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  "Like a sleep bank? No, I don't. In order to do that, that means that we either had to have done something wrong, or someone has done something nice for us. Everyone we've met since Fireside has either tried to steal from us, kill us, or swindle us. I have to cover you when we find someone we think might even be decent enough to trade with. Even the people who seem decent eyeball your pack and your gun. And if you're thinking that me shooting that girl was a bad thing, keep in mind that they did lead the dead right to us and she pushed her way in with a knife trying to steal what we had found."

  "Did it ever cross your mind that we might have let them get some food, maybe some other stuff, and then they would be on there way?"

  "Did it ever cross your mind that they might have led some other people right to us, rushed the house, killed us, and took everything? Or that if there wasn't a bunch of dead heads around that they might have waited for us to go scavenging again and looted us then?" Dad sighed, then rubbed his forehead.

  "Look, son, all I am saying is that we don't want to become bad people. We don't want to hurt people or totally cast them aside just to make sure we have another can of peas to eat or some crusty orange powder to put in a water bottle. We have our souls to worry about." Kern chuckled, and Dad knew he had lost the argument, at least in Kerns mind, right there.

  "Wow. After everything that's happened, you think you can throw that into an argument about taking care of ourselves? Come on, man."

  "That's how I feel about it, Kern. I just wished you felt the same way."

  "We have enough to worry about without adding anymore to it. If we make it through today, regardless of what happens to Jacob, I think it will be a good day. We might have a net loss in supplies and resources, but still."

  What else was there to say after that? Kern shouldered the shotgun and stepped off into the woods, slipping the empty water bottle back into his pack. No break through today. Dad couldn't tell if it was teenage cynicism or if Kern was truly as jaded as he seemed. He went back to Jacob and picked him up. Maybe if they were on flat land he could let Jacob hobble along with a walking stick to conserve his energy, but there was no way here, with the ridges. Dad sighed. Technically they were on the plateau, but it still wasn't without it's hills and gullies, and apparently they were right in the thick of them.

  His fear over whether or not Jacob's path through the old nature trail being a trap was thankfully unfounded. They encountered two solitary infected, but were able to move around them undetected, the wind being in their favor. Other than that, it was like a stroll through the woods on a summer day, even if he had to carry Jacob the whole way. During the heat of the day, they took a break under a grove of oak trees. They had managed to find some green apples and greens, and topped them off with some dry cheese sticks. Too many apples could be bad on the stomach, so they just ate a half one each and packed a few away.

  Dusk was setting in when they reached Kings Mill. He took Kern's advice and circumnavigated the town proper. He hoped he could have seen it from a distance and went around in a wider circle, but there was a reason it was "unincorporated" on the map. The whole town was maybe two city blocks, with some houses that had once served as the local businesses on the outskirts. There was a diner, a fast food place, a fishing store, and the usual rural shops.

  The little rustic town didn't show the signs of a quick death like most other places did. No signs of pitched battles were evident, no bullet holes in the walls, no long-decayed corpses littering the grounds. There had been a slow death there. Given it's isolation, it was probable that the store owners simply returned to their homes or every one evacuated. Once the trucks of food stopped rolling in, there was little left to hold the people there. In a place like this, they probably had ways of getting food most of the population had forgotten or never bothered to learn, like farming and hunting.

  Dad sat Jacob down and wiped the sweat off his brow. Kern had stayed back with the rifle in case of any trouble, hidden behind a tree. Dad reached into his pack, trying to figure out what food to give him to help him on his way.

  "Freeze right there!"

  A trap. Even though Dad tried to show no fear, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Slowly, he took his hand from the pack and held both hands above his head. Directly in front of him, in the side window of the garage, was one gun pointed at him. To his left, two more protruded from the old lumber mill, hidden behind the treated timbers. A black man approached him from the door of the little grocery store, rifle aimed.

  "One wrong move and you're wasted," the man said. "And your little buddy back in the woods,too." Beside Dad, Jacob trembled and began stuttering, holding his hands up.

