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to have a radio. He would check around Eloy first to see if he could find a radio but if he couldn’t he was going to Phoenix.
    ***
    Eloy was a bust, he could not find a CB radio anywhere. He was going to Phoenix. He got a sheet of paper and started planning his trip to the city. If he was to survive this adventure he needed to be prepared. He would need supplies for the trip, bottles of water, food and a map of the city. He had been to the mall where the Radio Shack was located many times but he wasn’t driving and never paid attention to how his mom got there.
    One positive thing about the trip was he saw fewer survivors lately. They were disappearing, probably dying off, he thought. He hoped this would be true of the survivors in Phoenix. No matter what the risks it was worth it to have the ability to talk to the ISS. He was afraid of what he might find in the city but he was more afraid of being alone. The survivors he saw in Eloy were creepy and disgusting but they were not like the zombies in movies. They acted more like deer and except for the naked old guy they did not try to chase him; that did not mean they wouldn’t if he gave them the opportunity but he wasn’t too worried, the majority of them were pretty feeble. Thinking about the old man made him remember the dead pharmacist and, shuddering at the implications, he added a gun to his list.
    His dad never owned a gun, at least not one that he knew about, and he did not think his mom would let him keep it in the house if he had. So where would he find a gun? He knew that lots of people owned hand guns but he did not want to spend time searching strangers houses. He considered going to the Sheriff’s Office but he remembered the time he got lost as a kid and had to wait for his mom to come and get him and he was still terrified of the place. One possibility, he thought, was Mr. Osterman. He coached the little league team and he was a policeman in Phoenix. He reasoned that if anyone was likely to have a gun it was him and he lived almost next door.
    The street was quiet but he was not taking any chances. He got in the car and drove the half block to the Osterman’s house and parked on the lawn as close to their front door as possible to limit his exposure. He was armed with a baseball bat and the paring knife. The Osterman’s were only a few doors down but it had been almost a week since he’d been outside and he was being cautious for good reason. The last time he went searching for food he came across the body of Mr. Murray the pharmacist, he was laying in the middle of Grant Street with his insides spilling onto the pavement. A bunch of birds, mostly crows, were fighting over who would eat his entrails. Recalling the scene made him feel queasy; it was not like something on television or in a movie, this was real. One crow was perched on something black poking out from the pharmacist’s chest. It took him a little while to figure out what he was seeing. A knife.
    Mr. Murray had been clean and dressed in proper clothes; he had been a survivor like him and someone killed him. The Osterman’s house was unlocked and there were no bodies inside, he knew because he was inside it a few weeks ago looking for his family. He reached for the doorknob to turn it but stopped and pressed his ear to the door listening, he heard nothing. He waited a bit longer before opening the door preparing himself for whatever he might find inside.
    The living room was undisturbed and as empty of life as the last time he was there. All the homes he checked, at least those without bodies, looked like the owners had momentarily stepped out and would return shortly. He went into the kitchen and opened cupboards and drawers searching for a gun. The kitchen and living room were a bust though he did find a tepid can of Coke amongst the rotting food in the fridge. He made his way down the hallway to the master bedroom sipping the warm soda and when he entered the room he jumped back in