The promise of the cargo was apparently more appealing than the importance of the battle.

  He ran back to the truck, made sure Sara and Linda were inside and safe and stomped on the gas. The cars in front of him had not yet moved, so he had to swerve around and drive on the shoulder. Before they were even back on the road the guns started firing at the big truck. He looked in the rear view mirror. The number of people converging on the truck was increasing by the second.

  Some fell in their strides. Shot down by someone guarding the truck.

  Linda focused intently on the the map trying to find a route between Lawrence and Kansas City. The goal was to stay as near the middle of the two cities as they could. South of Joplin, they could get back on an interstate. From there they would stay on I-40 as long as possible, getting off the highway only to avoid big cities.

  They drove slowly to save gas, but quick enough to discourage the growing number of people on foot who were heading south. They were on State Route 7. From there they would hit 169 south and hope to make it to route 68, which would lead them to route 69 and hopefully a fast trip south to I40.

  They were well behind the schedule already. Sara had her face pressed up against the back window looking at the people walking. "Are you seeing those piles of bodies along the side of the road?" Linda asked.

  "I see them." He answered. "Sara, why don't you lie down and take a nap?" Linda asked.

  "I'm not tired."

  "Sara! Lay down and take a nap!" Linda snapped at her.

  He looked in the rear view mirror and caught Sara's eyes. They were filling with tears. Linda saw it too. "Sweetie, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. But there are things out there that a little girl shouldn't see." Linda pleaded.

  "I know mommy, I mean, Aunt Linda." Sara answered and lay down with a cover over her.

  "If we're going to raise her, we're going to have to yell at her from time to time." He said.

  "I know. But I don't have to like it." She turned away from him and looked out the window.

  "Linda, that isn't any better for you than it is for her to look at that."

  She put her head down and covered her face. He kept glancing over and caught the shoulders shaking. She was crying. He reached over and patted her on the leg. He'd never been very good at consoling a crying woman. And a woman as strong as Linda, different from any woman he had ever known, made it even more difficult for him. She reached out and grabbed his hand. "I'm sorry." She said.

  "I know you're not the type of guy that picks up on things like this, but I never thought I would be a mother to a little girl. It just wasn't in my wheelhouse. I didn't even think I had a maternal instinct."

  He had to strain to hear her. She was whispering so that Sara wouldn't. He squeezed her hand and said, "None of us are prepared for what we're going through right now. My guess is, no one in the world is ready for this. Well, maybe Darrell." he said, and laughed out loud. "Sorry, that guy is just a real character. For some reason, I can't wait to see him."

  She smiled at him and took her hand back. She straightened her back and wiped her eyes. "You don't think anyone is making it through this easily?" She asked. "What about those billionaires that own those big tech companies? I'm sure they're doing okay. Wouldn't you think?"

  "No. I don't." He answered. "Think about that big crowd a few miles back. They were fighting each other. Shooting real guns at each other. They did this because they thought it was necessary to survive. Then, a bigger opportunity presented itself. So they joined together for a moment to attack that big truck. They probably had no idea what was in it. But it was hope, so they bonded together for a few minutes, and pointed their guns at someone else.

  My guess is that those were decent, hardworking people six months ago. The same scenario would play out in the billionaire's compound. The diesel fuel for the generators probably ran out a couple of months ago. The food is probably gone, and the butler, the maid, or the security guard is probably trying to kill him. Or already has."

  "What about all the actors, and singers, and politicians? Do you think they're suffering like everyone else?" Linda asked.

  "You know history as well, hell, better than I do. My guess is that most of them are dead. I've been on the road for quite a bit over the last few months. And until now, I was alone on the road. That gives you a whole lot of time to think. I used to think about what I wanted to do in my life. The things I wanted, the vision I had for my life, my own family. That kind of thing.

  But then I started thinking about the nature of life itself. My life. I think most people are generally the same. When things are going good, people expect that to continue. When they go bad, for a short time at least, they are excited. They think it's some new adventure. So you just adjust to what you think is a new normal. But this isn't like that. The new normal changes every couple of weeks.

  That first couple of weeks, I guarantee you, a whole lot of wealthy, or even upper middle-class people, had parties. They thought this would pass in a few weeks."

  As he was talking, his eyes caught a glimpse in the driver's side view mirror. A black pickup truck was approaching quickly in the left lane.

  "Cover up Sara, I'm going to light a cigarette."

  He adjusted the revolver in his lap, rolled down the window and lit his cigarette. He let the cigarette dangle from his mouth, steered with his right hand and covered the gun with his left hand.

  "Anyway Linda, I think the situation has caught up to a lot of these people now. But it's probably too late. By the time they realized they needed a food source, they were already out of food. Then there are the…."

  The truck was coming up fast now. He looked to his left and saw a teenage boy, maybe twenty years old at best, in the passenger seat. The kid was holding a pistol and pointing it in the general direction of their truck.

  In one swift move he lifted the revolver and shot the kid three times. The truck wobbled and then ran off the road and stopped.

  "What a dumbass." He said with no emotion at all. "Anyway, then there are the little medical emergencies and drugs people need to survive. Like people with diabetes, or those epi-pen things."

