westerman. Was it worth it? Did they really need to take that boat? What it they just found that Bruce's Boat place?

He was there, right there by the pair of legs, buttocks up, covered in what probably was green pants. The pants were soaked from the water, and the waste was semi blood stained.

Mr. Westerman still wore a belt.

"Okay, here it goes," Judd said, crouching down.

He wanted to gag, throw up, in fact his stomach churned. From above the waist of Mr. Westerman's pants extended a shredded part of his abdomen and spine.

"Oh my God," Judd groaned out.

"What?"

"This is horrible."

"Does he smell."

"Yeah, he smells."

"I can't smell him."

"Trust me, he smells."

"What's he smell like?"

"Dawson," Judd said with a correcting tone. "All right, here I go." Holding his breathe, Judd reached out and aimed for the back pocket. He stopped when Dawson screamed. "What?" he asked the boy.

"You're touching him."

"I have to touch him if I want to look for the keys. Okay, I won't go in his back pocket. I'll feel." He patted the back pocket area, then looked over his shoulder when he heard Dawson snicker. "What now?"

"You're touching his butt."

"Stop. Frist screaming and now laughing." He exhaled in frustration. "Okay no keys there. I'll check the front packet." He slid his hand under the torso. "No comments, please." He reached into the front pocket, paused when Dawson giggled and then Judd smiled.

He lifted the keys.

"See. See?" Dawson said with glee. "I told you. Didn't I?"

"You were right." Judd stood up.

"Now what?" Dawson asked. "We leaving?"

Judd looked up at the sky. If the rain held off, they could wait around to leave. But was it a chance he wanted to take?

"Yeah, let's head back to the house. Finish getting what we need and we'll head out."

Dawson nodded. "Should I get in the truck?"

"Yes, we'll drive it to your house. That will make it easier to pack."

Dawson walked toward the truck.

"Wait," Judd said. "How old was Mr. Westerman?"

"Can't you tell?"

"No." Judd snapped. "I can't judge someone's age by their legs. Unless you know, they're a woman. Even then, there are some older women with legs that…" he cleared his throat. "No I can't tell."

"Why do you need to know?"

"I just do."

"Old."

"Like how old? My age old, your dad's age old…"

"You and my dad are the same age. He was grandpa old."

Judd winked. "Then I think we need to see what all Mr. Westerman has before we leave. If he's grandfather old, then he didn't rely on technology as much. Bet he has maps and all sorts of stuff we can use."

He didn't want to get into it with Dawson, what all he wanted to search for, because Judd himself, didn't quite know. He just knew that when he searched Dawson's house, there was nothing useful. Not a power tool or even a map. Not that Judd was a survivalist, but that book had quite the list and before they left, he wanted to check Mr. Westerman's house for some of those items Dawson's parents didn't have.


Following the letter of the law, Ross went outside to have a smoke, that was when he saw the crowd. He didn't notice them at first. It was early, he was half asleep and in his own world. He looked down only at the ground and didn't peer beyond the truck until he wanted to see the rain.

There was something about the crowd of people that struck him as scary. They all looked the same, stared the same way as if operating on one brain.

They could get out, get in the truck and drive right through them, but was that the right thing to do?

He wanted Morgan's opinion. He made her coffee, woke her up and broke the news. Figuring if she were like his wife, she was easier to deal with and more clear headed after a few sips of coffee.

She looked out the front door for a while. "How long have they been out there?"

"They've been there since I got up," Ross replied.

"Have they moved?"

"Not once."

"Okay, we get in the truck and drive through them."

"Morgan, they're people. Living breathing people."

"If I'm not mistaken, didn't one of those people try to kill you?" she asked.

"Not them, Tanner did. He was a violent person before. We don't know anything about the people standing there. They may feel pain, know what's going on and not be able to do anything about it."

"Not our problem. If we want out of here and they don't move, just run over them."

"Jesus, you're cold."

"What do you want me to say?" she asked. "If you don't want to do that, then we stay put. We stay until we go. We can walk, I don't want to walk. We have a perfectly good vehicle out here with gas. So we can stay and they will eventually leave or make their way in."

It would be a different story if every end of the world book and movie were right. If those people out there looked like creatures or were undead. They weren't. They looked normal, like people in the morning waiting on the subway.

Ross decided to check the back of the motel. If it was a free and clear escape, then they could find another car. The back was surrounded as well. One big circle of the staring people encompassed the motel.

The rain came down steady and hard and not one of them moved an inch.

Morgan made the decision for them both to wait. Wait until they left. Even if it delayed them a day, Branson was a thousand miles west. They could do that easily. They had gas to get half way.

