Dystopia Road, page 14
part #1 of Dystopia Road Series
It only took a quick glance to notice that she was right. The women even stood straighter. They were moving towards something. Those with children, the women, were even more determined. "So I guess good times will follow this?" He asked.
"That's what I would guess. It's getting late, and it looks like the crowd is thinning a little bit. We should find a place to stop for the night."
He nodded. He kept his eyes wide open looking for signs of a rest stop, but saw none. When twilight fell the crowd thinned to all but the desperate. He finally found an exit to a small service road. There were several cars parked there so he pulled in.
As was becoming usual, they posted guards at the entrance, and men walked around with guns. On this particular spot, there were a few women also carrying guns. They told them they just needed to rest, and would of course take a turn or two standing guard.
He'd learned from the past rest stop and pulled two packs of cigarettes out. He had plenty to last the next day, or two if that's what it took, to get to Mississippi.
At the previous rest stop, those guarding the rest stop wouldn't let people in on foot. This time there was no stopping them. But they did try to keep them back from the cars. But the cigarette express didn't work out as it had before. Every other person who walked by asked for a smoke.
He gave out both packs in just ten minutes, then had to tell people he was out. He thought about pulling more packs, but decided against it. He filled up the truck's gas tank. It took three of his five gallon buckets and he was down to just two left.
The night was very cold. Linda had to climb into the backseat with Sara to keep her warm. He cracked the window and smoked. That drew a few more people, but he insisted he only had three cigarettes left.
After a few hours a man knocked on the side of the truck. "Your turn to stand guard."
He got out, grabbed the AR-15 and made a show of stuffing the two extra magazines he kept on hand to deter anyone in the group who might try something. He ate a piece of cornbread and more pickles. He shared some of the cornbread with others who looked hungry.
A woman offered him a Hershey bar for a big piece, and that he could not pass up. He set it in the truck as a surprise for Sara in the morning. The small group was haggard and dirty. But he knew that he and Linda were just as dirty. If not for the deodorant Sam had given him, they would smell as well.
As it was, they were at least able to tolerate each other in the car.
The night was uneventful. He couldn't take advantage of the quiet. Even after someone relieved him from his guard duty, he checked on Linda, who was asleep, and rejoined the small group at the front.
Cars passed by peacefully. Another car joined the group, and he shared more cigarettes. By the time dawn struck he had smoked or shared two more packs. He talked little and listened well. He noticed that when he did that, people seemed to appreciate it, and they were certainly thankful. Most were just unloading their fears. Looking for a fellow human being who would listen as they worked through the struggle to survive.
When they asked, he told them what the old man had said at the last rest stop. That this would end, and things would largely return to normal next summer. He hoped that he was right, but he spoke the words with as much confidence as he could.
They left early the next morning. Someone had made a fire for cooking, so Linda made a quick pot of grits and some coffee. The change in food and the caffeine in the coffee had him alert and ready to drive and talk.
He had been wanting to tell Linda something. But he couldn't figure out the right words, so he just blurted out, "Linda, I just want you to know, I really like you. I think you're one of the finest human beings I've ever met."
"Well thank you Jeffrey. And I think you are one of the finest I've ever met. And I'm not just saying that. You really are a good man. I think you need to watch that killing instinct you have. You're a bit too comfortable with it. But that's probably just the times."
"It's Jefferson actually." He said with a smile.
"Oh my. You're not?" She asked with a furrowed brow."
"Yep. Jefferson Davis Chandler. The Second, to tell the truth. My dad is also Jefferson Davis. He was named by his father, and he wanted the southern tradition to continue."
"So do people call you Jeff, or Junior back home?"
"It's usually Junior or JD. Which do you prefer?"
He laughed. "I don't even care. Jeff is just fine."
"Jeff it is then."
"Can I ask you a bit of a personal question?" He asked. "Sure!"
"I've thought about this for months. You're an English major, a professor. Or at least you were right?"
"Yes I was."
"Then, why do you speak so normally? You don't talk with the inflated, pretentious English that most of my English teachers in college talked with."
"You can thank Orwell for that." She answered.
"Orwell? The guy that wrote 1984?"
"That's the one. He wrote an essay entitled 'Why I Write'. Near the end of it, he took a passage from the Bible, and then translated it into what pretentious writers do. I decided not only to write simply. But to talk simply."
He started to ask her about her past. How and where she grew up. He knew bits and pieces of it. But wanted to know more. But before he got the first question out, a loud shot and a crashing of the back window occurred.
Linda screamed, "Sara! Are you okay?"
She wouldn't answer. She was crying and had moved from the backseat to the floor. There was shattered glass covering the back seat. He smashed his foot to the ground and sped away. No other shots fired at them, but he could see in the rear view mirror that other cars were swerving and he could hear the shots.
He kept a quicker pace for the next few hours. The people on the road whizzed by in a blur. At just after noon they passed a very small town. The farm plots were largely hidden from the road by rows of trees and honeysuckle. He pulled off and hid the truck behind the biggest group of trees he could find. He told Linda he had to pee, made sure she had the rifle and scurried behind a bush.
