It was getting late in the day as the pair trudged slowly up the rough dirt road that seemed to be leading nowhere. The monotony of placing one foot in front of the other and the eerie silence was enough to make them despair. Wold they ever find a safe haven or even other people?
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Their eyes were downcast as they thought through the passage their lives, and wondered how their loved ones were faring so far away. So lost in thought were they that they missed the subtle changes happening around them.
A new ramshackle fence, just a five wire farm fence topped with barbed wire, emerged from tangles of blackberry and bordered the track. The battens were old and rotting and the wire rusty. It looked like this fence had been here for a lot longer than the security fence they had jumped over earlier.
Unwilling to leave more of themselves on barbed wire, the pair decided to stay on the track and not explore what lay beyond the fence line. At least it provided something different to look at as they trudged ever onward.
“Fence could do with a few more strainers in it” said the old man, scratching the whiskers on his chin.
“Yup” agreed his son. “A few more strainers and a few less skulls.”
The father glanced along the line of rambling fence and agreed. There did seem to be quite a lot more skulls than was strictly necessary for a fence of this size. The bleached white bone reflected the sunlight making them appear even more ghostly.
“Them skulls have been here for a while” mused the father. “I wonder what sort of a person would do that. I mean, that’s a lot of dead cows strung up along here.”
“People are weird dad” was all the son could think of saying.
Feeling a growing sense of dread, the pair tried to ignore the skulls staring at them as they passed. They walked around a corner hoping that the gruesome fence decorations would change.
“Maybe this is like the ‘bra fence’ in Otago” ventured the son.
“What?” laughed his father. “Do you think a bunch of people killed cattle then brought the skulls here as some sort of social networking, viral, holiday, activity thing?”
“Well, stranger things have happened” grinned the younger man, just as they looked ahead and stopped dead in their tracks, suddenly silent.
The son cursed under his breath. They had gotten sloppy. Walking along chatting away like they didn’t have a care in the world, like they were back home, before the crisis. Now they had found what might be habitation and people and they had blundered right into it. This could very easily end quite badly for them.
Trying to resist the urge to crouch and make himself a smaller target, the son inched forward quietly, scanning the bushes for any sign of movement. Up ahead a beat up old camper van nestled in some bushes marked the camp of whoever had written a large sign and placed it next to the vehicle.
It was not a welcoming sign.
A stack of cans was just visible, peaking out from behind the sign. They were hiding but just couldn’t help themselves, and they needed to see who was creeping up on the camper van.
Silently the son pointed out the sign and the cans to his father, who nodded in understanding.
“What do you reckon dad?” whispered the son, nervously chewing on his lip. “I could run in and grab some cans and you could cover me with the pistol.”
It took less than a second for the old man to shake his head. “With a pistol and four rounds, I couldn’t cover you stealing eggs from a hen house” he said. “Let’s try the friendly approach first. Put the gun in your pocket though, just in case.”
The son’s usual smile was well gone, as he took off his pack and unzipped the top pocket. The weight of the pistol in his hand felt strange, and not at all comforting. Already they handle was slick with sweat from his palm, and he nearly dropped it as he stuffed it into his pocket.
“Just don’t shoot off anything important” cautioned his father. Then he cocked his head and added, “On second thought, you’re a crap shot with small targets, so you should be fine.”
Flinging his pack onto his back, the son never got his chance to respond, as his father yelled out “Hey Tom. We’re looking at your cans of food. We’d like to trade.”
The sound of leaves rustling not five paces behind them, nearly gave both men heart attacks. A burly man with a tanned face and wispy white hair stepped out onto the dirt track. The rifle held in his right hand looked well used, but also well maintained. He did not look aggressive, just careful, as he took a moment to look at the bedraggled pair before him.
“What have you got to trade?” he asked. His voice was deep, and carried the sound of the country in it. One thing was certain, this man was at home here. This was his turf and he held all the cards.
“We’ve got some cash” offered the father, standing a little straighter.
“Got no need for cash now” replied Tom a little uncertainly.
“Of course you do” continued the father sensing a deal to be struck. “The power might be gone but cash still works. Everyone still wants their dollar bill.”
The son nodded in agreement, and even Tom admitted it was true.
“How much you got?” the old timer asked.
Without hesitating the father said, ”A thousand dollars.”
Tom scratched his own grizzled chin for a moment and then nodded. “Done” he said.
He ambled off to the camper van to fetch some cans while the father retrieved the notes from his pack.
The trade was done and the men shook hands to seal the deal.
The pair took a can each and stowed it away in their packs, before once more setting off down the dusty track.
Their hearts were a little lighter knowing that they had food to fall back on if they got hungry. It did little to improve their tired feet however and as the road began to climb, they both slowed their pace to conserve what little strength they had left.
The road steepened even more, now cutting back and forth across the face of the hill. In no time the men were seating again and stopping frequently to catch their breath.
It was during one of these stops that they heard voices ahead. Who could they be? Did this bode well, or evil for them.
Only time would tell.
Stories in this series
STEEM-POCALYPSE SURVIVAL GAME CONTEST - Day 1 Round 1 - the Kiwi's story
STEEM-POCALYPSE SURVIVAL GAME CONTEST - Day 1 Round 2 - the Kiwi's story
STEEM-POCALYPSE SURVIVAL GAME CONTEST - Day 2 Round 1 - the Kiwi's story
STEEM-POCALYPSE SURVIVAL GAME CONTEST - Day 2 Round 2 - the Kiwi's story
STEEM-POCALYPSE SURVIVAL GAME CONTEST - Day 3 Round 1 - the Kiwi's story
STEEM-POCALYPSE SURVIVAL GAME CONTEST - Day 3 Round 2 - the Kiwi's story
STEEM-POCALYPSE SURVIVAL GAME CONTEST - Day 4 Round 1 - the Kiwi's story
STEEM-POCALYPSE SURVIVAL GAME CONTEST - Day 5 Round 1 - the Kiwi's story
Check out my stories here on Steemit
Running Deer
Running Deer - part 1
Running Deer - How legends are born
Charlie Rabbit
Meet Charlie Rabbit
Charlie tides up
Charlie Rabbit and Margery Mouse
Charlie Rabbit and Margery Mouse make music
Little Peppers Adventures
Runaway Rabbit and the hungry fox
Maybe and the land of purple rainbows – A Little Peppers adventure
How Pappa Pepper and Monster Truck the Pepper got their wild hogs - a Little Peppers Adeventure
Dark Angel Regiment of the Space Marines - Mission Files
First Squad Sniper Elite - Zaresith mission
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Also don't forget to check out my Dad's blog
Who else can tell you stories about impersonating an officer, stealing a military aircraft to go on a booze run, or steal military aircraft and go on an unsanctioned bombing run - and that's all before he turned 18!
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