July 20, 2010
Shane pulls to a stop where 154 splits off from 29. To the south, the highway is a massive traffic jam. Merle circles the Triumph back, bringing it to idle next to the Jeep.
"We can try to move those, but it looks like it goes on at least a mile. Something must've went wrong and people tried to divert off the freeway. I'm gonna scout ahead to 85, see if it's just as clogged up."
As soon as Shane nods, the man's boot is off the pavement and the bike back underway, disappearing southeast on 154. Glenn reaches for the atlas, so Shane drops the Jeep into park and walks back two vehicles to Quinn's Expedition to pass on Merle's information.
Quinn sighs. They spent another day at the horse barn, gathering from the houses in the area and expanding their carrying capacity for potable water. But now they've hit a major roadblock less than an hour on the road. It was slow going getting here, because of the larger population in Newnan that seemed stuck between going to Atlanta versus Columbus.
"Well, if we're going to have to change routes anyway, why don't we all pull over on 154 and work the jam? Gotta be useful supplies in there, and any walkers trapped deserve to be laid to rest."
It's an idea broached at supper last night, that if they're going to search houses, they might as well search vehicles too. No one wants to stop specifically for that purpose, but with the number of cars stranded here, it's a good place to try it out. Not everyone was comfortable with the idea, but in the end, all agreed.
He agrees, and Quinn radios it to the other drivers while he heads back to the Jeep. Parking everyone doesn't take long, and Glenn's already got an alternate route ready when they gather.
"154 to Sharpsburg, then 54 south. We'll have to cross back over the freeway to reach 29 again, between Lone Oak and Hogansville, but maybe it'll be clear by then."
No one disputes the Korean's growing expertise with this part of Georgia, so with Dale and Jesse set to watch, the rest divide into pairs or groups to search the cars.
Rick falls in beside Shane with practiced ease, clearing the older model Chevy pickup easily with a glance inside. "Got keys. Want me to turn it on to see if the battery's still good? Save siphoning if it's running near empty."
"Sure." Merle's advice, which Jim backed, was to start with the oldest vehicles for the fastest siphoning, thus why they're next to a Chevy truck that looks like it might be a year or two older than Shane himself. The rollover valves in the more modern vehicles require a different siphon than Shane's carrying, so they'll only hit those if they end up with any empty fuel cans.
"Half a tank."
"Well, that'll top off both of these cans." They're also the only two empties they have at the moment. The others are all full, as are the tanks on the vehicles. Shane gets the process started while Rick climbs on the bumper to inspect the loosely packed items in the back of the truck.
"Another gas can in here, but looks like it's full."
"Brother, I am not objecting to gas that we don't have to coax out of a sitting vehicle."
Rick laughs and swings his leg over the tailgate to better rummage through everything. "More tools we might want. Looks like whoever had this truck was a decent mechanic."
The owner's probably wandered miles from here now, if the rural walkers congregate together like the city ones do. There's a commotion further up the row that makes them both pause, alert to any need for help.
But a muffled curse and the distinct thwack of a machete sounds before Daryl calls out. "Sumbitch wasn't wearing his seatbelt."
Shane snorts. "Wanna go write him a ticket, Rick?"
He figures he probably earned the dog-chewed tennis ball tossed at his head with that one.
"Christ. I hope the dog at least got loose," Rick says. He holds up a half-full bag of dog food. "Think we should take it? If there's really farm animals there, I have a vague memory that chickens will eat any damn thing."
"Works to go fishing with, too. Sure."
Rick drops the half bag and a full bag of Pedigree dog food over the back of the tailgate, along with a tent bag and a sleeping bag. "Hoping we don't need to camp where we're going, but can't hurt to replace what we lost, right?"
Shane nods, switching out the now full gas can for the empty and returning to working the hand pump. "They pack any actual food for this trip, or they just feeding the dog?"
It wouldn't be entirely surprising for a frantic pet owner evacuating to forget their own provisions in favor of the dog's, especially not here in Georgia. Shane's met people who valued their dogs over their own kids on a regular basis.
Rick releases the tailgate and slides a couple of boxes toward it. The boxes are liquor store discards, but Shane takes a look to see all three are packed with canned goods. They work in silence as Rick checks the duffel bag, rifling through clothes.
"Anybody still in need of clothes?" he asks.
"Not sure. Can put it out there to see if anyone claims it when we load up."
Shane's distracted by Harper and Sophia returning back toward the vehicles from further down the line. Both girls are carrying reusable grocery bags that look fairly heavy. The neglected grass along the highway is over knee high on them both, brushing against their jeans and boots.
"You girls got a good haul on the groceries," Shane remarks. They both grin at him and pause a minute, bags swinging lightly.
"Y'all need us to take stuff to the trailers?" Harper asks. "Mama said we should be runners for everyone."
He nods toward the boxes on the end of the tailgate. "Y'all are welcome to grab those on your next trip."
Sophia steps forward and peers into a box, since Rick didn't refasten the flaps. "Oh, cool. Pineapple."
Shane's not entirely sure what draws his attention to the tall grass just beyond Harper, but he's damned glad of it.
