Day Two Lynch - It's all Down Hill From Here

Low rider knows every street yeah!
Low rider is the one to meet yeah!
Low rider don't use no gas now
Low rider don't drive to fast
--Low Rider, War

The party of survivors had gathered at the side of the highway, where some were working to clear away a cluster of abandoned cars at the bottom of a steep hill. It was a tedious process they had engaged in all too often, and was made more difficult by the fact that they had no wrecker. Vera was directing traffic, moving the cars around like she was untangling a brain teaser, while others were siphoning gas, starting the cars, and clearing the corpses.

Matthew, unnoticed by the party, had stayed at the top of the hill with the cars, still troubled by the direction they were headed in. They were just a few more hours now from California, and the further south they went, the more difficult it would be for them to head East toward Boulder. How had they ended up going South, anyway? He frowned down at the maps on his lap, squinting in the fading light of early evening, but studying them would not change the fact that they were continuing to move in the wrong direction.

Sighing, he pushed off of the hood of the car he had been leaning against, wondering what he should do. He wished he felt comfortable telling someone about these dreams that insisted that they go to Colorado to meet an old woman in a rocking chair, but he couldn’t help this group if they thought he was crazy. Hell, maybe he –was- crazy – what did it matter to him which way they went? The instant that question crossed his mind, though, he had his answer. He hadn’t just dreamed about Boulder – there had been dreams about a dark man, a man with no face. A man who had settled in Las Vegas, and was gathering people to him, just as Mother Abigale was drawing survivors to her.

Staying out of Vegas mattered very much to Matthew Border.

The others were coming back up the hill, arguing, of course. Matthew was still trying to work up the nerve to confront Vera (who was kind of scary in her own right) and not really paying much attention until he heard Henry shouting and demanding to be put down.


The murders were still happening, and they had to be stopped before someone in their midst, some weasel in the corn, killed them all. The survivors had to believe they had the right intentions, that they were killing guilty people, and so they debated heatedly over who should be the next to be eliminated. Had they been wrong last night? Were they wrong again tonight? Doubt filled the minds of a few, but once they made up their minds that doubt did not stop them from doing what had to be done. This was about survival, about being the ones that made it through this living hell.

Grimly, they grabbed hold of the unfortunate Henry, lifting him into the air and dumping him unceremoniously into his own cart, which they then gave a good solid shove down the steep hill. The group was deathly silent as they watched the cart roll rapidly down before coming to a surely fatal crash at the bottom, and in the aftermath the only sound that could be heard was the cawing of a crow before it took flight, sailing away from the setting sun.


Matthew shivered in spite of the heat, more than a little disturbed by what had just happened. God, who would kill a harmless old hobo? What was –wrong- with them?

Agitated, he turned around to head back to his car, wanting to be alone for a while, and about jumped out of his skin when he saw a gray-faced Vera standing right behind him. She didn’t seem to notice that she had about scared the living daylights out of him – her eyes were on the road, and her mouth formed a tight line as she stared out into the horizon.

After a moment, she spoke, in her gratingly loud voice.

“Let’s MOVE, people! I want to see California before we camp!”

Matthew sighed again, deciding he wasn’t going to get anywhere talking to her tonight, and got into his car.