As one journey ends, a new one must begin.

Its difficult to keep track of just how much time has passed. Without a calendar or working clock, tracking the days and weeks becomes a matter of following the changing seasons. The cool chill of winter rapidly gives way to the warming glow of spring, which inevitably leads to the high heat of summer followed shortly thereafter by the waning light and cool kiss of autumn before once again plunging the world into icy sleep. About a year ago, by my reckoning, the world as I and we knew it came to an end.

For better or for worse, I wasn’t near anyone when it happened. Route 66 has a way of leveling surprises on you that are unexpected; both good and bad. In this regard I count myself lucky, for my final destination and where I find myself now are both one and the same. Ironically, in the previous world, I was on my way to Arklay Island to conduct business. The local hardware store and I had some dealings which had been in the works for a time, although the exact details of which have since been purged from my mind to make room for more valuable knowledge. Suffice to say, I was on my way there as the dead began to reanimate and things went downhill from there.

I had owned a small chain of multi-purpose stores through Arizona following my time in the National Guard, with our main one in Black Canyon City. We sold everything; groceries, hardware, ammunition, gasoline… Wal-mart on a smaller and decidedly more wholesome level. Business was decent, more than enough to make a living off of. I had wanted more though, as if ten stores throughout small towns across the state weren’t enough. I laugh a bit at my motives then, based more on the acquisition of money than of building survivable wealth. Cash, it seems, stops being valuable when the entities backing it cease to exist. Or get eaten. Or both.

Arklay, it seemed, remained my destination even after my truck ran out of gas between Williams and Flagstaff. Returning the way I came was out of the question, as the city itself presented the possibility of a 90,000 plus horde of undead separating me from my home farther south. The mountains were not impassable, but without the appropriate gear, they would prove overly challenging. Breaking a bone in the middle of the forest was not a risk worth taking, and I had only packed enough supplies to last me one-way on the road trip. Initially I had kicked myself in the ass silly, but where I sit now, I’m a bit thankful for having someone to blame. Aggression, it seems, even when self-directed, provides a powerful motivator to prove the forces of nature and fate wrong.

I had two good feet, so I put them to use and began walking. So long as I stuck to the highway, things would prove relative straightforward. Despite common misconception, the freeways which exist outside major cities are not overly traveled. Zombies were a regular occurrence, but in clumps of two or three at most proved little challenge to avoid or outpace.

I figured The Walking Dead TV Show I used to watch had it right. Zombies are only a threat when within biting distance.