"Ugh." I let out a loud sigh and shifted uncomfortably in my seat as the relentless sun beat down on me. Its rays were blazing, almost painful against my skin. I reached back and gently stroked Lilly's hair, pushing it away from her eyes as they slowly opened and squinted up at me.

"Morning already?" she groggily muttered. "You could have let me sleep a little longer, you know." She playfully blew a raspberry at me, her lips forming into a mischievous smile. Despite my exhaustion, I couldn't help but grin back at her.

She sat up from the pile of blankets she had been lying on and leaned forward to peer out the windshield, scanning the tree line ahead with concern. "Anything?"

I pursed my lips and shook my head. "Nope. Nada."

She deflated back onto her makeshift bed with a heavy sigh. "They've got me worried."

"I don't think we should be too concerned just yet," I replied softly. 

James and a few others from our group had gone out hunting for supplies. Normally, I would have joined them, but I was still recovering from our last scavenging expedition where I stupidly broke my already weakened wrist trying to catch myself after tripping. My healing process seemed to be getting slower and more difficult each time, and with dwindling medication supplies, I feared my body was starting to reject my transplanted liver. I didn't think the endless stream of canned goods was very good for my heart, either, and the gas station food alone was probably giving us all diabetes. Whatever the cause, recently, I could feel myself slowing down.

I wanted to go with the hunting group, but James had insisted that I stay behind for my own safety. I trusted James. He had come a long way since that geeky boy I had met in the college... What, two months ago? Had it really only been two months?

Lilly didn't reply to my comment, lost in her own thoughts as she stared out at the deserted landscape before us.

I grabbed the door handle and pushed against it, kicking several times as the dented quarter panel of the semi fought my efforts. With a final grunt, I lashed my foot straight out and it slammed open. A cold gust washed over me and into the cabin. Lilly yelped and pulled a blanket over herself. "Fuck, Alec, close that!"

I hopped down, landing on the light frost with a crunch, and surveyed our campsite.

Behind me lay Beast, Whiskey's semi - once loaded down with goods - it was now our makeshift home and fortification. We had set it across the widest opening to our little clearing. Tents dotted the frigid ground like odd mushrooms, running vehicles beside them. Campfires popped sporadically, spitting red embers into the dawn light. 

A few faces peeked out at me from car windows, then disappeared back inside, sparingly using their precious gasoline to warm up their fingers and toes before going about their day. I frowned. Several cars turned off after sighting me. That was better, they knew better. I made a mental note of the still running vehicles, sure to talk to some individuals about it later.

Encircling our encampment was a barrier of barbed wire and razor wire, strung taut between the trunks and high branches of surrounding trees. Various bells and chimes were interspersed along the lines, creating a soft clanging sound in the wind. My eyes scanned every inch of frost-etched wire until it disappeared into the dense curtain of trees beyond, searching for any weak spots or breaks in our defenses. But thankfully, there were none to be found. A sigh of relief escaped my lips.

Wincing from the stinging gust, I maneuvered my way across the frost-bitten grass towards a small heap of wood logs set to the side. Each footfall made a distinct crunch, echoing around the silent clearing. Cold seeped through the worn soles of my boots, nipping at my heels and toes like tiny pinpricks.

I stood for a moment, staring at the woodpile and rubbing at my wrist. "Not much choice," I thought to myself. I reached down and grabbed the biggest log I could locate, and stuffed it under my left arm, wincing. Then another, and finally, with a little effort, grabbed one more and held it in my right hand. I turned and eyeballed the campfires, trying to decide which ones needed the fuel the most. I decided on a few and dropped off my deliveries before returning to the pile. I repeated the process once more, then, satisfied, walked over to a large bag of shredded twigs and bark. I hefted it, tossing it up onto my shoulder, and walked to the back of Beast and knocked.

"Yah?" Came the reply.

"Whiskey, open the door please," I called out, the wind snatching my words away. I heard shuffling and stepped back as the door swung wide.

"Good morning, Alec," Whiskey said warmly, spying the bag over my shoulder. "Oh good! I was just about to go grab that."

She punched a switch to her side and a small platform flipped out and then began to lower to the ground. As it reached my knees, I stepped up onto it.

"Hey!" Whiskey said. "That's an OSHA violation, sir. Gonna have to put that in my report."

I chuckled and flipped her off as she hit the switch again, raising me up into the back of the cargo trailer, and shutting the door behind me as I stepped off the platform.

I dropped the bag at Whiskey's feet and leaned against the frame, glad to be out of the wind.

"I was down to mulch and flint, so thank ya kindly," she said as she began taking handfuls out of the bag and tossing them into a nearby stove.

I nodded. "How are the kids?"

