a rusted truck and an old flannel

He needed to stop to fill up for gas, but he passed a group of Kishins about half a mile back and really didn't want to deal with those shitheads at the moment.

Soul Evans gripped at the steering wheel with white knuckles and stared at the gas meter, trying to will it to stop just a centimeter above the E. He had four filled gas containers in the bed of the truck, along with a few boxes of food and water, but the thought of having to fight off some flesh hungry, half-dead, smelly, decaying creatures while trying to get every single drop of gasoline into his recently obtained truck did not suit his fancy. Not one bit.

The 1990 Ford pick-up was a sort of washed out red and if you squinted hard enough the rust seemed to blend in with the paint. Before he had been driving some fancy sports car, thinking it would get him out of hoards of Kishins faster, but after realizing how fast it blew through gas, Soul ditched the sparkly thing for this rough-and-tough truck. He liked to call it Marigold. The name seemed to fit.

The CD in the car clicked as it went back to the beginning, the sad melody of a violin filtering through the air. Soul huffed, a few strains of his dirty blonde hair fluttering on his forehead. Tennessee was a hell of a way from Nevada, but he'd gotten this far already.

There was no going back, not after what he left behind.

It had been about a month since the outbreak. Some big shot company called Third Eye Insurance had released information about development for the cure for cancer. Asura Kishin, the CEO and head of the project, had released (or sold, nobody really knew for a fact how it got out) the code for the supposed cure. At first it seemed like it was working; hell, even Soul was hopeful for a moment when he saw that glimmer of happiness in his mother's eyes, but then everyone who was tested on got sicker, got worse. The shivers while sporting an incredibly high temperature, the pale, ghost like skin with veins pushing up to the skin, the foggy eyes that, no matter how bright the light was, didn't react or dilate. Then death. The death was what made people let out a sigh of relief in all honesty. Having to watch a loved one go through that immense amount of suffering, death seemed like the best option.

The first person who came back was a little girl named Angela who was dressed in a pale pink dress and was being lowered into the ground. She was about five feet under, the dirt ready to be shoveled back in, when she screamed and the world stopped. Her foster father and the priest were the only ones attending the funeral, and the first two to get bitten.

After that, it was like a wildfire. There were outbreaks of the thing, the virus everywhere. It started in Maine. The moment the first two men were bitten, they tried to contain the area. But a week later the same thing happened in Florida, and then California was gone, and New Mexico, and Wyoming. Even Ohio was hit, and nobody even liked Ohio. Soul was surprised that it took so long for the outbreak to hit New York, but when it did, the whole city, no, the whole state was flushed out in a matter of days.

His mother had been given the drug for leukemia that no doctor seemed able to slow down. When the Third Eye cure had been leaked, and the few clinical trials had a 60% success rate, it seemed as there was a chance for survival. His father had spent every penny, nickle, and dime to get Soul's mother into treatment with the new medicine. And like all the other cases, she had improved. Hell, at one point she could even sit at the piano and play with Soul like they use to do when he was little. And then, like all the other cases, she got worse. It wasn't until a week after the first outbreak of the living dead, now called Kishins after their creator, that his father finally accepted the inevitable outcome.

Soul let out a low growl as he pinched the bridge of his nose, a dull headache starting to come on. Whenever he thought about that shit his mind always seemed to go on high-drive and fuck up. He had a bottle of Tylenol and Avid, but those were "in case of emergency" pills, as Wes had put before.

Wes.

Marigold sputtered for a moment and Soul cursed silently to himself before pulling to the side. He probably had put a good five miles between him and the Kishins by now, so it wouldn't hurt to fuel up.

Soul pressed against the door, pushing it open and it screeched in protest before stepping onto the road. It had been about eight hours or so since the last time he got out of the pick-up, so maybe it wouldn't hurt to much to just walk around a bit.

Soul unscrewed the gas cap before grabbing one of the canisters from bed of the truck, hoping that the five gallons in it will get him to the next gas station, where ever it was. The sun was beginning to set but if he wanted to get a goodnights rest he'd have to find someplace that wasn't crawling with Kishins. He had taken a three hour rest before the eight hour trip, so he would be good for another few hours before his eyelids started to drop. At times like this he missed his brother being around. Before all the shit with the virus came up, they'd go on road trips and switch off so they could keep driving to get to their destination faster. With one drive, it seemed almost like it had taken Soul a year to get to Tennessee from New York, even though it had only been a month or so. In all honesty, it shouldn't have even taken him that long. There were just so many roads that were blocked off, or highways that ended with nothing but piled up cars, so Soul had to make his way around.

The canister dropped the last few drops it had of gasoline into Soul's truck just as the sky turned a blood orange. As least he had gotten to gas up before night fall, then he'd really be in trouble.

Soul tossed the empty can in the back and walked back to the front of his car. The area he was in didn't seem to be teeming with Kishins unlike other places he'd been to, but he didn't want to risk anything either.

