3
Angela made camp her first night in an unturned corn field lined with patches of black ice and small, dirty snow drifts, in about half a mile from the jammed-up lanes of Interstate 74. The brown, brittle stalks didn't quite come up to the roof, but when she threw a wide, dark tarp over the top, scattering slushy snow on it, the vehicle blended in, and she immediately felt better as darkness began to roll over the broken land.
Angela went to the area she had driven through, straightening rows until the path looked normal again, and her eyes darting nervously at every small sound and movement of shadows. She didn't see any insects or other wildlife, not even ants crawling over the dirt and yellowing switch grass as she set up camp. She did hear a robin, but was unable to pinpoint its location by the weak call. Things were no better here than what she'd left behind.
Only getting out what she needed for dinner, Angela moved quickly and quietly, listening hard. Nursing a smashed thumb and a sore finger that she'd pulled a large splinter from (nailing things and lighting them up was what her Marine was good at), she left the back hatch open, and with the ends of the wide tarp hanging down to the ground, was almost completely shielded from the road.
The sandwiches were gone quickly, as was the light, and she sat on the tailgate, surrounded by pillows, sipping on a hot cup of chamomile and relaxing. The warmth of the heater pushed back a little of the loneliness, and she drank her tea, watching the last of a vivid green sunset.
She hadn't heard anyone on the CB, just gunshots in the distance that made her drive faster, and she hadn't expected to, but not seeing any people, at least not any alive, had bothered her too. When she filled in a page on her journal from now on, she would include how many people she saw on the way and what each town was like. She wasn't sure why she was doing it, but instinct said she should, and so she would. In this new world, instincts were a defense that had to be used.
Though she'd only come eight miles, it was a start. Enough to drive it home that once she found Charlie, there would be a price to pay for leaving when her man had made it clear he wanted her to stay, to wait for him no matter what. Until the War, she had never considered disobeying Kenny. They had a deal, and he got mean when she broke the rules. He would be pissed about her leaving - but about Marc Brady, he would be furious - and blood would be spilled, likely hers.