The Wakeful Wanderer's Guide to Disillusionment

Garden State

Taking the old roads now. Sinkholes implode when the water table drops. Trees claw away at the edges. Our pencil mark on the land is swiftly being erased.

– The Wakeful Wanderer's Guide, Vol. 3, line 421

If they hadn't stopped in that old parking lot, they would have been fine. Barnabas Yoniver barreled down the crumbling Parkway, bouncing in the driver's seat. He had left Daschel to oversee the conquest of the xombie town of Reverside while he and three of his men drove back to New Atlantic to check on reports of fires and explosions. Now Ted was gone, along with two more of Brady's trainees. He was the only one left.

Ted had been the navigator for the invasion of Tarrytown. He told Barnabas to avoid the Garden State Parkway, but Barnabas couldn't see why. It was easy going down from the Tappan Zee. Overgrowth had time to reclaim the edges, but the middle was still plenty wide enough. If only they hadn't stopped to discuss the route, he wouldn't be driving all by himself, Ted would still be alive, and Barnabas could show him how wrong he was.

They had pulled off just outside of Tarrytown. Ted said he needed time to figure out the route back, having torn back across the bridge with news of the fires in New Atlantic. He steered the truck into an empty old parking lot, weeds and trees growing up through the old concrete. A line of low buildings, the remains of shops, lined the far end of the expanse. A fog had moved in. There was evidence of a camp amidst the rubble. A cold pile of ashes, bedrolls, broken bottles, and some packs littered the asphalt. The area was otherwise deserted, however, so they parked and stepped out to investigate.

"I want to avoid that ambush we hit on the way up," Ted told him. "The xombies have, no doubt, doubled the defenses at that intersection, so it would be better to go around it."

"The Parkway is faster," said Barnabas. "We could shoot down it to Perth Amboy, find a crossing, then continue back on smaller roads to town."

"The Garden State is no longer safe, boss. Believe me. I looked into it. We're better off on the little roads. I just need time to work it out."

"Well, make it quick. We don't know what's going on at home. I need to get down there like yesterday."

Ted was standing, holding the old book of maps. The pages were covered with circles, arrows, lines, and notations. The other two men were going through the packs and bedrolls, looking for abandoned supplies.

"You'd better come and see this, boss," the larger one of them said.

Barnabas walked over to the soldier and the man handed him two spent shell casings. "What am I looking at here, Mr..." he trailed off, not knowing the man's name.

"Lassus," the man said. "One of those shells was fired and one was not, but both are empty."

"That's strange," Barnabas replied. "These people were carrying duds in their packs? But some of them worked?"

"Raiders," Lassus said, kicking the pack to the side. Beneath it was a desiccated leather vest. The words "Enduring Vengeance" in faded paint were still visible on the back. It was the logo of a club employed by the Reynolds family, based somewhere near Pittsburgh. "No way one of them would leave their vest behind. I don't like it. We should get back in the truck."

Barnabas bent down to examine the vest. It looked like it had been there for decades. The leather crumbled in his hand when he nudged it. "Whatever happened here, it was a long time ago."

"The hell is that?" he heard Lassus say, as he passed Barnabas on the left.

Before Barnabas could follow Lassus' gaze, a pole shot up out of the concrete, missing the side of his head by inches. There was a high light whistling noise, like a powerful wind whipping tree branches. Something hot and wet hit his cheek, and Lassus' head rolled like a ball against Barnabas' left ankle. He froze, not sure what he was looking at. Slowly, he looked around the parking lot.