Take the highway.

Moving towards the onramp, you pass burnt out storefronts. Those that aren't damaged by fire usually have their windows smashed out. Scanning for any movement on the streets, you toss your backpack on the floor by your feet, and set the 9mm Glock on the passenger seat next to you, at the ready. As you enter the freeway, you aren't sure if you're disappointed that the only sign of life that you saw was crows picking at the dead that lay on the streets.

As you drive down the wide ribbon of concrete, you scan the gauges of the car, and are relived to note that everything seems to be ok. You've got a little over a half a tank of gas, and it's still early in the day. Perhaps there'll be a little more safety in the rural areas. There aren't as many abandon or wrecked vehicles as you expected to on the road, and most of those that you do see are on the shoulder.

After driving for about an hour you pull over to the side of the road. Grabbing the Glock, and tucking it in the waist of your jeans, you open your backpack, and remove a pair of binoculars. Scanning the horizon in all directions you see no sign of human life. The terrain is flat, and sparse, with a few small groups of trees, and plowed fields gone fallow. Reassured in the knowledge that there are no immediate threats, you open the passenger side door, and grab the backpack. After setting it on the roof of the bug, you begin to check supplies.

Flashlight, a box of kitchen matches and a candle, a straight razor. You realize that you probably grabbed something's that will end up having little to no use. As you pull out the small, Bright blue cardboard box, you know that the 50 rounds of ammo inside won't be one of them. A pill bottle full of fish hooks, a flask of whiskey, eight cans of various fruits, a container of beef jerky, a large filet knife. Nervous, you pick up the binoculars again and scan for anything. Seeing nothing you return to inventory of your supplies. Looking over the other items you jammed into the pack, you laugh to your self at your vanity, having packed five sets of bras and panties. You pitch the bras into the backseat of the car. You feel you've supplied yourself pretty well for the time being, returning everything to the pack, you return it to the car, and get back in behind the wheel.

As you look in the glove compartment for a map, you hear a distant hum. A mechanical hum. The hum of an engine. Moving quickly you look out the rearview mirror. Far in the distance you can see a motorcycle heading in your direction. They're too far to tell if it's a man or woman, and you have no idea wether they've seen you or not. Flipping off the safety on the pistol, you consider your options. You can duck down in the seat, and hope they didn't see you, or you can flag them down, keeping the pistol in your hand, behind your back.