After the decision to wait was made, not an hour later, the crowd moved forward. They pressed against the window, hands and finger tips squeaking as they ran down the glass.

None of the people out there showed violence. They hadn't tried to break through, but that didn't mean they wouldn't.

It was Ross' turn to make the executive decision. Most of their items were already in the truck. They merely had to shoulder the bags they brought in.

They would try to go.

Morgan was agreeable.

The front double doors were blocked and their best option was the exit at the far end of the first-floor hallway. Go out that door and make their way through the people to the SUV. Then he thought about Morgan. While she presented tough, she still wasn't well.

She cringed in pain quite a bit and knowing broken ribs, she wasn't in shape to make it through a mob of people.

What if they turned at any second and became violent?

There was no way Morgan could fight them off.

By the elevator was an emergency fire case with an extinguisher and ax, Ross broke the glass on the case and took the ax. He placed only one bag over his shoulder and left the other two, along with the radio, in the lobby with Morgan.

"Just wait here. I'll bring the truck in."

"You're going to crash through the window?"

"That's the only way."

"I can go out there with you," She said.

"No. I can't take that chance."

"They're not moving out of your way. If you intend on driving through the front window, you'll have to plow through them."

"I don't have a choice. At this rate, they'll be in the building and we'll be barricaded in a room. No, this is the only way. Stay here and wait."

It was good in theory. Walk out, squeeze through the people, get in the truck and drive into the lobby. That was until Ross went outside.

His last encounter with the seemingly zoned out people ended with one of them having a death grip on his jaw. Ross had a small ax and nearly a fully clip in his revolver to make his way through hundreds of people.

He didn't know what their reaction would be. Would he even make it through them? He would use any of his weapons if he needed to.

As prepared as he could be, ax in one hand, gun in the other, Ross opened the emergency exit door, at the end of the west wing, of the first floor. Mentally, he envisioned himself pushing through the people and to the truck.

He didn't expect so many blocking his way.

In his mind if he didn't speak to them, or try to communicate, it would be fine. He figured that was the reason Tanner snapped, Ross had talked to him and made eye contact.

The second he stepped outside, he lowered his head and moved onward. At first it was like a rock concert full of people, pushing his way through annoying individuals who didn't budge. How many times had he done that in his life and career.

Moving through hordes of people focused only on themselves. Only instead of booze, these one smelled really bad. The odor of urine and feces filled the air blending with a moldy water smell, it was so rank, his glands swelled and mouth salivated from the gag reflex.

While they seemed to be standing still, they weren't. They moved forward toward the building and the instant Ross opened that exit door, one of them grabbed for it, trying to keep it open.

"Oh, no you don't," Ross said and shoved the man aside, blocking the door until it closed again. He didn't need them rushing in.

Mistake.

It wasn't just eye contact or talking, Ross quickly learned physical contact made them 'awaken' and the man who reached for the door suddenly focused on Ross.

His arm shot up and he grabbed on to Ross' shirt.

'Okay I can do this,' Ross told himself and forged forward.

His shirt was held tight and the collar of it pressed against his throat with every step, choking him. He twisted and jarred his body to get free, only to have another move into him, then another.

If he were claustrophobic, Ross would have been in a panic. Suddenly he was mobbed.

One man holding his shirt, while the others moved into him, squeezing against him.

He could feel their hands on his body, fingers grabbing and scratching.

They were still people, they were still human. Don't hurt them, he kept repeating in his mind. It was useless. Each step was blocked and Ross found himself buried in the crowd. It was hard to breathe, hard to move.

Hands grabbed for him, bodies pressed against him, each step he took was harder than the last. Within a minute his face was pressed against other faces and he found himself in nothing less than a human vice.

Ross couldn't breathe.

As much as he didn't want to desecrate life, it became a fight to live.

The human walls were closing in. He was literally being squeezed to death.

It was time to fight back.

Just slipping through was no longer an option.

He hated to do it, but the moment someone's fingers dug deep into his flesh, along with the burning pain, Ross screamed out and swung the ax.

He didn't want to use his ammunition, so he kept swinging. It seemed futile. His hacking didn't make a dent. Those squeezing the life out of him didn't even notice. Ross had to amp it up a notch.

The SUV wasn't that far, yet the weight of the people were holding him back.

Not only did they compress him, they struck him. He felt the blows of pain to his legs, mid-section, head and chest.

With war cries flowing from him, he swung back and forth, in and out.

He pushed his way around to the front of the building. He could barely see the SUV. So many people surrounded him blocking Ross from getting to the SUV. He moved against the grain, feeling not only the lack of air, but the burning as his flesh took the brunt of their kicks and scratches.

