Dancing The Indian Night Away
She traveled five miles. until she found an isolated grove of trees, that served as a boundary between two fields. Monica stood guard as everyone took care of business. She had already gone at the McDonalds.Moore Genetics was on the north side of San Antonio. That meant that they had to loop around the city on highway I-410.The building was a non-descript large steel and glass building only two blocks from the highway. The sign out front said just "Moore" in plain white block letters. The black wrought iron fence that bordered the street had only one entrance; an electric gate with a security camera.The SUV pulled up to the gate around four p.m.A male voice came over the speaker. "May I help you?" Alice Rhodes to see Donald Moore."The gate slid open. Alice drove through.The building itself was one hundred yards wide, as seen from the road, and half as deep. The only visible doors and windows on the smoked glass building were the ones at the entrance in the front right corner.Alice. It was Day 14 since what Bridgett had begun to call "The Virus." I adopted the same term for it, although neither of us knew what had killed off most of the people in North America, and, perhaps, the world. "The Virus" sounded better, somehow, than "Death Ray" or some other pseudo-scientific term. It was also perhaps more likely, as an explanation.We would, perhaps, never know.Ingmar drove up beside us in an RV not that dissimilar to our own at around 11 a.m., almost two full days after we'd arrived in Minneapolis.He turned out to look not at all similar to the grizzled lumberjack I had imagined. He was a smallish, gray-haired man with a light gray beard. He was in good physical shape, and looked a lot younger to me than his 56 years.His son, Roald, emerged from their RV and shook my hand. Roald, Ingmar had told us, was 31. He, too, looked a bit younger than that, and he was taller and stronger-appearing than his father. But both men, to my considerable relief, appeared to be.
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