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They find a motorcycle in the back of the truck stop. Despite not being the safest choice, traveling this way is their quickest route to the farm. Easier to weave in and out of crashes and downed trees, flying right past anything in their path.

At least, it would be if Cole wasn’t driving like a ninety-year-old granny high on pot. Olivia uses one arm to hold the baby in her sling while keeping the other free for balance. He anxiously anticipates every bump and turn, hardly breaking twenty miles an hour.

As they moved farther away from the community, he picked up speed out of necessity, but now, with no one following them, he’s overly cautious with precious cargo.

At this rate, it’ll take them forever to reach their destination.

She assures him they’re fine more than once, saying he can speed up and joking about them all aging ten years before they get there but he maintains a steady pace for the next few miles until they come to a rolling stop for a break outside of an old, broken down motel.

When she stretches her legs out on either side of him, he reaches back to pat her thigh just because he can.

“That would have been a nice spot,” she says, absently. “Good fence. Lots of room. Too bad it’s overrun. ”

“No one’s been there in a long time. Would take a whole crew to clear it.”

Dozens of rotters swarm the grounds behind the fence. In another life, it might have served as a fine home base, but here, it’s only fit for the dead.

“How far do you think we are from the farm?” she asks.

“Not far. Couple hours. Need to hop on the parkway for a while first, wait until you see those views.”

Wrapping one arm around his chest again, she readies for takeoff, her tone teasing. “Is that considering our glacial pace, or if you pick it up?”

“Listen, if you hit me with another ‘are we there yet’ we’ll be walking.”

She knows full well he isn’t serious. “Okay, okay.”

“You ready then?”

“Mhmm.”

He rolls to a start, hearing her voice flutter in his ear.

“Are we there yet?”

“Ready to start hoofing it, or what?”

Her laughter as they speed up is the best sound. He’s never had this kind of easy teasing with anyone. The rest of the world thinks him angry and aggressive, but she knows him and that’s a gift he never knew he needed so badly.

As they inch closer to the farm, his nerves start to frazzle. By painting this place as a perfect post-apocalyptic picture, he raised her hopes for paradise. If it turns out to be nothing but a failure, that’ll be on him.

* * *

Several hours later, they turn onto an old gravel road, and all his childhood memories begin to flood back.

The scent of apples from the orchard and the crunch of rocks on the driveway.

How safe being this isolated felt when he was little and hiding in the grove, hoping his foster family would forget him and never come looking.

The only signs of life when they pull up are a few horses in the back pasture that could easily have survived alone.

It’s not overrun or uninhabitable. The log cabin style farmhouse looms over them worn and tired, but still standing strong.

A few sections of chipped paint and porch railings knocked out are the only damage he can spot.

The barn in the background with a few scattered sheds, looks even better.

Still, he parks the bike halfway up the driveway and hides it in the trees before walking the rest of the way, shotgun ready and on alert for other inhabitants.

“You were right about this place,” Olivia says quietly, as they survey what he hopes is their new home. “I knew you would be. It’s so beautiful.”

“Doesn’t look the same as it did back then. Lots changed. Most of the fruit trees are gone, but it seems safe so far. Do you like it? Really?”

“I love it. We won’t find somewhere safer than tucked right into the valley of the mountains. And look, there’s a greenhouse down the hill.”

“Might be animals in the back pastures, too. We’ll have to head down there later and see what’s left.”

The Blue Ridge Mountains surround the property on three sides, providing protection from weather and unwanted visitors.

No one could hike in through those steep hills and the chance of the dead making the journey is slim to none.

There is one way in and one way out, and that makes security a straightforward task.

As they creep toward the porch to do a cursory check for danger, three infected inside crash into the front door.

Two at breakneck speeds, pounding on the glass and scrambling to reach their targets, and one larger, slower one that ambles about like an angry snail.

Cole hoped it would be empty, if only to unburden himself of having to put down the family that still grace some of his only good memories.

“It’s two fast and one slow,” he sighs. “We need a plan first.”

“Check out the shed for anything useful?”

