We painstakingly navigated our way out of Boise. My hand rested on the wheel as I slowly drove down a road that seemingly hasn’t been repaved in eons. Typically, I would be annoyed that I was a day behind schedule; but I just couldn’t feel much. After the mall, I couldn’t help but feel like I was in over my head. I barely survived a few raiders as is without help, and the mall was a near-death experience itself. A part of me felt as if I should’ve just stayed in Oregon. Stay at home, and try to survive there. If I did, Bobbie would still maybe be alive. A part of me wished to just turn around, but it was way too late for that. There was no turning back now, and I knew that.

I reached over to the car radio, turning the nobs. The only thing that came on was some faint music that was nearly deafened by loud static. I eventually gave up, turning the radio off. Cleo, who had her head rested on the windows, suddenly sat up, peering forward.

“Good lord…” she muttered under her breath.

“What?” I asked.

She pointed to my left. I slowed the car, looking through the window to see the carcass of an animal on the road. It was a deer, I think. Barely anything remained except for some fur, part of an antler, and some bones, which were gnawed into pieces. What was left of its innards spewed out sloppily onto the asphalt of the road, and its half chewed-through head sat decapitated in a permanent expression of what looked like fear.

“What… Did an animal do that?” I asked.

“No clue,” she breathed, “but it looks like it was out here for a few hours.”

As we rolled by, I could faintly see flies swarming around the carcass. I looked at it once more out of morbid curiosity as we moved forward.

**************************

We continued driving for another two and a half hours. After a quick stretch break at Twin Falls, Cleo took the wheel. We drove through acres of farmland, which stretched as far as the eye could see. Dead, browning crops drooped lazily to the side. Despite that, I couldn’t help but feel hungry. When was the last time I ate something, I began to wonder. Not today. Not last night. Not yesterday afternoon. The only thing I remember eating was a granola bar.

“Hey,” I said, “I’m getting hungry. Are you the same?”

“Starving,” she replied

I looked for a good place to stop. Off to the right, a few hundred yards down a dirt path sat a farmhouse.

“Hey, over there,” I said, pointing down the dirt path. “We could probably stop there.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” she said, making a right turn. The car bumped its way down the rock-covered path. It slowed to a halt right in front of a large hay bale which was still rolled up. I got out first, bringing my axe with me. Cleo followed, bringing her fire pick.

I took in a deep breath of air, saying “Ah, the sweet smell of horse diarrhea and oil. My favorite.”

We took a step closer to the house, about to walk up the porch. Suddenly, I heard something: footsteps. I stopped one foot on the porch and one on the ground. I grabbed my axe tightly, staring at the source of the noise.

“Whoever’s there, we’re just stopping by,” Cleo shouted.

We were met with no response. Instead, someone was still walking towards us. Around the corner, we were met not by a person but by a head. A horse’s head.

“No way,” I mumbled. I relaxed the grip on my axe, and stepped down from the porch.

The horse came around the corner Now, I have yet to actually see a horse eye-to-eye, but I wasn’t expecting one to be so huge. Its brown fur and shabby black mane blew in the cold breeze as it continued to trot over to us. I moved backward when it approached closer, partly afraid yet stunned of what I’m looking at.

“I don’t think she’s angry,” Cleo reassured. “Just curious. We may be the first humans she’s seen in months.”

Cleo paced forward, reaching out her hand.

“Careful,” I said.

“Psh, it’s alright,” she quickly responded. The horse reached its head forward, allowing Cleo to put her hand on its nose.

“See, it’s alright,” she quietly whispered.

“She seems to like you,” I said.

“Used to have one when I was younger,” she replied, “well, technically my dad owned that horse, but I was the one to always take care of ‘em. Same breed too - an Andalusian.”

While Cleo was busy rubbing her hands down the horse’s mane, I walked to the back. Off in the distance, I could see a still intact grain silo looming over the house. Its bright red paint glistened as the orangish-yellow sun shone above it. I took another right turn to the back. Around the corner, surprisingly, was a chicken coop. Inside and outside were chickens. Not one, or two, but a few. Five, maybe eight of them sat calmly, playfully fighting with one another.

I turned around, yelling out, “Hey, I think we can save the beans for later!”

“What? What’re you talking about?” Cleo called back.

**************************

“Should be over here,” Cleo said.

I walked by her, chicken in my hand. It tried breaking free, moving around and pecking at my hand. I ignored the sharp intakes of pain, making my way to the opposite side of the house. The stump of a tree greeted us when we walked over.

“You sure you got it?” she asked.

“Yeah. Seems simple enough.”

I put the chicken on the tree stump, holding it down tightly. I then grabbed my axe, raising it into the air. With one quick swing, I brought the axe down, cleanly decapitating the chicken. Some blood spewed out, and yet I could still feel the chicken move in my hands. It’s legs and wings flailed blindly. After a few seconds of squirming around, it finally stopped. I let go, shaking my hands to get some of the blood off.

I looked to the side, spotting some uncut logs of wood laying around.

“I’ll see if I can put my axe to more use and cut some of this wood.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll see if I can make a fire pit out here.”

The horse trotted her way towards us again. I handed Cleo the dead chicken, and in its place, I put a log. Instead of following Cleo who walked back to the front, the horse instead stood by my side, glaring at me. As I chopped each log in half, I could feel her staring right into my side. I usually don’t like being stared at. By people, by those monsters, but there’s something about that damn horse next to me. It’s like it was staring right into my soul, judging my every single action that I’ve made in life. I continued chopping, trying to keep my eyes off the horse. Yet, it still stood right next to me - unblinking and unmoving. Part of me thought it somehow died while still standing up, but her slow yet heavy breathing let me know she was more than alive.

I finished chopping the remains of the logs. As I picked the wood up, cradling them in my arms, I heaved them back to the front of the house. The horse, of course, followed. I could feel her heavy breath going down my back as it trotted barely three inches behind me, its unblinking eyes still glaring at the back of my head.

Cleo had finished building the fire pit, which was some large rocks collected into a circle on the ground. A few inches above the pit was a long sharp metal skewer supported by two smooth wooden planks. She was sitting next to the pit, still defeathering the chicken. She turned her head to me. “Took ya long enough,” she chuckled.

“Where’d you find all this,” I asked, gesturing to the skewer.

“Found the skewer inside in the kitchen. Ovens are a no-go, in case you’re wondering. Managed to tear off some planks of wood from the porch with my fire pick.”

I sat down in front of her, neatly placing the chopped pieces of wood inside. I looked over to the horse, who was now eating some grass. “Something is off about that thing,” I said.

Cleo twisted her head to where I was looking, “What? The horse?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“She’s been staring at me,” I said, “and I don’t mean just looking, either. Like, still as a statue - not blinking for five minutes straight.”

“What?” she asked, squinting. I could tell she wasn’t believing a word I was saying.

“The horse- nevermind…” I trailed off, standing up. “Hey, I’m going to get some gasoline for the fire.”