He envisioned himself as a football player, plowing through them all. The one man still held onto his shirt.

As he neared the front of the building, Ross not only swung the ax, he flung his body, fighting his way through until he reached the SUV.

He opened the driver's door and Ross finally pulled his weapon. He shot the man that grasped his shirt, then Ross slipped inside and turned over the engine.

He was injured. He knew he was bleeding, yet couldn't let it stop him. He put the SUV in reverse and backed up. He shuddered when he heard the thuds against the vehicle.

After a quick turn of the wheel, he shifted the car in drive and slammed on the gas. Driving through people wasn't as easy as it seemed. They rolled from the front end of his car and got caught under his wheel.

The SUV bounced as it ran over the people and Ross not only heard the crunch of bones, he could feel it too. He felt it physically and he felt it in his soul. Every person he killed, he absorbed emotionally.

Eventually, he broke free and rammed right in and through the front lobby window.

Morgan was waiting with the bags and as soon as the truck was clear enough, she jumped in.

"I was worried," she said.

"I'm fine."

"You're hurt."

"I'm fine," he repeated. "I'll worry about it when we're clear."

"What's going on with all these people, Ross?"

"I don't know. I wish I did, but I just don't know." Quickly, he shifted the SUV in reverse and prepared for the bounced, thump and thud of human lives falling beneath the wheels off his vehicle.

He never wanted to run them over, or kill them. Ross had no choice. It was what he had to do to get him and Morgan away and safe.

Ross knew, even making it out of the motel parking lot wasn't the end of it all. More obstacles would lie ahead.

If getting out of the hotel was that difficult, he didn't want to think about how hard it was going to be to get to Branson, Missouri.


When Dawson was seven, to celebrate his First Holy Communion, he went to Idlewild Park in Pennsylvania with his best friend Sawyer and his family. They left on a Friday and they got to miss school. Dawson's mom and dad didn't go and it was the first time ever, Dawson had been away from them.

His parents were at work when they left for the park, they had said their goodbyes and gave kisses when they left for the office. Mr. Westerman came to the house to see Dawson off.

Dawson likened that day to his leaving with Judd. His parents weren't there, he looked back to the house several times as they drove down the street. Mr. Westerman was the last person he saw… sort of. There were a couple differences. There was no best friend, just Judd, he rode front seat in a pickup, and Mr. Westerman didn't give a long list of instructions.

Mr. Westerman, did however, give a lot of other things.

Judd had taken a tool box and two of those orange gas cans. Mr. Westerman had fishing gear, a bunch of maps, and some old looking thing Judd called a CB.

Judd kept in on the floor of the pickup right under where the change holder was.

Dawson played with it a lot that first half hour of the trip, and even though Judd had it plugged in, it wasn't working.

"Maybe it's old," Dawson suggested.

"There's just no one chattering," Judd said.

"Does it need the internet?"

"No, buddy."

"It's strange."

"I wrote a song about one of these things," Judd said.

"Was it any good?"

"Not really, I liked it. No one really made a fuss about it. It was a cut on one of my albums."

"How did it go?" Dawson asked.

"Let me think." Judd tapped the steering wheel a few times, hummed, then snapped his finger. "It was a while ago. The chorus went something like this…" he sang the word. "Been around the world, never looking back, now I can't go forward a single step. You rocked my heart, you rocked my world. I see you, you see me, when I'm away, there's always the CB."

"You sing good."

"Thanks."

"I can see why people didn't like it." Dawson looked out the window. He was glad it stopped raining. The sun wasn't out and it was going to be awhile before the water dried up. That was if it didn't rain again.

'Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear' was written in the bottom of the passenger's mirror. Dawson didn't get it, why put a mirror on a car that wasn't accurate.

Through that mirror he also saw Tire Man sitting in the bed of the truck.

"Why'd you bring him?" Dawson asked. "I thought you were scared of him."

"I am."

"Then why'd you bring him?'

"You saw him, Buddy. He was trying to get in." Judd shrugged. "I figured maybe we can train him like you suggested."

"If he don't die from the cold and rain. My mom always said, I'd catch my death of cold playing in the rain."

"All mothers say that."

"So it's not true? Did my mom tell a fib?" Dawson asked.

"No. It's sort of true. You catch a cold and you can die."

"So, Chuck the Tire Man is gonna get rained on and catch his death of cold. That's a mean thing to do to him. If you wanna train him you have to keep him alive."

"Aside from being scared of him, he doesn't smell all that good. Maybe the rain will wash the smell away."

"If he doesn't die from it."

