chapter 2 Afton Road

Not every vehicle had died. Just most and, in many cases, the vehicles that didn't were still wrecked in the pile-ups of vehicles that did fail Derek realized. They spotted a rusted truck that likely predated WWII chugging down a gravel road at one point, so distant only Derek could really make it out.

When they finally reached the nearest cluster of buildings and businesses, Derek's ears even picked out the chug of a generator running somewhere.

Angela was drooping, though they had stopped and napped for several hours during the night, and Alex had taken over carrying Billy. She perked up as they came in sight of the buildings, though her steps slowed again as they drew closer and couldn't miss the gathering of aimless people standing around the dark gas station slash mini-mart or the cars standing in the street or haphazardly steered into the ditches. They might have walked out of the wilderness but they hadn't found any real sanctuary.

Derek doubted Angela had been thinking about it, but he hadn't expected anything different.

"No power here either," Alex commented.

"Keep walking," Derek murmured to Angela. He hefted the Danny's limp corpse in his arms higher. Rigor had come and passed during the night.

They'd rearranged the bottles of water, hiding them in pockets and Derek's gear bag, making for easier carrying and keeping people from seeing them. He didn't think anyone was desperate enough yet to attack them for a few bottles of water, but he had had enough bad encounters with humans to know it wasn't impossible. Fear made them crazy. Werewolves, like most predators, were predictable by comparison, except when they were in human form. It was the human in them that made them most dangerous, the mind and the madness, not any animal instincts.

Before the pack, before Stiles, Derek had often wished he could have nothing to do with humans again.

"Um," she said a while later, "I know this road. I think if we go up it a couple of miles, it crosses with the one I usually take to get to Grand Dad's place."

"Think we can get there before the heat of the day?" Alex asked.

"I guess."

Alex hefted Billy higher in his arms and walked in the direction Angela indicated. Derek adjusted his grip on the bundled body. The smell of old blood and decay coated his nostrils; he could taste it at the back of his tongue.

"Is your grandfather going to be there?" Alex asked later, when they'd passed out of the barely there town and were strikingly alone, and had seated themselves next to the empty county road. It seemed as good a place as any to pause and share out some of the trail mix and a protein bar. Billy had begun whining that he was hungry. The road stretched out, without a hint of shade, or another road or house. A break was in order anyway: Angela's feet were blistered under the sandal straps despite the band-aids Alex had applied from out of the emergency kit. She'd impressed Derek with how little she complained. He knew part of it was shock, knew she'd cried quietly all through the night, but she hadn't broken down entirely.

Then again, he'd grown too used to his pack, who made complaining about everything an art form for years.

"No," she said. "He's in the hospital. I was driving to Barstow to visit him. I couldn't leave the kids... " her breath hitched on a sob, but she swallowed hard and went on, "at home."

"No one's there?" Derek asked.

"No one. A friend of his is keeping his dog." She picked out a raisin from the mix and handed it to Billy, who examined it with a child's fierce concentration before condescending to eat it and demanding, "More."

Angela found another raisin for Billy. "I hope he's okay." Her fingers trembled.

"Danny?" Billy asked.

"He's with Granny Mimi, baby. It's just us now, so we've got to take care of each other."

Derek flinched on the inside, reminded of Laura telling him the same thing after the fire. They'd gone from a big, rowdy family to just the two of them and a badly burned uncle lost in a fugue state with no prospect he'd heal. They'd taken care of each other for six years, until Laura decided she had to go back to Beacon Hills and refused to let Derek come with her. He'd survived losing his alpha. Losing his sister had almost killed him. Four years later he'd made a new life with his own pack, but the reminder of that time still had the power to hurt.

"What was he in for?" Alex asked. Alex's phrasing made it sound like Angela's grandfather had been in prison. Derek choked back a snort of inappropriate laughter. He had some tact. Sometimes. More than Stiles did, at least. He thought Alex might have asked his question because he'd seen something in Derek's face.

Angela didn't answer and Derek figured they'd leave it at that, it wasn't any of their business after all, but after Billy had finished the trail mix, she got to her feet and said, "Congestive heart failure. Whatever's going on, he wasn't coming home again anyway. At least... at least he doesn't know about Danny." Her voice hitched and she wiped her eyes with the heel of one hand.

