Grace McDonald (![]() ![]() @ 2010-02-25 07:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | ^ week 04, ^ week 05 |
Week Four // Week Five
Characters: Grace McDonald & Chris Wells
Location: Starting off in Flagstaff, AZ at the end of week 4 and ending at Nellis AFB, North Las Vegas, Nevada in week 5
Summary: Arriving into the area and visiting a FedEx plane
Rating: General (swearing when the shooting starts)
Notes: With my thanks to RJ & Cor for their patience.
Chris Wells, formal cargo jet pilot for FedEx and air tanker pilot for the U. S. Air Force Reserve, pulled hard on the double tracked metal hanger door. With a metallic groan, the small hangar door gave, and slid open enough for him to look inside. He did not find a small plane inside that he hoped for but a classic Winnebago motor-home, a RV from the 70's.
"Huh? My grandpa had one of these." He pushed the hangar door to open the gap wider. "It doesn't exactly have wings."
He stepped back and out of the shade of the metal hangar, and turned to face his companion of the last couple of weeks. "Grace?"
"Yeah, coming!"
Grace McDonald was still in the process of stripping off the button down shirt she'd been wearing in favor of the tank top she usually wore underneath. It wasn't that it was particularly warm outside, but she always felt just a little claustrophobic with too many layers on.
Leaving the shirt on the front seat of her Traverse, she followed the voice and responded to the first thing she'd heard. "It might not have wings, but they're almost as big as a plane." She put her hands on her hips. "What do you want to do with it?"
Usually coming upon other cars, the choices were to take the gas or take the vehicle.
"We can search it, this thing is a gas hog," he then grinned. "But we probably ought to avoid the snakes." He had noticed the snake skins on the dusty hangar floor. It was really another disappointing find. They had come across better conditioned RVs on their journey. RV's probably left abandoned by Snow Birds, retirees who migrated from northern States and Canada to the Southwest during the winter months.
"I don't know." He rubbed the back of his head, "We should have enough gas to get to Vegas."
"There might be canisters of gas laying around." Driving with it in the truck or her SUV wasn't her favorite thing in the world to do, but desperate times and all that jazz. Snakes were even less fun than gas bombs in the cars, so she walked carefully to the RV and tried the door. It opened easily. "You wanna go first?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, why not." He pulled out a small flashlight from his side cargo pant's pocket, and twisted the head of the lamb to turn it on. Always prepared like the boy scout he used to be when he was boy. He stepped aboard the RV.
The old springs of the vehicle's suspension creaked when the RV bared his weight. It was an old RV, and by the looks of things inside it had been in the midst of being refurbished. Someone had taken the care to try to restore it back to its 1973 glory.
It had the basics, a small kitchenette with a counter table, a compact living room area, and toward the back, there was a door that he imagined led to a bedroom. He returned to the door, "All clear, come inside."
Following his lead, she climbed inside and took a cautious look around. In terms of classics, the RV had it all, really.
"Interesting." She, very slowly, opened one of the cabinets. It was dusty, but there were cans inside. Lifting them out, she began handing them to Chris without really looking at them. When a mouse skittered out, she shrieked like a girl and then felt embarrassed at her reaction. "Son of a-"
While he looked toward the back of the vehicle, he heard her shriek and quickly turned to see what had happened. He saw a little mouse hurried off the counter and onto the floor for its own safety. Chris chuckled. "I think the little guy is more afraid of you," he said with a white plastic shopping bag of stuff in his hand.
"You're probably right." The heat on her cheeks was the only sign that she felt like an idiot.
He was about to go look behind the curtain that divided the sleeping area and the rest of the cabin. He hoped he might find a spare sleeping roll back there, he gave his last one away a few days ago to trade for some fresh oranges. She was still sleeping in the back of her SUV.
It wasn't the most comfortable of arrangements, but the other option was the bed of his truck with him and though they were getting closer as friends, they weren't quite that close yet.
Grace was grateful for all Chris had done for her, she really was. He'd stuck by her and even taught her a few extra things about handling guns than she knew before. Between the two of them, they did a pretty good job of staying fed and unhurt. She admired that about him. He made her admire that about herself, something she hadn't been sure she could do before.
The fact that he hadn't ditched her, robbed her, raped and murdered her... well, it meant a lot.
So, she continued lifting salvageable things out of the cabinets, taking care to be on the lookout for snakes and other small creatures. She didn't come across either, but found quite a few cans and an extra can opener. When it came to trading, it was always good to have extras.
He pulled back the curtain and saw what looked like two lumps under the covers of the bed. He pointed the light of his flashlight on the lumps, and saw the bony arm over the other lump. People, Dead People.
"Christ!" he said. Death had become a regular thing in their new world since the pandemic raged civilization as they had known it. In the cities things were worst, as the bodies could not all be collected and disposed of fast enough before the evacuations.
And though it was regular, it didn't make it easy. Grace heard his exclamation and stopped what she was doing, heading in his direction. When she saw the lumps under the covers, she understood.
"Oh, God." She winced and took a step back. "Yeah, this isn't-" She shook her head. "I think the kitchen's pretty well raided if you want to call this one done."
She wasn't one to hang around and play with the dead. Grace was more of a 'cut your losses and get outta Dodge' kind of gal. Another reason she was grateful for Chris.
He looked back at her, "Yeah, I think we're done here." Chris did not like the idea of disturbing the dead, and he was kidding himself that this did not bother him. It might have become a regular thing but it did not mean he had to like it.
"Maybe we'll find something else down the road toward Vegas," he said by the door.
"I'm with you."
She gave the back room a last look before stepping out of the RV with two bags full of canned food and various things lifted from the kitchen. She set one bag in the bed of Chris' truck and the other in the backseat of her own.
"So," she said. Clearing her throat, she pushed her hair back and shook her head. Dead people always bothered her a lot and though sometimes she wondered if maybe they had it better than trying to live with the rest of humanity, she had no desire or wish to die. "Vegas, then. You leading or following this time? We can stop in a couple hours and figure something out for dinner."
"That sounds good," he paused for a beat. "You can take the lead this time."