As the thin, shadowy sun began to rise in the East, barely visible in the sky, Kenn finally sought shelter, exhaustion insisting. He stopped to look around, wincing at a loud crunch of gravel under the boy's feet. They were almost out of the city limits now, back to Spanish pueblos and Rocky Mountains shadowing deep canyons full of sharp cliffs and rugged mesas. They would need some things before venturing any farther into that wilderness. First on the list was transportation.
"There's our camp for tonight."
Eyeing the chaotic lanes of traffic on the hill across from them, Kenn sat on the bottom step of the neat front porch, as Charlie began dropping gear. Surely, there was juice in one of those batteries. It wouldn't be any fun to clear the other cars and trucks out of the way, but they could be back on the road by tomorrow afternoon - maybe even reach NORAD by the end of next week.
"Door's unlocked." The boy's tone was questioning.
Kenn yawned, rubbing at his stubbly, black goatee as he stood up. He drew his weapon as he went across the porch, the Marine ready to take over any occupants if it was necessary.
The door opened easily to reveal new paint, walls and floors without marks or imprints, no appliances, and most importantly, no footprints in the layer of dust that coated everything. He pointed these things out to the boy, teaching him patiently.
Kenn stepped back, held out the 9mm to the surprised cadet, who usually only touched a gun in class or competition. "Secure the perimeter."
The thin child took it eagerly, but with respect, snapping off a quick salute before disappearing inside.
Kenn broke into a reluctant smile at the careful copy of his own movements when they made camp each night. He didn't follow, listening to the doors open and close. A minute later, the tall, thin teenager was back, returning the gun with longing on his face.
"All clear, sir."
Charlie stepped back out into the damp smell of smoke and rot to bring in their things, not waiting to be told. It was the way he had been raised (trained), but it was also to keep Kenny from seeing how much he had thought about pulling the trigger instead. He hated the Marine almost as much as his mom did. One day, when he older, Kenny would pay for every hit he'd ever delivered.
They climbed the muddy hillside to the interstate a short time later, being careful not to slip or look inside the cars unless they had to. Most were empty of their owners, but some were not, and Kenn thought he could tell which ones would be by the type of automobile. The newer, classier vehicles tended to be occupied. Running out of gas was not enough to make those materialistic people abandon their expensive autos. How long had they waited for help to come? A day? A week? In some cases, forever.