Put your faith in a miracle
And it's non-denominational
Join the choir we will be singing
In the church of wishful thinking

---

The first time they found the scrapyard was in the spring of 2015, a little less than a year after the outbreak. It was the first time that they signalled the all clear to exit the bariccade. With cautious steps they explored the dunes of Eureka for the first time. Less than a half a mile out of the radius of the town in the scorching heat of the Nevada sun they saw the heaps of heated metal spreading out for kilometres left and right. It was a kingdom of alloy guarded by a tall, fragile rusting fence.

That spring they found the rusting shells of their cars. To escape the grey miserable reality, give them something to focus on, Jake suggested to attempt to bring the hopeless cases back to life. It was a dare. Find hope in something which had none.

The second time they found themselves in the scrapyard was the first time that Ashley and the sheriff found themselves in a flaming dispute. They found him during the night, asleep on the backseat of the mustang, one hand tightly clenched around a shotgun. He had set five metal barrels around the vehicle, each had a crackling fire inside, each peppered with bullets from every angle. Andy stayed with him until midday, then he convinced him to return to the safety of Eureka.

These visits continued through out the years. Even when miraculously both of the cars roared to life they found themselves on the doorstep of the nameless scrapyard. They built their second home in their kingdom of rusting hope.

---

Smooth notes of a carefully tuned guitar cut through the dry air, they were abruptly cut off by a teeth-itching mistake.

“Fuck.” Hissed Jinxx, but he began again. He carefully plucked the strings of his scavenged guitar, the music began again. Jinxx shifted away into the shadow of the towering heaps of cars, away from the burning sun.

“Don’t recognise the riffs.” CC muttered from the shaded inside of a shell of a deserted car. On the window frame he rapped out a fast-paced, pulse-raising beat which he assumed would accompany the riffs.

“You weren’t meant to.” Replied Jinxx absently as his calloused fingers continued brushing over the strings.

“What are you saying? You made that up?” CC instantly sat up from his reclined position, grinning widely.

“Well, yeah. Suppose.” Jinxx smiled shyly then after a paused a spark of a vivid idea clicked through his mind. “Hey, did you say that Jake can play guitar too?”

“That’s right. Why?” CC curiously asked.

“I found another spare guitar, it’s a little wasted, like this one but I’ve tuned it and it works, and I found another amp.”

CC quickly dived from the car window not bothering to see if the doors actually worked and jogged to get Jake from his resting place inside one of the shaded cabins of the large crooked skeletal cranes.

Moments after, sharp harmonious melodies echoed from the scrapyard. Two road toughened men behaved like school boys as they duelled with their guitars despite the earth cracking heat and the daily concern for survival. With smirks they would prompt each other with mocking riffs and pushed their abilities to the edge.

Once the trills of the guitars quietened into a steady static hum, cheers and applause sounded from a sun cooked mound of scrap cars on which Ash and Andy nested like leather clad vultures. In unison they began to shout “encore” on the top of their lungs.

Before new notes could be stricken the gang was disturbed by the sound of a cars engine wheezing at the entrance of the scrapyard. They froze, shoulders tensed and hands on weapons. A white dented pickup truck pulled through into the cleared sand dusted arena where the pariahs hid in the shadows. From one of the windows appeared Becca’s heavily tanned freckle sprinkled demeanour.

“I am sorry to disturb your fun boys, but the boss wants to talk to all of you at the court house.” She spoke cautiously as she felt unwelcome and unwanted on this ground.

“What about?” Demanded Andy as he began to descend gracefully - perfected by the routine climbing through the forest of metal bulk - from his high perched seat, his rusted ‘throne’, his shoulders relaxed and chin high, declaring his authority.

“I don’t know. Honestly. Probably just another job.” Becca answered with haste, her eyes skittering rapidly over the shadowed figures glaring at her from the dark, their eyes glowing.

