She started to back up, but something changed in the air suddenly, was different, and she turned off the heater to listen as she looked around intently. She'd heard something.
"Not a threat," the Witch informed her, settling back. "Just more starving people."
They were close, watching. Angela could feel it, and she put the Blazer in park. She climbed into the back seat, ignoring the greed inside that was insisting she couldn't spare anything. "Yes, I can."
A few minutes later, she gently dropped two bags out the open window, ignoring the flies that snapped at her, and then got moving again, hoping it would help. She had included a note with a list of stores that still had nonperishable food left, but in her heart, she knew she had only delayed the inevitable, and hated the guilt she was feeling for leaving them here to die.
"But they can search the stores." The old Angela didn't understand. "Why will they die?"
"Because they're sheep," the Witch answered sleepily. "Without a Shepherd, they'll stay out in the cold and freeze to death. They've lost their strength. Those who cannot find hope will not survive."
Those words pulled at Angela, echoed in her bitter heart. Kenny had obviously found his reason to fight - her boy's dreams were full of the people they'd joined. She knew they were headed to Montana, and it worried her, made her stomach burn as she wondered what kind of sorry bastard was now in charge of her child. She didn't trust Kenny's judgment at all, and she paid little attention to the Charlie's inexperienced impressions. No one Kenn approved of could be good.
Being cautious, Angela drove slowly past long gravel driveways surrounded with pine trees and knee-high shrubs gone wild from lack of care, and they gave her no more comfort than the homes she could see as she left the ghost town behind. They were sprawling beasts with paint-chipped porches and untended lawns, their fields ready to be planted. Their two car garages would likely hold one white or red Ford Crown Victoria and one midnight blue 1966 Starfire that would now wait forever for its owner to lovingly restore it. There were no signs of normal life, or any other, here.
Angela took her first break around four, pulling behind a faded billboard that warned buzzed driving was still drunk driving, and she rolled her eyes at the irony as she lit a joint. It didn't matter now. Probably hadn't as much before as the government had made out. Like every plant in nature, marijuana had its purposes. Right now it was keeping her calm, steadying her resolve, and she was very glad she'd found the big garbage bag in one of her neighbors' apartments. She was terrified, but there was no way she could ever turn back and live with herself, knew it for sure as she sat on the warm hood, sweater pulled close. Her first-born son was out here somewhere in this hell, and she would find him or die trying.