Free Survival by T.W. Piperbrook Page B

food was slim. More than likely, the men had raided his provisions and taken his weapons. The truck door groaned as he opened it. He slipped inside.
    The seats were ripped and torn, foam spilling from the insides. His atlas had been ruined; pages had been pulled from the binding and scattered. He sifted through the remnants, trying to find the map of Oregon. If it was there, it was lost in the debris. Tears stung his eyes.
    In the past week he’d suffered far greater losses, but something about the ruined truck hit him with a wave of emotion. It signified the depths of how far mankind had sunk, how uncaring and violent and cruel these men truly were.
    It hadn’t been enough to beat him down and hunt him through the forest; they’d had to make sure his all his belongings were destroyed as well.
    Their goal hadn’t been just to kill him; it had been to defile his existence.
    Noah wiped his face with the back of his hand. He peered into the backseat. As expected, the weapons he’d carried before were gone. The food was gone as well, though he could see traces of crumbs that had been left behind. A few errant wrappers lay on the seat.
    He bent down and reached underneath the passenger seat, clearing a few loose pages of his atlas. A small, wrapped package caught his eye. It’d been wedged between the bolts and the side of the car; perhaps it had been kicked there by accident. He reached in and pulled it out.
    A single package of dried fruit lay in his hand: the last remnant of his safe food.
    He stared at it for a second, mind teetering between anger and hope. The package wouldn’t last more than a sitting. When split among the three of them, it was little more than a handful—just enough for a small meal, but not enough to make a difference.
    He gritted his teeth. If he hadn’t been so desperate, he might’ve flung the food against the console. Instead, he slipped it into his shorts and fled the vehicle.
    Noah swiveled from left to right. There was still no one else in view, but he knew not to push his luck. If someone were to approach, he’d be an immediate target. The hybrid purred beside him, beckoning him to get inside.
    To get to Caddy’s, he’d have to turn and head in the opposite direction. But straight ahead was the road to Portland. For a brief second, he contemplated continuing his journey. He had a bit of food, a reliable car, and a rifle—hardly enough to ensure his safety, but enough to give him a head start.
    Caddy had saved his life, but he’d already repaid the favor. Did he owe her any more? He couldn’t stay in Chester forever. By her own admission, Caddy wasn’t planning on leaving any time soon.
    He wrestled with the decision while staring at the road.
    It would be so easy to throw the car into drive, hit the gas, and never look back. But if he did that, he’d be no better than the animals that had hunted him down.
    What if Caddy came looking for him? What if she were to die in the process?
    He couldn’t live with that on his conscience. As much as he wanted to return to his family, he’d need to wait a little longer.
    He sighed and put the car in reverse, heading back in the direction of his new companions.

14
    C harles Osbourne watched the young man through the trees, his blood roiling. Not only had the kid survived, but he’d also had the nerve to return to his truck, thinking they’d be stupid enough to leave something behind.
    “Dumb son of a bitch,” he muttered to the two men next to him.
    Charles had parked their pickup behind a cluster of oaks, just off a dirt trail that led off the road. It was a spot that most people didn’t know about, and one that most passersby would’ve overlooked. Having grown up in the town next to Chester, Charles knew the ins and outs of the roadway, and that put him at an advantage.
    They weren’t going to lose Chester. Not like they’d lost Wardstown.
    Charles had chosen the town because there’d been no evidence of survivors. It was time for