CHAPTER 7: ROAD TRIP '93

July 31, 1993

4am, but Harlan was already awake. He checked his duffle bag, inside was a bottle of water, a bag of chips, and some bandages he hoped he wouldn't need.

Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it, he repeated every time he thought he was carrying too much. You can never be too prepared.

"Man plans and god laughs," Harlan muttered as he descended the stairs, tugging the corners of his leather jacket together to button it up. Anthony was similarly kitted up.

"What was that?" Anthony asked. Harlan waved him off.

"Nothing, just talking to myself." Anthony chuckled.

"Yeah, you do that a lot Harley."

"Please don't call me that."

"Alright, alright." Anthony hoisted his bag from the ground, it looked empty. "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I can be, going in blind." Harlan shifted his weight. "I've been to this store before, a couple of times, but it's been almost a decade."

"And it's still open? We can get seeds and shit from there?"

"It's been almost ten years Anthony, I'm not sure. I can't just call them." Harlan wracked his brain for more information about this place. "Push comes to shove, we could knock over some farmhouses for what we need."

"Which is…" Anthony trailed off. We weren't all forced to take Agricultural Science in school.

"Seeds, watering cans, hoes and shovels, trowels. If you see any fertilizer, grab it." Harlan paused, "and any farming books you see. Almanacs, manuals, guides, no mercy."

"Okay." Anthony's hands gripped his bat. His chest fluttered like he was up next on open mic night. Harlan noted how tense Anthony was, he was tense himself, working off decade-old intel with no safety net and monsters that could kill you with a small scratch.

Harlan tried to shake off his nerves as he and Anthony climbed into the truck. They passed through town, slaloming around bodies in the street from yesterday's gas station run. Anthony absently played with the radio, dead air up and down the electromagnetic spectrum. Then he hit MODE and the pickup's cab was swamped with Whitney Houston's on-screen rendition of I Have Nothing.

"No. Nope." Harlan flicked back to the silence of the air waves.

"So you like Cathy Denis, but Whitney's too far?" Harlan could feel Anthony probing him.

"No it's not that," Harlan began as the pickup whizzed past a pileup of charred vehicles, "I just thought the movie sucked." Anthony laughed.

"Who talked you into seeing The Bodyguard?"

That is a long, personal story, Tony.

"I don't even remember." Harlan tried to steer the conversation. "What was the last movie you saw?" Anthony stared at the ceiling.

"Don't laugh, Jurassic Park."

"Why would I laugh? That was Speilberg, right?" Anthony turned to watch the farms whizz past. "I saw it and thought it was pretty good."

"I liked it, but someone told me it's basically a kid's movie." Now he sounded deflated.

"Well yeah, kids like dinosaurs. But those special effects were insane." Harlan drove off the road to avoid a large herd of the undead. "All of this feels like a movie, too."

"If this is a movie I want my money back." Anthony really sounded sour now. Harlan started the tape again with the volume a little lower, Whitney quietly belting "I Have Nothing" as the two careened down the country highway. After a long stretch of silence, Harlan spoke.

"We're almost there."

"What's this one called?"

"Fallas Lake."

"No fucking way."Anthony was trying, unsuccessfully, to hide his laughter as they passed a sign welcoming them to town.

"What?"

"Fallas. Like phallus." Harlan shrugged.

"I dunno. "Harlan waved his hand dismissively. "Probably named after some dusty old confederate who homesteaded here."

"How dare you disrespect Civil War veteran Dick Fallas." Anthony chided as the pickup rumbled past a barren field and into town. Both men felt dread sink into their stomachs.

Fallas Lake had been neutered. Razed. Burnt to the ground. Both men peered outside the pickup's cab in amazement, virtually every home and business on the south side was a pile of smoldering rubble. Harlan kept driving straight through town, slowly the burnt homes were replaced with more familiar standing structures.

"So where's this supply shop?" Anthony felt his nerves building.

"Should be… up on the left." Harlan squinted in the distance. "My dad took me here a lot when I was a kid. There's a gas station up north too."

"Do you see any of them?" Anthony was onto something, Harlan couldn't see a single zombie. Did the fire get them all? Before getting too lost in his thoughts, Harlan spotted the sign for Farming & Rural Supply.

