Heats beyond 100 degrees made the days long and dirty. The sun was ruthless, not caring who lived and what died. Creatures and humans were frying under the blaze of the sun and the ruthless heat. Without the proper amount of water at hand. You could only pray that you were in good hands at a time like this.

When the world is coming to what seems like an end, people need to stick together. Gather your family, friends. Even a trusted group of good citizens will do the trick. Being in a team will get you farther then running out on your own. Team work is the key. The hard to fit, sticky, and crooked key. High stresses lead to high emotions and high actions. You rarely find someone alone these days, unless their infected or crazy. And the heat has probably gotten to some heads by now. A solid week of wrenching heat during the day and bone chilling nights can do things to a man.



Scout wasn't sure where they were, she assumed it was some part of hell. She hated the heat, the cloudless sky that burned at her back. Creeping through the seams of her shirt and itching at her skin, she had never once remembered being this hot. She swore that she could feel ever pore screaming for water. This was just a lovely place to stop and stay, she thought. Their stay wasn't by choice though, their bus had run out of gasoline. This was no surprise, being in the middle of nowhere and having another vehicle towed behind. Some people are born with luck and others are not, Scout being the latter. But maybe there isn't any luck left to share. There doesn't seem to much of anything anymore. Maybe that was just part of the consequence. No luck, no fun, no hope.

There were only two things she was grateful at this point, water and Mike. Water, that was one thing they had more than enough of. Showers were even a suggestion at this time. It was something they weren't going to run out of soon, especially with the purifier recycling the showers. And that was one blessing that Scout could graciously accept. Maybe she was a little lucky. Those who were without water were without lives, sooner than later. Mike was someone she could trust, the only one at this point. She trusted the whole group that she was accepted into, but they passed just like the others. Pete and Martha were their names, and they were the creators of this safeguard. They were swallowed up by the plague when out gathering supplies though, just like Scout and Mike are doing today.

So far they had been unsuccessful, and it didn't help that it was only the two of them. They could only go so far by themselves. Everyday they searched for an old car, a house, barn, town, anything that could have gasoline in it or near by. With the days plastering into one long episode, she had no feelings toward or against Mike. He was just another neutral human, another element of survival. Scout hadn't allowed herself to grow very close to anyone as a child, and this showed through in these dire days. Scout was still trying to process everything. She was still coming to the realization that this was her new life, and that she would never see her family again. Mike was her new family, even if she wasn't willing to accept that yet.

They had started out early, perhaps hoping to find something before the sun would reach it's peak. That was a bit unrealistic. Who knew how many miles out they were out. Scout had set out to the left side of the road into, well, the desert. After a couple of miles, she had to be aware of exactly which direction she was walking because the brightness blinded. And their bus could be easily disguised by the whipping wind and dust. Being bored to death wasn't something she agreed to though, why not get into some danger and dirt?

There were no rules and guidelines to their scavenging, but she assumed that splitting up wasn't part of it. Somehow, nearly everyday Scout found herself suddenly alone. She didn't understand the harm in this, seeing that she always got back okay. Half way through the day, and now by herself, she stumbled upon an old farm, dried up and falling apart. Scout investigated the house, kicking at the dust and tapping the warped wood. She peeked through the the windows, the insides had been turned inside out; the place looked like it had been ransacked. "Damn." She spoke softly as she was stepping up the wobbly steps, then reaching for the door knob. Locked. She rolled her eyes, who were they trying to keep out? ... Or in? Scout wasn't afraid of the poor infected, if getting the disease meant getting out of this hole, she would do it..

The wind sped up again; dust caught in her throat, and a rough, exhausted cough came out of her. "Well, I guess the only way to get around here is the hard way." Scout said, after wiping her forehead, smearing a stain of dirt across it. Her boots clunked together as she grabbed one of the chairs on the porch and smashed it into the window. The sound of breaking glass; shattering hearts and breaking bones. It could have been heard a mile away, it was so foreign, so loud. Perhaps she was being a little irrational.

Scout stood there, solid, petrified. She listened, nothing. It seemed safe enough.

City buses didn't have the good sense to have a clock built into the dashboard, but they did have a steering wheel beefy enough to accommodate the band of Mike's wristwatch. And looking at it, just before he and Scout got off to search for supplies, the former fireman noted that it was some time around one o'clock in the afternoon.

