I said if there was one secret, there was most likely another. So, when I woke up this morning, I did a scan through the entire house, looking for anything else that might be stashed away. A hidden compartment underneath the sock drawer in the master bedrooom held a bag of marijuana. A box of nails held a baggie of oxycontin. A sewing kit had a rather oddly shaped spool of thread, which undone, revealed an empty hypodermic needle. What the hell kind of family was this? Substance abuse everywhere, in a house with a little girl living with them...
Enough. I had to leave that house now, knowing the things that were done there. Who knows what else I DIDN'T find. I only hope that girl was never harmed by their parents, but considering the complete lack of trust in the household, I can't be hopeful.
I grabbed my suitcase along with my other gear, and I slowly creaked the front door open, inching it farther the safer things looked. Sticking my head out, checking both to the left and right, it was all clear. I opened the door all the way and dragged my suitcase with me. Once the wheels rolled along the cracks of the sidewalk, I realized I was making a severe mistake. The click-clack and thrumming rolling of the wheels on the pitted surface of the concrete was announcing my arrival to any zombie within earshot.
I lugged the heavy suitcase back to the house and reentered. I opened the suitcase on the couch in the living room, and took out the giant comforter I had rolled up in my pack and laid it on the floor. I took all the supplies out of the case and dumped it in the middle of the sheet, gathering up the corners and tying it into a makeshift sling pack. I put my backpack back on and slung my new sling pack over my shoulder and left the house again.
I walked down several streets in the neighborhood looking for cars that I could get into, hoping I'd come across one that was left unlocked. I also made sure I kept my eye out for zombies, and my other eye out for any paths I could run down and try to hide from them. You'll keep that in mind when you're traveling from one spot to another. I couldn't find any unlocked cars. I had the option of breaking into one, but of course, there was the chance of setting off an alarm, and if that happened, I might as well just shout, "COME OUT AND EAT ME! I'M A STUPID IDIOT WHO DESERVES TO DIE!" Cars are tempting, but breaking into them is a gamble that could get you killed. And besides, will you even be able to start it? Will the car even have enough gas to get you anywhere?
So onward down the road I went. I pulled out my map to see what the closest highway was to me. It was HWY 11, which passed University of Scranton before heading southwest to I-81. I was about five miles from the University, so that's where I immediately headed. My intent was to search their parking lot for an unlocked car and try to find a way inside the university and look for supplies, but as I got closer to the university, I heard the groans of zombies off in the distance. I took backstreets and alleyways, trying to keep as much distance from them as I could while also making sure I didn't walk into any surprises. I hid behind rusty dumpsters and broken down city buses. Cars parked along the curb, their parking meters long expired, provided ample cover to move right along the street where the university's gates were. I kept expecting to come across a straggler, but nothing. They were all congregated on the campus. It was very unusual. They don't stay in groups like that unless... they found food. There must have found some students hiding in there. Staff. Other survivors. Whatever the case, that school was now off-limits. The parking lot wasn't that infested, but all it takes is one zombie spotting you one time to ruin your day. So, I kept moving down HWY 11 checking every car on the side of the road I could. All locked. Why is that? Why do people feel they need to lock their cars when they abandon them?
I'm about a half mile from I-81 now. I found a little restaurant called Terry's Diner, one of those retro dinners. Thankfully, people don't seem to lock buildings when they abandon them. First thing I did when I entered was close the blinds on all the windows, checking underneath tables for any dead things before I leaned over the booths. I went back to the kitchen looking for food, and of course, nothing. Cleaned out. The only thing left was condiment packets. I tried the water, and was surprised that it worked. Also surprised that their stove worked as well! I pulled out a box of pasta from my comforter pack and put it in a pan full of water and let it boil. After the noodles were cooked, I drained the water and dumped it on a plate. As much as I'd kill for actual pasta sauce, seven ketchup packets would have to do. It actually wasn't that bad. When you don't eat much every day, you find that you really aren't all that picky. I'd kill for a beer, though. Hah, root beer. Had you going, didn't I?
So as I was eating my Noodles a la Heinz, I consulted my map again. There's an airport about two miles down I-81. Wilkes-Barre Scranton International Airport. That's going to be an interesting place to explore. I probably could have made it there today, but I haven't walked this much in a week, and my feet are absolutely killing me. I'm going to spend the night in this diner and then try to make for the airport tomorrow morning. I just HAVE to find something there!
Until tomorrow, if there is a tomorrow.
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