"No, let's hope they stay hidden." Harlan said as he parked the truck and killed the engine.

Without a word, both men left the truck with their bags and weapons of choice. Harlan tried the front door, both locked. He grunted and peered through the dusty window, no movement inside. Harlan crept low against the window and rounded the store's corner, another door, this one unlocked! Inside, the air was stale with death. Someone definitely expired in here, and they could still be lurking. The door gently closed behind Anthony as he followed Harlan inside. They stood still for a moment in the dimly lit store, listening to the silence.

"Where do we start?" Anthony whispered to Harlan.

"We keep quiet and grab seeds and tools. Seeds and tools." Anthony gave a thumbs up and snuck around him. Harlan rustled through shelves and bins and found a cornucopia of fruit and vegetable seeds that would serve them well. Anthony stuffed his bag with as many tools as he could. They found some extra backpacks, and crammed them full with anything that fit. But the whole time, Harlan was eyeing the real hardware.

Guns.

All that stood between them and an arsenal big enough to raze the great Bluegrass State was a security fence. And a security door, one that could be popped open, Harlan surmised. Anthony carried the bags out to the truck, noting a few deadheads coming out of the woodwork to the southeast. Harlan stayed inside the store, probing the back office for weaknesses to get to those firearms.

There was a keypad, Harlan tried punching in a few numbers but it angrily buzzed back at him. Not to be defeated so easily, Harlan scoured the back office for a code. Slamming open drawers, throwing papers around, masking a mess and a racket. Anthony returned to the store to find Harlan trying, futilely, to break down the security door.

"That doesn't look like seeds to me," he spat.

"If I can get in," Harlan slammed himself against the door again, "those fucks'll never overpower us."

"If you insist," Anthony shrugged, "I'm gonna check out the back."

"Right on, man." Harlan wasn't even listening.

Anthony slowly opened the door to the supply room. More seeds, more tools, more stuff going into his bag. In the distance, he heard Harlan continue throwing himself at the door. After clearing the boxes and shelves, Anthony opened up the only other door in the dark back room.

Light flooded in, he was outside again! Anthony squinted through the sunrays, and as his eyes adjusted he saw the last thing he wanted to see, a mass of undead in the rear lot. Anthony slammed the door shut, then cursed himself for slamming it. A moment passed, and the first of many undead hands began pounding to get in.

"Shit shit shit fuck fuck FUCK," Anthony barged into the back office, "WE GOT COMPANY!" Harlan whipped his head around.

"How many?" Before Anthony could respond, he heard them break in.

"Too many, way too many." Their cold hands struck the inner door, where Anthony was standing.

"Fucking hell Tony what happened?" Harlan stepped up to him, furious.

"I don't know! I just opened a door and suddenly-" the doorframe groaned before giving way. Anthony stumbled out of the way as bodies poured in. "RUN!"

Both men bolted towards the front of the store, only to see more undead hands grasping at the glass facade. Anthony turned on a dime and headed for the side door.

Harlan wasn't so nimble. He tried to change course and follow Anthony but ended up down a different aisle, dead hot on his heels. He makes it to the end only to be greeted by more undead. Harlan twisted himself around when he felt a massive weight fall on him.

Anthony watched from the far end of the store as an entire shelf came down on Harlan, who screamed in pain. The dead kept pouring in from the back room, they were breaking through the front window, they were almost on top of Harlan.

Wordlessly, Anthony bounced off the wall and ran to Harlan. As he pulled the other man up he saw blood gushing from his chest, staining his white KYFD shirt. Harlan clung to Anthony like a priceless heirloom as he was practically dragged out of the store, undead hands grasping at his legs.

Outside offered no relief. Harlan was gushing blood, the dead had swarmed the building and their vehicle, and now they were completely exposed. Harlan climbed to his feet and grabbed his bleeding chest, coating his hand in warm crimson. Anthony grabbed his bloody hand and ran.

And ran.

And ran.

[A/N: Hi to the handful of people reading this far! I'll keep this brief, this chapter was almost eaten by google docs but I pulled from an older version. The idea that I lost this bit in particular hurt, like really hurt. It has encouraged me to be more rigorous with posting every week.]