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Tony pulled his machete out of the withered body of the old man by his feet. This one hadn't been worth the trouble of a gun. It had been missing its lower jaw and barely able to walk anyway. The police station had held little. A few clips of 9mm bullets had been left in the drawer, but there was little else. Tony now searched the bulletin board in the post office. A sheet of white lined paper had been stapled on; a pitifully short inventory of weapons and ammunition, and a list of survivors. Almost all the names had been crossed off, with dates beside them. 10/3/04, 1/15/05... these dates were at least two years old. The names that remained were probably there either because they escaped, or there was no one left to mark them off. Tony suspected the latter. Another sheet of paper was covered with brief notes. 9/20/04: Gone to Stonington with Denise, staying with friends in shelter. - Sam. 12/9: Gone to help Natl. Grd. in Hartford. - Andrew, Kevin, Chris, Jeanne. 1/28/05: Radio from state police head to Groton, gone to investigate. - Tom and Lisa. Damn, thought Tony. This place is dead. No living person has been here in two years. Tony was suddenly distracted by a noise behind him. Carefully he drew his shotgun and pointed it at the sound.

"Yo, watch it man." said Randy.

"Sorry." Tony put the gun back in the makeshift holster he had made on his pants leg. "Find anything?" Randy looked down at the dead body lying on the floor.

"Ugly fuck."

"Yeah."

"Do him with the knife."

"Yeah."

Randy looked about the room aimlessly. "I saw one out on the back porch. No eyes, and I don't think it could hear me either. It barely even bled when I shot it." Tony looked uninterested. "Man this place is fucking dead. There's no power and no food and we're not gonna find anyone." Tony nodded.

"Check this out. No posts since January '05."

"Yeah."

Randy slumped down against the wall. He put his gun back in the holster and pulled out a candy bar from his pocket. "Airheads?" he asked, offering a rock hard piece of candy to Tony. Tony smiled slightly and took it, slumping down to the floor opposite Randy.

"Okay. So this fucking place is off the list. I guess we could try Hartford next."

"Well yeah that's one place that would have been protected. There's a navy base in New London, I think. The navy is still around here right?"

"Yeah but they'll just as soon kill you as talk to you. Fucking clean ups."

"Yeah." Randy threw away the candy bar and pulled a year old metal canteen of whisky out of his cargo pants. He took a long drink and screwed the cap back on.

"Yo lemme see it?" said Tony, holding out his hand.

"No way man. I traded good bullets for this back in Boston." Tony looked depressed and began toying with his gun. "Besides," said Randy with a sarcastic grin. "You're not legal." Tony looked up and slowly began to laugh. Laws were a thing of the past now. It had been almost three years since anyone had told them they couldn't do something. "Hey. Catch." said Randy. He tossed the canteen to Tony. Tony was about to take a drink when he heard a sound outside. The sound of an engine starting. It took a moment for it to dawn on him: Someone was stealing their car! Tony and Randy scrambled to their feet, drawing their guns. Randy was the first to burst out the door. He ran out into the parking lot to see his Volvo backing away.

"Don't fucking move you fucking cocksucker!" he shouted. He whipped out his revolver and pointed it at the driver, who he could only vaguely see. The car accelerated awkwardly backwards, skidding in a half circle straight into a telephone pole. Randy ran over to the drivers side door and pointed his gun in at the would be thief. Tony also ran out into the parking lot, shotgun in hand. He stood on the other side of the car with his gun pointed in. Randy threw open the door and pulled the man out of the car. The man staggered backwards. Randy and Tony could see his face now. He was about their age, but slim and sickly looking. He had a thin beard growing, giving him the appearance of some sort of hobo. Then Randy noticed the blood running down his white T-Shirt. A wide stain was forming from a wound by the side of his neck. Randy could see from the torn shirt and the purple swelling of he skin that it wasn't a bullet wound.

"Stay away from me!" screamed the young man, his voice cracking. He pulled a knife from his belt and flicked it open, pointing it as he looked wildly back and forth between Randy and Tony.

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