Leaving the dead man dead in the road behind them, Jeb and Myra continued north on highway 41. The cab of the old truck was silent and somber save for the clicking of Chevy's six-cylinder engine and the rustling of the wind in the windows. After a few minutes, the couple began to see more houses, mobile homes, small industrial buildings, a church, and a general store. According to legend, El Dorado, is some kind of lost city of gold down in South America. But, in the southern part of America, it's just an unincorporated rural community in Georgia. If there was gold in our El Dorado, it's been gone for a long time. For most visitors, it's a place for desperate folks to get off the highway, use the restroom, gas up, and grab some sort of snack.
Jeb also knew El Dorado was a place plenty of hard working folks called home. He saw the aging El Dorado General Store on his left and pulled across the road into their sand and gravel parking lot."Lotto, Food, Beer, and Wine," Jeb announced. "I wonder if they'll want to trade for some fresh vegetables."
"I wonder if they'll shoot you dead for walking into a convenience store with a gun?" Myra replied smartly.
"I think I'll be alright," Jeb said. "They know me here."
"I don't see any of those monsters so I better leave the rifle here in the truck."
"Well, let's go in and see how they're doing."
As Jeb opened the heavy steel and glass door, a string of jingle bells did their thing to announce his presence. Jeb just poked his head in, and looked around.
"How y'all doing?" he asked in a rather booming voice.
A skinny older lady with salt and pepper hair and a million wrinkles peeked from around the register. A long southern conversation ensued. Her name was Darlene and it turned out that she once went to the same church as Jeb and Myra. While they talked about zombies, they also covered every other possible topic. It turned out that Darlene had a son in rehab for drug addiction. Jeb and Myra would pray for his recovery. Another of her sons was selling tractors down in Valdosta. Her daughter was away at Agriculture school, but decided to join the Army and is over in Germany. Her grandchildren were supposed to come for a few weeks in the summer. Myra hoped they could come to vacation bible school. They must have talked on and on for an hour.
In ordinary circumstances, such a conversation would drive big city folks crazy. But, in these times of crisis, the conversation merely provided time for lots and lots of big city zombies to walk right into the tiny Georgia settlement known as El Dorado. In fact, when Jeb walked out to get the bushel of butter beans that he sold after all that conversation, he found he had plenty of company in the parking lot. The state fair portalet and death smell alone would knocked most men over.
To his left and about thirty feet away was the ghostly pale shell of a used car salesman from Warner-Robins. Well groomed and athletic in life, his appearance in death was marred by deep cut across his face that exposed his skeletal jaw and left his cheek flapping across his car dealer polo shirt. To his right, a very dead homeless woman in an overcoat was wandering around the periphery of the gas station lot. Jeb could see the silhouettes of at least a dozen other zombies partially obscured by this truck.
As Myra edged out the door behind him, Jeb motioned her back and said, "You better go inside."
He unsnapped the holster top strap that secured his Ruger Blackhawk .357 Magnum. It was an old school single-action revolver. Whatever was going to happen next was going to happen just the way John Wayne would have done it. Jeb decided Flapjack would be target number one.
[Thanks for reading! Read on to see if Jeb can flip a flapjack! Check out The Road Trip - Part 5]
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