One o'clock P.M and change, that made it twelve days and eight hours since they had left the city. Just under two weeks, but to Mike it felt like a different life, a different world, perhaps a different universe. Many miles had been covered in those twelve days, many more than he would have believed possible. Usually, in disaster scenarios, the interstates were clogged up the back-end with traffic of all sorts in the outbound side, but it just wasn't the case with the virus. Yes, traffic in the outbound was congestive, but, surprisingly, the bus had made a good go of it for a few miles. Eventually, though, the leviathan of a machine had had to double back and take various side-roads and unbeaten paths to subvert them. Mike had to admire the machine's persistence; it'd gotten them much farther than he had expected it would, with its ramshackle modifications and add-ons. Even the shower--no, especially the shower--had looked like they would break within the first few miles of hard riding, but nope--the machine had held together.

Which is more than he could have said for their group. It had started out with four; him, Scout, and the original two, Pete and Martha. Between them, they had managed to build the bus and get out of the city; and what a week that had been, between scavenging and using Pete's experience as a contractor to modify the bus Mike thought he would have been stabbed, burnt or infected with the virus more times than he could count. But in the end, they had all made it out of the city, and from there things had looked easy. Then, a week later, Pete and Martha were gone. They had been out scavenging for gasoline, but in the end Scout and Mike had waited five hours--nothing. Pete and Martha never came back, and so they had moved on.

The next day, the gas siphon broke. Then the next day they'd been stopped by a bunch of thugs and had to give up some of their food for passage. In reality, things had just been a parade of bad luck on the way out of state.

At least he had Scout at his side. She seemed to be pretty apathetic towards him, and he didn't mind that--just the presence of another human being was good for him, regardless of whether or not they were talkative. Pete and Martha had talked quite a bit when they were around, and Mike often found himself at a loss for words. Now, though, there were enough words in a day for him. That, and Scout pulled her weight all the time. Mike liked that in a person.

But that was in the past, and now they were somewhere new. Mike remembered the stories his Pa would tell about this land out here. God's Country, he called it, always in that thick drawl he had--"Gawd's Country"--the mythical place where the ground and the sky met at a seamless, knife-sharp edge, where a man was supposedly able to make a name for himself with nothing more than sweat and perseverance. Mike didn't see much of that success out here right now, though: What he saw was dust, ghost towns, and one very long, very straight road. He'd found a new gas siphon in an old service station several miles down the road, but that place was long gone now. And what a place to run out of gas. It was right in the middle of the desert, of course, and in the middle of the day as well.

So here Mike was, wandering out into the desert with the siphon in one hand and several jerry cans strapped to his back with a frayed length of rope, with Scout several yards ahead. She found the farmhouse before he did; which was unsurprising. Her eyes were much sharper than his, which made things work (he had the brawn; she had the eyes). While Scout investigated the house, Mike wandered over to the barn, pulling the doors open slowly and blinking away the dust that had settled inside. He carefully wove his way through various pieces of farm equipment to the tractor, setting down the siphon and a jerry can as he carefully removed the gas cap, inserted the nozzle and started to pump. Time passed, and Mike worried the tank was empty, but eventually the splashing sound of gasoline filled the jerry can and Mike grinned. He was lucky, if only for today.

He was halfway through the first can when the window broke. Mike immediately assumed the worst scenario had transpired, and dropped the siphon clattering to the ground. He leapt over the hose and ran to the front of the barn, looking out to the farmhouse. "Scout?!" He shouted frantically from the barn. "You alright?"

For reasons unknown, Scout hadn't expected Mike to respond to this clatter of noise and irresponsible actions. Hearing her name shouted from the barn made her jump, then a subtle chuckle escaped her lips. It wasn't a rare moment for Scout to be laughing at herself; at her petty mistakes and silly antics, she was constantly finding entertainment in her own decisions and stupidity. Thankfully she was at least half smart and hadn't managed to get herself killed or injured thus far. That was something funny about her, even as a child she would get into more trouble than she bargained for, and she somehow tricks fate into thinking she hasn't had her second chance yet.

That was something her mother was always worried about, her only daughter being stolen away by unknown forces and regrettable decisions. Scout was always out finding herself stuck in ditches, stranded on rocks in the middle of a rivers she slipped into, or near a cliff's edge. Many of the boys thought she was a damsel in distress, but that was never the case. Scout had the remarkable ability to take care of herself. Danger was just a part of her. Scout didn't pay much mind to the fact that she would get herself killed one day.

