While Sam paid for the fuel and food items, the gray-headed, elderly owner said, “This town and the immediate surrounding area had a permanent population of about ninety last week, but most folks left to stay with relatives, or they intended to sneak into Canada. All my help fled the area three days ago, leaving me on my own.” JR had compassion for the old man who slowly hobbled around behind the counter. There was no way he could cross the border alone or escape from zombies. In his physical condition he was doomed. She thought it ironic that if he was turned into a zombie, he would suddenly have strength and endurance he lacked as he stood in front of her. They thanked the old man, wished him good luck, and left.
The surrounding area was grazing land almost devoid of trees. J.R. said she would be glad when they reached Idaho and forested land. What she saw was too close to desert terrain for her. Traffic was light, but drivers running in both directions were still pushing their vehicles far too fast.
Twenty-one miles past Sand Spring, they crossed the Musselshell River at Mosby. JR said, “It looks more like an Oklahoma creek than a river.” She rode a while in silence listening to Waylon Jennings version of “I Can’t Help the Way I Don’t Feel About You” on the Hangin’ Tough album. “That album’s a bit sad and down in the mouth, but it fit’s my mood. I hope to get out of this funk before you kick me out and leave me along the road.”
“That won’t happen. This was one of my dad’s disc. Honky-tonk cryin’ in your beer music. This is one of the times its lines are appropriate. Unless you object, I’ll let the rest of the album play.”
“It’s fine. Fits the funky mood I’m in.” After a pause she said, “But I might need to guzzle a couple beers or have three fingers of bourbon before it finishes if it gets any sadder.”
“Okay, if that’s what it takes to cope do it.”
After a few minutes JR asked, “Do you know what caused the zombies? During the time they attacked the rest of the world did anybody figure out where they came from? Like, what caused them and what their goal is?”
“There were a lot of opinions . . . mostly heavily biased from people simply wanting to blame someone who was different than them. Many revolved around religious retribution. Since they were first noticed in the Middle-East, some ascribed their rise to anti-Muslim causes and thought it would die out when that race was eradicated. Then the Jews in Israel were decimated, and it kept spreading and overrunning other religious groups. Then there were theories about viruses or bacteria. A few even blamed a curse caused by various religious sects in Africa or Haiti in the Caribbean Islands where voodoo is practiced. In the end, no one knew for sure what caused it or how it came about. It just suddenly occurred in a small area and spread around the globe before nations took it seriously and even thought of confronting it head-on. About like a worldwide viral pandemic that hits and overwhelms the majority. Some even gloated when certain groups were being annihilated. The idiots in government did what they’d always done; they tried to conceal it and hoped it would go away on its own while they argued in never-ending meetings and investigations that produced little to nothing in results. The few politicians who tried to stir up immediate action were ridiculed and shouted down as racist or zealots. As for goals, I guess from what has occurred thus far it’s for them to eliminate all humans from the planet.”
JR thought long moments. “The actions of politicians is especially pathetic; if they’d been open and truthful and nonpartisan from the start there’s some chance this could have been avoided.”
Sam frowned and nodded. “Yeah, definitely. That’s a big reason to not join a commune group where the same loudmouths rise to power and want to run things they know nothing about. From what I’ve seen, about half the politicians have never had a real job and had to struggle to advance and support a family; most appear to be loudmouthed and lazy. ”
They’d driven a few minutes over an hour while relaxed and enjoying the music. Sam saw them first and thought they were zombies. Two people, a man and a young woman stood in the middle of his lane waving for them to stop. As they got closer it was obvious the man’s left arm was broken from the way he favored the drooping forearm. The female appeared to be about fourteen or fifteen. The wreckage of a motorhome lay scattered off to the left on pastureland where it had careened across a shallow ditch and through a barbwire fence.
The short man was in his early forties, overweight, pale, and obviously in pain. The girl was slender, dark haired, and had clearly been crying. She stood apart from the man. When she moved, she limped on her right leg. She looked confused and yet harsh . . . angry even.
Sam pulled his pistol and held it in his lap before lowering the glass halfway.
The strangers approached Sam’s window. “Could you please help us, my wife and son are dead, and we’re injured. Can you give us a lift to the nearest town?” Sam looked at JR.
She was cautious but curious; She nodded. “We can squeeze them in up here until we reach the next town. I don’t believe it’s very far to Lewistown.”
Sam exited with the gun in his hand and asked the man, “Are you armed.”
“Armed? For God’s sake no. Why do you ask?”
“We’ve
