Smoke still hung on the air around the dilapidated barn like it was trying to set the mood.
The last truck to have been burned made a weird popping noise as it cooled, the metal settling into a new shape that no one recognized. Dead bodies were scattered around like fallen leaves. Some of them had a zombie or two eating them, but there were almost more dead than undead at the end of the day.
Alexei watched his step, keeping an eyes on the zombie in front of him eating intestines like they were sausage links.
He came back inside the barn with what passed for prizes: a half-melted flare case, a notebook that looked like it had drowned, and a roll of tape that would be sticky until the next ice age.
He set them on the tarp Elias had already turned into a small altar of neat rows—magazines, shells, water, cord—then squatted across from the man they hadn't burned yet.
If the man wasn't organizing and reorganizing his supplies, then he wasn't Elias.