She stumbled for a moment over her boots as she reached toward the railing of the old porch, a strange noise came from flooring, creaking with her weight. Scout leaned over it, just to see a glimpse of Mike who was startled and standing at the opening of the barn. The nails that kept the railing in place were rusted, and bending with her. Noticing this, Scout stepped back and swept down the stairs quickly so that Mike could see her in the flesh. She waved her hands at him, then brought a single finger to her lips. "Shhhh!! You might wake the owners." She remarked, finding herself clever. A sly smile followed after as she stepped backward with a real response "But really, I'm alright baby."

There was an odd piece of Scout that liked pet names, or rather, giving them to others. Which seemed unfair since she herself despised them; thinking them pointless remedies affection. They were like cards, an escape route for those who are bad with real affection and words. I guess you could say Scout was a little bitter about the romantic things. In her old life she was almost married, almost "happy" as her family put it. She keeps her things personal, especially now, and there was only two people in the world who knew the reasons for her walking out. They all say she was scared, which is true, but there's more to the story. This isn't the time to discuss her lost love life though. Surviving was the only thing wanted to think about now. Reminiscing would just bring on too many emotions, and Scout didn't like to play around in the sticky stuff too long.

Finding herself reassured, she marched back up the stairs and looked into the house, a broken glass frame outlining it. The room was a mess, blankets and pillows thrashed around, empty bottles of water, and dirty plates. It also didn't help that there was now a wicker-chair ruined across the floor and glass splattered in every direction. "I'm going in the house now!" She announced, not really for the sake of Mike knowing, but more for herself. Scout frowned, then kicked in the lower glass on the window frame, making an easier path to go through. She was to be careful, rational. Make sure not to get any cuts too deep to mend. Scout had to constantly remind herself. Another moment passed by as she stood there, staring.

She wasn't afraid, no sir. And in the next moment she hopped over the sharp glass and made a crunching land inside the house. It was warmer inside than out and smelled of rotting food. Around the corner she could the kitchen. The fridge was open, the light burnt out. Scout took another step into the living room, without realizing it she stepped on a remote to the television. The cracking noise made her flinch, she stepped back. Come on Scout, there's nothing to be afraid of. It's broad daylight for heaven's sake! She scolded herself as she took off her backpack to find something worth defending herself with.

A few tense moments passed for Mike as no response came from the house. The silence from that direction made him nervous, as did the thought of suddenly being left alone in the desert, with no other human beings around--or worse, angry human beings. It wasn't like he hadn't seen looters before, they had escaped a few raider parties within the city, when the group was still building the bus. they'd taken a few passes at the bus, once they'd taken a couple days' worth of food, another day a few gallons of gasoline. A third attack was driven off when Mike got a solid hit with the shaft of his axe on the leader, a fourth by judicious application of fire extinguisher. But raiders out here, in between cities... He didn't know much about them, but he assumed they could be vicious. And he really didn't want to have to actually fight anyone at the moment.

So it came as a relief when, a few moments later, Scout's voice echoed back across the yard. Mike let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding as she spoke. Soon after, she appeared at the porch rail. Even from here, Mike cringed a little, watching as the railing rocked under her grip, threatening to give way. He almost called out a word of caution before, thankfully, she leaned back, and the railing returned to its original place. He risked a little smile, leaning against the door of the barn. "If you're going to start calling me baby, at least get me dinner first!" He let out a little laugh and stamped back into the barn, a small cloud of dust and sand rising at his heels.

It was all for a laugh, of course. In situations like these, it was the small things that kept you sane. Mock-flirting, jabbing fun at each-other while scrounging--it staved off the boredom, and also the onset of anxiety, fear and anger. Not that Mike wouldn't settle with Scout if given the opportunity, of course. Just that right now, survival was on the top of the list and romance wasn't. Maybe one day, a long time down the road...

No. No no no no. Mike shook his head as Scout disappeared through a window of the house; cringing inwardly at the sound of more shattering glass. The former fireman shouted back a half-hearted "Okay!" and then moved back to the fuel siphon. He let the calming hiss and whoosh of the pump focus him on the task at hand, and within minutes the gas tank of the tractor had run dry. Mike gave a few more heaves at the pump, then ran a hand through his beard and wiped the sweat from his brow. Inwardly, he thought he could go for a shave. The weeks and miles had not been kind to his face; he was dirty and his beard was prodigious but unkempt. He sighed, thinking about what had caused the beard to grow in the first place, then shook the thought free of his head.

