What Lasts in Us

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Three days. Three days on and it feels like we're finally getting somewhere. We stop every now and again to search for things, for anything that might help us. We've come across two gas stations and the only helpful item I've managed to find was an empty beer bottle, and a brand new, unwrapped toothbrush. Ka-ching.

But I'm on the lookout for something much more important than that – much more. If there's one thing I focus on besides trying to keep myself alive, it's finding more tampons. That time of month is closing in fast, and though I have enough for this time around, it's for next time. I'm a bit of a hoarder, so to not be prepared for the future makes me uneasy.

Nate's maybe ten, eleven metres behind me, rifle raised, but he lets me lead. He gave me Max's rifle while I gave him that blonde woman's handgun, so we're equally armed. I lead the way towards the highway, my own rifle raised, keeping a close eye on everything in front of me; Nate makes sure we haven't missed anything by checking my flanks.

I'm careful and wary as I approach the last line of trees, where there's a metal barrier separating the wildlife from the highway. I see nothing, I hear nothing; I keep my footsteps light, as does Nate, so we can hear something long before it approaches.

Unlike that fateful afternoon where I simply broke through the trees and stepped out onto the highway, not caring in the least that someone could be watching, I stop behind the last tree before the highway, and check through the scope what's in front of me.

Directly ahead, maybe three hundred metres, is another gas station. Ransacked, by the looks of it, broken cars sitting by the gas pumps. Glass is everywhere; the windows of the cars and the station have been smashed. I search the area for any signs of life, besides the vines that are now taking over part of the building, and the parts that look to be home to wild animals.

No people. Thank god.

Slow and cautious, I climb over the metal barrier and creep onto the highway, rifle raised, searching, searching, searching, hoping that someone isn't hiding inside the gas station or down the road, waiting for the right opportunity. But nothing happens; the overcast weather protects me, allows me to race forward and duck down next to one of the destroyed cars, right next to a gas pump.

The car's missing two panels, its hood, its doors; its windows have all been destroyed, and really, nothing's left. Someone's been through here and picked it clean. I in the meantime check the pump, but of course nothing comes out.

I motion to Nate, who I know is watching me from across the highway. Despite me having checked, Nate's cautious as he approaches – but he also has another reason to be slow, as Dog is on a leash, trailing behind him – or beside him, because there's so many new things and smells.

Dog doesn't make a sound because his nose is too busy, but he strains against his collar, trying to pull away even when Nate comes to crouch beside me by the car, the vehicle the only thing standing between us and the empty gas station.

"Do you wanna go in or do you want me to?" I ask.

Nate tugs on Dog's leash, and when he's within reach, Nate picks him up and puts him on his knee. Dog retaliates by chewing on Nate's shirt. "You go in," he says. "I'll check the perimeter."

"Meet me inside when you're done." I pet Dog on the head, twice, gentle, and if puppies could smile, I'm sure that's what Dog would be doing right now – before he proceeds to nibble on my fingers.

Nate pats me on the knee once, reassuringly, before he puts Dog on the ground. He then turns away, keeping low, and stays in a crouch even as he puts distance between himself and the car. Dog reluctantly follows behind, a tiny yap escaping past his teeth.