  "W...wait! These aren't bad people, Pop. They saved me and brought me here!"

  "Get away from them, now!" Jacob looked at Dad with despair in his eyes and slowly edged away from him, then hobbled as fast as he could to his father's side. Once he reached it, he grabbed his dad's waist for support.

  The man he had called Pop wasn't tall or built, but he was muscular in a lean sort of way. He was dressed in rustic clothes like his son; a pair of khaki cargo pants and a denim shirt. At his hip, a holstered pistol, and he was wearing brown work boots.

  "Now, tell me who these guys are," he said, then yelled past Dad, "I see you back there! One wrong move and we blow him and you away! Now let's talk!"

  "These guys saved me from the freaks, Dad. Then they brought me here. This man, Aaron, he carried me the whole way."

  "Where's John and Derek?" Jacob shook his head.

  "They're gone, Pop. The freaks got 'em." Jacob's voice began to break. The man's eyes teared up and he huffed heavily.

  "Did they do it? Did they have a hand in it, son?"

  "No sir. They found me two days later, and fed me, then brought me here."

  "Are they safe? Can we trust them not to shoot us?"

  "I think so. They didn't have to bring me here."

  "Drop your guns," the man said to Dad. Dad shook his head.

  "I'm afraid I can't do that."

  "I said drop the guns."

  Kern was now standing beside Dad. A quick glance behind him showed two men holding semi-automatic rifles. They hadn't just been trapped, they had been tracked and then set up. Dad felt betrayed.

  "We know what happens to people when they give up their guns," Kern said.

  "We won't drop them, but we can promise you that we won't shoot."

  "What's to stop me from blowing you away right here, right now?" the man said.

  "Nothing." Dad said. Jacob tugged on the man's pants leg.

  "Pop, please! These aren't bad people!"

  The man stood there a moment, his rifle still half-aimed at Dad and Kern. Seconds ticked away like hours, as Dad tried to look relaxed, but ready to aim and fire himself if needed. They might get him and Kern, but he would try to make it costly for them. Adrenaline, mixed with the humid heat of summer, caused the sweat to pour down his face in rivulets. His hands were tight around the gun, as he was afraid that his palms, lubricated with sweat, might make him fumble. Beside him, Kern stood still. Dad cast him a sidelong glance. Outwardly he looked sure of himself, but Dad could see the desperation in his eyes.

  A sigh escaped the man as he lowered his weapon, then motioned for those with him to do the same. Instantly, he had set his gun down and had him arms wrapped around Jacob. As he sobbed, he said a lot to him in rapid fire statements between heaves, as if he were worried he might not get the chance to say everything to Jacob. I love you. I missed you. I was so worried about you.

  Dad and Kern stood there silently, also lowering their weapons. Keeping his eyes on the men surrounding them, he slowly shouldered the rifle and opened his pack. This drew the attention of those others standing around them, a motley crew of men from young to old, dressed in jeans and button up shirts, khakis and t-shirts. Kern slowly took out a bottle of water, one of the last full ones he had in his pack, then opened it and took a deep drink, then offered it to Dad who drank
his share as well.

  After several minutes, the man stood up and wiped his eyes with handkerchief from his back pocket. Jacob was still clinging to his leg, sobbing gently.

  "Thank you for bringing my son to me," he said. "My name is Quinton. Would you care for a bite to eat?"

  xxxxxxxxxx

  From the outside, the old lumber mill was what one should expect in one of those isolated, rural towns that time forgot. It was a big, brick building, stained by the rains and moss that grew on it over the years. Most of the windows were coated over with years of dust which had been moistened by the dew and then set on like cataracts. It was a structure of pure functionality, with just four sides and a sign over the door which read "Kings Mill Lumber Mill and Cabinetry".

