Connor cursed himself; He was shit at this, and he knew it. How exactly did someone track a wayward family running from the undead? It wasn’t like they left a bread crumb trail or a forwarding address. The last fresh sets of tire treads were at the end of the Greenes’ driveway. Once those vehicles hit the blacktop though, they were gone. Whoever fled the farm had turned both left and right, and Connor had no way of knowing which tracks lead to the family they were looking for.
Murphy’s constant agitated tone and mannerisms were not helping at all. If anything it was killing whatever concentration that Connor had. Clint Eastwood made tracking look damn easy in The Outlaw Josie Wales. But he had horses to follow across muddy terrain and tracking experience. All Connor had was a brother who wouldn’t stop bitching.
He pulled open the passenger side door on the car and hopped in. “Lets go back t’da highway ‘n see if we can see what we can see.”
“Dat all ye got?” Murphy growled.
“Ye got anyting better? Cuz really, Murph, I’m out o’ideas,” Connor lashed out before he could stop himself. Gritting his teeth, he turned towards the window as a sullenly silent Murphy pointed the car back towards the interstate they came in on yesterday.