  Linda was staring at him with her mouth hanging open. "What?" He asked.

  "You just killed that kid. And you're not the least bit upset?"

  "Oh. Well, when I killed this big guy in a gas station, I told you about him, it was right before I got back from Idaho, anyway, when I killed that guy, the clerk at the gas station told me something that really helped. Someone was going to kill that kid anyway. I mean, the son of a bitch is driving down the road like a bat out of hell pointing guns at people. He wasn't going to last much longer on these roads. And, I probably saved someone else's life by killing him.

  I've changed Linda. I told you that. I'm not a random man killer. I didn't like doing things like that. But I also know that if I don't, someone will try to kill me, or you, or Sara."

  He remembered Sara in the backseat. "You okay sweetie?" He asked.

  "I'm okay. I didn't watch."

  He smiled at Linda. Then he frowned. "What's the matter?" She asked.

  "I don't know. This is weird stuff. But I'll be damned if I can figure out any other way to do it."

  "I think the closer we get to the south, the more your roots are coming back out." She offered.

  "I don't think it’s the southern roots. I think its natural roots. I don't want to die. That's one of the few things I've figured out the last couple of months."

  They drove on for another two hours. The traffic was picking up again, and so were the people walking, dying, and dead, on the side of the roads. The cold fall weather cast a grey pall over everything. The people were shuffling. Their heads were down. Their clothes hung loose. Some of them looked like skeletons wearing clothes.

  But every once in a while, something took them truly by surprise. A group of a few, usually with children, would be walking briskly, and smiling. These groups usually had at least two or three men with rifles slung nonchalantly over their shoulders. They looked to be better fed, and they walked with optimism.

  It was a mystery neither he nor Linda could solve. And when they saw people like this, they could not help but smile themselves. Then their own conversation would turn lighter and easier. But just as quickly, they would see absolute devastation. A thin mother, some siblings and a father on the side of the road crying over a dead body. Usually an obvious grand-parent. Rarely, thank God, but it did happen, a child. And he and Linda would be silent for a while.

  They made it to I-49 early in the evening. The sky was a steel gray and the dark was coming quickly.

  They came upon a rest stop. He saw campers and many cars. It brought a memory and a smile to his face. He took the rest stop exit. "These places are nice. I stopped at one of these on the way from Pennsylvania."

  He was stopped at the entrance by four men with rifles. "You folks staying the night?"

  "I'd like to." He answered. "I'll be happy to take a shift at guarding." Two of the guards looked into the back of the truck, looked into the back seat and smiled at Sara. "Okay. If you have any food at all to spare, lots of folks could use it. But it's not required. You'll be left alone, you leave others alone. Go on in."

  He drove very slowly only a few feet. This was not like the other rest stop. There were no kids playing, and no one was cooking burgers on a grill. He made a parking spot right at the front of the rest stop. He slung his backpack over his right shoulder loaded with cigarettes, to make both friends and peace. Linda started walking Sara to the bathrooms. "Linda. You better take this." He handed her his revolver. Sara stopped and crouched down by the road to look at a baby rabbit. Linda turned to let Sara have her moment of being a little kid.

  He walked to the front of the truck and looked around. A few waved to him. He waved back and lit a cigarette. Or tried too. The lighter was nearly out of fluid. "Tell ya what, I'll give you a brand new lighter for one of those cigarettes.'

  He looked up to see a man about his own age approaching. "Sure thing." He said.

  "We should probably walk back here and smoke." The man said.

  He was a little nervous about the man's near insistence. And a second later he figured out why. Another older man approached them. "I'll give you a can of real Campbell's chicken noodle soup for one."

  He pulled another cigarette out of the pack and made the trade. They were soon surrounded by five or six others. All of them offering to trade for cigarettes. When all of the trades were made, and the pack was empty, they stood around and smoked and chatted. Most of the conversation was about where they were from, where they were headed and what they had seen on the roads. The younger man, the first who had asked for a cigarette, asked to no one in particular, "You think all of us will die?

  The older man laughed. "Eventually, yes. But not from this. By next spring or summer it will be worked out. People will figure out how to farm for themselves again. How to catch and clean fish, and deer. And don't forget, there's still ten million head of cattle grazing around in Texas and Kansas, all the way up to Montana.

  You make it through the winter, you'll make it back to normal. And with less mouths to feed already, it might even get better by the end of winter."

  That made everyone feel better. The man was as confident as one could be on the topic. No one offered a challenge to his assumption, so he continued.

  "The important thing for all of us now is to get where we are going with a smile on our face, and no bullets in our backs."

  To this they all laughed.

  Another man joined the group. "I'm going to need one of you to give me one of them cigarettes." He said as he patted the revolver on his hip."

  The old man stepped up to him first. "Now, is a cigarette worth your life? Because, you know all of us have guns as well. We got our cigarettes from this fine gentleman right here. But we paid him for the smokes. You've offered nothing in trade, but your life."

  The man dropped his head. He looked up and said. "I know. You're right. I wasn't like this a year ago. But hunger and this shit, makes me do stupid shit. I'm sorry."

