the bottle and filled his glass. That was something he was good at, even in the dark.
CHAPTER 7
D J wasnât happy about being forced to take this detour, but he was thankful to be off the tracks. He hadnât realized how much the constant bumping and noise of the railroad ties had worn on him. Now he was flying. The miles zoomed past with an ease that let him think more clearly and relax his tense muscles. His biggest priorityâbesides not getting killedâwas gasoline. If he was lucky, he might find an abandoned car that had some left, but that was a long shot. His best bet was finding someone to sell him some, but how would he locate a person he could trust?
A set of headlights on the horizon pulled him out of his thoughts. DJ drove down into the ditch along the road and waited for the vehicle to pass. It seemed to take forever, but the pickup finally passed him. There was no sign that anyone in the truck had noticed him. DJ waited for the taillights to disappear. Then he resumed his course.
At about two a.m., he began to get hungry. He found a place to pull off the road and opened an MRE. While he was eating, he took out his atlas and studied. There was a small town named Greendale ahead, and he could make it there before dawn if he hurried. Perhaps that would be a good place to look for some gas. He quickly finished his meal and hit the road.
It was forty-five minutes until daybreak when he reached the outskirts of the little town. He didnât know where he would hide his quad and trailer for the day, but the answer seemed to provide itself. A bridge crossed a small stream right at a sign:
Greendale
POPULATION 644
DJ was able to take his Polaris about a hundred yards up the stream and hide it in a copse and underbrush. There was no place flat enough to set up his tent, so he strung the hammock up and went to sleep.
He awoke at nine thirty and sneaked down to the bridge to see if he could spot anything going on in the town. With the help of his binoculars, he could see a couple of people milling around. He decided to walk into town, but he couldnât do it in his tactical clothing. He worked his way back to his quad and changed into a pair of jeans and old work boots. He pulled on a plaid button-down over a dingy T-shirt, and put a grease-covered John Deere cap on his head. DJ would have liked to carry his rifle with him, but he knew it would draw more attention than he wanted. He slipped an inside-the-waistband holster next to his right kidney and filled it with a compact pistol. The untucked outer shirt covered it neatly, and the extra magazine in his front left pocket gave him a total of thirty-one rounds at his disposal. Grabbing one of his fuel cans, he headed into town.
Greendale looked like most small towns in rural America. Older houses were interspersed with mobile homes and the occasional newer house. DJ noticed that the windows were open in almost all of the homes, but only a few people were outside. Those who were about seemed engrossed in their tasks, and if they noticed him, they didnât give any indication that they were interested. He walked up to a small store that had two gas pumps in front. When DJ opened the screened door, a bell attached to the doorframe rang. A man was leaning on the counter next to the cash register.
âHelp you?â he asked, looking DJ in the eye.
âI hope so,â DJ said with his best smile. âMy vehicle ran out of gas a couple of miles up the road.â
âI see,â he said. DJ noticed that his eyes shifted to the left. âSorry, but weâve got no gas, and even if we did, the electricity is out, and thereâs no way to pump it.â
âYou donât have just a few gallons you could sell me? I can pay top dollar.â
The man looked DJ up and down for a minute. âNope, sorry. We donât have any.â
âDo you think anyone in town might have some?â
âI doubt it. Leastways none
CHAPTER 7
D J wasnât happy about being forced to take this detour, but he was thankful to be off the tracks. He hadnât realized how much the constant bumping and noise of the railroad ties had worn on him. Now he was flying. The miles zoomed past with an ease that let him think more clearly and relax his tense muscles. His biggest priorityâbesides not getting killedâwas gasoline. If he was lucky, he might find an abandoned car that had some left, but that was a long shot. His best bet was finding someone to sell him some, but how would he locate a person he could trust?
A set of headlights on the horizon pulled him out of his thoughts. DJ drove down into the ditch along the road and waited for the vehicle to pass. It seemed to take forever, but the pickup finally passed him. There was no sign that anyone in the truck had noticed him. DJ waited for the taillights to disappear. Then he resumed his course.
At about two a.m., he began to get hungry. He found a place to pull off the road and opened an MRE. While he was eating, he took out his atlas and studied. There was a small town named Greendale ahead, and he could make it there before dawn if he hurried. Perhaps that would be a good place to look for some gas. He quickly finished his meal and hit the road.
It was forty-five minutes until daybreak when he reached the outskirts of the little town. He didnât know where he would hide his quad and trailer for the day, but the answer seemed to provide itself. A bridge crossed a small stream right at a sign:
Greendale
POPULATION 644
DJ was able to take his Polaris about a hundred yards up the stream and hide it in a copse and underbrush. There was no place flat enough to set up his tent, so he strung the hammock up and went to sleep.
He awoke at nine thirty and sneaked down to the bridge to see if he could spot anything going on in the town. With the help of his binoculars, he could see a couple of people milling around. He decided to walk into town, but he couldnât do it in his tactical clothing. He worked his way back to his quad and changed into a pair of jeans and old work boots. He pulled on a plaid button-down over a dingy T-shirt, and put a grease-covered John Deere cap on his head. DJ would have liked to carry his rifle with him, but he knew it would draw more attention than he wanted. He slipped an inside-the-waistband holster next to his right kidney and filled it with a compact pistol. The untucked outer shirt covered it neatly, and the extra magazine in his front left pocket gave him a total of thirty-one rounds at his disposal. Grabbing one of his fuel cans, he headed into town.
Greendale looked like most small towns in rural America. Older houses were interspersed with mobile homes and the occasional newer house. DJ noticed that the windows were open in almost all of the homes, but only a few people were outside. Those who were about seemed engrossed in their tasks, and if they noticed him, they didnât give any indication that they were interested. He walked up to a small store that had two gas pumps in front. When DJ opened the screened door, a bell attached to the doorframe rang. A man was leaning on the counter next to the cash register.
âHelp you?â he asked, looking DJ in the eye.
âI hope so,â DJ said with his best smile. âMy vehicle ran out of gas a couple of miles up the road.â
âI see,â he said. DJ noticed that his eyes shifted to the left. âSorry, but weâve got no gas, and even if we did, the electricity is out, and thereâs no way to pump it.â
âYou donât have just a few gallons you could sell me? I can pay top dollar.â
The man looked DJ up and down for a minute. âNope, sorry. We donât have any.â
âDo you think anyone in town might have some?â
âI doubt it. Leastways none
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