Prologue: End of the Line

This was it: the end of the line. Anthony Burns was out of gas and out of options. He opened the door of his black Mercedes 2600 sedan and thrust his overweight body outside. Before reaching in the back of the car for his pack, Anthony glanced at the sign next to the freeway. Gil's Pit Stop. That was his best—only—option. Anthony opened the back door of his car and grabbed his backpack. He checked inside. Three water bottles, two bagels, a common butcher knife, some handgun he had found with eight rounds—Anthony had never been a gun guy, and his Notre Dame class ring. Anthony didn't know he had the class ring with him. He certainly wouldn't have brought it with him; it must have been in the bag before he packed it. Anthony never stayed in touch with any of his college friends, but remembering the past may be more important now than ever. He slipped the class ring on his right ring finger. What was this? Two books were in here, too. No. Three books. Voltaire's Candide, Albert Camus' The Myth of Sisyphus, and Dante's Inferno. Anthony hadn't read these books in years. Then again, he hadn't used the backpack in years, and when he packed it he wasn't worried about current contents. Oh well. He held onto the books for now. As if he'd have any time to sit and read. Anthony snorted.

Anthony put everything back in the bag—except for the gun. Anthony tightly gripped the unidentified handgun he had found lying in the street a few weeks ago. He had never fired a gun before that, and thankfully didn't have to do so too much after he came across it. His palms were sweating and shaking. He hadn't traveled on foot for long before. Never more than a few miles. What if he couldn't find any gas to siphon? What if there were no drivable cars? He couldn't continue on foot. He was not a fit man. At 5'10 and 210 pounds, he may not have been what an American would call fat per se, but he certainly wasn't skinny. It was a miracle he'd made it this far. Being an attorney, you don't really learn skills you'd need if the world ended. Not like a doctor or engineer, anyways. Anthony's conversational skills had saved his life in the past though, and engineers weren't often known for their charisma. He had that going for him. Still, having a silver tongue wasn't as comforting as being able to patch up a wound or fix a damaged…anything. Or know how to really use a gun.

The sun finally made its first appearance of the day. The first sliver arose over the horizon and seemed to melt away the remaining blue-purple tint of the night. Thank God. Traveling at night was unnerving. Well, so was traveling during the day. Traveling in general. The windows of the cars were covered in condensation from the chill of the night, but the sun was making quick work on it. After only about a mile of walking, Anthony's dress shirt was beginning to grow damp with sweat and he could feel the rubbing on his dress shoes. There it was again, the old world coming to get him. Yeah, button downs and slacks and dress shoes really helped now, right Anthony. Idiot. Couldn't think to pack some jeans and sneakers, could you? God. Anthony's mind went blank as he continued walking. It was humid. It was always humid. The air was so hot it felt more suffocating to breath than to not.

As Anthony made his way onto the exit ramp, he thought he heard something in a cluster of trees to his right. Voices. Shit. Anthony crouched and slowly made his way to the road's guard railing. There were definitely people in those trees. They were talking. Muffled voices. Anthony couldn't hear anything. Couldn't things just be simple? He just wanted to find some fuel for his car. What if these people tried to kill him? Shit, shit shit. He continued to listen. It was a woman and…a child? It sounded like it. And by the sound of it, it was just the two of them. Anthony remained cautious—believe none of what you hear and all that. Anthony stepped over the railing and towards the woods. His hands were drenched with sweat now. His arms were shaking. He didn't want any trouble, but maybe these people could help. Maybe they knew the situation at the truck station.

Just then, Anthony stepped on a branch, causing a loud cracking noise.

Oh no.

The voices stopped. They must have heard him. You clumsy piece of shit, Anthony. He didn't want them to think they were being stalked. Anthony swallowed. No saliva. He was nervous.

"Hello?" he shouted. "I mean you no harm! Please, I could…I could use some help!" Anthony was shaking. His mouth was totally dry. He didn't know who was in those woods. A voice in his head was screaming. Run, Anthony! Run! But he didn't. He couldn't. He just…froze.

Then it happened. A woman—a pregnant woman—emerged from the tree line. A little girl was behind her. The pregnant woman raised her weapon—a handgun—at Anthony. "Who the hell are you? Answer me. Now! Stay behind me, Clementine."

Anthony stammered. "I uh…I'm—"

"You have three seconds!" the woman hissed.

"Anthony Burns! I'm Anthony…Burns. I'm an attorney. Or, I was." There you go again, Anthony. Living through your work. "I…I'm alone. My car ran out of gas. I'm just trying to get to the truck stop over there." Anthony awkwardly gestured in the direction of Gil's Pit Stop.

The pregnant woman's expression suddenly changed to one of sadness. "There's nothing good left there. Now get the hell out of here. I will shoot you. Don't you think for a goddamn second I wont!"

"Okay. Yeah. Okay. I'm sorry. I'll go." Anthony sighed. But where would he go? Why would he go? was a better question. "Thanks," he added as he turned around. At least she didn't shoot him. Would that have been so bad, though? Now wasn't the time to get existential.

The little girl spoke up. "Christa, wait. His car…has no gas. He needs help. And so do we now that…Omid…" she trailed off. Anthony paused and turned around. There was safety in numbers. No one had really wanted Anthony around, though—before or after the apocalypse. This little girl had been the first one to vouch for Anthony in weeks, even if it was only a matter of utility.

The woman turned to the little girl and barked, "We don't know this man, Clementine! I have to look out for you, me, and the baby. Now that…" she sniffled. "Now that Omid is gone, we need to be more careful with who we talk to, not less." Her voice cracked.

An awkward pause. The little girl looked at Anthony, her eyes seeming to say, "I'm sorry." Anthony could tell both she and the pregnant woman were just as afraid as Anthony. Anthony spoke up. "Look, folks. If you need help…I'd be happy to do what I can. I have a few bottles of water and some bagels. A gun and knife. I can look after myself. Or, you can take the weapons, if you want. But, there is safety in numbers. I can help. I promise."

The little girl smiled with her eyes at first, and then with her mouth. She looked at Anthony and said, "I'm Clementine." She looked over to the pregnant woman, who was still staring at the ground. The confrontation with Anthony had obviously exhausted her. She was heavily pregnant. She couldn't afford to be confronting strangers that way. "And that's Christa," Clementine added.

Anthony hadn't noticed at first, but Christa was crying. Maybe it was the death of that guy they mentioned, Omid. Or nerves. Or…hell, everything. Clementine approached Christa and rubbed her back. Anthony watched with fascination as this pre-teen consoled a woman who was soon going to be a mother. This was not an ordinary girl. Anthony didn't have much experience with kids, though. He was awkward enough with adults. He wasn't too good at forcing anything, especially interactions with children. He approached Clementine and extended his hand. Anthony you dork. Do you shake hands with kids? Anthony didn't know. But Clementine took his hand and shook it. It was awkward, but neither of them said anything. Social customs probably weren't on anyone's mind.

Christa spoke up. "Well…screw it, then. Let's go."

Anthony watched as Clementine and Christa walked ahead of him back into the woods. Anthony turned back to look at the freeway. It went on and on. It seemed endless. It reminded him of a long, winding snake, constricting and choking the life out of anything that took for granted its patience. That wasn't a fate Anthony wanted to meet: continuously searching and struggling alone on that long serpent. He turned his head back to the tree line. Christa and Clementine weren't waiting for him. He jogged behind them. There was no going back now.