The deer hears the soft sound I make. Freezes momentarily before she bounds off into the thick shelter of the trees.
Molly looks between me and the fleeing doe, clearly baffled by our letting potential prey get away.
I shake my head at the dog and turn in the opposite direction. Molly follows along happily, trusting my lead with the absolute devotion I’ve only ever witnessed in dogs.
I hunt for another hour—until the sun is high enough to cast broken rays through the canopy of trees—but find nothing else.
So Molly and I return to the camper with nothing to show for our efforts except the faint hope that the doe will be able to give birth safely and the deer population won’t completely die out in these woods.
Instead of fresh meat, Molly and I eat a breakfast of the last of our eggs and the remainder of a can of baked beans I opened yesterday.
While Molly runs off to supplement her meal with whatever she can scavenge in the woods, I meticulously tend the plants in my garden, which I started again for this year last week.
When the asteroid hit, the initial impact was so devastating it sent a layer of dust and debris into the atmosphere that’s clouded the sun for the past three years. This year is the first time I’ve seen signs of it lessening.
The sky isn’t blue like it used to be, but it’s not always such an oppressive gray. The only vegetables I’ve had any luck with are carrots and kale, but I’m always trying for more. Maybe this year I’ll get some tomatoes and potatoes. Squash and peppers. And maybe one day I’ll know the taste of fruit again.
I haven’t even been able to scavenge canned fruit in months.
When I’ve done what I could in the garden, I prepare my backpack and the small cart I always pull behind mewhen I scavenge, call Molly, and reset all my perimeter warnings so I’ll know if anyone comes this way while I’m gone.
Then Molly and I hike south.
Last month, I found a small, abandoned township that the rest of the world has forgotten, and I’ve been able to scavenge more food and supplies than I thought existed anymore.
There are still half the buildings left to search.
It takes us three hours to hike there, and the sun is so warm by then that I take off my sweatshirt and tie it around my waist. Molly runs around excitedly while I head to what used to be a one-pump gas station.
There’s still gas in the underground tank, I’m pretty sure, but I have no way to siphon it out and transport it. The only vehicle I have is the old pickup we used to haul the camper, and it hasn’t been turned on in three years. So I ignore the gas and check the building.
Between the weather coming through the broken windows and the insects and wildlife, most of the food and supplies that used to be kept here are either gone or unusable. I search through the mess and eventually dig out some canned soup and an untouched can of Coke.
I stow that in my backpack and keep searching, pushing overturned shelves out of the way so I can get into the back supply room.
There, I finally hit pay dirt. Still sealed boxes from theshop’s supplier filled with toiletries and over-the-counter medication.
It’s like gold. Even more valuable these days.
Always wary, I peek outside to check the surroundings before I haul two of the boxes out of the run-down building.
The world is as silent as it always is nowadays. Nothing but a few buzzards circling in the distance and a couple of crows having a loud discussion on the gossip of the day.
It takes an hour to move all the boxes into the hiding place I’ve been using for anything worthwhile I find in this town for fear that someone else will come upon it and grab my loot while I’m absent. There’s a cave in one of the hills to the west that’s impossible to see unless you’re right in front of it. I’ve got a motley assortment of plastic tubs and old boxes already stowed there, and I add all the boxes from today with the others.
I pick out several bottles of Advil, packs of diarrhea medicine, and a collection of shampoo and lotion, putting it all in the same box, which I then heave up to set on my wagon.
I keep my pistol in my hand and at the ready as Molly and I leave the township, hiking northeast on one of the old trails I use to get around.
There aren’t many roads left usable in these woods, and those that remain are far too dangerous for me to travel on.
If the roads aren’t filled with bandits and criminals, they’re under the control of Logan’s soldiers.
Almost as bad, as far as I’m concerned.
I pull my wagon, staying on guard as I walk for three hours until I reach Cleverly, the populated community closest to my camper.
There are about fifteen houses and trailers with a community garden and what used to be a bar.
