"Eighteen is enough, Dillon."

"Our quota is twenty, Robert. That means eighteen is not enough."

"Dammit, Dillon! I'm tired of riding around in this truck. Let's just tell them these are all we found," Robert pleaded.

"We both know that wouldn't work. Eighteen is not the number we were given. It's twenty. If we come back with eighteen, they will ask us why we didn't keep looking. It's twenty a trip. Twenty per truck, per trip. More is good, and less is not an option." Dillon reminded his partner. "Besides that--whatever that was, we have only found four living people since those bombs exploded. We need to find the last two and get the load delivered."

"You're right. I'm sorry. It just pisses me off. It is the same quota for every shepherd, for every truck. It doesn't matter if it's New York City or Bum Fucked Egypt, Oklahoma. What did we do to deserve the middle of nowhere in Oklahoma?"

Dillon turned to scowl at his passenger.

"You know exactly why we were sent HERE! YOU FUCK!." Dillon screamed at Robert. "If I didn't have express orders not to slit your throat, I would have already."

Robert gulped and sheepishly turned to look out his window.

"We just pulled into this town. It's not very big, but we should be able to find a sheep or two." Dillon guessed. All we are concerned with is the number two. Two more until we can head back. Dos mas!" Barry turned and held up two fingers. "Let's hope we find them in this town so we can deliver. Deliver and find a different line of work." Dillon sounded melancholic as he spoke the last words.

"Different work?" Robert squeaked. "What the heck you talkin' about, Dillon?"

Dillon kept driving and ignored the question.

Dillon turned the truck off the highway and onto the main road of Tupelo. He slowed the truck to a crawl. They needed to be alert for any signs of life.

"Before last night, the snatching business was good, but you've seen what I've seen. You heard the boss, man, yesterday. We knew the Keepers were planning a big attack. That's why we lowered the truck into the bunker."

Dillon pulled the truck into the school parking lot and surveyed the surrounding area. Visibility was still terrible, from the yellow haze.

"See that school?" Dillon asked Robert.

"Yeah, I can see that sch—"

"Shut up, Robert. I know you can see the school. Just listen." Dillon chided the other man. "A town this size--minimum—two hundred students, K through senior year. Ah…plus faculty and staff." He turned to Robert again. "How many total, do you think?"

Robert heard the question and faced Dillon. He was unsure if he was supposed to answer this time. A moment went by, and Dillon kept waiting. Robert began to stammer and stutter.

"Jesus, Robbie Boy, you need to learn to relax. You're wound, TOOOO, tight, my friend."

Dillon reached over and gave Robert's shoulder a friendly squeeze.

"The point is, Roberto, a whole hell of a lot more than showed up for school today. I think that humans are an endangered species now." Dillon patted Robert's shoulder and continued. "When the Jefe radioed earlier, he was shaken. I could hear it. He said the attack was global, but I don't think he realized how effective those damn bombs were."

Dillon flicked Roberts's ear as he pulled his hand back from the other man's shoulder.

"WHAT THE HECK! Robert yelled. "Why?"

"Because I can."

Robert glared at Dillon as the truck took off. He began grumbling under his breath but stopped when he noticed Dillon's threatening gaze.

"Pay attention. If we don't come across visible targets, it will be house calls."

Robert frowned at the thought of going from house to house. The smell of all those hours-old bodies was hard to stomach. The sight of them was hard enough to cope with. Robert leaned closer to the window as if the extra few inches would be the difference in spotting somebody or not. They passed the first few buildings and businesses, but the only signs of life were snuffed out hours ago. They continued down the road, stopping outside the police station.

"There is no hospital in town, but somebody may have come here looking for help." Dillon reasoned.

"Good idea, Dillon. You go check it out, and I'll wait with the truck."

"The fucking hell you will. Not after last time. Your ass is never staying with the truck again." Dillon threatened Robert. "We should be on the way back. But you had to waste those three back in Durant. You stupid fuck! The only reason I don't tell them what you did is because I know they would blame me for not controlling your ass."

"Please, don't tell them. I'll do anything. Please. I don't have any chances left." Robert pleaded.

"I know you will. Now get out of the truck, and let's go check out this police station."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The two men exited the station. All they found was a couple of bloody corpses.

"What now, Dillon?"

"A hardware store, a feed store, a vet, a motel, and a gas station. All were closed when the bombs hit. Our best bet is the motel. Let's hit up the gas station first. We need diesel. After that, the motel is just a few hundred feet from there."

"Do I have to work the pump crank?" Robert whined.

"You bet your ass you do. No power means the pumps don't work. Now, remember what I told you. Open the lid to the diesel tank. Run the hose to the bottom, then pull it back up a couple of feet. We don't need to suck up trash from the bottom of the holding tank. Put your foot on the hose and crank the pump handle. Simple enough, right Bobbo?"

"I'm not a moron!" Robert squawked.

"Could have fooled me, Robby," Dillon joked. "Only a moron would try to pull the shit you pulled in Durant."

"You're an asshole, Dillon."

"Get in the damn truck. And shut up. The gas station is four blocks away. Keep your eyes peeled."

The men climbed back into the truck and headed for the gas station. They made it to the end of the road, not seeing a soul, and turned onto the next street.

