SurvivorZ: In Cold Blood

1

JANUARY – DAY 85

ALL THAT REMAINS

"Try to find a better place, but soon it's all the same

What once you thought was a paradise, is not just what it seemed

The more I look around I find, the more I have to fear, ooh

Where do we go

Where do we go

Where do we go from here?"

- Chicago, Where Do We Go From Here

DREW

Drew Goodman slid his snowmobile to a stop on the snow-packed I-95 northeast of Bangor, running the risk of capsizing the fully loaded sled fastened behind him. Their scavenger run into Millinocket and the lake houses around The Twin Lakes had proven surprisingly fruitful. The four sleds they brought with them could only carry a fraction of the supplies they discovered. What they couldn't transport now, they buried in the snow to recover later. After their week-long excursion, he figured they had enough caches of canned food, fuel, and other supplies spread around Penobscot County to last half the winter.

Irene Yeung, the short, slender Asian/American woman who joined them in Portland, pulled up alongside him and flashed him a curious look from the hooded recesses of her oversized parka. "What's up? Why'd you stop?"

"Look," he replied, nodding his head at the view over the tree line to their south.

"Is that..?" she gasped.

The remaining two sleds in their group stopped on his opposite side. Neither Stanley Deeks nor Lee Dunnett said anything. The same sight that compelled Drew to jam on the brakes had also engaged their full attention.

White smoke billowed into the sky from the smoldering remnants of a fire directly ahead of them, coming from somewhere near Hanwell Road. Though he couldn't be certain for the trees, Drew had a sinking feeling that the source of the fire was the Traveler's Inn. The empty building their group called home for the past couple of weeks was meant to be their winter refuge. He could only pray he was wrong.

Stan dug into his pack for the pair of worn binoculars tucked inside. The former mechanic tried to remain calm, but his concern for their friends made his pawing through his supplies a little more frantic than usual.

"Are we in radio range?" Lee asked. The boy's voice was pitched with worry.

Drew pulled out the Walkie Talkie they procured weeks ago from a police station in Augusta. The group maintained five radios among them; one for him, one for Charlie LeMann, one for Denise Lowe, one for Carl Graves, and a spare that was presently in Stan's possession. Right now, he'd be happy to hear from anyone outside their scouting party.

"Anyone out there? This is Drew," he spoke into the radio. "We've spotted smoke in the distance. Come back."

He released the talk button and waited. The only response coming over the squawker was empty air.

To his right, he caught Stan peering through his binoculars. As the two burliest members of the group, the men had found time to bond while taking advantage of the Inn's fitness machines. Seeing Stan almost crushing the spyglasses under his shaking hands, Drew figured whatever he was looking at wasn't good.

"Well?" he inquired.

"Feeders," Stan uttered. "A shitload of them, wandering all over the place."

"Anything else?" Lee asked.