He moved quickly to the porch of the house, setting down the fuel can and the siphon pump. He looked to the window, and saw Scout's shadow moving around inside. He shook his head, giving her shadow a look, and then sat down against a porch support beam, watching the breeze toss the low scrub grass. Distantly, he thought of using the old well pump in the yard, but the thought never crossed his mind again--it looked disused, dry, more like a decoration than anything. So he cast his eyes about for a family car, a lawn tractor, any motor vehicle--nothing he could see.

So he rested for the moment. It was a precious commodity for him, rest. All too hard for him to come by nowadays.

Scout unzipped her backpack slowly, then trailed her hand on the inside layer, trying to find her pistol. The bullets in the gun weren't really necessary, but she could defiantly knock something out with it. Bullets were valuable, and she was careful not to waste them. If worst came to worst she would shoot it, and she was a fairly good shot too. During her childhood and adult years in Oregon, her grandfather showed her all the tricks of the trade. Pistol whipping, shooting, the whole show. In a split second she re-zipped the pack, and held the gun in her right hand; slack and resting against her thigh. Then she stopped for a moment, swaying in the heat and deciding what to do. She was sure to hear anything before it heard her, right? She was fine. Fast, with good reflexes.

A backward motion brought more cracking glass, Scout turned around. She swiftly made her way back to the window and saw Mike leaned against a pillar. Scout was not graceful in her attempts to get rid of her baggage. She threw a tin canteen onto the porch, followed by the button up she'd been wearing. The longer the day went on the less clothing Scout wore, which wasn't the brightest of ideas. This didn't protect her from the careless sun, and now she was dressed in just her shorts, boots and a men's tank top. "Can I exchange getting you dinner for a striptease?" She asked jokingly, a slight giggle following, as the button up landed in front of Mike. Scout cocked an eyebrow at him through the window, then shook her head as she swung the backpack over her shoulders. Now turned back around and facing the interior of the house she inched her way forward, tilting her head to see around doorways and corners.

The house was small. Composed of a living room in the front, the kitchen off to the side in a semi-open fashion, then a hallway with three doors. Two of the doors were open in the hallway, the third was closed. She would venture there after she looked for food. The kitchen was small, and dirty. The fridge was open, leaking out an awful aroma, rotting food. Scout covered her nose and mouth as she entered. The sink was dry with rust stains at the bottom, and cabinets were just as shameful, with several coming off their hinges. Scout patted around with her boot, kicking to see if anything would scramble or scurry. Nothing. That was nice. At least she wouldn't have to deal with rodents. There was a thin layer of dust on the knife bloke and the cookie jar that smiled back; it was a jolly gnome figure, so cheerful looking in this scene that it made Scout cringe. She stuttered for a moment, staring blankly at the porcelain creature, dazed by how out of place it was.

Back to the task at hand! Scout shook her head, ridding all the strange things she thought of the little gnome cookie jar and continued her way. She opened each cabinet at a time, they were mostly filled with plates and dirt. At the end though she found a couple cans of soup and a large box of animal crackers, all of which were not expired yet. Everything else in the room however, was long gone. With her hands full she returned to the broken window with a "Ta-da!" and placed the goods on the outer edge of the window for Mike to collect.

And with a nod, Scout was off again. With her new found confidence she headed toward the hallway, the two doors that were open were bedrooms. One was completely empty, the other was scrabbles of what used to be a master bedroom. The bed sheets were torn apart, and laying throughout the room. The closet was gaping open, there were no clothes inside, just a cardboard box. Scout investigated, it was full of pictures and family things. A knot formed in her stomach, she didn't want to delve into that. Those people were either dead, or living in hell. Scout blinked, ignoring her urge to be nosy and walked away. The last door was then a bathroom, she assumed.

The floors warped down, and creaked as she stepped toward the closed door. She grabbed the handle and tried to twist it open. The door was budged. Going impatient she pressed all her body weight against it and tried to barge her way in, making more noise then she had meant to.

