Still Alive by A. C. Thorne

Author:A. C. Thorne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: zombies, apocalypse, aliens, apocalyptic, invasion, survivalists, walking dead, permuted press, infection, shtf, teotwawki
Publisher: Permuted Press

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I find no more survivors or signs of survivors as I leave Arizona driving North through Utah. The scenery doesn’t change much as the geology of the earth seems fully unimpressed by the invisible borders drawn up by mankind.

After a few more miles the ground starts becoming a bit more reddish and rusty looking, like the Grand Canyon. Otherwise, not much has changed.

I cruise between eighty and one hundred mph, slowing down for the few towns that I encounter. After a full day of driving I’ve only encountered eight towns and no signs of survivors, just the ubiquitous mobs of sparsely spaced fiends that have now become all too familiar.

Utah seems even emptier than Arizona. Maybe it’s just me that feels emptier. I can’t seem to shake the blame for the four I could have saved in Arizona.

Still, the towns do seem further apart, even at higher speeds. I stay my first night in a little motel towards the middle of the state. Utah seems like a good state to just pass through and I resolve that this will be my only night here.

The next day I’m up and cruising north early. The mountains towering ahead in the distance are quite breathtaking as they catch the morning sunlight and I realize as I approach that they’re actually purple.

Purple mountains majesty.

I pass through a few more towns in the next few hours. Then I come across a smaller unincorporated area and notice a mob surrounding a house.

Survivors maybe?

As I pass by I realize what a peculiar bunch they are. They begin chasing me as I look back trying to figure them out. There is one man for every ten women. The women are all wearing old fashioned dresses. The men look Amish to me in white shirts with dark suspenders and full beards.

Finally it dawns on me—these are polygamists. The ratio of women to men gave it away. I don’t think the Amish do that. I continue studying the strange familial bunch in my rear view mirror while driving away.

There might be a survivor in that house and I need to circle back at some point. There are only a few dozen so I decide to pull ahead and then stop to handle them with my rifle.

I fire quickly into the pack of approaching heads as bodies slump out of the group just as quickly. Firing several shots per second, I am able to finish the mob off without having to reload.

“All too easy,” I say with a smile as the last one falls five feet away. My rifle handling skills are improving.

I circle back to the house and ring the doorbell.

“Anybody home?” I shout through the door.

I am committed to a full search at this point so I break the front window and crawl through. It is quiet and empty inside.

There is a group picture on the wall with a man in the middle and what I assume are his twelve wives all around him.

“Strange culture,” I say to myself while examining the photograph.

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