They could smell the highway for at least a mile before they could see it: six lanes each way, grass median, pockmarked with huge bomb craters and littered with zombie remains both large and small. The brothers made their way out and stood at the ragged lip of one of the holes.
“Thousand pounders, maybe?” Earl wondered
“Shit, I dunno. At least they didn’t use nukes.”
“Not around here, anyway.”
There was no smoke, any fires having gone out: there had been rain, a hard, steady rain, for days. What it had smelled like before the rain, Earl couldn’t imagine.