"I got news for you. Our Tire Man… he hasn't drank water or eaten anything from what I've seen. Pretty much, that's what's gonna kill him."

"That just seems wrong." Dawson glanced out to the mirror again. Tire Man sat against the side of the truck, his head was turned to the back watching the road go by.

"Wanna play a road game?" Judd asked.

"What's that?"

"Different games you play to make the miles go faster. Some we can't play because there aren't any cars on the road. Well there are, just not enough."

"Sure." Dawson said.

He was surprised they were driving as well as they were. At first he thought they'd never get out of the city, but Judd zig zigged through back streets and was smart about it.

"Go," Judd said.

"What?"

"Go first."

"And do what?"

"You weren't listening were you?" Judd asked.

Dawson shook his head.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. You're probably finally upset about everything. I mean you were pretty cool back home with Mr. Westerman and that hole. I was the mess there. You were brave about falling."

"That's because you had me. I don't know how you did it," Dawson said. "You were fast, too. I felt your hand let go and next thing I know you are swopping me out of that hole like Superman."

Dawson saw it. Judd looked away and stopped smiling.

"Dawson, I have to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"I dropped you. Not on purpose. My fingers slipped, they were wet."

"But you got me."

Judd shook his head. 'No, he did." He pointed back.

"What?"

"Soon as I lost grip, Tire Man was there and plucked you out of the hole so fast I didn't have time to register it."

"Wait. Why would you lie to me?" Dawson asked.

"About what?"

"You let me think it was you."

"I never said it was me. I just …. I just figured I'd tell you when we had time. I'm sorry. Don't be mad."

"Did you at least say thank you to Tire Man?"

"Yeah, I guess," Judd said.

"Is that why you brought him? So he can save me again?"

"No." Judd shook his head. "I brought him because he wanted to come and after what he did, it was only right."

"Stop the truck."

"Why? Do you have to pee?"

"Stop the truck, please, Mr. Heston."

"Mr. Heston? This is serious."

"You said call you that when it counts. I want this request to count. Can you stop?"

"Sure thing." Judd slowed down and then after stopping put the truck in park.

Dawson reached down to the small gym bag on the floor and unzipped it.

"What are you doing?" Judd asked.

After setting a bottle of water and one of those premade peanut butter sandwiches on the seat, Dawson opened the door. 'I'll be right back."

"Dawson?' Judd opened his door.

It was a tough climb down. Dawson had to stand on that little ledge by the door and slide to the ground, he reached up and grabbed the sandwich and water. By the time he was on the ground, Judd was there.

"What's going on?" Judd asked.

"He may smell too bad to be in the truck and he may not even be safe, but he saved my life Judd. The least I can do is try to save his."

"Humbled," Judd said. "Good idea."

Dawson walked to the back of the tuck. Tire Man was much higher so Judd lifted him up. "Here you go. I know you're hungry. Try to eat." Dawson said to Tire Man.

Tire Man didn't take the water, it dropped into the truck, but he did manage to take the wrapped peanut butter sandwich. Expressionless he looked at the sandwich.

Judd set Dawson down.

Tire Man put the sandwich to his mouth, wrapper and all.

"No. No" Judd reached out. "Let me open that for you." The second his hand was near the sandwich, Tire Man released this soft but scary growl and his eyes darted at Judd.

Judd quickly pulled back his hand and stared. "Let's go, Dawson."

"Boy he must be hungry."

"Yeah." Judd said inching Dawson along. "He must be."

Instead of waiting for Dawson to walk and get back into his side, Judd lifted him and placed him in the truck and shut the door. He watched in the side mirror as Judd walked around the back of the truck only pausing to look at Tire Man.

It wasn't long and they were back on the road driving.


It bothered Ross and Morgan knew it. His face was bruised, his arms had gashes, he looked as if he had been beaten by a mob. When in fact, in a sense, he had been. They didn't reach out and hit him, bite or scratch him, instead they acted like a boa constrictor and tried to squeeze him in. It was the fight to get through that caused the injuries. Those would heal, his mind would take longer.

The tough officer of the law was affected when he dealt with the people that moved outside the motel. So much so, that not five miles down the road and free and clear of the mob, Ross pulled over, stepped from the SUV and walked to the side of the road to vomit.

"Are you all right?" Morgan asked.

With his back to her, Ross lifted a hand but stayed at a distance. Morgan took the time to review the map and compare it to her weather charts. She opened up the back hatch and spread them out, taking cover from the rain under the lifted back end.

They were still in Pennsylvania, but not far from the Ohio turnpike. Even with accidents and cars off the road during the drop, they should still be able to make it free and clear through the highway, provided weather didn't hinder them.

