Today marks the last day of the month I've spent living like a nomad.
Truth to be told, I've started to really dislike this way of living.
I used to envy these nomads, but now I respect their resilience. It is liberating—I'll be the first to admit to that. I mean, I've lived a life of luxury, or as close as it could be nowadays.
I've had liberties with the contents in my inventory—the finest cuts of meat, the best of beers and wines when I've felt like it, entertainment from the books and console games I've had stored away inside my inventory.
How did I get them to work without electricity, you say? I have a literal warehouse the size of a city where time is frozen; you think I don't have anything related to power?
But even with all that, I still miss my home. I miss Maggie's warmth; I miss my warm bed.
There were days where I'd come close to just saying "fuck it" and return home, but I'd always be reminded of the bleak future that awaits us if I had done that, and I'd continue on my journey.
Speaking of the journey, I've crossed quite the distance.
I pivoted midway after I reached Alabama. I didn't go to Mississippi according to my original plans, because I remembered that Lucille, Negan's wife, would die soon. If I wanted him to join me, I had to first prevent his wife's death.
With that thought in mind, I went to Nashville, Tennessee, and from there up toward Virginia. I'm about to pass through Virginia today and reach Reston, where Negan was at the time.
I just hope I wasn't too late.
Driving through Virginia highways was like rolling through a graveyard that had been left out in the rain for too long.
The asphalt was cracked, choked with weeds and all kinds of abandoned vehicles.
I gripped the steering wheel of my truck, my knuckles tight, my eyes kept darting back and forth between the rearview mirror and the overgrown tree lines hugging the road.
I'd been burning through fuel faster than I liked, but I didn't care—I had plenty to spare, and Reston was right up ahead on the map anyway.
If my information from meta-knowledge is right—and it usually is, considering how thorough R.O.B. was—Negan was still holding up in his suburban house in this area before everything completely went to hell for him.
Back before the barbed wire bat, before the Saviors, before he became the monster everyone feared, he was just a guy trying to keep his dying wife alive in a basement while the world burned down around them.
I hit the brakes as a stray walker stumbled out from behind a rusted pickup truck, dragging its left leg. I didn't even bother to stop; I just floored the gas, ramming the walker with a dull thud that sent it rolling off into the ditch.
I didn't stop to check. The sun was sinking low, and I had to find a place to settle down for the night.
I grabbed the map from the glove compartment and flipped it open with one hand while keeping the truck rolling at a slow crawl. My finger tapped against the circled grid mark for Reston.
Not long now, I muttered. I just hope I'm not late.
Negan was a piece of work, everyone knew that, but he was also fiercely loyal to his own people once he built his warped empire, and he had a sharp mind under all that foul-mouthed swagger.
If I could get to him before Lucille passed, before grief turned him into a tyrant, I could pull him onto our side.
An asset like that—someone with his leadership and tactical grit—would make our alliance practically untouchable, and I could even entrust him to lead a settlement in the future.
Plus, saving a life never hurt, especially when you had the means to do it.
I tossed the map back onto the passenger seat, cranked the steering wheel hard to take a sharp left turn off the main interstate, and headed down a quieter residential avenue lined with single-family homes.
The houses here looked mostly intact, but doors hung wide open and windows were smashed out, curtains fluttered in the evening breeze.
I slowed the diesel engine down to a quiet idle, letting the truck creep forward without making too much of a ruckus.
The last thing I needed right now was to draw every walker within a mile radius before I even found the right address.
I checked the street signs—this was it. I parked the truck half-hidden behind an overgrown oak tree in front of a modest two-story house with a peeling white picket fence.
I cut the engine, killing the rumble, and sat in silence for a few seconds to listen.
Nothing, just the wind rustling through dead leaves.
I grabbed my rifle, checked the mag, and pushed the driver's side door open.
The metal hinge let out a faint squeak that made me wince, but nothing stirred.
I stepped down onto the cracked pavement, keeping my hand close to my sidearm.
I walked past the overgrown front lawn, stepping over a child's plastic bicycle left out in the grass.
If Negan was in town and if Lucille was still alive, I'd find them.
But that's gonna have to wait till tomorrow, because I'm exhausted. I've been driving for more than a day and a half straight, and now I want nothing more than a warm meal and a good night's sleep.
(To be continued...)