Mike had somehow managed to doze off in the mid-afternoon heat of the dry Southern sun, feeling warm and content for the moment--he didn't get to nap very often--and briefly contemplating cracking into the granola bar in his pocket before the sound of stuff hitting the ground around him roused him from his half-nap. Subconsciously, he groped to his left for the handle of the only remainder of his past life; really hoping that he wouldn't have to introduce whatever was lurking around him to his violently sociopathic friend Mister Fire Axe (his first assumption when roused from a nap was always invaders; his second was usually aliens). Then sudden horror dawned on him at that moment--he'd left the axe in the barn.

Ohshitohshitohshitohshit--

"Can I exchange getting you dinner for a striptease?"

Mike rallied suddenly at Scout's voice, looking around. Sure enough, the thump he had heard was Scout's canteen. This was quickly followed up by her button-up being hurled onto the railing. Mike moved to catch it before the wind caught it--for there was now a soft breeze kicking up; nothing worthy of note, but capable of carrying off any light goods--and laid it over the porch rail. He turned slowly to look through the broken window, smiling. "Well, if you'd tried that a month ago," he said, looking at her through half-lidded eyes and settling his hands on the windowsill (after brushing away some more shattered glass), "I might've taken you up on it, but considering--Hey!" He pointed at Scout's torso. "That's one of my shirts." He made a mock pout, then smiled again and shook his head, returning to his spot. "Not that I really give a shit."

She disappeared back into the house's interior, and Mike would have been lying if he had said he hadn't watched her leave (what man in his position wouldn't?) before settling back against the porch rail and waiting. Eventually, though, it occurred to him to go and grab his axe from the barn before he forgot it entirely. He slowly pulled himself away from the porch and settled his hat--a dirty, tattered rattan hat he'd looted from a general store the previous week--upon his dirty hair. He quickly walked out to the barn and grabbed his axe from just inside the door, then decided to sweep for loot. He struck it lucky there; in the back of the room were two half-full five gallon tanks of gasoline and a rusting toolbox, which he tossed into an old feed sack and lugged back to the house.

Once he got back to the porch, he noticed two things--some things and some sounds. The things were the food that Scout had left on the windowsill, which Mike swept into the gunny sack. The sounds were Scout's struggle with the door at the end of the hall. Mike hefted his axe in his hands, looking down the hallway--sure enough, there was Scout, trying to haul a door open to no avail. "Scout, I'm coming in," The fireman said, slipping through the door and hauling his axe behind him. He carefully edged down the hall, and put one hand on the girl's shoulder, holding the axe up.

"Allow me," he grunted, and lifted the axe over his head, bringing it down on the door.

Jo had been driving for what seemed like days. Her supplies were dangerously low and the car was on it's last leg. It sputtered down the hot asphalt and finally gave out in the middle of nowhere. "Whaat?!" she said in exasperation. She banged her head against the steering wheel in frustration and stepped out of the car. She squinted into the horizon, but could see nothing but dust and dirt whipping around. There were no more cars on this road for her to "borrow". She sighed and got her suitcase and the three bottles of water that she had been lucky to get out of the car and slammed the door. It gave an echo out into the distance but she wasn't very afraid for the sound.

She rolled the suitcase along the road and took a small swig of her water. I'm probably going to die out here she thought rather depressingly. She had been walking for about an hour and could see a big, hulking shape on the horizon. She hadn't seen that before, but the one good thing about theis new world is that you walk much faster. As she got closer, she could see that it appeared to be a bus. If there's a bus, that means people. Maybe if I'm lucky, they'll be a little friendly. she thought optimistically. She heard a crash to the left and decided quickly that if there were people they would be in that direction.

It wasn't long before she came upon a farm. She could see what appeared to be a male figure near the barn and she heard clattering coming from the house. They must be scavenging. Well, it's now or never. she thought to herself.

"Hello!" she said with a shout. "Anybody here?"

Slam. One hit. The axe rebounded from the door with no discernible effect. Mike looked annoyed briefly, and looked at the place he had hit the door. There was a wedge-shaped dent in it, but other than that, a whole lotta nothing. So he lifted his axe again.

Slam. This time, there came the more satisfying sound of wood splintering, and a long crack appeared in the door's face. Mike smiled. "That's more like it," he grunted softly to himself, pushing against the cracked door and feeling it give a little under his weight. "One more swing oughtta do it." And so he lifted the axe again, hefting its weight. He hoisted it over one shoulder and gave another swing.

