[ The old blue and white chevy s-10 has seen better days. With a conspicuous men's health magazine still on the floorboard and dust, debris, and the wear of time on her the flatbed beauty is as battle-weary as Joel feels himself.
When he finds civilization, his first thought isn't food, rest, or sustenance but a stiff drink. His second thought is a map, something to make sense of all this senselessness.
Two hours of driving and not one single infected sighting, no visible tells of the cordyceps, just a brand new blight to deal with and fewer answers than before. ]
FREE SAMPLES
Yeah, thanks...
[ Alien eggs? Cabbage rolls? Joel takes them both and looks at them with the suspicion of a man tricked by false hospitality more than once despite his Southern upbringing.
The grease leaks through the paper cups and onto his hands and his stomach groans with contempt for his discernment. It's been days since he's had anything decent. Days since he's filled the hump, he's managed a discarded bag of stale pork rinds and some juice that tasted all kinds of unholy but he's been riding through with barely any sleep and any food for long enough that even the chorus of his bodies disdain ain't gonna make him eat it any sooner.
The cabbage dumplings feel like a bad idea, and the alien eggs by name alone are already a hard pass given the current state of things. Joel grabs a passerby who is heading into the line for samples and foists his cups at them with the urgency of a man who has better things to do than idly inspect their idea of local cuisine. ]
Here. Take mine.
PAVILION PETTY THEFT
[ After the smell of hot food and the droves of people waiting for their share like a herd of cattle Joel's rational brain segues into the store along with him looking for sealed packages of food made by robots in a tempered setting.
That was easier to trust.
He's looking fresh off the road, mud still on his jeans and boots from roadside stops and his hair windblown despite the moisture in the air and the cool climate around them.
He's got all the raw energy of a man ready to fight at a moment's notice, and so when he pushes a pack of beef jerky and a half-pint of cheap bourbon into the inner pocket of his thick canvas jacket he does it while locking eyes with the unfortunate soul in the aisle along with him.
PANORAMA, ota
When he finds civilization, his first thought isn't food, rest, or sustenance but a stiff drink. His second thought is a map, something to make sense of all this senselessness.
Two hours of driving and not one single infected sighting, no visible tells of the cordyceps, just a brand new blight to deal with and fewer answers than before. ]