His only thoughts were of home.
He’d been gone 5 months, 3 weeks, 2 days. There was no way of knowing the time anymore.
They were all distant memories.
The plague, the panic, the lies, basically worst parts of the Bible come to life. If God wanted to destroy his children, this was a most novel way to do so. He rid himself of such thoughts. Too distracting. His MULE packed, he walked through empty streets, streets with histories and memories and all the little goodies that used to make up mankind.
He heard stories of survivors, like himself. There had to be, right?
He never sought them out. Not his nature. Not his way. He was onto something. He’d been hearing messages over the Link. A large walking party making their way south. Bad idea. He had been sent by “her” to talk them out of it.
His name was Carlos.
Carlos had teamed up with Marshall, Jim, and Charlotte. They had all met on the route to Las Vegas. He stopped and hid behind a rusted out car. Took out his hunting rifle. For now, he’d watched them.

View this story's 2 comments.