He nods, and they head to an oversized shed in search of anything that might dispose of the dead quieter than alerting half the state with the shotgun.

Underneath old tires, amidst odds and ends, toolboxes, and building supplies, he discovers a complete roll of barbed wire.

Cutters and gloves are harder to locate, but eventually, they spot both in a bucket under a workbench.

He’s thankful that this farm needed animal enclosures because they’d be hard-pressed to find a better way to handle the situation.

Together they form a plan, leaving the baby and the cat in the shed, tucked away in a corner where they snuggle together until the coast is clear.

* * *

“This feels questionable at best.” Olivia frowns, helping him wrap the wire from one porch support to another, stringing it across the front door in three loops. “What if they’re smart enough to duck? We didn’t think they’d be fast until they were. ”

“Then we use the bullets. We’re getting in there either way.” He gives the wire a testing pull. “It’s tight. You ready?”

“Ready.”

“If any of them break through the glass back there, then come back right away, okay? We’ll figure something else out.”

She nods. “ You remember not to get too close. Three shots back. Don’t forget, there has to be enough space between you and them to eject the shell in between.”

It wasn’t long ago that he taught her that. She’s serious and worried, with a deep and a slight pout on her lips that makes his cock twitch.

As she catches his proud smile, a blush flushes her cheeks, and she playfully rolls her eyes, ducking her head. “I’m just saying don’t take chances.”

“I won’t. Now go on before I’m forced to kiss you on this porch.” He tilts his head toward the rotters, growling behind the door. “They didn’t pay for a show.”

He hears her laughter as she rounds the corner and heads to the backdoor.

There’s no time for amusement after that, and he focuses on the task at hand, reviewing the plan in his mind as he gets into position with his hand on the doorknob.

She’ll get their attention in the back, giving him time to open the front door and get on the other side of the barbed wire.

Then he’ll call for them and wait until they run into the trap.

It sounds easy enough, and at first, it goes off without a hitch.

The first rotter is the perfect height to slam neck first into the sharp metal and she decapitates herself in a clean wipe.

The second, slow one, only sways into the wire while it digs into his chest, leaving an opening for the third to run underneath.

There’s a shotgun at his side, but Cole opts for his knife, quickly stabbing it through a soft eyeball and into the brain of the third rotter.

The big one is a challenge. The knife blade gets stuck and the weight of the man breaks the wire and then Cole’s got no choice but to wedge the shotgun between them right before he’s flattened like a pancake in the dirt, expelling a round into a decaying forehead.

It lands on him in a gross heap as Olivia appears around the corner, rushing toward him as if he’d been bit.

“I’m good! I’m fine!” he yells out. “Help me roll him off.”

It takes two of them to drag the man away, allowing Cole to sit up, wiping brain matter off his face with a scowl. “Well, it sorta worked.”

“I’d hug you but…”

“Come here.” He reaches out with a teasing grin as if to wipe the blood on her. It’s grim to joke about such a terrible situation, but finding humor in the devastation is better than crying.

Olivia steps back with a huff, and he gets to his feet, taking off his shirt to wipe at least fifty percent of the gore off himself.

He then puts his jacket back on to block the winter chill.

His next words are serious as he reflects on the family that left a lasting impression on his childhood.

“We’ll bury the bodies tomorrow out back by the apple trees.

They were good people. It’s the least I can do for them now. ”

Running a hand down his arm, she gives it a squeeze. “May have the grand tour?”

He can’t wait to show her the place that he’s spent so many years wishing was his and they collect Lucy and Flower from the shed before making their way inside.

It’s still early in the evening when they cross the threshold of their new home.

He hadn’t come inside the house as a boy, but he imagined what it might look like in his daydreams. It is surreal to be here now and compare his imagination to reality.

Towering wooden beams hold up the second floor like trees brought in from the outside, unstripped of their bark and allowed to remain wild.

Even so, the space is smaller than he expected.

The floor to ceiling windows in the living room warped his sense of size as a child, he supposes.

It is plenty of space for the three of them, though, and the woodstove, circled by leftover ash, will keep them warm.