The Mason-Dixon Line

Chapter One

five hunded days. one year four months one week six days since the world went to shit. i dont know why im still keeping track. shot a possum last night best meal ive had since the crow. gonna head south again today i think theres a prison ahead. may have to swing west to avoid trouble.

She closed her notebook and tucked it back in her bag along with her flashlight. She was cozy and warm, making her reluctant to start the day. She ran her hands over her face, took a breath and opened the top of her bed. Early morning sunlight filtered through empty tree branches, but the sun hadn't yet appeared on the horizon. Her bed swayed slightly with her movements, but after all this time it was a comfort. She had realized early on that a woman alone was most vunerable on the ground, so she had found that a parachute hammock hung in the branches of a tree was her safest bet. The first few weeks were nerve wracking, but she had quickly adjusted.

She sat up and slid her legs out, found the branch and steadied her swaying. She sat there eating the last of the possum while the sun came up. The tranquility was misleading, almost making her believe that the world had returned to normal. She shook her head, sucked the grease off of her fingers and stood up, her feet gripping the branch through her socks. The fall air was cold on her face, her breath like smoke. She could see frost on the few remaining leaves as she packed up her bed. Winter was approaching fast, and she worried how this one would be. The last one was rough; she had been farther north, where game was scarce, but scrounging was still a viable option. This time she wasn't so sure. She had given up checking houses since they all seemed to be either raided or held the undead.

She slung her bag onto her back, laced up her boots and scaled the 30 feet to the ground. Her boots were brown combat style, and had seen their fair share of action but still had a lot of life left. Her dark brown cargo pants hung low on her wide hips, the sheath of a knife hung from her belt on the left. A long sleeve black shirt was tucked into her pants, making it hug her curves and accentuate her ample breasts, which she had pulled a large flannel shirt over. She had always been a bigger girl, ever since puberty, but she carried it well. Fingerless leather gloves kept her hands warm, while a hooded serape helped hide an unruly mop of curly red hair. She stepped onto the road and turned right, a staff almost as tall as her 5'4" frame in her left hand. Another day was begun.

She had been walking for the last eleven months, ever since she had been on her own. She had made her was down from Pennsylvania, just north of Harrisburg, making her way south. She had headed home, or as close to a home as she had ever known, but when she had arrived in Big Canoe three weeks ago, there was nothing left.

She found his old trailer first, or what was left of it. The end which housed the bedrooms was still barely intact, but the other end had not fared so well. It had completely collapsed under the weight of the ivy plants that strangled the structure. She decided to risk it and venture inside to see if anything was left. She clambered in the open end, pushing vines aside to squeeze through. The floor creaked and groaned underfoot, but held. His room was on the far end, and she pushed the door open, not sure what to expect.

The room was a disaster, with the window broken the weather and wild animals had don their worst. What used to be matresses were now mounds of dirty shredded fluff, moldy fabric strewn across the floor, the smell of refuse old and new pervaded the room. There was a single five drawer dresser in one corner, but the contents had been dumped along with the drawers. The closet door was attached only by the upper hinge, making it hang awkwardly across the opening. She peered inside, but it had been cleaned out. She turned to leave when a small box about the size of a cereal box caught her eye. It had been tucked into the back corner of the upper shelf. She couldn't reach it, so she hung her weight on the edge of the shelf until the rotting wood let go. Thebox clattered to the floor, but the claspheld, preventing the contents from spilling out.

She picked up the box and examined it. It was wooden, well made, with a delicate hand carved design in the lid. She recognized his work immediately. She brushed her hands over the top reverently. She tucked the box under her arm and made her way back out, carefully picking her way through the debris again. Once she was out, she sat down on a nearby log and opened the box, her fingers trembling. There wasnt much inside, and empty pack of rolling papers, an old GI Joe figure missing an arm, and an assortment of papers so faded they were indistinguishable. She closed the box and tucked it in the bottom of her bag. At least now she had something to remind her of him.

The next trailer she visited had also been reclaimed by mother nature, having been abandoned long before the apocalypse. There was nothing left to explore, only a single wall from the kitchen was still standing. She sat on the ground in front of the remnants of where she lived, and sobbed, rocking herself with her arms around her knees. She hadn't truly expected him to be there, but when she was faced with the reality of it she had broke down.

