Dusty’s comment was the exact reason Caelan may have stayed in Louisiana this long. He was terrified to return home and find nothing but decaying flesh and bones. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself after knowing that he chose the South over his own family. Caelan had taken care of his friend for eight days before he succumbed to the sickness. That should have been time with his real family.<br/><br/>He made short work of transporting his bike and tires up to the third floor. Caelan arranged them haphazardly in his loft and hurried back downstairs. Dusty had put himself at risk by being in the city this late. He wanted to do everything he could to get the man back to his house, especially after sharing his story about a visit from the Vultures. The group recruited people every day. There was no promise that the new folks would be as mindful of Dusty’s understanding with the Vultures as the rest of them.<br/><br/>In the end, Caelan thanked Dusty again and stared down at him from his upstairs window. It was indescribably hard to watch the taillights disappear from view. He turned into the cold comfort of his lonely apartment and retreated to his bed.<br/><br/><br/><br/>Caelan had all but put Dusty in the back of his mind in the weeks that followed their meeting. He hadn’t seen that familiar red beater truck around town. Maybe there was a chance he could have stumbled into him at the scrapyard, but Caelan hadn’t bothered to visit that side of town. Dusty had made him mindful of how dangerous it was to ride around at night, so he hadn’t gone to look for a new headlight.<br/><br/>Instead, he tried to distract himself with new hobbies. He wasn’t the type to patronize the local craft stores, but he did run by the bookstore down the street. He picked up a few novels, managing to find a few familiar titles from the inventory that had long since been picked through. People had found comfort in things they could do in the safety of their homes during lockdown, so the choices were scarce.<br/><br/>Caelan was reading some Michael Crichton book about time travel when he heard the low grumble of a motor vehicle. He slowly closed the book and set it down on the mattress as he stood to approach the wall of windows. Dusty’s voice beat him to the punch and he all but beamed as he looked down onto the street and saw the man and his truck parked in front of the apartment building.<br/><br/>He grabbed his jacket, tucked his pocket knife into his sock and locked his loft. Caelan took the stairs two at a time and emerged through the rusted metal door. “What the hell are you doing here, Dusty?” He grinned as he shrugged his jacket on and jogged around to the passenger side. “Just passin’ through, huh? Knew it was a mistake telling you where I lived.” Caelan chuckled and slid onto the passenger seat. He couldn’t hide his happiness and he didn’t bother. “How have you been? Did the motor work?”