~*~

The house turned out to be a dilapidated, but clean double-wide mobile home, situated in the dubious shade of three tired, dusty eucalyptus trees. Telephone and electrical lines hooked into it from a cracked and slightly leaning pole and a propane tank sat out in the sun, white paint gone chalky. Dry, brittle weeds poked up between the rutted tired tracks that constituted the drive way. An even older barn, with a rusted tin roof and holes in the creosote-soaked board walls leaned catty-corner to the mobile. Behind it, an equally aged windmill creaked, too locked up for the nearly nonexistent breeze to move.

Angela retrieved a key from an empty hummingbird feeder and let them in. The mobile home was dark, hot and stuffy inside, smelled of illness, age, musty carpet, and the dog that was no longer there. Derek stopped in the doorway, unwilling to step inside with Danny's body. If he brought the body inside, the smell and the memory of it would stain the place.

Alex bypassed him and looked around, while Angela set Billy on an old couch and dropped down beside the toddler.

"Hey," Alex said, "gas stove and gas fridge. No juice, no problem."

"No juice, no pump, no water," Derek pointed out. He set Danny's body, in the shadiest, coolest part of the front porch.

Inside, Angela tipped her head back in exhaustion and said, "There might be a generator out in the barn."

"I'll go look." Derek still didn't feel comfortable entering someone else's dwelling – their territory. He didn't let werewolf instincts rule him, but he listened to them. He hoped he'd find a shovel or something he could use to dig with besides his hands too.

"I cleaned out the fridge last week," Angela said, "but there's still stuff... "

"I'll fix something," Alex promised and returned to the kitchen area. Derek left them and walked across the bare gravel and dirt to the barn. The interior had been mostly stripped, but he found the generator under a greasy tarp, a metal Jeep can of diesel next to it, the battery carefully disconnected. A wrench and several cans of oil sat on a rickety shelf above, next to a metal funnel and several dirty rags.

Derek raised his eyebrows in approval. He poked around the rest of the barn, finding a push lawnmower, a rusted out hot water heater tank, a trailer with flat tires, a wheelbarrow, shovel, hayfork, and hoe with a split handle, along with an old barbeque and several bales of straw that he figured were at least five years old, along with several galvanized garbage cans that had once held feed from the scent. The central, open portion of the barn held a faded blue pick-up truck, a motorcycle under another tarp, and space where another vehicle had been parked. Both the pick-up and the motorcycle were old enough to be called classics, if not antiques, but appeared to be in good shape. Just like the generator, when he checked, the batteries were disconnected.

The bird crap caked on everything explained the tarps. Derek's nose wrinkled at the smell of feathers and guano mixed with stale hay and, again, the dog, though that was fading. No cats were around, though he smelled an opossum somewhere deeper in the barn and a few rats. He found a round-point shovel and a post-hole digger in the bed of the pick-up. The handles were a little loose with age, but they'd still work.

The green-painted generator was a behemoth that hadn't been shifted in years. Even with Derek's strength and Alex pushing too, getting it out of the barn and in place to hook up left him and Alex breathless and sweating. He sent Alex into the mobile to get something to drink and ask Angela if there was a toolbox, half afraid Alex would give himself heatstroke if he stayed outside and exerted himself any more. He knew it had to be like an oven inside, but the shade and easing off would help the other man.

Two hours later, he had the generator hooked up and running. The sound seemed much too loud in the afternoon stillness, the first cough and chug as it caught sounded like a shot, and startled a dozen gray pigeons out of the barn. The stench of the exhaust caught at the back of Derek's throat and he found himself half eager to live in a world not constantly contaminated with the reek of burning petroleum products, though he never had. It was too strange to imagine though; whatever had happened, he couldn't conceive that it would be permanent. Internal combustion still worked after all: the generator running before him gave testament to that.

He shook his head over his musings. There were more concrete tasks to face. Things that had to be done now instead of worrying about later.

Alex slapped Derek's shoulder. "Good job, man."

Derek straightened up. "We need to bury the boy."

"Come inside first. Eat. We've got canned chili, cheese and crackers and some warm beer."

