Zombie Road | Book 8 | Crossroads of Chaos Simpson, A. (new books to read .txt) 📖

diesel trucks. The gasoline was starting to break down and the cars didn’t run very well on it without additives. The gas plant down in Texas still wasn’t producing fuel, they had run into trouble with damaged components when the plant hadn’t been shut down properly and most of them were proprietary. It took time to track down compatible units and retrofit them. Anselmo was still making Ethanol but that didn’t do the retrievers much good. Their cars wouldn’t run on it and if they were converted, then they couldn’t scavenge fuel in the wastelands. They found a market for it with the tractors and generators though, so they kept producing it.

The following afternoon Jessie had his old chop top Mercury up on the lift and was taking some measurements to see if he could stuff a Cummins diesel in the engine bay sometime in the future. He didn’t want to give up his machine and get a truck like most of the others were doing. He’d rather do a powerplant swap. He’d had too many happy moments driving around with Scarlet, nearly every part of it had some sort of remembrance for him. There wasn’t much left of her in this world besides a few journals and the locket he wore. She was mostly just memories.

Slippery Jim and his crew of scofflaws were the first to arrive the next afternoon on their bicycles and skateboards. They brought chips pilfered from a shipping container, soda pop liberated from the supply warehouse and a bag of doggie treats for Bob. The children made themselves at home in a way only children can and before he knew it, Jessie was cajoled away from working on his car and was defending his high score on the Pacman machine. Except it wasn’t a Pacman game. It was called Pucman. Everything else was the same, just that one letter difference. Something had changed. He wasn’t in the exact same world he’d left and he wondered what other subtle differences there were that he hadn’t noticed.

Scratch and Stabby arrived with their girlfriends and dusted off the grill. Before long, the welcome home party was in full swing, a live band was playing and burgers were on the grill.

Griz brought him a set of customized Glocks that he’d reworked. Jessie immediately swapped out his guns, put the old ones back in the trunk as spares.

“This is a good spot, Jester.” Scratch said as they stood around the fire at the beach. The warehouse had been a boat repair shop at one time and was across the road from the shoreline. “You could make a decent living fixing boats or renting out jet skis. Things are slowly getting back to like they once were. People have money, they want to spend it.”

“Maybe.” Jessie said noncommittally. He didn’t think he could deal with seeing people every day. Not yet, anyway. He needed some time.

Scratch was right, the people wanted to be entertained now that they were safe and everything was more or less back to normal as long as they remained behind the walls. It would be like that for years. The danger outside was still all around so most of them would stay safely tucked away. There were still hordes of shambling undead, day one zombies trapped in buildings, crawlers covered in dirt with weeds and grass growing out of them. There were packs of savage carnivores that feasted on the undead and hungered for the flesh of the living. There were plenty of bandits and highwaymen roaming the roads even though the large armies had been defeated. Wild animals were a concern, too. Bear, wolf and mountain lion populations had exploded. The people would stay hidden behind the walls for years to come as long as they had enough truckers or retrievers to get the things they needed.

The party lasted long into the night before Sheriff Collins hit her flashing red and blue lights and told everyone to get home, some of the neighbors were complaining about the noise.

Jessie was glad when everyone finally left and he had the place to himself again. He cleaned up, put things away and shut everything down.

“Wanna go for a ride, Bob?” he asked and held open the door.

Bob didn’t hesitate.

Jessie pulled the travel guide from between the seats, checked his map for the best route to get to the Split Rock Lighthouse and they left before the sun rose. He chased his lights through the night and hit it hard the next day. He only stopped to refuel and didn’t slow down until he was far away from the traveled roads and into unexplored territory in upper Minnesota.

He slowed his pace, drove up the coastal road of Lake Superior with the windows down, Bob sleeping in the passenger seat and one of Scarlets’ playlists keeping him company. It was hard to be in a melancholy mood with her music coming through the speakers. She liked upbeat and happy songs and it didn’t take long for him to start humming along. The tires sang on the pavement, the car was running well and he was looking forward to a few months of solitude.

He had to clear trees and debris a few times. No one else had traveled along the road since the outbreak and he was fine with that. He wouldn’t be bothered by random explorers or retrievers. He and Bob hit up a few stores along the way and stocked up on canned foods and dry goods. He grabbed extra gas canisters for the camp stove and everything else they’d need for an extended stay.

The lighthouse sat on a cliff overlooking calm waters and he spent a day clearing out the handful of undead that were wandering around the parking lot. He dragged the bodies to the edge and tossed them to the deep water far below. Food for the fishes and he wouldn’t have to smell them.

He and Bob whiled away the days with long hikes, extravagant camp