Ain't Talkin'
Chapter 92 - y took he

Sacramento would have came and went wither way. Roche’s original path down the 50 West would have brought him to the same place. Now the sun was rising on December twelfth, and trucking the convoy down the 80 West Roche and the Resistance were passing signs for the approaching town of Fairfield.

Trotting along between Thomas’ motorbike and the passenger window of Miner’s truck, the three men talked at a quick pace.

“Once in Fairfield we meet our third man.”

“Why space us out?” Thomas hollered over the sounds of engines.

“Give us time to pick you all up one at a time, lest you decide on a choice of action all your own.”

“Free thinkin’ outside the box is a dangerous thing.” Roche said dryly, but he knew he was on the mark.

Miner ignored the jest, which only meant to Roche that he was spot-on. “We reach Fairfield and we meet up with the third walker, refuel and get set for the final push, got it?”

“Yes, sir.” Thomas shouted and revved the motorbike harder and threw it into a haul, pulling ahead.

Cantering beside the truck, even paced, Roche gave Miner a hard look, nodded and kicked Lucky to a gallop, taking the trucks over in speed quickly.

Hat hanging on the thong about his neck, hair pulling back against the wind with the speed he rode, Roche watched ahead as the road disappeared in gouts beneath hooves.

The third walker he could already feel, deep in his gut, sinking and throbbing. He was there, and they were coming for him.

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