Staying Alive

3

Maybe Mandy was taking the whole thing harder than she should. After all, this was a crazy situation they were all in. They were lucky to be alive. Maybe expecting that something would have happened between her and Max was simply unrealistic. In fact, she knew it was unrealistic. Remaining “colleagues” or whatever they were was obviously the best choice. She knew that, but she was still feeling down about it.

When Max had gone to check on the well, Mandy had left through the door on the other side of the house. All six of the group had argued often over which door was the front and which was the back. They had arrived to the farmhouse initially from the side that faced the woods. Since that was their first impression, that side of the house had become “the front” for about half of them. But others argued that the side that faced the road was the front.

Mandy didn’t really care either way.

She had her rifle with her as she walked through the long grass and the weeds. She walked alongside the driveway that led towards the road. It was a winding path.

The sun was out, shining brightly. The grass swayed in the wind. But it didn’t look beautiful to Mandy.

So much had changed. Her mind was having trouble adapting to her new situation. It was having trouble adapting to this new world.

To say that everything had changed would be an understatement.

As she walked, she thought of the people she knew. She thought of her parents, her brother, her aunts and uncles. She thought of the other waitresses at work, and even of her difficult boss. She thought of random classmates from high school and even middle school. What had happened to them all?

According to Max, almost everyone was dead or was in the process of dying.

Without any sort of communication, there was no way to know. There wasn’t internet, TV, or phones. And it wasn’t like the postal system was functioning.

Maybe some day in the future, Mandy would find her family alive, safely holed up somewhere.

But she tried not to get her hopes up. She knew better than that.

She’d learned a lot in the last two weeks. She’d learned what it was like to be hungry, to go without. She’d learned to deal with the desperation she felt like a heavy pit in her stomach.

Mandy was far from the house. She turned back to look at it. It looked peaceful there, surrounded by nature, by fields that led into the forest.

Chad lay on the roof. If it hadn’t been for his rifle, he would have perhaps looked like he was lounging, rather than defending the house’s inhabitants from apocalyptic hordes.

Suddenly, Mandy heard a noise.

She was so surprised that she froze in place.

It was unmistakably the sound of a car traveling down the road.

So there were others. People were still alive, and some of them had functioning cars and even gas to burn on drives.

Maybe they were people like Georgia and the farmhouse group. Or maybe they were the savage killers Max was always warning them all about.

With any luck, the car would pass right by the driveway. With any luck, disguising the entrance would work.

But just in case, Mandy moved quickly over to a large tree. The trunk was huge, and she hid herself behind it. If the car did come down the driveway, she’d be out of sight.

Mandy sat with her knees towards her chest, her rifle pointed towards the sky, its butt resting in the ground.

She breathed deeply as she waited for the car to pass by the driveway.

But it didn’t.

She was halfway between the road and the farmhouse. From where she was, she could hear someone getting out of the car and moving the branches aside. She heard the gate opening, squeaking on its rusty hinges.

The car started driving down the driveway. Every sound, from its engines to its tires, sent another chill down Mandy’s spine. Her hands were shaking with fear.

The solid bulk of the rifle felt somewhat reassuring in her hands, and she gripped it tighter. Her right hand moved down to a plastic knife sheath attached to her belt with some twine. It was a Mora utility knife, cheap and practical. It was decidedly unpretentious with its plastic handle and non-threatening blade shape, but the steel, Mandy had been told, was good quality carbon steel. Whatever that meant. Mandy just knew that putting her hand around the handle gave her some comfort. Whatever that was worth.