She waved towards the back of the trailer, and my eyes followed her hand, spotting several small sleeping figures on the cots we had set up there. Between them and us was a small living space, a few chairs, and a table with a small campfire stove on it. Along one wall was a grouping of shelves stacked high with wooden boxes filled with pots, pans, various cans, and dried goods. Opposite of them were several deep freezers, stuffed to the gills with instant dinners and frozen pizzas.

I shivered and stepped deeper into the trailer.

The decision to convert Beast into a common area had been Whiskey's idea. It was a good idea, too. At first, I had argued that it should just be for storage and materials, but I was glad to have been wrong. We'd cut a couple of holes in the top, one for a ladder for high-ground surveillance, and the other we'd outfitted with an exhaust pipe for the pellet stove that Whiskey was currently filling.

The refrigerated trailer was surprisingly versatile; it kept heat out just as effectively as it trapped it in. During the summer months, we could also switch on the cooling units to combat the sweltering heat. The interior was mostly stainless steel, making it easy to keep clean and sterile when necessary. It served as our cargo hauler, living room, kitchen, hospital - and thanks to its thick walls - it had saved our asses more than once.

I patted the sturdy wall affectionately as I surveyed it for any damage or wear and tear. Whiskey noticed my gesture and let out a soft chuckle. "She done good, ain't she?"

"Mmm."

She tossed one last handful into the stove and then pressed the door shut, the metal screaming in protest as she did so. "Dammit, we need to find some axle grease or something for this damn door."

"Could always use white lithium," I offered. "I imagine people haven't snatched all that up. I'll look next time we're in town."

"That shit you put on brakes? Yeah, that'll work, I think. Gonna stink like fuck if it catches fire though." Whiskey eased herself into a chair, hands on her knees as she lowered into it. "Well, come on, come sit down, we need to go over some logistics."

I settled into the chair next to her and grabbed a tablet off of the table, labeled Georgia, punching up Google Maps. I'd had the good foresight to grab as many working tablets and phones as I could find and download map data to them before the entire grid went down. We had two to three tablets per state tucked away in various nooks and crannies, all with downloaded map data for each region. A few creative touches to the refrigerating unit, along with a couple of inverters and deep cycle batteries ensured that we always had power for our electronics. It had been a pain to set up, but the end result was a whole lot simpler than using an atlas and maps, as many other people we'd met on the road had done.

Whiskey tsked at me. "Still ain't learned your roads yet? You're never gonna be a trucker at this rate."

I smirked. "Come hell or high water, Whiskey, that was never gonna happen."

I examined the route we'd chosen several days prior. "I think this is still the best route we're gonna find." I showed her my screen. "There's a few stops on the way."

"Boy, we are low on supplies and those shit stains they call towns on the map are gonna be picked clean."

"Well, it's not like we can still go to Atlanta; that's the complete opposite direction."

"Fuck Atlanta, fuck Atlanta all the way in the ass, that's a death wish right there. Why the fuck would we go to a city center in the middle of the apocalypse? Might as well ride around on horseback while we're at it. Fuck that noise. I say we stop in Milledge, honestly. It's only about an hour from here, it's a good-sized town, but not so much that the fuckers would have stuck around. Don't want a repeat of Macon. Ah... Chi-Chi." Tears welled up in Whiskey's weathered brown eyes.

I grimaced. We'd learned a few hard lessons in Macon. "Whiskey, Macon was..."

"Those fucking things ate my fucking Chi-Chi, Alec, I ain't ever gonna let it go. And yes, I hold you responsible. That's a fact, but one we have to live with. Ain't changin' my respect for ya, but it's a lesson I hope you hold dear."

It was, most certainly. Chi-Chi had been Whiskey's best friend - her co-pilot, a Chihuahua she had loved dearly. I normally hated the little bastards, but Chi-Chi had actually been quite sweet. Apparently, one of the Turned had thought so as well, although in a more literal sense. Whiskey's reaction had been... Unhinged. Let's just say that Whiskey was normally a fairly even-tempered woman, but before that day, I had never seen someone kill a fully-fledged Turned with nothing but a box cutter.

"Whiskey... I..."

"Fuck you, Alec. With all due respect, you can suck my farts through a goat's ass, okay? Let's leave it at that."

I snorted softly, putting the matter aside. She was right, it had been my fault. Going to Macon had been a mistake, and we needed to avoid the larger towns, sticking to smaller ones such as Milledgeville like we always had. Macon was a gamble on my part. We'd walked away with grief and little else.

I examined the map once more. We needed to move. The Turned knew we were in the area after our failed raid a few weeks prior and had to be close to sniffing us out. We were camped near a small town called Gordon, about 30 miles east of Macon. Getting to Milledge wouldn't take us more than a few hours taking it slow using backroads. I zoomed in and traced GA-18 to 49. There were a couple of small towns where we might be able to scavenge some gas, Toomsboro and Irwinton. Whiskey was right, Milledge was so small that the Turned wouldn't have stuck around. Maybe we'd even find some survivors to add to our little family.

