I woke up bright and early the next morning. I rolled out of bed, accidentally landing on the cold, matted ground. The hard thumping of my face and ribcage woke me up entirely. I grabbed the cupboard next to my bed, standing up. I took my now extinguished lantern, attaching it to the side of my bag. Turning to the windows, there was still nothing. No one. Like it’s always been. I grabbed my gun and opened the door.

I stepped outside to meet Cleo waiting downstairs. “We should check out that restaurant down the street - see if there’s anything left to scavenge,” she said, standing up from a worn-down leather sofa.

“Let’s get going then,” I replied, “no time to waste.”

What was left on the sign read, “Bobbie’s Burgers” in bold, red paint. We stopped right in front of the see-through glass doors. I gestured my hand, offering for Cleo to go first. She opened the doors. The ringing of a bell greeted us as we walked inside the small interior of the first floor. 4 bright red booths evenly lined the walls to our left, with the counter and register to the right. In the farthest corner to the right were some double doors, which I assumed led to the kitchen, and on the left were some stairs going upwards.

“I’ll check down here for anything,” I told Cleo.

“I’ll head upstairs then.”

We both went our separate ways, with me checking behind the counters first. Some rusty old coins were scattered on the ground with dust and cobwebs accumulating on top and around them. But that wasn’t what caught my eye. It was a miniature framed photo of a man and a woman standing in front of what I assumed to be this restaurant. Well, in this image the restaurant of course wasn’t destroyed and all. The photo seemed to be pretty old as well. It reminded me of one of those grainy polaroids from the 70s; from the way the two were dressed down to their hairstyle.

I picked up the frame. No dust. No cobwebs. No cracks on the glass. I put it back down where I found it. I went inside the kitchen. The ovens seemed to have been off for centuries. Dust and rust-covered the old iron oven. I looked inside the rectangular freezer laid down horizontally against the wall. The stench hit like an uppercut to my nose. I quickly pinched my nose, gagging and convulsing as I instinctively stepped back a few paces.

No food was left in the freezer. The only thing inside was milk months past its expiration with some nearly eaten patties haphazardly thrown in. I took a step forward, peeking inside further. To my surprise, there were still a few water bottles thrown in. Some half-empty, a few quarter-full, and one nearly filled all the way.

“Someone must’ve been here lately.” I quickly muttered to myself, swiftly leaning in to pick up the nearly full bottle and a few half-empty ones. I squished them into my bag. I searched the counter next to the oven. On it was an already open bag of trail mix and some beef jerky. I did a quick sniff test on both. “It’ll have to do.” I thought.

Some rustling emanated from upstairs. “Everything alright up there?” I called up. No response. I walked out of the kitchen, finding my way upstairs. “Hey, I found some water and some highly questionable food,” I called up again. “Gave it the ol’ sniff test - seemed good enough to me.” I made my way upstairs to another door, “Though I think someone was here recently, I dunno why but some stuff just seems off to-” The moment I opened the door, I was greeted with Cleo facing away from me, and a balding old man pointing a revolver at her.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The shrill, old voice spoke, saying “Oh, so you brought a friend with you, huh?”

I stopped, lifting my hands in the air to where he could see them. “We don’t mean any harm, sir. We’re just passing thro-”

“Raiding my home is what you kids are doin’” he snapped back, now aiming his gun at me.

“Look, sir,” Cleo started to say while stepping forward, “we-”

The man jolted his revolver back to her, “Not a single move from any of y’all, understand?” he hissed.

He turned his attention back to me. “You. I saw you last night. You got a death wish or something? Nightwalkers will tear ya to pieces without a second thou-”

“A what?” I butted in.

“Don’t play stupid with me, boy. You know exactly what they are.”

“Oh, yeah the things.”

“‘Things’?” he asked, tilting his head. “If that isn’t the most unoriginal name I’ve ever heard-”

“Look,” Cleo chimed in again, “we were just passing through. If you would just put the gun down, we’ll leave you alone for good, okay?”

The old man hesitated, though still aiming his gun at us. His finger loosed on the trigger. He then slowly lowered his gun. “Fine,” he said sternly. “You have three minutes, understand?”

We turned around without hesitation. I was at the doorway, Cleo in front of me. But then I stopped. The photo from downstairs struck my memory again. “Was that him?” I thought. Granted, he looked different - and less bald - but I couldn’t shake the fact that this old man was out here, all by himself in this desolate wasteland.

“Did you not hear anything I said?” the man snapped.

“Did you own this place?” I asked hesitantly.

“What?” the man questioned.

“This place, this restaurant, did you own it? Before, well, all this.”

“What are you getting at?” Cleo murmured to me.

“Yes. Yes, I did.” The man said matter-of-factly. “Why do you wanna know?”

I steadily turned back around to him, “I don’t mean any disrespect, but this place…”

I let my sentence trail off there. I could already feel Cleo’s razor-sharp glare stabbing into my back.

“Yeah? What about it?” He asked mockingly as if he was daring me to go on.

“It’s nothing - just…” I hesitated, thinking of what I should say next. One wrong move and everything can and will go sour. “It’s gone. All of it.”

“Yeah? So what?”

“So… Why stay here?” I asked.

From behind me, I can hear Cleo hissing at me, “Where are you going with this?”

“I ain’t leaving here anytime soon sonny, understand?” he said.

I nodded my head. “Okay.” I turn around, Cleo already walking downstairs. I walked down too.

“Well, that was something…” Cleo murmured.

We were about to walk out of the restaurant when I heard footsteps coming downstairs. “Wait up!” I heard the man call out. I turned around and saw him rushing downstairs. Well, not really ‘rushing’ per se, but walking as fast as someone in his mid-sixties could. His revolver was now holstered to his side.

“You were right,” he continued, “there… There isn’t anything else left here. Not for me. If you all haven’t yet changed your mind, I would like to tag along with you two to wherever you’re heading.”

I turned to Cleo, waiting for her input. Hesitantly, she nodded her head. Turning back to the old man, I said one word. “Alright.”

“Great… That’s great. Just let me pack up a few things, alright? My name is Bobbie if you didn’t know already.”