It had rained steadily, but slowed down to a constant drizzle when they were leaving the hotel.

Basically, they fled the motel and just jumped the nearest highway going west. Fortunately, it was the right direction.

She was chilled and looked at the map for a possible stopping point to get clothes and a jacket. It was spring and the temperature didn't surprise her. It worried her, rain could turn into snow. Considering one inch of rain was about a foot of snow, they were in trouble if the temperature dropped any more.

Sipping a bottle of water, Ross approached. "Figure out anything?" he asked.

"Yeah, we could take this route pretty much to Akron then catch another highway. I'm worried about the weather."

"How so?"

"When I looked up the weather maps back in the city, this is what I printed." She pulled out two sheets of paper and lay them side by side. "This one is the jet stream. Weather moves from west to east and typically follows jet streams. As of that day, the jet streams were coming from Chicago, down into Ohio and east. The national weather operates on a color coded system. For storms. Light blue to red and harshest can be white or black. This light color here west of Akron," She pointed. "Pale blue. This is what we are getting right now. Light rain. That darker color, red, we're running right into. That hit Akron last night, this morning, it's not as bad as what just hit Pittsburgh. I'm guessing." She pointed to a weather system just before Akron.

"So we missed it."

"That one. This one here is the one I am worried about. It's big and blackened out. Not a printing error. This should be about a hundred miles west of Akron, and it's bad. We'll hit it late tonight if we keep going. Then again, I'm making predictions on this. Everything is one big storm system, just pockets of intensity."

"How did you learn to predict weather."

"I watched it constantly," Morgan said. "I was obsessed especially when they called for snow. I got so tired of them being wrong, I started learning it."

"Did it help?"

Morgan nodded. "Yes, when I was wrong, I could only blame myself."

"So, Miss Weather Gal, what do you suggest?"

"Hit Youngstown and head south instead of heading due west. Try to miss it like the one we missed in Pittsburgh. It's one o'clock now, we can go a few more hours and then find a safe place to hunker down."

"Then that's what we'll do."

Morgan folded the papers. "We also need to figure out a way to get gas, we have some just not enough to get to Branson."

"We'll figure it out." Ross reached up for the hatch.

"Are you better now?"

"Somewhat."

"Was it because you ran over those people?"

Ross facially winced. "Yes, Morgan. I ran over those people and got sick about it. It bothered me. Didn't it bother you?"

"I don't see them as people."

"How can you say that? They're living, they're breathing…"

"They're dangerous. Maybe one or two aren't, but they operate like animals in a pack mentality. What one does the others do. At least from what I saw at the motel. If we don't figure out a way to get through them, we're in trouble if we run into too many of them. They won't give a shit if we feel bad."

"Were you always like this?" Ross asked, shutting the hatch.

"Like what?"

"Mean. Hard."

Morgan stared at him for a moment, then headed back to the passenger's door. "No. Not always."

"Just wondering. One more thing…"

Morgan stopped.

"This storm you're talking about. You used the term hunker down. How bad is it?"

"I don't know. I never experienced it ever. Red usually is tornado weather. Hopefully we'll avoid it, be under it, but we still need to hunker down," she said. "Put it this way, I believe if there are survivors in that area west, God help them. Because if they aren't ready, there probably won't be survivors when this storm is done."


Dawson gave the queerest of looks to Judd when he they passed a road sign that read 'Lodi' and Judd chuckled out with fond remembrance. "Oh man, Lodi. Bet you love Lodi."

"I don't think so," Dawson said after staring at Judd for a moment or two. What's Lodi?"

"Wait. You don't know Lodi, Ohio. Little dude, that's only like forty miles from you. You never were in Lodi?"

Dawson shook his head.

"Man, how have you not been to Lodi. Even I was in Lodi and it's not so small they call it a village."

"Like with huts?"

Judd laughed. "No. There's a whole string of small towns west of Akron, all following the same route."

"You're not from around here. How do you know?"

"Back in the day, we moved around quite a bit on a tour bus. About ten years ago, we were headed from a concert in Erie to Columbus. Passed through the small towns and the bus broke down right outside of Lodi. In fact, we pulled off the exit hoping to find a car repair place and we just busted down. Squad car came by to help out. Just so happened we couldn't get a mechanic if we tried. It was the Sweet Corn festival they have. Just…" Judd noticed Dawson was staring out the window. "I'm boring you, aren't I?"

"No." He paused. "Yeah, a little."

"Lodi is a cool town."

"Hey, maybe the small towns are saved. Maybe they're so small they didn't get hit."