  As they passed through the doors, the small lobby and office area met them. The floor was old linoleum, peeling up in places and completely missing in others. The two couches were not only what one might call vintage, but also covered in dust and mold. The small reception desk was bare except for an old cordless phone, as big as one of the bricks on the outside. Then they passed through a door and onto what was once an operating floor. Most of the equipment had undoubtedly been sold off or scrapped, but the huge expanse was still home to a couple of lathes, saws, and an archaic milling machine, all of these still bolted with rusted studs down to the cracked, concrete floor.

  Kern was as close to hyperventilating as he had ever been. Every fiber of his being screamed that this might still be a trap, a way to get their guard down and then dispatch them without much sound or fanfare. Of the six men, he saw that at least three of them were carrying pistols, and one of them had a machete strapped to his back. Two men in front of them, and four behind. It had looked like they had randomly filed into the building at first, but now he had his doubts. Inside his sleeve, he was holding the .25 pistol.

  "Quite a place for a meal," Dad said as he glanced over at some of the machinery. Quinton laughed.

  "This here used to be the lifeblood of the place," a grizzled old man said beside him, smelling of tobacco. "Used to employ around eighty people, if I remember correctly, and added jobs at the eateries and other stores as well. Closed up back in the nineties after the factories and lumber yard closed down when that dang ole' NAFTA was passed. Names, Pete, by the way, pleased to make your acquaintance." Pete extended his hand and they shook."

  "You must be from around here," Dad said.

  "Yeahuh, born and raised here. Even swept this here very same floor as a young man."

  That set Kern at ease a bit. People with some sort of agenda usually didn't open up like he did, especially as candidly about things that didn't really matter much. If these were locals, they may have a pretty good chance of getting out alive. None of them looked famished. In fact, a couple of them looked pretty healthy, and while their clothes were a bit dirty from a few days worth of wear, he could tell that they had been cleaned in the past few days.

  There was a large room with a lower roof at the back of the operating floor. Logging chains secured the door, fastened with the largest padlock Kern had ever seen. Once Quinton had struggled the lock open with his keys, the door opened into a break room with large oak tables. Those were apparently the only original fixtures, lined up together in the middle of the room. The back of the room held a few cots and a leather couch. Quinton nodded and a couple of the men went back outside the room. The remaining men, as well as Dad and Kern, seated themselves at the table. Jacob was clinging to his father's side on the bench attached to the old table.

  "I can't explain, again, how happy I am that you saved my son. I have been worried sick, as has his mother. I must also apologize for drawing guns on you. It isn't very often anymore that we get visitors, and most of those aren't the kind of people you want hanging around. "

  "That's alright," Dad said. "I'm just glad we got Jacob back to you."

  "Yeah," Kern replied. "I guess the only question is what to do with us?"

  "Absolutely nothing," Quinton said. "We aren't that kind of people. There's been enough of that as it is already. If I really thought we had to do something with you, you wouldn't be alive right now. Sure, you could have been trying to ambush us or use my son as a bargaining chip, but after what he told me about you bandaging his wound and feeding him, I seriously doubt that. So tell me, what brings you to Kings Mill?"

  "We're heading west, to Canton," Dad said.

  "Following the radio reports, too, eh?" Pete asked.

  "Why... yes."

  "They may be legitimate," Quinton said, "but we've had our fill off the government and the army, or at least I have. It'll be a cold day in hell before I believe anything that they tell us."

  Dad was a bit stunned. To him, any sort of government assistance would have been a Godsend. Food. Shelter. Protection. Sometimes he wished that they could have stayed in the school, but he knew that they had gotten out just in time. They had learned from survivors afterwards that the school had fallen the day after they had snuck out. Even if it hadn't, unless help arrived, they didn't have enough food to last too long.

  While Dad sat there, mouth agape, the two men who had left came back in with MREs under their arms, a stack of cheap plastic cups still in their packaging, and a jug of water. One man, overweight with a red beard in overalls, shoved one of the MREs into Dad's hand. The other, a skinny kid of maybe twenty, shoved one into Kern's. Once the MREs were handed out, the cups were unpackaged and filled with the water.