Slam. And the axe was through, taking a melon-sized hunk of door with it before holding fast. Mike grinned. He could feel the possibility of good loot on the other side. Whatever was in there, he couldn't see it--the light was out inside, and outside there wasn't enough sunlight filtering in through the hall, but deep down inside he hoped against hope that, against all odds, there would be something worth breaking down a door for. He was about to give the door a mighty heave and bring it down when voices came from outside. His heart sank and his face fell.

"No," he intoned softly. "No, no no, nonononono. No, not here, not now, you can't be serious God, you just can't." He looked to Scout, his face deadly serious as he hoisted his axe to his shoulder and slipped back through the broken window. He held the axe in an iron grip, looking around the yard for what he expected to see. Bandits, other looters, armed raiders. Any and every possible thing that could go wrong. He practically vaulted over the porch and took off at a dead run across the yard, heading for the barn. The voice (or voices) had come from that way. Still whispering a machine-gun rattle of no no no under his breath, Mike rounded the barn.

He had expected guns, Kevlar, bandanas and a motley assortment of ne'er-do-wells roving the countryside, thriving on the bones of the survivors they left behind them, baking in the sun.

He had not expected a younger red-headed girl. Mike nevertheless kept his grip on the axe, casting a steely eye in her direction. He'd been baited like this once before, when he and a couple other guys were holed up in the old firehouse. Except this one had been about fifteen, brown haired and skinny, teetering right on the edge of death by starvation. Two guys had left with a few cans of food, but as soon as the firehouse door had come open, no less than a dozen bandits hauled out of the woodwork and swarmed in behind them. They took everything Mike had worked so hard to gather and most of what had been in the firehouse before. Mike had been so disheartened at that point that he had just given up for a little while and waited to die.

Then he'd found Pete and Martha, and Scout came later. His new group. His new family. His new life.

There was no way he was going to let that happen.

"Hands up." Mike said firmly, raising the axe head slightly. "Three steps forward, away from the edge of the barn." He looked at the corner where she was standing and raised his voice, shouting: "Anybody else out there, step forward. Right now. Or god help me I'll set this barn on fire and burn you out."

"Hands up." The man said firmly, raising the axe he wielded. "Three steps forward, away from the edge of the barn." He looked at Jo and then to the corner and raised his voice, shouting: "Anybody else out there, step forward. Right now. Or god help me I'll set this barn on fire and burn you out."

Jo was smart enough to do as she was told. People were crazier than they were before. She wondered why exactly she thought this would have been a good idea.

She dropped the handle of the suitcase and the bottle of water she had been holding and rose her hand slowly above her head, hands facing outward in a gesture of surrender. She then took three carefully measured steps away from the barn and stopped.

"Um, it's just me," she said nervously " You're the first person I've seen in days. I have no weapons and the car I borrowed is useless now." She took a deep breath to steady herself. Why does talking make me so nervous? she thought inwardly. "Please, I have no where else to go and I'm almost out of food and water. Just please, help me out." she pleaded with the man.

She was terrified that he had gone insane and would at any moment chop her up with his axe. She had seen people go insane and eat others. Jo could only hope that he retained some humanity.

Mike was still suspicious. She was just a kid, but kids were a pretty good way to bait a trap for anyone who didn't know the ways of the world nowadays. She moved away from the wall, and nobody came forward when he called. His call was greeted with the sound of the desert wind. Not even the tiny sound of feet shifting in the dirt greeted his searching ears; no fleeting movement crossed his field of vision. Nevertheless, Mike didn't relax his grip on the axe. He briskly crossed the distance between himself and the girl, passing her and moving around the edge of the barn.

Nobody.

Mike's shoulders drooped a little, but he remained alert as he moved back to Josephine. He raised the axe to one shoulder, eying her up, analyzing her as a threat. She didn't seem to pose one. Mike eventually nodded, more to himself than to her, and started moving back towards the house dismissively. "We don't give handouts," he grunted. "If you're coming, come on. I won't wait for someone who's going to stand there considering all day."

And with that, he gingerly moved through the broken windowsill and stepped back into the hallway with Scout. He looked at the hole in the door, then at his traveling partner. "One coming in." He sighed. "Young, female. Doesn't look like she can do much; really little more than a slip of a girl. Give her a cut of whatever we find in here and then send her on her way?" He phrased the final statement as a question, asking for Scout's advice on his next actions.

