back under the duffel bag. A sharp knife also went into my bag. No one was interested in the ski section at all, which I thought was a mistake. The ski goggles could come in handy if you were trying to avoid getting zombie bits in your eyes. I also picked up a lot of rope, a compass, a mess kit, a folding shovel, a pouch-style water container, a tent, a tarp, a poncho, emergency blankets, hand-crank flashlights, a pair of binoculars, and flint to make fires with. And duct tape. Here, the guys in the store probably just went on autopilot when they headed for the duct tape because there were only two rolls on the shelf. That’s automatically what you get in almost any crisis: lots and lots of duct tape. Even if you can’t immediately think of a reason for it.
The camping section had MRE type foods in pouches. I stuffed my bag with as many as I could. They were light to carry and I wouldn’t have to worry about cooking them. And the meals were good for forever. I wasn’t sure if they ever really went bad.
Finally, I headed for the fishing section of the store and got one of those really tacky looking fisherman vests with all the pockets and put it on. I figured I could use as many pockets as possible and being a fashion plate wasn’t going to help me survive. I took some of the smaller things out of the duffel and stuck them in the pockets.
I whistled to Mojo and we jogged for the door. Like I said, I had every intention of returning for round two of looting the outdoors store, but as Mojo and I were trying to get out, a crowd of people forced their way in, pushing each other, eyes wide. They weren’t going to be happy to discover there wasn’t much stuff left on the shelves and I didn’t want to be one of the people holding supplies when they figured it out.
Since the two huge front doors were jammed with people trying to force themselves in, I headed for a smaller, emergency exit on the side of the building and Mojo and I slipped right out. But now that we were in the parking lot there was another problem. Some guy was hovering over my bike, messing with the engine. Trying to hot-wire it and take it for himself.
I wasn’t going to moralize. I just looted a store, right? But I wasn’t going to meekly give up that bike to some middle-aged guy trying to hot-wire the thing, either. “Mojo,” I said softly. “Get him.”
Mojo was a sweet dog. He was the kind of dog that would lie on his back for a tummy-rub from strangers in the street … at least, strangers that I was speaking kindly to. But let’s face it—he’d had a stressful day. Mojo was only too happy to hear a command to rough someone up a little. He launched himself, snarling and snapping and looking like a holy terror, at the middle-aged guy with the bald head and the full beard. The guy, of course, had no idea that snarling and snapping was as far as Mojo was likely prepared to go in terms of an attack. He jumped away from that bike as if he’d been shocked, hands up in the air like he was trying to persuade the cops not to shoot.
Not much in the mood for conversation, I just got on the bike with Mojo, balancing the huge duffel on my back. Then we took off to find a quiet place to bed down. Because, as of that moment, I was officially exhausted.
Chapter Ten
Mallory
The funny thing is that, back at the apartment I never really was a great sleeper. I’d try different things, like going to bed earlier and setting my alarm to wake up early. And going to bed late and sleeping later in the morning. Exercise in the morning. Exercise at night. Fast at night. Eat at night. No matter what, I spent restless nights staring at the clock and feeling like the only person in the city who was still awake.
But at that makeshift campsite that Joshua set up, I slept like the dead. Maybe it was because the dead had been chasing me all day long, but I slept harder than I remember having slept for ages. You’d think I’d have had horrible nightmares. But, despite
The camping section had MRE type foods in pouches. I stuffed my bag with as many as I could. They were light to carry and I wouldn’t have to worry about cooking them. And the meals were good for forever. I wasn’t sure if they ever really went bad.
Finally, I headed for the fishing section of the store and got one of those really tacky looking fisherman vests with all the pockets and put it on. I figured I could use as many pockets as possible and being a fashion plate wasn’t going to help me survive. I took some of the smaller things out of the duffel and stuck them in the pockets.
I whistled to Mojo and we jogged for the door. Like I said, I had every intention of returning for round two of looting the outdoors store, but as Mojo and I were trying to get out, a crowd of people forced their way in, pushing each other, eyes wide. They weren’t going to be happy to discover there wasn’t much stuff left on the shelves and I didn’t want to be one of the people holding supplies when they figured it out.
Since the two huge front doors were jammed with people trying to force themselves in, I headed for a smaller, emergency exit on the side of the building and Mojo and I slipped right out. But now that we were in the parking lot there was another problem. Some guy was hovering over my bike, messing with the engine. Trying to hot-wire it and take it for himself.
I wasn’t going to moralize. I just looted a store, right? But I wasn’t going to meekly give up that bike to some middle-aged guy trying to hot-wire the thing, either. “Mojo,” I said softly. “Get him.”
Mojo was a sweet dog. He was the kind of dog that would lie on his back for a tummy-rub from strangers in the street … at least, strangers that I was speaking kindly to. But let’s face it—he’d had a stressful day. Mojo was only too happy to hear a command to rough someone up a little. He launched himself, snarling and snapping and looking like a holy terror, at the middle-aged guy with the bald head and the full beard. The guy, of course, had no idea that snarling and snapping was as far as Mojo was likely prepared to go in terms of an attack. He jumped away from that bike as if he’d been shocked, hands up in the air like he was trying to persuade the cops not to shoot.
Not much in the mood for conversation, I just got on the bike with Mojo, balancing the huge duffel on my back. Then we took off to find a quiet place to bed down. Because, as of that moment, I was officially exhausted.
Chapter Ten
Mallory
The funny thing is that, back at the apartment I never really was a great sleeper. I’d try different things, like going to bed earlier and setting my alarm to wake up early. And going to bed late and sleeping later in the morning. Exercise in the morning. Exercise at night. Fast at night. Eat at night. No matter what, I spent restless nights staring at the clock and feeling like the only person in the city who was still awake.
But at that makeshift campsite that Joshua set up, I slept like the dead. Maybe it was because the dead had been chasing me all day long, but I slept harder than I remember having slept for ages. You’d think I’d have had horrible nightmares. But, despite
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