"Harper, sweetheart, I need you to hold real still. Steady and stop swinging that bag." To her credit, the girl obeys without question, green eyes on him even as the big fruit-motif shopping bag halts next to her calf.
The copperhead, disturbed by the noise of people for probably the first time in months and then the girls tramping through the grass, strikes, but there's a bit of a thunk as the impact hits the laden bag and not the girl's jean-clad leg.
"I'm gonna put the bag down slow," the girl says. She eases it down and moves slowly toward Shane, accepting the near bodily lift he gives her once she's in reach. He perches her on the side of the truck bed. Looking back toward the still coiled, anxious snake, she grins. "Holy crap, but he's pretty."
Shane laughs softly. Nearly getting bitten doesn't cause most people to admire the snake trying to do it, but then again, this kid lives and breathes the outdoors.
"Yeah, well, luckily he got a bite of Del Monte and not baby Dixon," he remarks.
Harper giggles, smothering the sound and still craning her neck to look. Sophia, plucked up onto the tailgate by Rick, is leaning out to look too. His best friend is eyeing the two girls as if he's starting to really understand the campfire chat about them now.
The snake is starting to relax from his striking pose now that nothing's constantly swinging near him. Their stance is drawing attention, so Shane takes the chance that calling out won't agitate the little snake.
"Copperhead in the grass. We're just waiting on him to move along, but might want to keep an eye out."
"Okay, how do you know it's a copperhead again?" Sophia asks.
"Hershey kisses on the pattern on the sides. Corn snakes and rat snakes are more spotty," Harper replies. "It's an adult. Juveniles have a weird yellow tail that they use like a fishing lure to get prey to come close. Funniest old wives tale I ever heard about them was that they can sting you with their tail."
"That would be one hell of a crossbred snake," Shane comments.
"Like a Pokemon." The girl flashes him a grin. She hasn't moved away from where her legs are bumping against him, content to just lean out and brace one hand on his shoulder. Then again, she's used to casual affection from her motley crew of male relatives.
"What do they eat?" Sophia asks. It's worth killing the time, he supposes, since the snake is still eyeing them like it's the goat from Jurassic Park and they're the T-Rex.
"Amphibians, lizards, smaller snakes, little mammals like mice and rats. They eat bugs, but they really like to eat cicadas. It's why you have to be careful after dark where cicadas are, in case the copperheads are looking for snacks."
Harper smiles at his thorough answer, fingers wiggling on his shoulder.
"Gross." But Sophia says it with the emphasis Shane is used to Carl using for where anything gross is actually fascinating. Shane exchanges a look with Rick, who is kneeling next to Sophia with his arms propped on the side of the truck bed to watch the snake too.
"Are you really not scared of the snake, Harper?" Rick asks. "I know they said you cooked one, back at the quarry, but it wasn't venomous."
"Well, I wouldn't be real happy at all right now if it bit me, but as long as that didn't happen, it's just a pretty snake."
The snake finally decides freezing isn't the best option for survival and flees into the woods. As soon as it slithers out of sight, Harper surprises him with a hug before sliding to the ground.
"Thank you for not killing it."
"Didn't even think about that, I promise. That's how most people get bit anyway." Or called in to the sheriff's department for accidentally shooting their idiot selves.
She goes to eye the bag. "Hey, Mama, should we rinse this bag the snake tried to bite?"
Quinn approaches, mumbling about children shortening her lifespan by decades. "Can't hurt, in case someone's got a cut. Sit it by the trailer at the Expedition and I'll clean it first. Bet that was a hell of a shock for that poor snake. Might not have even gotten any venom out since it couldn't really bite."
Harper picks up the bag and once Sophia hops down to join her, trails off to do as she was told.
"You're awfully calm," Rick says. "I suspect Lori would still be screaming about her baby being that close to a deadly snake."
"After raising these three, and living with Merle and Daryl, I prefer to save my hysterical moments for the really big issues. Like Micah taking a spill off a motorcycle three weeks after his license went permanent for the damn thing."
She studies the grass and sighs. "I wish antivenom was not a refrigerated item. It would be real nice to have a stash of vials. You can survive a copperhead bite without it, but it's not a fun recovery period."
"We should probably make sure everyone is only out areas like this with boots and jeans too," Shane suggests.
"Another thing for the educate the city slickers column," Quinn grumbles. "Along with what not to do if they get bit, like try to suck out the venom like some stupid Hollywood movie nightmare."
She pats his chest. "Thanks for spotting the damn thing. I'm gonna survive all the male Dixons to have the female one give me the heart attack."
"Quinn? Got another occupied car," Daryl calls out.
"Keep your britches on. I'm coming."
Shane's watching her go when Rick nudges his shoulder. He looks back at his best friend, who grins. "I know she's a pretty sight, brother, but you only filled that gas can half way."
"Smartass."
He's just glad the illusion of a relationship that hangs over his friendship with Quinn keeps things headed toward recovery with Rick. Lori hasn't avoided him so thoroughly since the time she accidentally flashed him her thong panties junior year of high school.
It definitely entertains Quinn that Lori gapes like a fish and tamely agrees to just about every suggestion the other woman makes now. It'll wear off, eventually, but they can enjoy the quiet while it lasts.