  The man started to shuffle away. "Hey. Hang on there. I got a whole new pack left in the truck. I'll give you one."

  He walked back to the truck and grabbed a pack out of one of the cartons in the glove box. He didn't want to pull out the cartons from the backpack so quickly. And he was worried that it might start a fight from the men he had traded with.

  Linda and Sara came back just as he was closing the door. "She doing okay?"

  "Yes, she's doing fine. Do you want a piece of cornbread and a pickle?" She asked.

  "Sounds good. How about some grits?" He asked.

  "How are we going to cook them?"

  "I didn't think of that. Well, I do have a new lighter. I guess we could start a little fire."

  "Let's just eat the cornbread and pickles."

  He nodded. He had forgotten about the pickles. She had grown cucumbers. They were small, but she managed to make four small jars that they had not eaten.

  He took a cigarette out and gave it to the formerly belligerent, but now very nice man, who had asked him. He then passed out an additional cigarette to the rest of the gathered group.

  "You aren't going to run out are you?" The old man asked.

  "Naw, I need to quit anyway."

  They talked for some time. Every single man had a different rumor about what was really going on in the world. One mad had said he stayed a few weeks with a cousin that had a ham radio. When the power was on, they could talk to people all over the world. He suggested that things were a whole lot better in America than anywhere else. No one had any information to counter that assertion.

  Another man said that he had been a marauder but recently quit. He explained that it had been necessary to survive, or so he thought. The killing had gotten to him. He couldn't justify killing innocent people so he had left in the middle of the night.

  When he finished talking, another younger man, who hadn't said much at all said, "I think we've all done enough, and seen enough killing. But it ain't gonna end anytime soon." Another man nodded.

  He said nothing. Just looked back towards the truck. Sara and Linda were sitting in the front seat. It was dark, and they had the interior light on. Sara was on Linda's lap, and she was reading to her.

  He smiled and excused himself.

  He got in the backseat of the truck. "I'm going to sleep until they ask me to stand guard. Wake me up if you need me."

  He fell asleep almost as soon as he laid down.

  He woke up, he knew not how much later, to Linda shaking him. "Jeff. Jeff. Jeff. You need to wake up."

  He struggled to open his eyes, then realized where he was and shot up. "What is it?"

  "There's someone rooting around in the back of the truck."

  She handed him the revolver and he sprang out the back door waving the gun around. "What the hell are you doing?"

  A shadowy figure ran off into the night. He thought he could make out two jars. One in each of the thief's hands. He checked the back of the truck. Everything else looked like it had not been disturbed. But the quarter moon, thin layer of clouds and stars alone could not conspire to give him enough light to see anything clearly.

  He got into the front seat and moved Sara to the backseat. "Shit Linda, I'm sorry. Do you want to sleep in the backseat for bit?"

  "No, I'm fine. You sleep, I'll keep watch. As soon as it's light, I'll wake you up and we need to move on. This place is just a bit creepy."

  So he did. When she woke him, they left quietly. No one had ever come to ask him to stand guard, and as he left he realized why. There were hundreds of people here. There were more than enough to stand guard.

  It should have taken them about three and a half hours to get to Springfield Missouri. But it took more than eight. They stayed on the interstate highway, but the traffic would either be heavy, or there were so many people on the side of the road, and so many stopped cars, that it was impossible to go over thirty-five or forty miles per hour.

  Often they would be going only twenty to twenty-five. During those times, Linda would hold the rifle in the seat between her legs. When they stopped for Sara to go to the bathroom, they made her go on the side of the truck. He stood behind them with a blanket to give her some privacy. Linda stood on the other side with the rifle in a ready to fire position.

  The pace was slow, but it did make the gas last longer.

  As the afternoon wore on, the crowd thickened. Many were now holding signs. Severe looking men in long black coats had signs warning that this was the end and to repent. Every little group had three or four girls. Sometimes alone, usually in a group of three or four with signs offering various sexual services for a ride.

  He thought of a zombie movie he had once seen. Some of the people were moving like zombies. A dead body on the side of the road was just something to be stepped over.

  "Look." Linda said. He looked to the side of the road to his right. There was a group of two hundred or so walking along the road. There were strollers with kids in them. You could tell that many were hot, even though the temperature was in the mid-fifties. They were just wearing what clothes they could. The men had longer hair than what would normally have been seen, and almost all had beards.

  "What?" He asked.

  "Look at those people. Before this hit, we were getting more divided every year. Black, white, Mexican, Arab, Asian. But not anymore. Some of these families are probably like us. Most of them may be. They've been thrown together and formed a little family.

  Maybe there's some good that can come of this."

  "Do you think it will last? I mean, if everything gets fixed next year, do you think we'll be together like this. Not you, me and Sara, we'll be close. But everyone else?" He asked.

  "There's an old saying. Tough men create good times. Good times create soft men. Soft men create tough times. And the cycle repeats. Most people probably think that means tough men, who fight and are physically tough. But that's not the point. Tough times create tough women too. Maybe more than men. Right now, if you look at those faces, most of the men look dejected. But the women look hard and focused."

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17