"Maybe," Judd said.

"Like Branson. It isn't big. I dreamt of it you know."

"You told me."

"Some guy named Bill was waving his arm at me saying, 'Come to Branson'."

"You didn't tell me that."

"What do you suppose it means?"

"It means we should go to Branson."

"Think we should stop at these small towns and look for people?"

Judd took a moment to think about it. While they were supposed to head south west before Lodi, they could continue west, even for a little bit, to check the towns. It wouldn't take them too far from the route and it would be worth it to look. All around them was desolation, chances were small town or not, it would be the same way there, too. Besides, what would it hurt to look?


The planned route outside of Youngstown, Ohio came to an unexpected end when the road entered what looked like a lake just west of the town of Canfield.

It went across too far and wide to see.

"Did we just hit the end of the country?" Ross asked. "Is everything flooded from here on in? This is insane."

"That's ridiculous."

"Seriously?" Ross snapped. "Are you calling me ridiculous?

"No, just your idea. It has to be the small lake a mile north of here." Morgan looked at the map. "We'll back track and just head further south."

Ross didn't think that was going to work. He swore that somehow the three lakes north of them spilled over from all the rain, if that was even possible. But his fears were unfounded and they remained on dry land.

The name of the town, Salem, sent chills through Ross. He even suggested they go around it. However, the Super Center at the edge of town was calling even him.

The parking lot was full of cars, only a few had crashed. Decomposing bodies scattered about the blacktop. They had a bloated look to them, even more so than other bodies Ross had seen. He attributed it to the rain.

It was dark when they entered the store, no power, the further back in the store Ross went the darker it was. He was able to find flashlights and lanterns. His main search was for those things. Batteries, a Coleman stove, survival items.

Perhaps even some food items.

He was shocked when he saw that Morgan had grabbed a heavy winter coat from the clearance rack.

"It's April," he told her.

"I'm being prepared for snow."

Ross laughed.

"Go on, laugh. It's not even fifty out there. Any colder all that rain is going to be snow. Then we're in trouble."

Ross paused. "Did you see any men's coats?"

They remained in the Super Center probably longer than they should have. Ross had gotten them enough supplies to 'hunker' down as Morgan put it for the night somewhere.

They decided that after Salem, they go about a hundred miles or so southwest and start looking for a stopping place. The weather was holding up, the rain tapered, and Ross held high hopes that Morgan was wrong about the weather front.

They loaded the truck and took the main road toward town. Riding shot gun, Morgan checked the map for alternate roads to get through, figuring, even though smaller, they'd run into the same.

Cars blocking the roads, making things impassible.

There wasn't much conversation in the SUV. In fact Ross found himself increasingly annoyed with Morgan. He once had a partner that annoyed the hell out of him and he used to joke to him, "Man, I swear you're my purgatory. The world ends I'm gonna be stuck with someone like you."

He was kidding.

Morgan was worse than that partner and here Ross was, traveling with the only other person that was alive and lucid and he didn't like her. How did that happen? What did he do in his life to have that?

Bad weather, earthquakes, Ross started feeling silly for wanting to stop, find a quiet corner and get 'me' time. Who does that at the end of the world. Ross was patient and tolerant and all that was going out the window.

His fleeting daydreams of ditching her came to a halt when he stopped the SUV. Ross smiled.

"What is it?" Morgan asked, her nose buried in a map. "Do we need to back up?"

"No. Life."

"What?" Morgan lifted her head. "Oh my God." She, too finally smiled.

Not far ahead, a few blocks perhaps, when the quaint town square of Salem began, they saw people.

They moved across the street, on the sidewalks, pushing strollers and even saw what appeared to be a man walking a dog.

Ross drove faster.

"Careful, they probably aren't expecting a car to come down."

"Yeah, you're right." Ross slowed down. Maybe it was the east side of the country. Maybe it wasn't a dead world after all.

The ecstatic grin on Ross' face took a nosedive when he saw the man walking a dog. He held a lease, but the dog wasn't walking. He dragged the decaying carcass of the animal along the sidewalk.

He looked quickly to Morgan when he heard the 'click' of the automatic locks. The moment the SUV came to a stop, so did everyone in town.

As if all automated, every single person halted and slowly turned at the same time to face the SUV.

"Back up?" Morgan suggested.

"Yeah, backing up." Ross put the SUV in gear and turned his body to peer out the window. When he did he saw more behind them. "Shit."

Every second they waited more came, hundreds of them and they slowly made their way to the SUV. There were far too many, too close, that plowing through was going to be impossible.


