Remnant's
I slept lightly that night. After Jon took over the watch, I woke up once or twice, thinking I heard something banging on the door. We woke up at about 9. Jon's shift had ended at 6, and Ty had taken over. Sky was already up, sitting on her bed.
"Hey, are you hungry?" I asked.
"No."
"Thirsty?"
"No."
"Okay."
Our clothes had dried from the night before, and she had already gotten dressed.
"Can we look for my dad today?"
"Well, let's see how it goes," I said. "But I think you should stay here for the moment. It's not safe out there."
She nodded sadly and pretended to go back to sleep. I sighed and went back to my room, turning on the TV. Society was breaking down. A few channels—mainly the northern ones—were either offline or stuck in an endless loop of repeats. Electricity, water, and internet were still up, though. I looked at our food supply. We hadn't even touched it yet. We managed to scavenge a few things on the way to the last stand yesterday, but none of us really had much of an appetite.
"Guns," Jon said.
"What about them?" I replied, only half paying attention.
"There's a gun shop around the corner."
I told him, "There's no gun shop in this town."
"There is, though." He showed me a site on my laptop: Country Ware and Firearms.
I looked at the address. It was right around the corner.
"It's too dangerous," I said. "That's the first place everyone will go. And the people who own a gun shop and have lots of guns? They'll want to keep them—and probably won't think twice about shooting anyone who tries to take them."
Toby called at that moment. We put him on loudspeaker, and the argument continued.
"Even if we get there," I said, "the place could be locked down. Shutters closed. How will we get in? Do you have a pair of bolt cutters handy? And the guns are all probably in cases."
"We can smash the cases."
"And what if there are people already inside? Do you know how to fix a gunshot wound?"
That shut them up.
I walked over to the window and peeked outside. Five Vivens loitered nearby. I quickly ducked back down.
"So, what do you want to do then? Get a car? More supplies? Are we moving to Toby's flat?"
"No. Not yet, at least. But if we can get a car, it gives us a getaway option."
"Where would we get supplies from?"
"Cotswold. It's in town—close, but I don't want to lug everything back by hand. None of us have a license, but Toby and Jon know what they're doing behind the wheel. And I have an idea."
Jon had the most experience, so he was picked to drive. Now we just had to find a car. It didn't take long—literally the next street over. Jon and I headed out the back. Nothing spotted us, and we jogged up the street. Within 100 meters, we found a green Ford Fiesta Ecocentric—great MPG, four doors, and it had a good review on Top Gear. The driver's door was open, like someone had jumped out in a hurry.
Groaning echoed behind us—Vivens hunting their next meal.
We approached the car—Jon on the driver's side, me on the passenger's. I glanced into the back. Clear.
"Keys are in it," Jon said. He checked the ignition and climbed in. "Almost a full tank."
I hopped in the front passenger seat. Before he could pull out, I stopped him.
"Are you mad?" I said.
"What?"
"Put your seatbelt on."
"Oh yeah, just in case we get stopped by the police."
My mind flashed to the cop from last night. A wave of guilt hit me. Jon fastened his belt, and we drove to pick up Toby. The trip to the store was mostly uneventful, aside from distant shouts and breaking glass. Jon wanted to stop at the gun store, but we stuck to the plan—survival gear first.
We pulled up outside. It looked more like a monument than a store—an all-stone building with five Romanesque pillars holding up a roof that resembled a temple. Now it was Cotswold, a three-floor survival store: women's wear, men's wear, and gear.
The plan: Toby would head to women's to grab clothes for Sky, then join me upstairs. Jon would loop the block, waiting for our signal. We didn't want the car sitting there long enough to get swarmed—or stolen. We'd already stolen it first.
Inside, chaos reigned. The alarm wailed, and someone had thrown a café table through the window. Not that any authorities would respond. I went straight upstairs, avoiding the biggest crowds. It was quieter here. I pulled out my list and got to work. Suddenly, a hand touched my shoulder. I spun, knocked it away, and pulled out the baton. Toby burst out laughing.
"Shut up, jerk, and help me find what we need."
"What's left on the list?"
"Lantern, stove, fuel, and a couple of hand axes."
"All that? What've you been doing while I was downstairs?"
"Hey, shove a piece of glass up your—"
"Oh yeah, you'd like that," he cut me off. "Move it."
We found everything we needed fast. I grabbed some heavy-duty shopping bags, and we loaded up. I called Jon. He was ready.
We headed downstairs. Toby was ahead of me. A lanky guy tried to snatch one of his bags. Toby held firm and gave him a piece of his mind. The guy punched him in the face.
I stepped forward, extended the baton, and cracked it into the guy's kneecap. He collapsed.
"Get your stuff. Let's go," I said.
We made it back to the car. A few Vivens were now in the area. Judging by the splatter on the windshield, Jon had taken one down. We loaded up and left.
Turning a corner, I spotted a man on the ground, bleeding from his neck. An overturned shopping trolley lay beside him, boxes scattered. I jumped out and grabbed what I could, then climbed back in.
"What you got?" Jon asked.
"Mobile phones."
"Oh sweet! Got the new iPhone?"
"You mean they've released another one during the apocalypse? Seriously, Jon, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"God, you're old."
"Shut it and keep driving."
We stopped in a permit-only zone—doubt we'd get clamped today. A couple hundred meters from the house, far enough that engine noise wouldn't draw them. We lit smokes and talked plans.
Moving into Toby's flat made sense, but I wasn't ready. Too many people still lived there, and after what happened in the store, I didn't trust them. Jon still wanted to hit the gun store. Another argument. Voices rose until we heard moaning nearby. That snapped us out of it.
We decided all supplies would go to Toby's flat—except Sky's clothes. We'd pack up later.
A group of 30 undead rounded the corner into the parking lot.
"I'm getting out," I said.
"You mad?" Jon asked.
"You need time to unload. I'll distract them."
He nodded. I got out, extended the baton, and walked toward the group, yelling to get their attention. I skirted around them, whacking hands as needed. Once I'd led them away down the hill, I sprinted back up, looped around, and called Ty to open the back door.
I made it in, locked the door, and Sky ran to hug me.
"Miss me?" I asked.
She nodded.
"I got you a present." I pulled out clothes—jeans and fleeces mostly. She smiled and ran to change.
"How'd it go?" Ty asked.
"Town's going to hell. Toby and Jon are taking the supplies to the flat. We'll pack up soon and move."
I called Toby—he answered.
"Done unloading?" I asked.
"Yeah, finished about ten minutes ago."
"That's weird. Jon's not back yet."
I hung up and called Jon. No answer. I tried five more times. Texted him: If you don't reply, I'm kicking your ass. Nothing.
Two hours later. Noon. Still no sign of Jon. Sky asked about him. I said he was with Toby. She didn't believe me.
Where the hell is he?
The news isn't much help anymore. Evacuation centers are being set up nationwide. The government says head to the nearest one. We won't. This thing's gone too far already to be saved.