"You should fill every container you can with clean water and not run the generator any more than you have to," Derek said as he followed Alex back to the mobile. There were plastic lawn chairs on the back porch now, along with TV trays, and they all sat where the air cooled in the shade just a little bit. Either that or someone had noticed Derek's reluctance to come inside, but he dismissed that possibility.

He ate everything set out. A sense of how wrong things might be made him aware of how precious food might become. Besides, he was hungry. "Thanks."

Angela smiled weakly. "I haven't thanked you." Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed; while he and Alex had been working on the generator, she'd been crying, but kept it to herself. Derek figured she had every right.

He nodded and silently left the porch. Alex followed him. "Pick a place you don't look at from the windows," Derek said. He retrieved the shovel and post-hole digger and nodded approval at the spot behind the pump house Alex had picked out. He set the point of the shovel into the dirt and drove it down with a grunt.

Alex started a hole diagonally from him. They worked steadily through the rest of the afternoon, until they had a grave deep enough nothing would disturb its contents.

It wasn't the first grave Derek had dug, after all.

Alex found an aged sheet and wrapped it around the body before they lowered it into the earth. Angela cried, ugly, choking sounds heaving out her, blind and oblivious to Derek and Alex, until she broke and ran back into the trailer Derek began the work of filling the grave, figuring Alex would follow her. As the first shovel full of dirt rained down onto the sheet, Alex muttered, "Fuck." He wrestled the shovel away from Derek. "Go wash up. You did the hard work."

Derek found a faucet and hose and rinsed off as best he could. He still didn't want to go inside the mobile home. It felt that if he did, he'd be binding himself to the place and the people.

Angela walked out and handed him a towel. He dried his hands and face, then ran it over the back of his neck. "You could come inside – "

"No, thanks."

She looked like she wasn't surprised. Alex joined them and began hosing off his hands and forearms. "Jesus, that feels good."

"There's a '56 truck in the barn and a motorcycle," Derek mentioned. He tossed Alex the damp towel. Alex scowled at it.

"You think you can get them to run?" Alex asked as he used the towel anyway.

Angela said, "Gran Dad loves that old truck, won't part with it, and he's kept it running. The motorcycle too."

Derek forced a smile. "If it was an EMP, they're probably old enough to be okay."

"You want to take the motorcycle, don't you?" Angela asked.

"I need to get back to my pa–people."

She laced her fingers together and flexed them, then nodded. "If the truck runs, you can take the Norton."

Derek nodded. He actually preferred the motorcycle to the truck; it could go off-road and maneuver through traffic jams and pile-ups and he anticipated more and worse the closer he got to Los Angeles. He didn't offer to buy the motorcycle or promise he'd bring it back. If he could, he would, but Angela didn't seem to be fooling herself about the odds any more than he was.

Two hours later, Derek swung astride the Norton. He had his shoulder holster on, his gear bag strapped to the bike, and four cans of chili and a jar of peanut butter, along with a filled canteen of water. He'd offered Angela one of his guns, but she'd dragged a case from under her grandfather's bed and revealed a hunting rifle and a shotgun.

Alex shoved his hands in his jean's pockets and rocked on his heels, reminding Derek of Stiles. Reminding Derek the pack were likely all together, but Stiles was alone in Mexico. He wanted Stiles back where he belonged, then everything wouldn't be making Derek think about him, because he'd be _there_ , right next to him. Not having Stiles around kept Derek too much on edge, made his claws curl at the tips of his fingers, nearly visible. "I should get back to my station," Alex said, voice snapping Derek out of his own thoughts. "I just don't know how much good I could do."

Derek didn't agree or disagree.

"I think I'll stay here though, until we know what's going on."

Derek nodded. He reached for the Norton's ignition.

"Good luck. Shane."

Derek cocked an eyebrow at him. "My name's not Shane."

"Gotta call you something and you're driving off into the sunset alone after sort of saving the day, so... It's that or 'who was that masked man?'"

Derek almost smiled, reminded again of Stiles. "Not sundown yet."

"Close enough." Alex held out his hand. Derek shook it.

He turned the ignition key and the Norton purred to life. Angela hadn't been kidding. Her grandfather had kept the classic 1974 machine in top condition.

He'd never been much good at talking, never mind saying good-bye, so Derek gave Alex a nod and lifted his hand in a wave to Angela and Billy, then turned the Norton toward the road.