503. prison is due east maybe a mile. i can hear people there a horse and at least one running vehicle. its strange to hear these things it feels like an assault and a welcoming at the same time. still gonna push forward people cant be trusted anymore

Her rumbling stomach broke her concentration. Except for a handful of underripe berries, she hadn't eaten since the possum she had caught. Food was priority one today, but she worried about her vicinity to the prison. There were people there, but she didn't know if they were friendly and she preferred to not find out. West, she decided, was her best bet for food before moving on. She took out her string and hooked each looped end onto her staff, turning it into a longbow. She pulled a fletched arrow from her side pouch and notched it. She moved slowly, following the game trails, sure footed and quiet over the pine carpeted floor of woods. She had been hunting for a good hour when a rabbit darted by, but instead of firing, she watched to see where it headed, hoping it would lead her back to a den with more rabbits. She moved silently, just as he had taught her, giving the rabbit just enough space so that she wouldn't spook it.

She had taught herself how to shoot during her time at the camp. They had found a library on one of their first runs, and she had discovered a number of books on the subject, from how to construct the bow, what type of wood and string to use, to how different size bows would react. She learned how to steady her draw, and most importantly how to make arrows. It had taken awhile to become proficient, she was terrible at first, but now the bow was a part of her, an extension of her arm.

Her patience paid off 30 yards later when she came upon four rabbits in a small hollow. They were on the smaller side except for one, and she quickly decided that would be her first one. She crouched down behind a fallen tree and pulled three more arrows out, setting them along her left foot. She drew back, let out a slow breath, and released. Within a half second she had fired the other three arrows. Three rabbits were down but the fourth had bolted back down it's hole. She shrugged and stood up, gathering the dead ones and headed off to retrieve the last arrow.

The weather had turned for the better and it was actually beautiful out. She found a small clearing and started a fire with her flint and sat down to dress her kill. She pulled an eight inch bowie knife from the sheath on her hip and sharpened a spit. She skinned and gutted the rabbits and set them over the fire to cook. While they roasted she cleaned the skins; with winter on it's way, they would make a perfect lining for her boots. Once the rabbits were cooked she pulled one off and ate greedily, polishing off a whole rabbit and half of another, washing them down with the last of her water. She ate then too fast, and she worried a bit that her stomach would revolt later, but she was willing to chance it. Pleasantly full, she stretched the hides over small wooden frames she had with her and tied them to her bag to dry. She then cleaned the meat from the remaining carcasses and wrapped them in a leather pouch for later. She found a small creek nearby that gave her the chance to refill her water bottles and boil it over the fire.

The sun was high by the time she was done, so she decided to make the most of the light and continue south. There was a small compass hanging on the strap of her bag, so she consulted it and headed off. An hour passed before she came to a road. She looked in both directions but there were no markers in either direction that she could see. She decided on heading to the left, even though it lead eastwards in the direction of people. She didn't have a specific destination in mind, she just was trying to escape the painful memories that had been dredged up. She wasn't on the road long, maybe an hour and a half, when she came upon another encampment, and this one gave her a bad vibe. She climbed a tree to get a better look, figuring it might be easier to pass undetected once night fell.

There were six vehicles that she could see, six or eight ancient RVs, all of them parked end to end forming a perimeter, but the thing that made her heart jump into her throat was the military tank. It may have been just an oversized lawn ornament, but she had a sinking feeling that it wasn't. It was difficult to tell how many people were there since the RVs partially obstructed her view, but there was at least one child that she could see playing. As she watched, the child disappeared from view behind a line of laundry. She couldn't make out words from this distance, but the scream that echoed off the trees was unmistakable. An undead. Her heart sank as the screams continued until a gunshot rang out. Once again all she could hear was the buzzing of voices.

She continued her watch from the tree, and it seemed like the camp was a little more wary after that. She would have to circle wide around to avoid being seen. She waited, plotting her route as best she could from her perch. Darkness soon fell, and she descended from her branch. She followed her planned path as best she could, at one point passing a camp that appeared to have been raided. Once she passed that, she found a big sturdy tree to hunker down in for the night. Climbing was more difficult at night, but this wasn't the first time she had done it. She located a thick branch jutting from the trunk and rigged up her hammock. Soon she was cocooned and safe, munching on a chunck of leftover rabbit.