  "Kevin," Quinton said as he patted the red-bearded man on the back, "and Levi. The others are Pete, Kendall, and Ray. And your names are?"

  "I'm Aaron."

  "My name's Kern."

  So now they were getting to know each other? What was happening? Kern thought they were awful odd for survivors. No one had tried to take, or even asked what was in, their packs. Now they were feeding them. It had to be some kind of trick, but how? They had the guns and the numbers. If they wanted anything from them, all they had to do was take it. Kern contemplated if the food was drugged, but it was a fleeting thought as he tore into the MRE. In it, he found packages labeled spaghetti and corn. There were also some skittles. After tearing open all the packages he found some crackers and cheese spread, too.

  Dad had already torn into what look like some beef dish, and they were both almost done with their entrees when Kern noticed that the others had sat their entrees on the pack which said Heater.

  "Been a while since you had a real meal?" Quinton asked. Dad swallowed and wiped some of the sauce from his cheek with his sleeve.

  "Yes," Dad said. "We've been living off whatever we could catch or scavenge. We learned how to fix bluegill, among other fish, as well as squirrels and some other things. There's a few plants you can eat out there, and there's always the odd scraps of packaged foods people leave behind. If they only knew how much they would appreciate a pack of crackers or canned peas now."

  "So, you're looters?" Quinton asked. Kern tensed a bit, but he could tell by the smirk on Dad's face that he really didn't care what they thought of them.

  "You could call us that," Dad said, "or you could call us survivors. We haven't taken anything that we thought belonged to anyone alive. We only scavenge houses that look abandoned, and stores. This far in, and you really think someone is running a convenience store? Am I just supposed to assume that you had all of these MREs laying around? I'll admit that it's possible, but to have enough to last two years and then offer them to guests?"

  "That's a good observation. We got these from the army surplus store down in Varnell, not too long after everything started. I was amazed at how little looting actually went on around here, but I know in the big cities that it happened pretty much from day one. Most of the people here left when everything turned south. A lot of them headed to the rescue centers, some of them just wanted to be somewhere else, usually for family reasons. That left most of the area vacant, with a lot of things just sitting."

  "That must be nice," Kern said. "We didn
't have time to look for anything, with all the dead."

  "You sound jealous," Quinton replied.

  "Wouldn't you be?"

  "Kern!" Dad said sternly.

  "No, it's alright," Quinton said. "A few of us came from the city. Even the last news reports said things were getting pretty desperate there. I imagine that it was the same for most cities. We tried to make a run into Sparta, but there were too many of them. One of the funny things is that even in the midst of all that suffering and starvation, there were still all kinds of food and goods left behind."

  "That's because most people didn't appreciate what they had," Kern said.

  "You are correct, young man. A lot of people just picked up and left, leaving most of what they would need behind. Now it belongs to the living." The word living let Kern know that Quinton knew what was going on. He popped a few skittles in his mouth, hoping Dad would think his smile was because of the candy.

  "Well, now that we've had a chance to eat and calm down a little," Quinton said, "let's get down to business. Do you plan on staying?"

  "What do you mean?" Dad asked.

  "Just what I asked. Do you plan on staying in the area?"

  "No. Like I said, we're trying to get to Canton. That still a ways off."

  "About a hundred and fifty miles as the crow flies. And most of that is through the woods and some over the open plateau. Do you have supplies? It's a good two weeks walk, because there isn't a bridge over the river for a fifty miles upstream. There used to be, but the army blew them all. That will add another week. You could make it faster, but in your shape, I don't think you will be traveling too far."

  "And just what do you mean by that?"

  "You haven't looked in a mirror lately, have you? You're so thin your clothes are two sizes too big. You look malnourished, and I don't think you will make it much farther. I should know, I was an RN before all of this started. I would also say that you're dehydrated. Water isn't the only thing you need. Lack of electrolytes can kill you, too."