Scout was tense as Mike came in with the ax. Not only was the hallway a narrow pass, but his swinging put her on edge. No matter how friendly and how much she trusted him, the ax made her nervous. He was trained, an expert, she had to constantly remind herself that whenever he used the thing. Of course she was familiar with axes, but as a kid, there were multiple times when her brothers had injuries themselves or others with axes. All out of stupidity and adolescence of course, but still. She scooted her way out of the hallway as Mike took that last hit to the door, making it impossible to repair, with splinters and all. Slightly pressed against the wall, and entirely engulfed in her own thoughts and adventures she moved toward the bathroom as Mike flew away from it. Only a flash of panic caught her, you can never be too careful out here.

Looters, townsfolk, gangs, crazies. The possibilities were endless. For reasons unknown, Scout wasn't too concerned. Maybe it was her instincts. Or maybe it was the fact that she was more interested in the bathroom than anything else right now. Jammed and mysterious, her attention was focused on that. As Mike dealt with the newcomer, Scout inched forward.

It was clear where the smell was coming from now. Scout simultaneously coughed and gagged as she brought the tank top to her nose and mouth, protecting herself from the odor. Her eyes watered a bit as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit square; the only window in the tiny room was covered by dusty shades. There were no sounds, that meant whatever was in here was dead. Scout rubbed her eyes, ridding of the extra water coming from them. Finally, after standing clueless in the doorway, her eyes say what her other senses had identified. "Oh.. Dear God." Scout stumbled back a bit, then looked behind her. Mike was coming back in, announcing another person. She shook her head, taking in a breath of cleaner air.

In the bathtub, mangled and being devoured by maggots, lie a couple of dead dogs. Skinny, bones showing, and faces collapsed inward, Scout went back into the hallway. She didn't want to stare. Flies festered and bounced around dozily, there was no use looking around for things in there. Responding, "I- uhh... Yeah." She was distracted, unable to connect what Mike was trying to say and what her mind was processing. "I mean.." She spun around, wide eyed and startled. She looked like a doe in the headlights, and it was a look she rarely possessed. Come to think of it, there have probably been only two other times Mike's seen this face. Scout blinked it off. Coming back to herself, coming back to what was at hand, she said

"Let me look at her."

Heat. The enemy. The pain. The stinging caress that left Rosemary's white, baggy tee-shirt drenched in foul smelling sweat, adhesive to her dark skin, the feeling of sweat...

Sweat.

A hatred, an extreme annoyance, grew at the feeling of this cooling process, this disgusting, overwhelming sensation all over her skin until it left her chilled, cold in little waves like death creeping its hands all over her. Yet, the coolness would soon lose to the sun's direct, glaring fire, soaking into her flesh, intense heat, fires of hell...

Rose took one small sip of the water from the water bottle she had scavenged from a house miles and miles and miles away from this point. She had less than a swallow left to it, but continued to take micro-sips from it whenever the sun got too powerful for her, in need of that moisture to keep her dry tongue from shriveling up and falling out. Now that she was thinking about it, she hadn't spoken more than a word since she split up with Roberto and his girlfriend, Marie, back in some small town near the border of Pennsylvania. Her throat felt tight. She cleared it, swallowing nothing, and hummed once. A single note, then spoke aloud,

"The rain in Spain falls neatly on the plane."

Her voice was foreign, a strange, unnatural sound out here in this desert stretch of roadway, a place were silence was broken by nothing but the pitch of birds crying somewhere safe in the distance, safe from this.. this disaster, this nightmare.

In a rush of emotions, Rosemary felt the sudden helplessness and despair she had been plagued with for the last few days alone, alone in the silence and insanity of loneliness, lonely, alone, fear, insanity. She wasn't crazy yet. No, no. Rosemary was still there, together with a plan, at least for now. As soon as these feelings came they drained from her, dried up in the intense sun, evaporated. She wiped her face, the heat causing her skin to itch with the burn she knew was there.

Her legs ached as she continued onward, keeping her head ducked slightly to avoid the brightness in the sky. She didn't want to think now of the unlikelihood of finding help out in this desert. She didn't want to think of the possibility of dying here along this highway, dropping dead in the sand where no one would find her, gone without a trace. Without a trace. Just like her mother..

