"You broke my screen door," a woman's voice said in the gloom. He thought he must look like a zombie, or like the Frankenstein monster carrying the fainted heroine in his arms. He carried the exhausted child in his arms, as he had for the past two hours, and walked stiff-legged, the soles of his feet oozing with blisters and blood in shoes that were coming apart at the seams. The wind was still shoving mightily at his back, but after what seemed like eight hours of walking yesterday and at least five today, he was about to topple to the ground. Josh had just put his hand on the knob when the door flew open and the barrel of a pistol looked him in the eyes. we've got some corn, and green beans, and boiled potatoes." He looked to the side, and something small-a jackrabbit? he wondered-darted out of sight behind the ruins of the caf��. Something moved at the corner of his vision. Josh could see the outline of her head, but not her face her head angled toward Swan. He saw that dozens of paperback books lay in the dust around him, their pages flipping wildly in the restless hand of the wind, and to the left were the remains of a little clapboard structure with a hand-painted SULLIVAN PUBLIC LIBRARY sign. A small caf�� had also collapsed, except for the sign that read GOOD EATS Every step an exercise in agony, Josh walked past the crumbled buildings. A sign flapping back and forth on its hinges advertised TUCKER'S HARDWARE AND FEEDS, but the store's front window was shattered and the place looked bare as Mother Hubbard's cupboard. There was a Texaco station with one pump and a garage whose roof had collapsed. He saw no cars, no hint of light or life. The dark town-just a scatter of wind-ravaged buildings and a few widely spaced houses on dusty lots-beckoned him onward. "If you don't mind, we'll just go on our way." It took Sister about two more seconds to make up her mind. If not, I'll say have a good trip to Detroit." If you want to go back with me, you'll be welcome. My cabin's about two miles north of here, as the crow flies. "Sounds like the makings of a stew to me. "Leo-" And then it was interrupted by a strangling, terrible spasm of coughing. "Leona" a weak voice called from inside the house. "Friend, that's going to attract every scavenger within smelling distance-and believe me, some of those bastards can sniff blood a long, long way." Johns is about four or five miles west." The man looked at Artie, who was dripping blood onto the snow. There may be a few people left, but after that flood of refugees washed in from the east I'd be surprised if you'd find much in any town along I-80. Hazleton's the nearest town of any size, and that's about ten miles south of St.
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