CHAPTER SIX
ALL THE CONVENIENCES OF HOMO
And so we headed south down Interstate 5. There were no rivers to contend with, no zombies, save for the occasional migrant farm worker along the side of the road, and certainly no sounds except for the growl of our bikes and the equally standard growl of Kit’s belly. We stopped only to eat from our private stash and to pee behind the occasional bush. As to traffic, the road was littered with stalled zombie-driven cars and trucks, but not enough to cause us any problems; we merely weaved between them, ignoring the vacant stares of the undead as best we could.
Once we hit Bakersfield, we skirted around the town and headed east, the mountain chains that bisected Northern California no longer in our path. Still, it was getting dark, and we were dust
