Snippet #2572252

+ Roy +

Roy coughed himself awake. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, attempting to focus on the real world. His mind was foggy, and the light hurt his eyes, but it wasn't a feeling he was new to. He immediately reached into his knapsack, pulled out a pint of homebrewed dark rum, and took a bottle hit. It helped wake him up, and put a smile on his face. He quickly made his way outside the door of the RV, and lit a cigarette. Their lot wasn't too far from the I77, and fairly close to a truckstop diner. A small group of drifters had taken the place over after the outbreak, but nobody had heard word in a few days. It was probably overrun, but hell, an off chance of pie was worth it. He grabbed his bag, and began walking towards the interstate.

It seemed dead. The whole world was dead. Nature had begun to take everything over. Vines made their way up the old concrete, a small amount of vegetation making its way onto the road. A few burned out vehicles were scattered periodically throughout the winding interstate. He made his way north, he could see the sign in the distance. It wasn't far, maybe a five minute walk, tops.

He walked down the ramp, and hopped the guardrail. He was getting thirsty, and out came the bottle, for another drink. The building was dark, and it seemed creepy. He grabbed and loaded his crossbow, immediately after he grabbed a fairly large rock and threw it through a window, hoping to attract walkers, if there were any inside. He heard some shuffling, and saw some movement. He backed away slowly, lining up a shot to the door. One infected. He put a bolt through her forehead. He put the crossbow back, and grabbed his shortblade, making his way towards the door. He grabbed the metal handle, trying to avoid stepping on the glass. The door swung open slowly, and he flicked the lights on. It was deserted. No evidence of anyone.

He made his way in, checked the corners, under the tables, and behind the counter. Looked like they left in a hurry, underneath the counter was a sawed off double barrel shotgun, one barrel loaded. "Not bad" Roy said to himself, putting it into his bag, smiling. He then proceeded into the back. Seemed empty, but he wanted to be sure. He grabbed a frying pan, and threw it at a small fridge. Place was empty. He began checking the fridges, freezers, and the stockroom. The meat was no good, some of the vegetables and fruits werent bad, and then he found them. Two pies, one blueberry, and one strawbery. He grabbed the two wrapped pies, three individual bananas, five apples.

Roy made his way into the dining area, sat in a booth, and lit a cigarette. This was a nice place when the world was still around, He used to come to this diner fairly often. They had some of the best pie in Seattle, and it was one of the only spots where they still sold cigarettes. Unfortunate that there were none here. The bottle came back out halfway through his smoke, for another swig. Most people would've been fairly buzzed by now, but he was stone-cold sober. He remebered a night, around five years ago, he took a girl here. She was an art major, at Seattle State. Nice girl, but she had her whole life planned out, and Roy couldn't deal with that. Everything needed to have a little hint of spontaneity. Life didn't work without it. She ended up leaving him for an accountant, and then they moved to Delaware.

He took a last drag of his cigarette, butted it out on the table, and walked back to the RV. He didn't know who the hell any of these people were, but they were here, and he was here, so why not try and get along. He must've been gone an hour or two, place seemed livlier than when he left. He walked in with his bottle in his left hand. He slumped his bag onto the table, opened it, and began tossing apples around. Before anyone could say thanks, he walked back out, and sat on the grass outside of the door. He wondered about his wife and son, hoping they were alright, but deep down, he knew they were dead. It was the end of the world. Then again, what did he know, he was just a drunk. Roy, the all knowing drunk, king of the apocalypse. Heh, as if.