George slowly nodded in agreement as he listened to Jeff’s argument. A resigned look appeared on Megan’s face.
“Okay, but just for one night.”
“Then it’s settled,” Jeff said and grinned at her.
There were a few moments of silence as they all looked across the field together, sizing up what they hoped would be their new residence for the rest of the day and on through the night. There was still no movement that any of them could see.
“Okay. Let’s do this.” Jeff flipped the van in reverse and backed it up to the crossroad. A quick glance up at the sign told them the road on which they were turning was Shiloh.
Several nondescript houses sat opposite the field to their left. They were anonymous, weathered ranch-style homes that were small, faded, and lacking in any sort of character. The yards were burnt in spots, scorched from the blazing sun and lack of water, while other patches were choked with weeds and overrun with tall grasses. There were cars in a couple of driveways, one with both doors hanging wide open. It was an old Dodge Aspen that looked half devoured with rust. Jason spotted what looked like a human skeleton, or part of one, wedged underneath the car, the legs only partially sticking out. Other than that, there were no signs anyone had ever lived in the area.
“Clean as a whistle. Looks like no stiffs to deal with here. Nice,” Jeff said.
As they turned onto the dirt path that would lead them to their goal, he was surprised to spot a small amount of water in several deep ruts on the road and tried to recall the last time it had rained. It was no more than a filmy muck, and he navigated around a couple of the potholes that looked deep enough to bottom out the van.
Telephone poles were strung on the north side of the lane, and the wires led directly to a modest house on the property. It looked to be an unpainted cottage with a single window facing their direction. Overall, the property looked well tended. Next to the house was a small whitewashed shed with its doors hanging open. Behind the two buildings was a grain silo. That was what had drawn Jeff’s eye to the property in the first place. It soared above the house and was hard to miss. A few trees dotted the landscape, looming like leafy guardians in contrast to the emptiness of the surrounding fields. A rusted-out tractor out back put the finishing touch on the quaint scene.
The van made its journey down the rutted road, and Jeff guided it past the craters that could knock it out of commission. As they got closer, they spotted a few more details that took away from the Norman Rockwell look of the place. The first was a BMX bike leaning up against the house and what appeared to be a hurriedly constructed grave marker next to it.
The van inched closer, and everyone stared at the wooden cross. It was two pieces of plywood wrapped in twine and painted with illegible symbols across the horizontal board. Jeff squinted in an attempt to read the wording. The paint had run, and it was hard to know for sure, but he guessed the letters spelled out a name. The other board looked as if it had been hastily jammed into the ground and had a slight lean to it.
Everyone was still focused on the cross when a man stepped out from behind the shed, pointing a hunting rifle at them. Megan let out a small gasp, and Jeff slammed on the brakes. The two rear passengers, who had been leaning forward in their seats, lost their footing and slipped to the floor.
“What the-” was all George could get out from down on the floor before Jeff cut him off.
“Stay down!” he hissed through gritted teeth. He wanted to follow his own command and duck beneath the dashboard, but the hunting rifle was trained on him. Instead, he shifted the van into park and slowly raised his hands.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Megan holding the revolver, but she had not raised it above the dash just yet. He could sense more than see that she was waiting for something, perhaps a signal from him, to make a move. Jeff gave a slight shake of his head. She lowered the big handgun down between her legs and clamped them shut around it. When she raised her own hands, a small stitch of tension went out of Jeff.
“Both of you stay down. I don’t think he saw you.”
Jeff was no ventriloquist, but he did his best to speak without moving his lips. The command was met with silence. He blinked away the sweat creeping into his eyes and stared at the man standing motionless in front of them.
The rifle had a scope attached to it, and as far as Jeff could tell, it was not of the bolt-action variety. There was a clip coming out of the bottom, and while he didn’t know much about rifles, he guessed that meant it was a semiautomatic. In other words, it was time to play nice.
The man with the rifle motioned for him to get out of the van-short jabs pointing to the door. He was a good twenty feet away but that was too close for Jeff’s taste.
“Stay in here,” he mumbled to George and Jason as he reached for the door handle and lifted it. The door popped open, and he began to slide out.
“What do you want us to do?” George hissed from behind the driver’s seat. He had gotten back up to his knees but heeded Jeff’s command and was tucked out of sight. Jason was next to him, trying to sneak a peek around Megan’s chair.
“If he shoots me, get the fuck out of here.”
George felt like cursing-or at the very least responding with a sarcastic comment of his own-but Jeff was already shutting the door behind him. George reached under the console where he had spied a small lever and tugged at it. The small plastic cup holder fell flat to the side of Megan’s seat, and the small amount of junk on it, including a map Jeff had marked up, fell to the floor. Now he had a small passage to the front seats if he could squirm his way up there without being seen.
“Shit, he wants me out there too. What do I do?”
George didn’t know if Megan’s question was rhetorical or not, but he decided to answer.
“Leave that gun of yours on the seat and I’ll think of something. And be careful.”
Megan risked a glance down at George. The fear on her face told him how badly she did not want to go outside. There were tears welling up in her eyes, but she nodded slightly. As she opened the door and began to move, George slid his hand up and grabbed her arm gently, giving it a quick squeeze. She froze for a moment and then started moving again, allowing the gun to fall between her legs onto the seat. George let go of Megan’s arm and quickly discovered the warm metal of the.357 Magnum beneath his fingers.
Outside, Jeff was attempting to start a conversation with the man he hoped wasn’t planning on killing them.
“Hello! Are we glad to see you! We haven’t seen anyone living in quite-”
“Shut the fuck up and show me your hands.”
Jeff raised his hands higher. His captor kept the rifle trained on him but gave Megan a long hard look as she dropped down from the van and came out from behind the open door. She pushed it shut slowly and moved forward, her hands above her head as well.
“Look, I know things are screwed up, but there’s no reason to point a rifle at us. We don’t want any trouble,” Jeff pleaded.
“Yeah, right. Everyone is trouble these days. I’m not taking any chances.”
Jeff tensed and took a closer look at the man who had ambushed them. His tone of voice was cynical but not sinister, and he certainly didn’t look like some sort of bandit.
He had on expensive loafers and a pair of dirty black designer jeans. As if that weren’t enough, the alligator logo on his shirt confirmed he wasn’t some farmer trying to ward poachers off his land. His reddish-blond thinning hair was an unkempt mess, and the bags under his eyes testified to the fact that he had suffered through many sleepless nights lately. His soft, round appearance betrayed the fact that he had not endured much in the form of hardship throughout his life. At least not until the plague had come along and spoiled everything. Jeff knew he was looking at a desperate scavenger, and nothing more.