Caged (Troy Otto x OC)

Chapter 2

And that brings us to where we are today.

On the outskirts of the lovely Mexicali.

I have been traveling west through the vast desert that is southern New Mexico and Arizona for about two months now. Making small pit stops in middle of nowhere towns, scavenging 1950s gas stations for anything that would keep me alive for one more day. Crashing hard in skeevy motels or setting up camp in the mountains. Sleeping under the stars is not as magical as it sounds when there are dead people who devour human flesh roaming around.

Although I miss my dad dearly, it is almost easier traveling alone. I don't have to watch my every move and his as well. I am no longer paranoid that a walker is going to pop up and bite him. I may not know where he is, but it is better than knowing he is dead, like mom.

I dare say that my fighting skills have improved as well. You have to learn to keep yourself alive when someone isn't there to watch your back at every waking moment.

After a full day of walking, the sun was finally setting behind the mountainous landscape before me. The air was finally cooling and I felt like I could breathe again. The sun was no longer beating down on my bare shoulders and had I been able to drink more water today, I could have continued for another 20 miles. Tonight, I didn't have it in me. So, I settled on hiking to a ridge of a mountain that overlooked what seemed to be a valley. A barren, sandy valley. The ridge seemed safe enough for the night.

There were very few walkers in this area. I was mildly surprised, because typically I have to clear out upwards of a dozen before setting up camp. I only ran into three before making it to the ridge. Swiftly jamming my hunting knife into the softest parts of their skulls, I moved from one to the next. Under the chin, the temple, the eye socket or at the base of the skull. Anatomically the places of least resistance when it comes to burying a knife in someone's brain.

After reaching the apex of the ridge, I set up a small camp and surveyed my surroundings. I lit a small fire in a half assed attempt to heat up a can of beans I had found on the floor of one of the gas stations yesterday. I hate beans, but they are far better warm than cold. Also, far better than starving to death. You can't exactly be a 'picky' eater in a goddamn apocalypse.

As I ate my meal, I let my feet dangle over the ledge of the ridge I was perched on. For a split second I thought that maybe falling off of that ledge wouldn't be so bad. I would fall to my death, and likely would have so much brain damage that I wouldn't even wake up as a walker. Not that I would even know if I did. I assume walkers don't have that level of introspective awareness.

As quick as that thought appeared in my mind, it left. A fleeting thought that I had at least once a week. I knew I couldn't leave this world with the possibility of my father still being alive. My father didn't raise a quitter.

Looking down from the ridge in the center of the valley, I saw a few clustered buildings, what looked to be barbed wire fences and a bunch of military grade humvees. There were what looked to be a few people loading things into trucks, they looked like ants from up here. It seemed to be a military base, and the lights were still on, so it seemed that someone was home. Part of me wanted to go down and check it out, but the more reasonable and sane part of me told myself I was safer up here. Or so I thought.

After watching the commotion down below for a little while, my body gave way to exhaustion. I put out the small fire I created and curled into a small ball, trying to use my leather jacket to contain my body heat.