But after that... We had a bigger problem.

"What do we do about Augusta, then? It's bigger than Macon, what do we just go around?"

She sighed and ran a hand through her short, greasy gray hair. "If we gotta."

I clasped a hand over my face and squeezed, letting the warmth of my hand defrost the tip of my nose. "Fucking fuckity fart-knockin' fuck," I mumbled through my fingers.

Whiskey smacked my knee. "Rubbin' off on ya, huh?"

I released my face and gazed at her. "I guess so, Momma Bear."

She waved the nickname away. "Alec, are you secretly under the age of thirteen?" She glanced at me, and I grinned, shaking my head. "Then suck my dick, don't call me that."

She reached out and snatched the tablet from my hand, tracing routes and muttering. "Go on, get outta here."

I stood, looking back at the kids one more time. A few were watching us, sitting quietly in the dark. It was the first and most important lesson we taught the kids - silence is golden.

Out in the open, the Turned were impossible to escape. They had heightened hearing, they could see in the dark, and we were pretty sure they even had heat vision. But as long as you were in some kind of enclosure, and kept quiet, you stood a good chance of avoiding their attention.

I waved at them before sauntering to the door and swinging it wide. I shivered once more as I was again greeted by the frosty air.

"Son of a bitch!" Lilly's body hit the ground with a thud, and a string of curses escaped her lips as the door caught her off guard. She shot me an irritated look before scrambling to her feet, brushing dirt and leaves from her clothes.

"Call out, you asswipe!" She glared at me. "You know better than that, Alec."

I hopped down and offered her a hand, but she ignored it, angrily clambering to her feet.

"Are you hurt?"

"Only my pride," she retorted.

I winced as Lilly brushed the dirt off her pants, knowing I was in for an earful.

"I'm sorry," I said, holding my hands up in a placating gesture. "You're right, I should have called out before opening the door."

Lilly huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Her glare could have melted steel.

"That's the third time this week you've clocked me with a door. Babe, what's going on?"

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I don't know. I guess I'm just distracted."

"Well get un-distracted. We can't afford mistakes, not with those things out there." She jerked a thumb in the direction of the tree line.

"I know. I'm sorry."

Lilly studied me for a moment, her expression softening. "Hey, talk to me. What's going on in that thick head of yours?"

"I'm worried about our supplies," I admitted. "We're running low on everything. Medicine, fuel, ammo. Not to mention food."

Lilly nodded. "Yeah, that last raid was pretty thin."

"And I'm worried about the hunting group."

She mock glared at me. "Weren't you just telling me an hour ago that it wasn't too worrying?"

"Well, yeah, but that was an hour ago."

She shifted uncomfortably. I'd learned over the course of our escapades that Lilly and James weren't particularly close, but they did care about one another - more so after everything had happened. They were all each other had left. I understood the feeling. I was hoping against hope that I would find my family safe when we reached my family cabin. It had already been so long, could it really be possible?

"We should go look for them," she said.

I hesitated, glancing back at the shelter. "I don't know. We can't just leave the kids."

Lilly followed my gaze. "Whiskey and the others can watch them for a bit. They'll be all right."

She had a point. If it were my family out there, I'd want every effort made to find them.

"Alright," I conceded. "Let me grab my gear and let Whiskey know. Meet you by the bikes in five?"

Lilly nodded, already moving toward the lean-to where we kept our motley assortment of vehicles running on hopes, prayers, and duct tape. I went to knock on the back of Beast but found it already open, Whiskey looking down at me. "You hit her with the door again? You know she follows you wherever you go."

"James' group still hasn't checked in. Lilly wants to go look for them," I said in a low voice.

Whiskey's face creased with worry. "Yeah, go on. Be careful."

I nodded curtly. "Keep the doors locked and don't let anyone leave until we get back."

"Yeah yeah, don't have to tell me." She grumbled lightly as she tugged on the rope to close the doors. "Do this Whiskey, do that Whiskey, we need you to do this, Whiskey. Buncha toddlers." The door clanked shut and I heard the latch inside slide into place. I breathed a sigh of relief, then set around the side and hustled towards the motorpool.

I hurried over to Lilly, who stood by her dirt bike, her fingers drumming impatiently against the handlebars. She wore a faded leather jacket and a pair of worn combat boots, and a handgun was tucked into her belt. Her keys were in her hand, ready to start the engine.

I snatched my trusty shotgun; a Mossberg I had salvaged from an abandoned safe. The weight of it felt familiar and reassuring in my hands as I loaded a few extra rounds into the side saddle and tucked more into the fanny pack strapped to my waist. My fingers danced over the gun as I checked for any defects or malfunctions. Finding nothing, I racked it once, feeling the round slide into the chamber, and slung it over my back.