Death Valley - (A Fall Out Boy Apocalypse Fanfic)

Chapter Five - Welcome to Death Valley. You'll Be Staying For Awhile. A Fan.

Chapter Five

Davie and I headed into the town. He explained that every few weeks he'd go into town and buy a truckload of supplies and food, to stock up at home.

"It's easier that way, I won't have to waste money on gas an' stuff," he said. He flashed me a mischievious grin. "I won't accidentally run people over whenever there's a storm, too."

"Hallelujah," I said dryly.

Davie laughed loudly.

Death Valley was a town well-suited to its name. Most of the shops and houses we passed in Davie's car were boarded up and abandoned. The whole town gave me the creeps, they felt like bandaged-up eyes staring at me, accusing. Although Death Valley was a ghost town, I caught glimpses of its former beauty. Although creeptastic, the town held a certain charm.

The dusty, cracked roads were lined with tall, dusty trees with broad branches. I dug around in my memory and came up with a name I'd heard over the years I'd been on the road - which was ever since I'd grown old enough to drive. Eucalyptus trees. Death Valley was like a raw diamond - unpolished, but beautiful just the same. I felt sad thinking about all of this - no one knew of this little town, this gem right smack in the middle of the Nevada desert, and the town was starting to show signs of neglect. It felt like such a waste. As we drove,  I saw a huge drinkstand in the shape of an orange and pointed it out.

"It used to be big aroun' here," Davie said, a note of sadness in his voice. "People came in droves just to buy the orange juice - it was real good, pulpy and fresh, no conservatives at all. It went bankrupt though, when people stopped coming. Like everythin' else you see here, it shut down." Davie sighed heavily. "Death Valley used to be a real pretty place...we never really knew why people stopped coming. Of course, the townsfolk say it's the town, that it's wrong. They say the town is rotting, but it's all just bullshit. Death Valley is just a little further away from most rest-stops, people rarely come here. And orange juice won't help bring business back."

I stared out the window at the passing shops, uncomfortable. I was never one to offer comfort; I was terrible at motivational talks. Roger was usually the one cheering me up, my cheerleader cum coach. I was glad when Davie didn't continue with his story - one thing was obvious about Davie: he appreciated long silences, which was rare in a person. I felt comfortable around him - he was like the father figure I never had.

After a few minutes of driving through the town, Davie came to a stop in front of a tiny second-hand shop/supermarket. He cut off the engine and got out, slamming the car door. I followed suit.

The store was hot - stuffy. The lighting was busted - which was good; the lights wouldn't help to cool the already humid atmosphere. There was no one else in the store, save for the person who was manning the cash register. As of late, said person was hidden behind a Rocksound magazine. I smirked at it. Rocksound was one of the few magazines I'd been interviewed with. Ol' Cash Register had good taste in music. 

Davie immediately grabbed a trolley and gestured for me to do the same.

"Just get whatever ye like," he said, and headed straight for the freezers at the back of the store.

I headed towards the mens' clothing section, stopping to study a pair of heavy leather workboots. I added them into my trolley, along with a few pairs of jeans, socks, underwear and shirts. Next, I headed towards the stationery section and got a notebook and some pens. A sharp penknife and pocketknife went into my trolley, too.

Great. Next: food.

I knocked several boxes of PopTarts into the trolley, along with several cans of beer. Microwaveable pizzas, instant lasagnas - that sort of thing - went into my trolley.