“Stupid cat,” Jill hissed back.
Azazel promptly stopped growling, harrumphed once, and turned around inside her carrier, facing away from the person who’d clearly become her nemesis. Perhaps she figured the view of her butt expressed her emotions better than her limited vocalizations ever could.
“Good girl,” I whispered as I shifted the van into drive.
In my peripheral vision, I spotted a subtle grin on Clare’s face.
Then, with a thumbs-up directed at George and Casey, I rolled the van forward, over the disgusting entrails pooled on the road and drove across the bridge. Soon, our two-vehicle caravan headed deeper into the forest, on the lookout for a decent campsite—where, if we were lucky, we’d manage to get some freaking sleep.
Preferably for a week or more.
Chapter
3
“Just for the record, this is a very bad idea!” – Bear, Armageddon (1998)
Once we’d put some distance between us and our latest death-defying challenge, I decreased my speed and eased the van onto the shoulder of the road. As usual, George promptly followed suit.
We hadn’t ventured far into the forest, but I knew how exhausted we all were, and I doubted any of us wanted to rove through the wilds of southern Mississippi all night. True, we hadn’t seen any moving vehicles since the ill-fated Beetle—and we hadn’t encountered too many zombies either—but extreme fatigue could lead to all sorts of trouble, including dumbass decisions.
The time had come to figure out where we should spend the night.
The walkie-talkie lying on the dashboard crackled, and as if reading my mind, Casey asked, “What’s up, Mr. Joe? Trying to find a good camping spot?”
I picked up the handheld radio and pressed the talk button. “Good guess.” My gaze drifted to the darkened woods flanking us. “I liked your idea of setting up a tripwire around our campsite… but I’m still hoping to find an out-of-the-way spot.”
“Makes sense,” he replied. “Think we could all use some zombie-free rest.”
“No kidding.”
During my two-week prepping phase, I’d spent plenty of time downloading digital maps to my various electronic tablets. Most of the maps—particularly those of cities, states, and regions—worked well with GPS. Not so with the rudimentary maps offered by the National Park Service and the U.S. Forest Service, but luckily, they were easy enough to follow.
“Give me a second to look at the map,” I told Casey, then powered up the tablet closest to me.
Homochitto National Forest boasted several official campgrounds, but as much as I would’ve loved to stay in a cabin—or, hell, on a level RV site—I knew we should avoid any place where others might’ve already chosen to camp. None of us wanted bloodthirsty zombies, desperate survivors, or an unhinged wildling to disturb our sleep.
Fortunately, the forest also contained several backcountry camping areas—“wild” or “primitive” places where, in pre-apocalypse days, overnight campers could park their RVs or pitch their tents for free. Normally, such locales provided no amenities, no services, and no hookups for water, electricity, or sewage—just a chance to enjoy nature and some quietude off the beaten path. Hence, the lack of camping fees.
Granted, staying overnight in a federal forest usually required purchasing an inexpensive permit (or one of those nationwide annual passes) ahead of time, but I didn’t think any rangers would show up to collect the requisite paperwork—no matter where we decided to camp.
Given the cool fall temperatures typical for early November, I wouldn’t have minded using an electric hook-up to power the portable heaters I’d stowed beneath the sofa. But if the lights were out in New Orleans, Baton Rouge, and every other town I’d driven through, I assumed the power grid was down in rural Mississippi as well.
Beyond the heaters, I’d also packed blankets beneath the couch. So, the cold wouldn’t pose a problem for me and Clare, even if we were compelled to sleep on the floor. Jill, after all, was already occupying the sofa—which, when pulled out, would normally double as our bed—and I suspected the dining nook—which could also be transformed into a sleeping area—wouldn’t be roomy enough for the two of us.
I couldn’t complain, though. Given Jill’s worsening condition, I doubted my mother-in-law would be with us for much longer—a fact that, despite our tumultuous relationship, greatly troubled me. Not because I’d miss her lovely, helpful presence, but because her transformation—and ultimate passing—would devastate Clare.
But that was a problem for another time. For the moment, we just needed a peaceful, remote campsite devoid of any freaking zombies.
Clare leaned over and peered at the tablet in my hand. “What are you thinking?”
I pointed to a nearby area. “We could give this a shot.”
She shrugged. “I don’t care, as long as it’s quiet enough to sleep.”
I scoffed. “As if that matters. You could sleep through World War III.”
“True.” She grinned. “I was thinking of you and Mom.”
She had a point. Jill and I were both light sleepers—one of several quirks that, despite the animosity between us, we had in common. And amusingly enough, no matter where we parked for the night, my snoring would likely keep my mother-in-law awake anyway.
Sucks to be her.
Actually, the lack of color in Jill’s face made that statement truer than it had ever been.
“OK.” I shut off the tablet. “Let’s check it out.”
After a brief discussion with George and Casey, we hit the road again. The trip, however, didn’t last long. Before reaching the town of Crosby, one of numerous small communities within Homochitto’s borders, I turned off MS-33, and George followed.
Cautiously, we drove along a paved road that wound and bumped its way through the stately pine trees. About a mile from the main thoroughfare, I veered onto a downhill gravel path—only a few feet wider than our van—and soon encountered an open space that essentially served as a dead end. Not that I minded. The area was roomy enough to accommodate both vehicles, parked side
