October 1982

Right Side Car on a Left Side Road - Part 1

“Hey Bud, you’ ready to go?”

“Yip!”

Bud keeps a steady beat against the car seat, his eyes focused on the road. He’s actually great company, I’ve not had a single awkward conversation with him since we met. He’s not too picky about food either, so I don’t have to take him through the whole menu and buffet and whatnot before he decides what suits his pallet. The only thing he doesn’t like is chick peas. Shame, ‘cause I just found a whole three cans last place we looted.

“Suit yourself, Bud. More for me.”

Bud perks up as we swerve a woman on the road. Or a man.  Who can tell these days?

“Maybe we should’ve just run her over, huh?”

“Yip!”

I’m happy the virus doesn’t seem to have an effect on animals. For the matter, I’m happy the virus hasn’t gotten to me either. Yet.

Maybe it will. I don’t like to dwell on it.

“Are we holding up alright?”

“Yip!”

“Great, cause I need a bathroom break”

Bud might’ve been a guard dog in his last life, he carries himself like he could take on the world with his, last time I counted, seven crooked teeth. I don’t count his teeth often, I have things to do. Plus he nips at me. And his breath is really bad.

“Hey look!”

Bud squirms in his seat in excitement. Don’t we both love a good rickety gas station. We’ve been at this for so long that we have a routine now; 

• Bud in the backpack (he’s got my back covered)

• Search and clear the area (machetes are most effective)

• Break in (usually a rock to the windows if the door isn’t open already)

• Search and clear again (who knows what's trapped in there)

• Bud out the backpack to smell-check the goods (don’t want to get sick. or die.)

• Enjoy the sweet victory of canned greatness

We don’t even have to pay for anything, let alone talk to some lanky teenage cashier. I hate small talk, which is a surprising plus during an apocalypse. I just don’t like people. I honestly don’t like talking in general. Except with Bud of course.

It’s been a long time since I last talked with someone. Seasons have changed. We haven't met anyone else on the road yet. 

I’m starting to wonder if we really are extinct.

-Ethan Myers, October 1982

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