This Isn't the Zombie Apocalypse

4. Squirrel Pancake for Dinner

I felt bad for hitchhikers, which meant I felt bad for myself.

I had been traveling for two days, only sleeping for a few hours at a time on the side of the long, unending road, and was exhausted. Bones creaked and muscles ached; my arms swung limp by my sides, and the most my legs could do was drag my feet over the dirt. Running may have been a good form of exercise, but too much without rest was, well, bad.

Ever since I had seen my first car at early morning light, a rumbly sunshine yellow truck, my hopes had been lifted that civilization was near. So when I saw that truck, what did I do? I raised my thumb and waited, of course. But then the truck had roared on passed me, leaving my dumb thumb in the air and my jaw dropped to the ground. I had mumbled—okay, maybe shouted quite loudly—some ear-burning profanities about the truck, the driver, and the driver's dog when that happened, but then I continued on, fuming and muttering (yelling) some more curses.

A few hours later, another car had come along the dirt path. It was so old I couldn't tell what type of car it was, but I didn't really mind because it was going slow and surely would stop to pick up a poor, dirty, weak teenage boy. Right? Wrong. I lifted my straight thumb, wishing I had gotten the genes for the hitchhikers' thumb from my mom, high up in the air; reaching out, I nearly stumbled into the road to make sure I got the driver's attention. Then the car was right beside me, decelerating; the driver, a middle-aged, red-haired man with a scraggly beard, was staring at me and my raised thumb. And then the guy zoomed off as fast as his puttering vehicle would allow.

I cursed some more. Did I look like a serial killer or something? Come on! "Idiot," I spat, trudging on. "They're all idiots!"

Later, probably around three or so in the afternoon, another car came rolling by. I had recently come upon some thick trees (because this road was nothing if unconventional, it seemed) that surrounded the lone road, so I was hidden—which wasn't a good thing. Until the shiny new convertible was right next to me, I hadn't realized it was there, and by then it was too late. It zoomed off, and I was once again enforced to use my rapidly weakening muscles.

I didn't even have the willpower to shout obscenities at the convertible and all its travelers. Maybe I should have, though, because the hood was down. But then again, the wind could be louder than a thunderous storm. (At least that was my excuse, and not the fact that I may or may not have pouted for a full minute before realizing I could call for help.)

At the moment, the evening sky was turning dark as the sun sank below the horizon. I hadn't spotted, heard, smelled, sensed, or even felt the vibrations of a car since the convertible, and the hope that had been building inside of me when I saw the old sunshine truck was diminishing. No towns were around for miles in any direction, which was something I had not anticipated; not even a gas station was within the next hour of walking. It was all very odd, but not the strangest thing I had ever experienced.

Sore, I promptly dropped down in the dry, crunchy grass. "Oh well," I whispered to myself. "A few hours of sleep couldn't hurt. Never did hurt anybody, did it?" Chuckling at myself like the delusional person I was, I snuggled in the grass, thankful it didn't have a wet hay smell. "Sweet, sweet sleep, come to me," I croaked, feeling my eyelids sink like the sun.

Just when my body had relaxed, something dropped on my head. It didn't hurt, but it definitely was not a leaf that had fallen. Annoyed, I peeked through half-lidded eyes and saw a brown object right in front of me. Crossing my eyes to focus on it, I concluded that it was an acorn. How an acorn had fallen on me, I had no idea, since before I swore the trees weren't oak trees, but I was tired and it had kept me from getting my beauty sleep.

Using the last of my arm strength to keep me propped up, I groaned, glaring at the stupid acorn. Then I flicked it, watching it skitter off into the dirt road. Why there was still a dirt road and not a paved one was also unknown to me, but the dust scattered from the acorn puffed up before being swirled around by the wind to my nose. "A-CHOO!" I sneezed and was propelled backward by the force. "Stupid acorn," I muttered to myself.