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They’d salivate with desire, putting in their order for a piece of gelled pickled rabbit.
    But to make it, Bentley needed a special type of rabbit. It had to look a special way and he said that was the secret.
    The darker the rabbit, the more wild and bitter the meat. So we had to hunt for fair or light rabbits.
    And they had to be fat.
    Great.
    I was lucky for him, I was able to spot those bad boys easily and they were hard to find. There weren’t many. We had to find them and trap them.
    Not easy at all.
    “Come on, Danny,” Bentley beckoned. “I’ll save you the first piece.” He winked.
    “Ug.” I winced. “Fine.”
    I went. I donned my hunting clothes and armed with the trap we headed up the mountain.
    That was at seven in the morning.
    By three in the afternoon we still hadn’t had any luck.
    Not that we didn’t find a few light, fat, rabbits.
    We did. We caught them. But then Bentley would grab them by the scruff and sniff them as if he could tell the quality of flavor by that.
    Give me a break.
    I thought the fifth catch was it. Bentley did a double sniff. Then he shook his head and set the rabbit free.
    “Ah, Bent, you suck. That was perfect.”
    “He was tough. The meat wouldn't be right.”
    I took a look at Bentley, a man who when everyone else got thin gained weight. I supposed it was from eating the right rabbits. “I quit,” I said.
    “No. No. Just a bit more. It’s here. The rabbit is here. I know it is. Danny, he probably went and told his friend right now. He said…” Bentley softened his voice and crinkled his nose. “Guys, guys, there’s a free carrot for ya over there. All you gotta do is get caught and they set you free. Honest.”
    “Did you just crinkle your nose like you had whiskers?”
    “I was being a rabbit.”
    “You’re whacked.” I chuckled. “And I’m taking a break. I need to.”
    “A spiritual break, Danny?”
    “Um, yeah.”
    Bentley chuckled. “I’m in. You got the good stuff from your dad?”
    I gave him a look that all but said, would I have anything else.
    The spiritual stuff was an herb my father smoked for relaxation. No it wasn’t marijuana, but it definitely had a similar effect.
    To get the full effect, at least for me, I needed to peer out into a wide open space. So we tromped on for a spell until we found a clearing which gave us an exhilarating view of the other side of the mountain.
    I dropped to the ground and pulled out the pipe, packing it while waiting on Bentley to arrive.
    He did. But not as I expected.
    “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa,” he said. “Get low Dan. What’s this?”
    I stuttered a ‘huh’ at his new lingo. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Get low? When he pushed on my back, I noticed he was on his stomach, inching over to crawl behind a bush.
    It wasn’t until I laughed at him that I saw it.
    Or rather saw what he did.
    At the foot of the mountain, on the roadway that passed between us and the route to our community about ten miles back, was what looked like a military convoy.
    They were at a standstill, eight trucks. Multitudes of soldiers, all standing there. A few tents were erected, and from where we were I could see a couple men moving, but most of them stood still.
    I grabbed my binoculars for a closer look.
    I was correct in my first assessment.
    People rarely left Gray Mountain, and even more rarely traveled that road.
    Hell, that convoy could have been there for days and no one noticed.
    “They look like zombies,” I said, handing the binoculars to Bentley.
    “You know, I’d laugh at that, if a plague hadn’t wiped out the world.”
    “Omega Man?” I asked.
    “Yep. They could be zombies.”
    “Doubtful.”
    Bentley examined them. “They’re just standing there.”
    “Armed?”
    “Very much so.”
    “I can’t zoom in but they all have a blank expression,” I told him. “Is that military protocol? You know, to stand there with weapons ready, staring blankly?”
    “No military protocol that I know of. They aren’t at