Judd supposed he should have known, Wadsworth and Seville were both a repeat of what they had seen only on a smaller scale. The biggest difference was the ability to make it through main roads. There were vehicles that collided and some had gone off road. They even saw a car that had hit the steps of the Seville Methodist church and flipped over against the doors.

Nothing was hopeful.

At one point, Judd actually thought, "Wow, if we keep going further, I'll need to use the boat.'

Water started to rise around Seville, coming mid rims of the tires. It subsided after a mile.

When they approached the interchange to get on Interstate 71, Judd contemplated forgoing Lodi.

What was the use.

However the optimist in him, the one who wanted to find life, along with Dawson's insistence, Judd stayed on the route road and drove to Lodi.

He remembered that road well, the same one he took into Lodi years ago. The same one his bus broke down on.

He recalled the story to Dawson hoping he could catch his attention on it. It was a good story, he broke down, the corn festival and the band that cancelled.

"We ended up playing for them." Judd said.

"Were they happy?" Dawson asked.

"Wish I could say they were. It was like a round of gulf claps when we were done. Some old guy walked up to me and told me to keep trying. Funny." He shook his head and then eased on the breaks. There was a line, four wide of stopped cars. Some smashed into fender benders, some not. Not far beyond that, on the small crest of the road right before the village of Lodi, lay an overturned tractor trailer.

"How odd is this?" Judd asked. "This is where the bus broke down."

"How do you know?"

"The funeral home. I remember sending Pat our stage manager over there to see if he could get help." Judd opened the truck door and stepped out. He walked around to Dawson's door and opened it. "Wanna walk in town and check?" he asked. "It's not too much further."

"I don't know. I don't like seeing bodies. If it's like that last place they're all water logged from the rain."

"Yeah, but it's a nice day, kind of chilly though. Why don't you step out, take a leak and stretch your legs." He helped him out of the cab of the truck. When he sat his feet on the road, Judd saw his guitar in the back and pulled it out.

"You playing now?" Dawson asked.

"Feeling nostalgic."

"Not sure what that means," Dawson said walking slightly away to do his business.

"Stay where I can see you," Judd said. "Nostalgic means sentimental, looking back at the past and it makes you happy and want to relive it."

"So if I went to Cedar Point I would be nostalgic."

"Yep." Judd strummed the strings, tuning his guitar.

"Honestly, Judd, I don't get why playing your guitar on a road full of abandoned cars would bring back good memories."

"Oh!" Judd blasted out. "Oh my God, you saw that old movie, too."

"What?" Dawson came out from behind a car.

"What was it?" Judd waved his hand, trying to jar his own memory and snapped his fingers. "Guitar, highway… Stand."

"I am."

"No, the movie, The Stand."

"Never heard of it."

"It was a while ago, way before your time, actually my time. But it's classic. Super cool show based on a book by Stephen King."

"Who?"

Judd waved out his hand. "Anyhow, the book is about a sickness that kills everyone." He climbed up the front fender and sat on the hood of the truck.

"Like now."

"Sort of. Anyhow… Oh man, it's like prophetic…" he paused. "That means he predicted this. Like Stephen King was psychic or something. Plague, sickness, everyone drops dead. So this rock and roll guy, Larry has a guitar."

"Like you," Dawson said.

"Sort of. I'm country and better looking." Judd winked. "Anyhow, Larry is like all alone, going nuts, he stops on a highway full of abandoned cars…"

"Like this."

"Exactly. He gets up on a hood of car like this and started playing a song on his guitar. Middle of a song, a boy comes along…"

"Like me!" Dawson said.

"And a woman."

"Was the song like magic?" Dawson asked.

"Nah, but it was a freaking iconic scene."

"Why don't you play it and see if a woman comes?"

Judd laughed. "Okay." He fumbled the chords at first, trying to remember the pattern, then he had it. He played with intensity, graveling his voice in a mimic of the made for television movie he remembered so fondly.

He swore he was doing well, too. It felt right and the words were sadistically meaningful at the moment. He was going strong until he noticed he didn't have Dawson's attention anymore.

"Man, you are a tough crowd." Judd slowed down his playing. "What are you doing?"

"Where are the people?"

Judd sang. "It happened on a sunny day… the wind blew and took all life away… you may not hear a breath or single sound, that's because no one else is around…" He shook his head with a chuckle. "Man that was good for off the cuff, wasn't it."

"For serious, Mr. Heston. Where are they?"

"What do you mean?"

"If they all dropped dead and crashed their cars… where are the bodies?"

"Huh?"

"They're all gone," Dawson said.

"Don't stop!" A female voice called out in the distance. "Please don't stop playing."