Marigold creaked as Soul slammed the door closed and started back up. By now the sun had set and he needed to put his headlights on. Soul grumbled and messed with the gear shift. It was up by his steering wheel, and although he had been with Marigold for a week or two, he still was a little rusty (pun intended). He grunted when he finally kicked the thing into drive and then twisted one of the other levers by the wheel, turning the headlights on.

"Jesus fuck!" He yelled, jumping at the sight of a girl in front of his truck. She jumped too as if unaware someone was in the truck even though she had a shotgun propped on her shoulder with her finger caressing the trigger and his headlights are basically a big spotlight on her. The lights illuminated her blonde hair and the frizz it had from the humidity, making it look like a halo hovering on the top of her head. "Hey, put that fucking thing down!"

"Turn your goddamn high beams off then you idiot," she yells back, her voice muffled through the walls of the truck. The girl dropped the gun off her shoulder and slung it across her back. A pack hung on her opposite shoulder, two full water jug clipped to the strap with carabiners. Her blond hair pulled into a tight ponytail, but her eyebrows peak out from under her bangs as she draws them together in anger. Her lip turned up in dissatisfaction as Soul turned the lights to low beams.

He's a little more than surprised to see her, especially since she wasn't there only minutes ago when he was fueling up. (Okay, maybe he was in the middle of a forest, but still.) She wasn't the first person he'd seen since the outbreak, but she was the first one he'd seen in a week or so. Last time he saw someone was when he first got Marigold. It was a small group of girls, three of them, who told him that they'd heard of people traveling to Las Vegas for some new safe zone. (Thank god he was going that way anyways.)

She walked up to his driver side window and rolled her eyes before tapping on it with her knuckles. Soul rolled the window down, turning the music off as she leaned an arm onto the opening. She smelled like dirt and sweat and there were bruises littering her arm and a big scrape on her elbow. From this close up, he could make out a few freckles that sprinkled her nose. Her eyes were wide and green, the light from the roof of the car putting odd, angled shadows on her face. She puffed her cheeks out as she looked over her shoulder and down the road from where Soul had just came from.

"This isn't some drive-through window you know," Soul grunted, rolling his eyes as the girl's cheeks turned pink.

"Were you coming from Jackson?"

"No, Memphis."

"Did you see anyone?"

"Only Kishins."

"Shit," she groaned, running a hand over her face, "shit."

"What's wrong, Angel," he smirked, "forget someone back in Jackson? Hoping I would pick them up?"

"Don't call me that," she growled, glaring to him, "and it's nothing important, I'll just go back myself."

She pushed off of the door of his car and slugged the backpack further up her back, trudging back down the road where Soul came from. Soul huffed, rolling his window up and started back down the road. It was a long drive to his next destination and gassing up, plus stopping to deal with the random girl, had set him back. He just wanted to get out of here.

It wasn't unusual to leave someone like that. In the beggining Soul has encountered plenty of people who had simply asked for directions before going off. Sure, it was rare nowadays to see someone roaming on the street like that Angel chick, but he wasn't going to stop her from going off into the wasteland.

As Soul drove away, he grumbled to himself, turning up the radio to listen to the calming violin that played. He swallowed thickly, reminding himself that he'd find his brother eventually, or at least, find somebody who could tell him where Wes was. For the mean time, the violinist's concert CD would have to do.

After driving for about half a mile, Soul heard loud gun shots come from the distance. He rolled his eyes at the thought of someone shooting off a gun this late at night and this deep in a forest. Knowing from experience in the past, forests were teeming with Kishins, despite the high occupations of all the cities. It seemed as if the Kishins were drawn to the forest to find people with their pants around their ankles, trying to take a piss, and then-

"Shit," Soul yelled, slamming on his breaks as more shots rang in the air. He jerked the wheel of his car and slammed on the gas, ignoring how much he was going to hate himself later for using it for some type of rescue mission even though he promised himself he'd never rescue someone ever again after what happened in West Virginia.

It took him all of a minute to see the hoard in his headlights. The girl was standing in the middle of them, her shotgun slung across her back again. She clutched a knife, a machete, in her left hand, while the right one was pulling the trigger of some handgun.

Soul slammed on his gas the same time he slapped the horn, the sound making every Kishin look his way, their eyes glossy in the light of his headlights. The girl's eyes got big and she jumped out of the way and out of the hoard as they were distracted. Soul slammed into two, gritting his teeth at the sound of breaking bone, before slamming on his breaks as the bodies crunched under his wheels. Two down, six to go.

Soul jerked his wheel to the right and slammed on the gas again, the smell of burnt rubber filtering through the car as his tires squealed and he took off, slamming into another Kishin. He heard the vague sound of gunshots but was more preoccupied with the upper half torso of the Kishin crawling up his hood. Soul huffed out a curse and reached into the back seat of his truck, pulling one of his shotguns from the back. His hand fumbled against the door of the truck before pressing the button to roll the window down. He growled deeply as he leaned out of the window and aimed the gun towards the Kishin. It's jaw was halfway off and there were blood and brains coming out of a deep gash on it's head. The lower half of it's body was probably somewhere under his truck because one of the intestines was pulled taut over the hood of his truck.