"There is the gas station, Dillon." Robert pointed out.

"No shit, Robert. Climb in the camper and get the pump and hoses."

"Hey, Dillon, are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"And what does the moron see?" Dillon taunted.

Robert leaned forward and started pointing and tapping the windshield.

"Right there, Dillon. He's right there. Beside the gas pump." Robert, frantically, spit the words out.

"Calm down, Robert, I'm not seeing what has you so excited."

Dillon leaned over the steering wheel and squinted. He scanned the direction Robert pointed, but he was having trouble noticing anything.

"Goddamn bombs and their stupid fog." Dillon cursed.

"There! Somebody's leaning against that second pump. There. Look," Robert exclaimed, again, while pointing.

"You're right, damn it. There is." Dillon confirmed. "Do you think they are alive? They aren't moving."

"You never know, but I hope so. Let it be number nineteen."

"Don't count your eggs yet, Robert; they could have been walking around when the bombs went off and stumbled over there and leaned over to die." Dillon reasoned.

"You're such a killjoy, Dillon. Shut up."

Dillon snapped his head at Robert. His intense glare was enough to let Robert know that he was treading on thin ice.

"Sorry." Robert apologized. "Guess I'm a little anxious."

The truck rolled up to the station and stopped on the road beside it. The two men got out and walked to the front of the truck.

"Where the fuck is the pump?" Dillon asked the other man.

"I didn't grab it."

"Why the fuck not? Do we not need diesel anymore?"

"I thought we were gonna check on this guy real fast," Robert answered.

"We are, but we still need fuel. Get the damn pump. Get it set up. Once we see if this person is alive, I'll pull the truck over. You start pumping."

Robert nodded as he turned and headed back to the truck. He returned a couple of minutes later.

"Now listen carefully. I will walk around to the pump. I'll say something to get their attention, assuming they aren't a blood puddle. You walk around the other side. Try to keep the pumps between you and them. If they are alive, I'll keep them occupied, and you come in from behind and hit them with the taser. Once they are down, I'll hold them while you apply the chloroform. You grabbed the TASER and chloroform, didn't you, Robert?"

Robert sat the pump down and sprinted back to the truck. He came back holding the taser, a bottle, and a rag.

"Forget about the pump, for now," Dillon ordered. "I don't want to test your ability to multitask."

Robert began to speak, but Dillon raised his hand and stopped him.

"Head behind the station. I'm going to check this person out. When you hear me mention the yellow mist, that means it's time for you to use the TASER."

Robert snuck off to the other side of the pumps. Dillon approached the leaning figure from the side. The figure didn't move. Dillon doubted the person was alive, but as he got closer, he heard faint sobs. His ears perked at the sound. His pulse rose. Hunting was his greatest thrill, and the hunt was on.

"Are you okay?" He asked the figure, but no answer came. "Hello". Still, no answer. Dillon walked closer and could better see the crying teenage boy. He sat with his head against the pump. His eyes were closed, and tears ran down his face. "Are you okay, son?" Dillon asked again. The kid showed no signs of hearing him. Dillon reached out and touched his shoulder. The boy opened his eyes and rolled away from Dillon. The boy quickly recovered from being startled, and he rose to his feet. He flung his arms around Dillon, and his sobbing became deep moans of relief.

"Whoa. Easy there, fella. It's okay." Dillon assured the boy as he pushed him to arm's length. "Everything is going to be okay."

The young man pointed at his eye then shook his head and pointed at his ears. He then pointed at himself and followed the gesture by putting both hands over his ears.

"You're deaf?" Dillon mouthed slowly.

The boy nodded.

"Can you read lips?" Dillon mouthed asked.

He nodded again.

"Good. Everything will be okay. You are safe now. I don't know what is going on, but this weather sure is strange, huh?"

The man nodded again.

"I don't know what is going on with this YELLOW AIR."

The boy pointed at the sky and started another gesture, but it quickly turned into spastic jerking. His body went rigid, and he toppled to the ground. Dillon pounced on the young man and held him down. Robert put the TASER away and pulled the chloroform-soaked rag from his pocket. He dropped down to the ground and clamped the rag over the boy's face. There was a brief struggle, but it only lasted a few seconds. Dillon rolled the unconscious teen onto his side. He secured his prey's hands and feet with zip ties. Dillon got up and pulled their victim off the ground. Robert helped hoist the man onto Dillon's shoulder.

"Go get the pump set up," Dillon ordered Robert. "I'll throw this one into the trailer and pull the truck around."

Dillon and Robert walked back to their rig. Robert stopped at the front of the truck to gather the pump and hoses. Dillon carried his prize to the rear of the trailer. He unlocked the trailer door and swung one of its doors open. The limp body was quickly flung to the trailer floor. He rushed to close the door and muffle the cries of the other eighteen captives. The trailer was soundproof if the doors were closed. But when it opened, the chorus of the eighteen terrified voices assaulted Dillon. They begged for freedom. They begged for answers. They sobbed and cried. Dillon slammed the door and silenced the sorrowful cacophony.

"Nineteen down. One to go." Dillon congratulated himself.

I love the hunt!