My camping supplies, survival gear, and a pile of weapons are at the end of the vault. I keep the weapons sorted by type—rifles, shotguns, pistols, crossbows, compound bows, knives, swords, and machetes. If you can kill with it, I’ve got it. I don’t even like guns, but better to have them locked up than looted by some stranger and used against me.
I grab a buck knife and head back to the lobby to work on the rabbits. I’ve got one rabbit skinned, and I’m starting on the second when a noise from outside makes me jump.
It’s those damn aluminum cans.
*
AIDEN
After a few hours of walking, I come to a faded wooden sign by the side of the road with lettering scrawled across it in peeling paint.
Welcome to Elk Springs, Montana
Sportsman’s Paradise
Population: 597
There’s a homespun drawing of a fly fisherman casting a rod in a stream.
A handful of sad-looking businesses line the road ahead, with a few blocks of modest homes behind them. A smattering of cars lines the streets. Most are burned out or smashed, but a few look mostly intact. There may be hope for me yet.
I’m so focused on the cars that I don’t notice the wide patch of aluminum cans until my feet clatter through them. The noise echoes throughout the quiet little town.
Well, shit. Now somebody knows I’m coming.
Chapter Four
Elk Springs
ZACH
I bar the door and grab my rifle, adrenaline coursing hot through my veins. Probably that sick man from last night. I should have known he’d be back. These encounters are always terrifying and unpredictable. It’s like being in an earthquake. You never know how long it will last and how bad it will get—a singular point in time where your life is at risk.
Peeking through the porthole, I spot a lone guy wandering into town.Hmm. Not the guy from last night, and he doesn’t look sick. That calms my nerves a bit. But a few things are odd about him.
First, he’s not holding any weapons. That’s extremely unusual. Second, he’s alone. Every encounter with looters and thugs has always been three or more. Safety in numbers and all that. And they’re usually doing some poorly executed tactical drills, jumping behind cover, and yelling “clear” a lot. Third—and this is by far the most interesting—he looks…normal. Like the Great Collapse has had no impact on him.
Most people I encounter are somewhere on the spectrum, from dirty and ragged to full-on mountain man. But this guy looks clean-cut, like he’s had a recent shave and a real haircut. His dark hair is clipper short on the sides, the top longer and kind of messy. He’s about five foot ten and young. I’d guess around my age, maybe a bit older, eighteen or nineteen. He’s muscular but not too bulky, his skin medium olive. And he’s dressed all in black, wearing boots, cargo pants, and a V-neck T-shirt.
He doesn’t have that desperate look everybody has now. The look you get after living on your own for a year, not knowing where your next meal is coming from. Or if you do, you’re worried somebody will take it.
Usually, I’d be firing off warning shots and yelling at him to clear out of town by now. But instead, I watch him and wait. Curiosity replaces my apprehension. His confident and fluid movements captivate me. He’s trying to be stealthy. It’s kind of funny to watch, actually. Especially after the way he clattered through the cans on the way into town.
There’s a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. A little fluttering.
Oh crap.
I forgot this feeling existed. This doesn’t happen anymore. Nowadays, it’s survival or nothing—zero guy distractions. But this guy is fricking cute.
He continues down the road, peeking into each shop, then approaches a 4Runner parked on the street. He tests the doors, and they open. But he’s wasting his time. It has no keys, a dead battery, and an empty gas tank. That’s true of every car for miles.
Well, there’s thatonecar at the junkyard. It’s ever-present in my mind. My escape hatch to Seattle, where I used to live with my family, where I left my ex-boyfriend and first love, Felix. I don’t even know if they are dead or alive. They must all be dead. Everyone I’ve ever known or loved is dead.
Cute Guy must have figured out the car was useless because he exits it and continues on. As he approaches the general store, I panic. He’ll find Wilson.
Damn it, Zach.
The defense system doesn’t work if I don’t use it. If I set it off now, there’s a good chance I’ll hit him.
