Pleased with himself, he wound his way through the debris on the outskirts of town that hadn’t been cleared yet.  When he hit the open road, Allistor sped up.  The plan was to head roughly southeast a ways.   Since Luther had already established a Stronghold near Denver, nearly two hundred miles south by southeast, he figured he would try a city between the two Strongholds.  The most obvious choice was Cheyenne.

He might have just traveled down Interstate 25 and reached the city, but he wanted to explore back roads and see what he could see.  He knew from experience the only thing he’d run across on the interstate was cattle ranges and the occasional one-light town, truck stop or rest area.

Using one of the atlas books that they’d found, he plotted himself a route that should take him through Medicine Bow national forest and several small towns.  Initially, he’d go more south than east.

Setting off at a leisurely pace, Allistor enjoyed the sunshine and the cool air.  He stopped occasionally when he saw something that caught his attention.   The first was a gun shop out in the middle of nowhere, about fifty miles south of the Warren.  The windows were intact, and the front door closed.  He pulled into the small parking lot with caution, not getting too close to the building, and honked the horn once.  Sitting in the truck for a full minute, he waited for either a response from inside or critters to show up to investigate the noise.   When neither happened, he got out and walked up to the shop.

The front door was metal, with a small peephole and a sign that said, “Shoplifters will be shot.”  He knocked, then tried the handle, but it was locked.   Undeterred, he considered this a good sign.  Walking around the building, he peered into the small storefront window, which was protected by iron bars.  There was enough light filtering in for him to see an entire wall filled with rifles and shotguns, as well as a long glass display case showing off dozens of handguns, knives, and accessories.   The shelves nearest the window held hunting bows and crossbows.

Allistor continued around the building, finding a shooting range out back.  There was an old Chevy pickup sitting under a carport overhang.  The driver’s side door was open, and there were blood stains on the seat, door, and concrete.   A long gun lay on the ground part way under the truck.  Suddenly much more concerned, Allistor drew his own shotgun from his ring and stood perfectly still, listening and watching for any movement.  Moving slowly, he stepped up to the driver’s door.  The blood stains were clearly old, maybe even dating back to the first day of the apocalypse.  He imagined the store owner locking up to go be with their family, and being surprised by… something.  There were no tracks in the blood to tell him anything.