Roads Less Traveled Read Online Free PDF Page B

carrying the weapons and ammunition upstairs, each one propped up and resting against the wall by their designated windows, when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I squinted against the afternoon sun, not quite sure what I was seeing. I hurried downstairs into the kitchen, grabbed the binoculars, and ran back to my bedroom. By this time Gus was starting to throw a fit. After attempting to shush him to no avail, I crouched down next to the windowsill and took a look. Just as I suspected: it looked like Mr. Crousley had been into town that morning and had met with foul company.
    I scanned the surrounding area for other movement and saw nothing. Mr. Crousley had made it to where the end of my drive breaks through the woods-line by the time I found him again in the riflescope. About a 300 yard shot; not one I would willingly make hunting whitetail. I put the crosshairs on his forehead and exhaled slowly as I squeezed the trigger. I didn’t notice the recoil as I watched Mr. Crousley crumple to the ground. I slid the bolt and ejected the spent shell, then slid it back into place, loading another into the chamber. I flipped the safety and rested the .243 against the wall. I shook my head and wondered what had happened to his family. My knees popped when I stood, Gus finally quieting down and watching me carefully.
    “C’mon boy,” I whispered. Before going back downstairs I checked the other rooms, each one giving me a different view of my property.
    Roughly three acres of lawn surrounded the house, which was edged on three sides by woods, and on the fourth side by pasture. The barn was no more than 100 feet from the back of the house next to the pasture field. I considered the woods line to be the perimeter, and I could keep that clear just from keeping watch from the various windows in the house. As far as the pasture field went, I would have to put in more effort and do some patrolling. It was a larger area, and the terrain surrounding it would make it nearly impossible for a zombie to stay vertical if one tried navigating it, but I was paranoid. Expect the unexpected. Once Ben and his group were here, things would be easier.
     
    * * *
     
    The local TV news anchor had been talking for almost five minutes before I finally noticed. For the past hour or so, the only thing on had been a newsreel reviewing all the day’s events, set on a loop. I’d gotten tired of watching the same thing over and over, so after trying to reach my family again over the phone and getting no answer, I had begun boarding up the ground level windows with plywood I’d brought up from the basement. I was halfway finished when I paused, hammer next to my head, to listen to Megan Clearwater. “Hmm,” I grunted and walked into the kitchen. I turned the volume up on the small countertop set and pulled over a chair.
    She looked very tired, but who could blame her? I bet the only people still at the station were her and the camera guy. And as far as I could tell, she had been the only person at the news desk since I first checked it after getting back home. I listened as she ran through the list of shelters and hospitals that were now closed. Big surprise, they had been overrun by the infected. I shook my head, chuckled, and lit a Camel. She talked a little about the National Guard and the news she had heard from them. Which, to be perfectly honest, was next to nothing.
    They had a “safe zone” set up “somewhere south” of the general viewing area, and if anyone could, they should report there immediately for medical treatment. It all sounded very much like horseshit and an attempt to keep everyone’s hopes up. If there was anyone still watching, that is. Well, I was watching, so perhaps there were others as well. Then she started rehashing the reports from “reporters in the field” as video clips were shown. Mostly they were shaky accounts, literally, as the camera guy ran for his life, the picture bobbing back and forth as he