Zombie Road: The Second Omnibus by Simpson, A. (e ink manga reader .txt) 📗

to have. He left some gold on the counter and a little extra for feeding his dog.

It was still chilly out when he eased through the gate and aimed his car west. It had been a good visit and he was pleased with how things went. His first attempt at being an ambassador had gone well. They were completely on board, he’d written down the things they needed in his notebook, and the items they had to trade on a regular basis. He’d left them with the lists of trade goods the Hutterites and Lakota had in abundance and assurances that Lakota would have rigs patrolling the established route, keeping the undead population under control. The country was starting to get back on its feet. The farther he drove, the more he second-guessed himself about Sandy. Maybe he should have seen how things went. Maybe she wouldn’t have been embarrassed by him, the ugly kid half her age. Maybe.

Maybe he’d stop back in after he hit up a few more towns on his map, circle around to see. He’d think up some reason for his return, some business with the mayor or something. If she ignored him, or pretended nothing happened, then he would know. He’d understand.

Jessie rechecked his map and took the next road coming up. He had left tombstone behind two days ago, had checked on an abandoned Hutterite farm, pulled up miles of fences and had been steadily headed west on his way toward a survivalist outpost in Idaho. They seemed well armed, well organized, and had good communications. They’d broken radio silence after months of listening to Bastille’s show and had contacted Wire Bender on the Ham. They said they might be interested in trade and they would meet with an emissary. Jessie’s dad had told him to be wary of the group. They seemed a little too on edge, a bit too over the top security conscious, and there was a guy called the Colonel in charge, who seemed a little sketchy. His old man told him to skip it if it didn’t feel right, they could send a team later on, when he had the manpower and the time. For now, just check them out. Make sure they weren’t any part of the cult that had taken him prisoner.

But first, Jessie had to make a quick stop at a ranch that was only a hundred miles out of his way. When the people of Lakota found out he was taking off on an extended run into the wastelands, some had given him their addresses and a list of things they would pay him for if he could locate them and bring them back. Jessie had marked the places on his map and told them he’d do his best. No promises.

The miles rolled by and the Wyoming landscape never seemed to change. Sandy soil, scrub brush, and solitude. The sky was huge, blue and bright with puffy white clouds and not a single jet trail. The blacktop was old and faded gray from the many summers since it had been resurfaced, and he spotted an occasional deer or elk that glanced up at him as he passed. The houses were few and far between, sometimes hidden entirely from view, miles down a dirt driveway. He was getting close and glanced at the note again.

Black mailbox without any numbers.

Four Forks Ranch written in wooden letters on an arched sign over the driveway.

Twenty miles from the crossroads.

Family Bible and photo album.

Hope chest at the foot of the bed.

Be careful, infected inside.

Wally Abelson and his wife had given it to him. They said not to put himself in any danger, but if it was possible…

They’d been lucky enough to grab a few biscuits, pack a lunch, and head out early on the morning of the outbreak. Their oldest would get the kids to grandmas for breakfast and make sure they didn’t miss the bus for school. A neighbor had called, said he’d seen a cow with their brand with a fresh new calf and she was stuck in the creek bottom. Apparently, she’d wandered deep into a ravine to have her baby and couldn’t find her way out. He said he heard her bawling when checking his fences but she’d gotten spooked by his dog and he didn’t have any luck leading her out. She was in high spirits and he was afraid she’d hurt herself, so he’d let her be and gave Wally a call when he got home.

They left at dawn on their four-wheelers, laden down with a picnic basket, grain and medicine, and figured they would make a day of it. They would run their property line to check fences and springs to make sure they were still flowing. Winter was coming and the farmer's almanac was calling for heavy snows.

They’d gotten the bossy old mamma out of the ravine, she’d come running when they offered her corn, and she’d joined back up with the rest of the herd. The calf was fine and they went ahead and tagged him and gave him his shots. They spent the rest of the day enjoying the warm September afternoon and had a late lunch at the spring that fed the creeks. When they got home late that evening, they were attacked by one of their children. Cody was only five and if he wasn’t so completely torn up, if he hadn’t been missing an arm and had half his intestines dragging behind him, they may have succumbed to the virus, too, but when they saw him they ran. They knew he was dead, but alive somehow. They were out of their minds with fear and grief but they knew the thing screaming after them was no longer their son. They made it to the pickup truck and ran him down. The rest of the extended family were in the old farmhouse. The big two story where Wally’s mom still cooked breakfast for everyone, same as she’d