“Few hours at most.”
“Does this look promising?” Daisy interjects, her brow furrowed, her head tilted at the hardened wanderer.
“Not particularly. This city was hit hard.”
“But you've seen this before? When you left, right?”
“It hasn't aged well.”
“So, we just go through the city then?” her questions continue as she kneels down next to him.
“No, we’ll arc around west, take some less dense roads.”
“Do you think we’ll know if Oasis survived before we actually get to it?”
“I’m not sure. I’m hoping they’ve expanded out and we’ll come to it sooner.”
“Is that a good thing though? If they see us from a distance?”
“They’ll be able to tell we’re not infected.”
“Will they? We’re dirty and we don’t exactly look inviting.”
“They have to know that Adapted don’t travel with backpacks and supplies.”
“That’s a bold assumption.”
“It is, but it’s all we can do.”
The doctor rises to his feet, groaning as his knees creak.
“Well, let’s not continue to waste time. Only one way to find out for sure.”
The four hopeful nomads slip behind a row of derelict store fronts, cross a two lane street, stride down an alley between more abandoned buildings, and finally come back to the interstate. Their pace is noticeably elevated, but none of them comment on it. Hope resides in each of their hearts, even Patrick has a newfound pep in his step.
An hour passes, and the nomads have to divert their path away from the interstate. They travel near the outskirts of the city, where trees and patches of green begin to pop up, just beyond the reach of the industrial expanse of the days left behind.
“No infected, no strange noises, you’d think this would be comforting, but it’s not. It’s somehow even more foreboding.”
The out of practice attorney keeps her comments to a whisper, more so needing to hear something than to have a conversation.
“Is it possible they cleared the surrounding cities out? That seems like a top priority for a surviving community.” the doctor posits aloud.
“There was talk of it before I was exiled, but the prevailing thought was that there weren’t enough people to complete that task, not safely at least.”
“You’ve been gone for about seven years, maybe they’ve grown?”
“It makes sense, but let’s try to keep our expectations tempered. It’s still very possible we get there and there’s nothing left. I don’t like the thought of that anymore than any of you, but we need to recognize that possibility.”
“Right, low expectations. Nothing new.”
To the brunette woman’s surprise the faint hint of a smirk cracks across the usually stoic man’s face. She smiles softly, to herself, taking the smallest bit of pride in the gesture of humanity from him.
Somewhere around another hour later they have to cross back into the barren city. The road they were traveling near veers off and ventures deeper into the state, away from their destination. After roughly ten minutes of travel time, being back near the main streets of the city, Karo notices an interesting trend has presented itself; there are blockades preventing side roads and intersections from connecting to the main street. These structures are not crude or haphazard, there is care and attention in their design and execution.
“These have to be a good sign, right?” a minor wave of enthusiasm carries Daisy’s question.
“I would think so.”
“Patrick, please come closer, we don’t know this area like Karo does.”
The silent teen heeds Norman’s request, quickening his stride to walk along side the group.
“How far away are we from Oasis now?”
"Gail Parkway is two lights up, we turn right.”
“How far down after we turn?′
“It’s almost two miles down, on the left.”
Norman’s heart skips, his chest flutters, his lips nervously twitch.
“It’s hard to believe we’re finally this close. We could be about to reverse the course of history.”
“If Oasis is still standing, and the blood is still good, and a cure or immunity is possible. There’s a lot of ‘ifs’ Norman.” Karo replies, from behind a slanted gaze.
“You’re sunshine in the flesh, you know that?” Daisy quips, not missing a beat.
The rough traveler grunts, choosing not to side-eye her on this occasion.
“Stop! Stop right where you are! Put the container down and raise your hands in the air!”
The commands boom across the street, coming from somewhere they’ve already passed. Norman gently bends at the waist, and rests the cooler on the ground. He joins Karo and Daisy in raising their hands up high. He shoots a gesture to Patrick, then the teen follows suit.
“Slowly turn around, don't make any sudden movements! There are enough rifles pointed at you to drop all of you before you can do anything, so don’t try anything stupid.”
The four weathered and weary travelers pivot on their heels, steadily rotating one hundred and eighty degrees. Once fully turned, Karo scans over their surroundings, but to his distress he can’t see anyone.
“On your knees, keep your arms up!”
Daisy’s gaze cuts to Norman, then to Karo, her brow raised, her eyes wide and bulging.
“Do it now!”
The brooding wanderer nods to them, and they do as instructed. A long moment passes in silence, followed by rustling coming from all around them. One by one people exit the surrounding building, seven of them in total, all armed with rifles and thick clothing, complete with goggles and odd looking ventilation masks. The armed commandos all have closely shaved hair, and the only skin showing are thin strips around their jaws, their foreheads, and the tops of their heads.
With guns aimed and their attention focused on the four submissive intruders, the seven rifle wielders converge and quickly surround the nomads. The one leading the charge stands front and center, with his head titled, and directed at Karo. The commando approaches the wanderer, kneeling down a few feet away from him.
“I’ll be damned!” the man says, with a thick Louisianan accent.
“What?” one of the armed men behind the nomads asks.
“It’s Karo!”
“No shit?”
The knelt man removes his goggles and mask. Karo’s
