Free Less Than Human by Tim Meyer Page B

They didn't stop. Driving slowly, they peered through the windows. No signs of the living. They thought they might see the owners of those vehicles hoofing it a few miles down the road, but that wasn't the case. It had been days since those cars and trucks had seen their drivers.
    “ Do you think maybe the infection—or whatever it is—has made it everywhere yet?” Josh thought out loud.
    “ I don't know,” Ben replied. “But I find it weird we haven't seen anyone or anything in almost an hour.”
    “ I don't like it. It's like the calm before the storm.”
    Ben had that feeling, too. The arrow on the Sonata's gas gauge approached empty. Considering they were nowhere near a gas station, it would have been a very bad time to run out of gas. They had no food, with exception of a few packages of gummy snacks Ben had found in the glove-box. More importantly, they had no water.
    “Cigarette?” Josh asked, holding the pack in front of Ben.
    “ No, thanks. My wife made me quit years ago,” he said. “Well, ex -wife,” he corrected.
    “ It's the goddamn zombie apocalypse. You're probably not going to be alive long enough to catch cancer,” Josh said.
    Ben wouldn't allow himself to think that way. However, it was only one cigarette. Wouldn't kill you, he thought. Ben plucked a death-stick from the pack, putting the filter between his lips. 
    “ That's the spirit,” Josh said, lighting it for him.
    Ben sucked in the smoke, then exhaled. He coughed a lot (making Josh chuckle), and it took a minute for his lungs to adjust to the smoke he once craved so passionately. However, Ben now thought that cigarettes tasted like shit. The smell was even worse. The insane notion that he was going to come down with cancer immediately breached his thoughts. The headache he awoke with that morning was back with a vengeance. To be polite, he smoked the Marlboro halfway, then threw it out the window.
    Josh observed Ben's actions, but said nothing. Ben clearly wore the face of a man who didn't enjoy a cigarette anymore. Laughing to himself, Josh shook his head. Then he started thinking about drugs, wondering how long he could go before needing them again. Specifically, the oxycotton. He would kill for a couple, hell, he'd probably bury a body for one .
    They passed a sign that read, “DOORCHESTER NATIONAL PARK.” It claimed the place was “THE BEST CAMPGROUNDS IN ALL OF NEW JERSEY!” The sign also stated it was the last exit for the next ten miles.
    “ We have to stop,” Ben said. “We're running low on gas. Maybe they have somewhere to gas up or something.”
    “ Sure. I have to piss anyway,” Josh admitted.
     
    T hey came to a small clearing down a long wooded path big enough for one vehicle. An enormous recreation center lay before them, comprised of rotting wood shakes that had been stained eons ago. The haven was in desperate need of renovation, but neither Ben or Josh commented on its shabby appearance. Chairs for guests and employees to relax and enjoy the nature around them sat empty on the deck, stained to match the shakes.
    Ben and Josh noticed several vehicles parked on the dirt lot separating the building from the forest. There was a Jeep, a few sedans, and some pickup trucks, all mud-splattered, in need of car washes.
    “Seems... quiet,” Ben said.
    “ Hm, too quiet,” Josh said, smiling at the bad cliché.
    Ben smiled too. “Well, here goes nothing.” He swung open the door, expecting dozens of zombies to come hobbling out of the woods. Instead, they saw nothing. Everything was silent. Not even the chirping of birds could be heard. No wind. No distant voices. No low drone of machinery. Ben was most thankful for the smell. The air was pure and odorless, free of that awful stench the dead brought with them. He'd gotten a good whiff of it inside the Yoland's foyer and strong doses of it since then. The worst was when they were outnumbered in Ben's parents' development. He never wished to smell anything like