The day was hot, dry, and windless. The road cracked beneath their tires as they rode deeper.
They followed the highway past the Kansas border. I-70 stretched on like a scar across the flatlands with endless asphalt, broken mile markers, rusting cars with moss on the hoods.
The road signs were sun-bleached to white. Some had bullet holes and others had been painted over with arrows or warnings.
"Can you keep going?" Malcolm asked as she pedaled with all her might.
She answered between heaving breaths. "I can."
"We need to rest," he muttered. "There's a gas station coming up. Do you want me to bike?"
She shot him a glare. "I can do it."
He snickered, making her more pissed off. This man was unnecessarily big. She remembered the time she saw his chest and immediately scolded herself.
She nearly cried in relief when they finally reached the gas station. It looked empty, but they didn't take chances as both of them drew their weapons as they approached.
Graffiti warnings lined the way. On the wall of a collapsed gas station, a message was scrawled in red:
THE DEAD WALK. THE LIVING KILL.
"Want to check for supplies?" Malcolm asked, eyeing the broken front windows and overgrown pumps.
"We can't leave the bike," she muttered.
Malcolm got down from the sidecar and handed her a pistol. "Shoot anything that moves."
Iyisha nodded, her hand tightening around the grip. Her palms were already sweating. This was the first time she held a gun with the intent to use it. She'd had training back in Redridge on how to aim, how to clean, and how to reload but she'd never fired at anything that could die.
"Be safe," she whispered, watching him limp toward the gas station's small convenience store.
She nearly jumped when a loud crash echoed from inside.
Her heart hammered in her chest. She pedaled forward, legs stiff, then jumped off and rushed toward the entrance.
Malcolm stood inside, wiping the dark gray clots of blood from his machete. On the ground lay a corpse in a decomposing uniform or what was left of a gas station employee.
"Where's the bike?" he asked sharply.
She spun and jogged back. "Still here!"
He returned a few minutes later, empty-handed.
"Nothing's left," he muttered.
She sighed and thought of the beans again. They'd been eating those same cans for days.
"We need to find somewhere to stay," she said as he climbed into the sidecar.
"Next farmhouse," he replied. "There are fewer undead this far out. They might've wandered to places with people."
Still, the empty land made her more nervous.
Then, in the distance, she spotted it: a windmill.
"There!" she pointed. Excitement lit her voice.
He nodded. "We'll head there. Just for the night."
As they neared it, he pulled over and helped her drag the bike into the brush, hiding it beneath dried grass.
"Keep it out of sight," he said. "Just in case."
The windmill turned lazily against the sky, and the land around it was walled in but it was eerily quiet.
"No signs of people," he muttered. "That's not a good thing."
"It's too quiet," she whispered.
A shiver ran down her spine. What if someone had seen them coming... and was waiting with a rifle raised?
She whispered, "We can get back on the road."
He glanced at the sun, its last light bleeding over the horizon. "We can't. It'll be too dark, and we won't see anything. Too dangerous."
She shook her head. "Let's just find somewhere to sleep."
He didn't answer. Instead, he pointed to the far side of the fence. "I'll check the back. You stay here. If you hear me shout — run. Take the bike and don't look back."
"Are you insane?" she hissed.
Before he could answer, a voice cut through the air.
"Well, well, well… what do we have here?"
She spun around.
A group of men stepped out from the shadows, clad in military-grade camouflage. She hadn't heard a single footstep.
Iyisha barely got her breath in before she heard the unmistakable sound, the click of a safety being turned off.
They weren't alone. And they weren't welcome.