Dawson, wide eyes hurriedly looked at Judd. "The magic song brought a woman." He then pointed.

Judd slid from the hood of the truck, putting his guitar over to his back and stepped forward.

"You heard the lady, play," Dawson said.

It was an odd request but Judd brought his guitar around and strummed the chords to the song. He did for just a minute and stopped in shock when he saw the woman.

She made her way around the overturned semi and moved between a walk and a run their way. It wasn't a survivor in blue jeans and a half buttoned down blouse in a state of shock. She was happy to see them.

He couldn't tell her age at a distance, but she didn't look old. Actually, she looked too young to be wearing the uniform.

The simple white colored shirt underneath the navy jumper style, plain dress and the cross she wore, threw Judd off.

She wore one of those headdresses, too. A short one rested more to the back of her head. Judd saw that when she approached.

Judd was the one in shock.

She smiled. She had a naturally beautiful face. Out of breath she approached and immediately crouched down to Dawson and embraced him. "A healthy child." During her embrace she glowed with a grin and extended her hand to Judd.

"I can't tell you how happy I am to see you two. I'm Sister Helena."

Nervously, Judd touched and then shook her hand. He was speechless. He didn't expect to see anyone alive, let alone a nun.

Her story would be interesting.


"Go." Morgan slammed her hand on the dashboard. "Go. Go, Go. Now."

Hand gripping the gear shift, Ross looked forward. There were many, too many at the hood of his SUV. He peered in the rearview mirror, they were at the back gate, too.

What there was of the daylight was fast blocked out by the people that mobbed the car.

"What the hell, go." Morgan yelled.

Beads of sweat formed on his top lip. He didn't see monsters when he looked out. There were no sores, no decaying flesh. In fact the only marks on them were injuries probably from falling or from a car accident.

These people had a soul, they were alive. They were just suffering and confused.

The last place they went Ross plowed through about four and it filled his gut with guilt. Now, not only were there more of them to go through, he could see their eyes.

"Ross, what are you waiting for?" Morgan demanded.

Suddenly Ross saw him. He stood barely making it over the hood. A child about ten years old. He stood next to a woman wearing a fast food uniform, the left side of her face was burned.

"I don't think they'll hurt us," Ross said. "Let's wait. See if they leave."

"They aren't leaving. Go through them."

He shifted his eyes to Morgan. "I can't. I can't do it. I'm gonna make a run for it."

"No!" she screamed. "Why would you do that? Hit the fucking gas and go."

Ross shook his head. "No. I don't have it in me to kill them. I know it sounds weak…"

"Sounds weak? It is weak!" Morgan reached over.

"What are you doing?

"I'll drive."

"Stop it." He pushed her hands form the wheel. "I honestly don't think they'll hurt us. Just open the door and make a run for it."

"We have supplies."

"We'll get more."

"You're insane. This is what will cause our death. They are out there. They aren't human like we know."

"No, Morgan, they aren't. But that doesn't give us the right to kill them."

"Yeah, it does," Morgan said. "It's us or them. Choose us."

Ross was prepared to argue. He truly believed that if they waited, they would go away.

He was wrong.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, he saw the man with a baseball bat aiming for Morgan's window.

"Morgan! Watch out…"

Crash!

The baseball bat smashed the passenger's window and slipped from his hand, through the broken window into her lap.

Morgan screamed. Arms reached in, grabbing for her blindly, while she fought their grip.

"Ross! Get them off!"

Ross reached over and grabbed the bat, trying to get them from her, but his swing was limited in the vehicle.

"Run them… over," she ordered.

He put the SUV in gear, but too many blocked the vehicle, he couldn't move it.

"It won't go."

"You did this!" she blasted, they grunted as they pulled her hair and she turned left to right in her seat.

Ross' insides shook, overwhelmed with a wave of feeling like a failure, Morgan screaming out, Ross reached for his door.

Bat in hand he pushed it open and when it did he noticed everyone had moved to the right front side. No one was on his side, they all crowded the front and passenger side.

He would have to clobber his way through to get to her and free her. He was just about to do that and he stopped.

Not a single one of them was in his way or even near him. They went after Morgan.

He had his escape, his way out, his diversion.

With those thoughts, Ross didn't run to help Morgan, he ran the other way.

However, a mere fifty feet away, he stopped again.

What the hell was he doing?

As much as he didn't like her, she was in that position because he didn't want to take a life. Yet, he was willing to sacrifice hers. It had nothing to do with fear. At that moment, when he chose to run, it was them, him or her and he chose himself.

A decision, he knew, if he continued on, he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

It might have been to late or futile, but still holding the bat, Ross raced back to the SUV.