“I thought he promised to give us breaks. Y’know, a week or two?” CC barked from the shadows. Despite his and Becca’s relationship being mutual, he treated this alloy kingdom as a private territory and he it’s ever alert guard. The hostility was to be expected.

“I don’t know!” Becca snapped as she shrivelled under the heavy glares that seemed to burn through her skin and bone. “Look. All I know is that he wants to see you. His rat of a sonny seems excited, if that can say a lot.”

“No high hopes then.” Andy spoke as he rounded towards the pickup truck. “Did you get to see what was in the court?”

“No. He caught me outside. I don’t know anything! Christ what’s gotten into you guys?” Becca began to respond to interrogation with a hostile tone.

Unsatisfied with the received answers Andy heaved a heavy sigh. “Go back to the town, we will meet you there.”

“Thanks for the permission.” Becca scoffed. “This place gives me the shivers anyway, no wonder you guys love it here.” Briskly, she reversed the truck keeping her eyes constantly fixed on the road and fled the scrapyard.

Once she disappeared the tension dispersed and the shadows seemed to lighten with the echoing light hearted laughter.

“I’ve only ever seen that expression at a grindcore rock concert on a twelve year old kid.” Smirked CC as he began the cadillac’s engine on the second try.

“She should’ve met us years back, the girl would’ve wet herself.” Cheered Jake, but the laughter was short lived.

On the groups behalf the atmosphere seemed miserable once they re-entered the town and dropped considerably more as they entered the courtroom under the lime coloured, migraine-inducing lights which casted heavy long shadows. The once white walls of the courtroom were stained yellow from nicotine and the stench of cigars and cigarettes soaked through every fibre of the building.

The occupants of the courtroom watched them with expectation. Andy’s eyes were instantly locked with the sheriff’s, a smile of courtesy plastered across his lips.

“Evening, sir.” Andy greeted politely, he knew that the rest would refuse to greet the man at all. The mere sight of the man evoked sheer disgust in the rest of the group. It was a task of the leader to a common tongue with the opposing force during a meeting seeking peace.

“To you too, Andrew.” Sheriff replied in his unnaturally even, smooth voice. He subtly nodded to the rest with a smirk shadowed by his cap.

“You wanted to talk to us, sir? About a mission?” Andy took notice of a map of America splayed across the table of the accused, if this courtroom still held its appointed job. Pins dotted across the, plotting pitstops, checkpoints, main destinations. It was difficult to find a system in the colours.

“That is right.” The sheriff twisted the map around by one crinkled edge, displaying it to the gathered travellers. “We discussed a path towards the west.”

Beside him, Andy saw Ashley tense out of the corner of his eye. His jaw became set and his hands balled into tight fists. “Specifically?” Andy quickly prompted cautious of the answer.

“Washington. More specifically the army bases and communication centres.” Calmly and sweetly informed the leathery old man, his fingers locked together over his barrel of a stomach, thumbs twiddling casually. “We want you to establish a communication link with Europe.”

With almost no warning, though they must have been expecting some sort of adverse reaction, CC spoke up, which he did rarely in this building in the presence of these people.

“You are mad, sheriff. Crazy! Maybe it’s the heat, finally gotten to you under all that piggy fat!” Growled CC, he leaned over the table towards the boar of a man, his teeth exposed and hands clenching the edge of the table to the point his bones began to creak in protest. “This is suicide and you damn well know it!”

Notes

I am still giggle snorting over the bits that my fellow co-writer had added in. Oh my fucking god on a cracker- *wheeze*

Anyway, bad news folks. On monday we will be going back to school which means the system of passing the material back and forth will be broken up. I typically post new chapters every two days with a thew exceptions, but because of school it will be every weekend. But there might be some luck.
If this does turn out to be a 20+ chapter story it could be that we carry on with it after we finish school which will mean a shit load of extremely long chapters! Yay!

Good luck to all the people who are still in high school, I feel your pain.

P.s. If anyone has a phobia of clowns, whatever you do, do not look at my icon. That guy is a murderer and a true family guy.