(Book 3) Left 4 Dead 3: Dry County

2.2

As everyone went to their respective seats in the vehicle, Dwain shut off the door and fixed himself firmly.

"A'ight, step on it doc," he implored.

Brenan noticed the fuel gauge. "Hold up, we're gonna have to gas up; we're runnin' on fumes."

"I'm pretty sure these things run on diesel."

"Well then, we're gonna have to find us some."

Brenan started the humvee. Of course, it took him a few seconds because it had a different ignition process, but he had gotten the hang of it. And after a while, they were all good to go. He slotted in the gears and gently pressed the pedal with his foot.

"Hey, sister," he called up while driving. "Would you mind puttin' in some good word to the man upstairs and hear us even though we ain't from the land of Josephites?"

Jess dragged her eyes from the window and they transformed into a cold, fiery look towards Brenan. "I did tell you I'm a con-artist," she replied.

Brenan glanced at the nun from the rear view mirror. "Yeah but, can't hurt to try," he insisted.

"Then why don't you do it?"

"Cuz' I ain't the one wearin' a habit and a cross."

"I'll put you on a cross."

They continued driving across the desolate town, following the trails that led to nowhere. The contrast of desolation and ethereal beauty somehow appealed to their senses. Nothing else dotted the landscape but red rocks draped in snow, like white cloaks over their rugged forms. The land stretched out like a vast, empty ocean of sand and snow, with towering mesas, rugged plains, and giant boulders rising from it. The sun cast a fiery glow over the desert, caps of snow on the rocks glistened like crystals.

As they rode along the open road, they ran into what looked like the main street. Old buildings lined up side by side, there was the motel, the church, and other structures that they couldn't tell what they were for.

"This is the main street?" Brenan questioned. "I thought we'd already passed that on our way at yonda' school."

"Well it was dark, man," Dwain rebutted. "It was hard to tell."

A little further through the crossroads, there was a small diner with a few semi trucks parked on a wide open lot across it. It seemed like a deserted truck stop, that immediately piqued Brenan's interest.

"Maybe we can siphon some diesel off them rigs," he put forth.

Brenan pulled up across the trucks and hit the parking brakes. They got out of the humvee, mixtures of sand and snow crumbled under their boots. Sunlight struck their faces as the morning arose.

Dwain placed his hand on his brows as the light ray struck him like a bolt. He suddenly felt an urge to check the time and looked at his watch. But a cloud of disappointment loomed over him as he caught the hands of his watch not moving.

"Argh shit," the man cursed and tilted his head back up to the blinding beam from the sky as he tried to seek his companions through. "Anyone know what time it is?"

Brenan halted his walk and checked his watch, "It's about 8:30," he hollered and then headed towards the trucks.

"8:30?" Dwain questioned. "Doesn't feel like 8:30."

After passing by the trucks, the medic went straight towards the diner. He squinted as he scanned the establishment. The walls were made of logs, painted in red, its roof flat. Windows were all tainted with dust and grime.