We’re close now.” “Close to what?” I asked. “To what passes for home these days.” I glanced over at him to read his expression, but he faced away from me staring out the window. I slowed the truck to a stop just before reaching the road he indicated. “Why are we stopping?” He asked. “You’re welcome.” I replied. He gave me a sidelong glance for a moment, then realized what I meant and looked down, flushing a bit. “Yeah, I guess I have been kind of rude. Thanks for helping me. I didn’t mean any disrespect, it’s just…” He seemed to struggle with what to say next. “Hey, it’s cool, don’t worry about it.” I said, making a dismissive gesture. “What’s this safe place you mentioned?” “There’s an abandoned textile mill about two miles down the road here. I’m one of thirty six survivors that have holed up there in an old warehouse. It’s defensible, there aren’t a lot of creeps around, and we have plenty of food. You’re more than welcome to come and stay with us.” He looked up and I finally got a good look at his face.