Jesus Christ! Rosemary mentally declared, clearing her head of all these unhelpful, negative thoughts. Thinking about her mother wasn't going to help. She had ruled her dead, too, back in Florida. Most of her town was gone. There was no way. No way to escape, no way to avoid... But it wasn't sensible why her mother's body was not around...

"Shit!"

Rose cried out as she tripped over her own exhausted, mindless footsteps. She threw her hands up in front of her to catch herself from going face-first into the sand, the water bottle, still uncapped, hitting the ground, leaving little dots of darker soil where the water now soaked in.

"God damn it!"

She shouted, leaning up on her elbows, eyes stinging with the desire to produce tears yet none came, just the sensation of crying, dry sobs as she choked on her terror and anguish.

"Damn it..." She swore again, picking up the empty bottle. Little droplets clung to the ridges in the bottle, and she stuck her tongue in desperately in want of the water, trying to fight off the sobs that shivered up her throat. Little did it wet her mouth, and she threw it back down into the sand, sitting there in the crests beside the road, covering her face and trying to not cry anymore, trying to think of a positive outcome. She was alone. She had no more water. She was in the desert, miles from any place she could get water. She would not die without trying to survive. She would fight back.

She stood up, brushed the sand from her thighs and knees and hands, her high-waisted shorts light and clinging stickily to her legs. She continued to walk onward, refusing to give up, refusing to quit, refusing to die.



Although the sun had moved a few inches in the sky, the heat was still unbearable to this lone woman as she trudged, kicking up sand with her dragging feet, heavy in their ankle-high boots. The bag on her hip was burning her, hotter than the air around her, growing heavier and heavier as if the contents were doubling with each drag of her feet. She suddenly wished for a hat, as her scalp was burning, too, the kind of burn that is partly icy in pain. Her mind was mainly blank, mostly to the exhaustion of walking that she had endured for so long. Thoughts were becoming more and more incoherent. Hope was fading with her energy, panic and fear growing as her hunger and thirst did.

She periodically thought about simply laying down and awaiting oncoming death. Her tiredness made it very tempting, almost like mysterious seduction, like the mystery of after death inviting her to discover it. She did stop once, standing stock stiff and staring ahead with impassive, tired eyes, yet something inside her clicked the gears to continued on, continue on and on and on through the sand, hot grains flickering up like fire tips to hit her skin.

Time was soon not even a concern, lost with many things to her mind besides basic comprehension. She wanted nothing more at this moment but to get out of this direct light and get a bit of water. Out of the sun. Into some shade. It would be nice.

Sand, sun, summer fun...

What was that.. shape in the distance?

Rosemary suddenly was revived, straightening and squinting her eyes to see the rectangle against the shimmer, hot air. All senses were heightened as if hope filled them.

A bus.

A bus!

Soon she was running flat out as if she had been resting all day along. Her shoes clunked oddly on her sweaty feet as she made for the bus, keeping her fingers crossed that there was water inside, just grateful for the opportunity for shade.

She approached the bus and peered through the doors. Empty. She looked around, not seeing anyone. It must've been abandoned. She didn't think anymore on this, just wanting to be inside. She pried the doors open, feeling the interior ten times hotter than the exterior, but it didn't matter because the entire aisle of the bus was dark and that's just where she wanted to be. She climbed the steps on her hands and knees, laying down in the shadows and panting, feeling and aching pain in every part of her sun-baked body. Shade, no more goddamn sun...

Water.

It sent a signal through her that made her lean up, looking around on the bus. A watch on the steering wheel, a shower in the back... She crawled on her knees to the front, looking at the watch. 2:46 PM. She also noticed that the bus was completely empty of gasoline, yet that was not much concern for the moment.

"Now where am I going to find some water..?" She wondered aloud, wanting the replace the ever-consuming silence with something. She decided to go to the back of the bus, standing by supporting herself on a seat, examining the shower. It was raw in its installment, but there was no telling how long this bus had been here, although the scent of water still lingered. She bet it still worked...

She cranked the cold water over, a sputtering of the shower head, then heavenly bliss rained down upon her, and she squeaked with happiness, opening her mouth and stripping her shirt, so overcome with this joy that the coldness of the water almost made her skin throb, feeling as if sizzling from being so hot.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you." She continued to chant as she ran her hands over her face and head, just so damned happy that she found this bus.