"Mother fucker," he heard the girl yell from somewhere but he ignored her as he pulled the trigger, hitting the Kishin in the middle of it's head. The creature screeched before falling limp. Soul grinned grimly before leaning back in his car, tossing the gun to the side, and going into reverse. The body slid off of the hood of the car and Soul turned the wheel to face the girl.

His headlights illuminated her like spot lights did for an actor. She swung her machete with all her might, slicing one of the Kishins near her. The things arm flew off and it howled, taking another strained step towards her. A second one was coming up from behind, fingers long and pointed like talons. She whipped around and shoved the giant knife through it's guts before twisting it and tugging it back out. Blood splattered her clothing and he had no idea where her pack was because the back of her shirt was soaked through with blood.

Soul grabbed the shotgun again and flung the door open, cocking the gun before setting off a few rounds. The small group around her fell with each shot and the girl whipped her head around, glaring at the man. They stood there for a few moments just looking at one another before she wiped the machete off on her shirt and slid it into her boot. She turned from him and grabbed her backpack, which was carelessly laying on the side of the road.

"I had it under control," she growled, "you didn't need to come back."

"Yeah, because eight Kishins against one girl with a machete is what most people call a controlled situation."

"Hey, I said I had it under control, High-Beam Hero," she growled, putting her hand up defensively.

"High-Beam Hero," Soul smirked, cocking an eyebrow as he shifted the gun to his other hand, "what kind of insult, nickname-"

"It's a name for some idiot who drive at the dead of night, in Kishin infested woods, with his fucking high beams on."

Soul's smirk fell and he scoffed, looking off to the side as he felt his cheeks flush. The girl turned and started walking off back towards Jackson and Soul didn't want to say anything but he knew he would regret letting someone walk into a deserted town and not find what they were looking for. (Hell, he's known that feeling plenty of times on his journey.)

"I meant it when I said there was no one," He sighed, watching her stop, "No one that matters."

"And I meant it when I said you didn't need to come back," she turned on her heel, giving him a chilling glare with those green eyes.

"Listen, I knew there was a hoard following me and I wanted to get back before-"

"Before I was another person on the list of 'dead people I could have helped out but didn't because I'm too scared'," She said, "I know what you mean, but I really need to-"

"Angel, I knew there was no one there for the moment I stepped in," he sighed, "no people, not animals, all of the stores were cleared out, and the only things roaming around were these shits."

Soul pressed the nose of his gun to the closest dead Kishin, curling his face up as the wet sound the body made. The girl's face curled up as well.

"I thought I said not too call me that."

"Call you what?"

"Angel."

"I didn't-"

"Okay, listen here Buckaroo," she growled, taking a step towards him and pointing an accusatory finger towards his chest, "I'm going to go to Jackson. I'm going to find who I need to find, and I'm going to go on with my life and you are going to go on with your life."

Soul rolled his eyes as he watched her turn back around. He swore under his breath and rubbed a hand over his face.

"I met someone named Tsugumi," The girl stopped suddenly and Soul took this as a sign to continue, "She was with two other girls. They … they were camped out in some supermarket and by the time I came back from a gas run … they were … they weren't themselves anymore. I had to-"

"Why didn't you tell me that in the first place," she snarled, turning around and glaring at him.

"I didn't think-"

"What that I wouldn't want to hear about the death of someone who I may or may not know?"

"I didn't thi-"

"You don't think a lot it seems," she grumbled, tightening her grip on her backpack strap. She huffed and walked towards him, her shoulder hitting his as she crossed to the other side of his truck. She yanked the door open, slid inside, and slammed it closed.

"I did not sign up for this," Soul grumbled to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He went back to his car and threw the now empty shotgun in the back. The girl's backpack was there too, along with her machete. She had one leg pulled up on the seat and her head pressed against the glass.

"I'm going to Las Vegas," Soul said, pulling the gear into drive, "anywhere you're going specifically?"

"No," she huffed, closing her eyes. Soul just nodded, turned his high-beams off , and continued on the road.

"She was my cousin," she said after a while, "she was my cousin and I was trying to get to her."

She turned and examined what he had in the back before tugging out one of his old, worn out flannels. She sniffed it and decided it smelled clean enough to her despite the dirt stains and the little splatter of blood on the corner of the collar. The girl pressed her forehead up against the glass of the window, her hot breath fogging the window up as she took a few deep breaths. Soul watched her out of the corner of his eye as she shifted for a few moments before deciding she was comfortable enough.

"I'm sorry," he said after a minute of silence.

"Yeah," she said again, green eyes still focused intently on the passing forest, "Yeah, me too."