Something appeared to Harley now upon the distance, at first a rather few discernible objects, square in shape and a dull gray, but as Riley strode closer to it hoof by hoof, the objects in question soon came into better view amidst the humid, mirage-like haze, and Harley had hoped to God above that it wasn't a mirage. They were buildings, or more properly.....a gas station with a grocery store next to it. Now while horses didn't run off gas, they still ran out of fuel after traveling a long time, especially from Whitesboro all they way to God knows where in this ravaged and God forsaken country, and the same could be said for their riders. "C'mon boy. Maybe there's some food leftover." Harley spoke to her trusty steed, giving him a slight nudge in the side with her boot. The horse let out a sharp neigh, which startled Harley, "Damn boy! Y'all wanna wake the whole town!" Cautiously her eyes darted back and forth, making sure [i]they[/i] didn't hear anything at all that would alert the presence of....fresh meat.

As Riley trotted closer to the grocery store, Harley was able to get a clearer look of the outside. Judging by the shattered windows, the shopping carts strewn all over the bloodstained parking lot where a few rotting corpses laid being picked clean by buzzards, not to mention the asphalt scarred by thick, black tire treads, it was safe to say this place was ransacked. Harley would be lucky to find at least a can of beans leftover, had that not already been snatched up. The leftover fruit was probably rotten to the core as well, which meant no fresh apples for her horse Riley. "Shit! Well don't that just burn yer ass, huh Riley?" Disheartened Harley grumbled under her breath, hanging her head with a defeated sigh. The paint horse merely snorted with a hot breath of his own, as if to communicate his own displeasure towards not finding any food. "Guess we'll just look elsewhere, boy." Her stomach, damn would it ever quit growling? It was already bad enough trying to survive with but a pocket knife and only ten slugs of .44 magnum left for her daddy's revolver, but to fight off zombies on an empty stomach.....that there had to be the genuine definition of fucked over.