The smell was horrible. He heard a loud buzzing of flies. He was peeing into the bush when he looked to the left towards the buzzing. He screamed, "Fuck!" and jumped back a few feet.
"Are you okay?" Linda asked. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Almost done."
"There was a dead body lying no more than five feet away from him. It was about half decomposed and covered in flies.
He got back into the truck and crept further down the road, away from the bodies, and stopped again. "What are you doing?" She asked.
"We need gas. I'm going to have to check some of these farms. I'd rather do it at night, but if I can find some today, I think we can go another few hours, get past Memphis, then find a place to sleep for the night and we'll be in Mississippi by morning."
The first farmhouse he went to, he was runoff before he ever got close. The second farm also appeared to have men in it, so he tried to make a wide berth around it, but he was spotted. He put his hands up and told them he was looking to buy some gas, or find an old car or truck so he could take some. He had two of the empty five gallon cans with him, and his pants pockets were weighted down with ten of the gold quarters.
A deal was struck quickly and easily. And he had to spend not one of the quarters. He offered the gold or three packs of cigarettes. They took the cigarettes, and were happy to give him ten gallons of gas.
He started to walk away and had another idea. "Hey. Do you mind if my friend and her niece park on your land for the night? We'll stay well away from the house. I could even spare another three packs of cigarettes."
They agreed to that deal even quicker. And a few minutes after being introduced to Linda and Sara, all three were invited to spend the night inside, and Sara could even sleep in a bed with another girl close to her age.
The farmer had three sons, all grown. One of them owned a five hundred acre farm next to the big farm. The other two had moved away and started careers, but returned with their wives and families when the troubles had begun to get serious.
It was a wonderful night. He and Linda slept in the living room. He gave her the couch, and was happy to have a thick carpet and even thicker old fashioned quilt to sleep on. They had a big breakfast of eggs, country ham and gravy. Linda provided the grits. The only thing they had that the farmer and his family didn't was cigarettes and coffee. But that added to the breakfast. At least the coffee did.
When they said their goodbyes and good lucks and left, both he and Linda were in good spirits. If they could quickly skirt around Memphis without much trouble, they would be home by the end of the day. If they kept a good pace, they could be there mid-afternoon.
Within less than an hour it became clear that skirting around Memphis was not going to be easy.
An hour or two south was another bridge that avoided Memphis entirely. But it would take them well out of their way.
And the rumor was that something had happened to the bridge and it wasn't even passable. and he and Linda decided they had no choice but to cross on I55 which would take them around the outer Southern edge of Memphis The plan was to scream across the bridge as fast as possible, then head south around the city.
There was another option, but it was by far the worst. They could head straight down I-40 across the bridge, which would take them through the heart of the city. He was certain that it would be too dangerous to even attempt.
As they approached the bridge from Arkansas it became obvious that it wasn't going to be fast or easy getting across. The traffic slowed to a crawl, then stopped completely. Many of the cars shut their engines off. They waited for about fifteen minutes and he turned the ignition off in the truck. It was a vulnerable position to be in, but people were out of their cars milling around.
He got out, but left the keys, and Linda and Sara in the truck. The news was not good. There were men guarding the other side of the bridge charging one thousand dollars cash to cross. A car had turned around and was headed the other way.
He got back in the car and talked it over with Linda. He had the cash to pay the toll. But there was no telling that paying it would get them very far. Through town there could be another toll. But this would also be true of I40, and they would be forced to drive through some very crowded areas. There was no good option.
They stayed where they were for two hours, moving ahead only four spaces. It made no sense. By now, cars should have turned around, or paid the toll.
They abandoned the plan and headed north. It was just a short trip, less than thirty minutes. It was backed up even further, but at least the traffic was moving. One car moved forward every few minutes.
While they waited, they talked. He told Linda how things were with his family in Mississippi. "They pray before every meal, but many of them don't go to church. I'm not very religious myself, so I just sit there quietly. They're also all true southerners. So they talk funny. Some talk in the lazy southern way. My grandpa didn't do that. He had a southern accent, but he was really precise in his words and spoke, distinctly for lack of a better word."
"Jeff, you don't have to worry. I'm not going to judge them." Linda said.
"I'm not worried at all. Just letting you know. Some of the phrases have to be taken in context. When they say 'Awwww, bless her heart.' It can mean, she's a sweet nice person who fell on some bad times or hard luck. But it can also mean, bless her heart, she's a complete moron who doesn't know any better."
This elicited laughter from Linda. "So, you said before, they aren't really stereotypical southern racists. Are any in your family?"
"Not any more. But to be honest, my grandpa was. Not a lot, but enough. I think it's because he had money, and got set in his ways at a young age and never was challenged."
"Do they like little girls?" Sara asked from the backseat.
"Only the pretty ones who are very nice Sara. So they are going to love you!" He answered.
She smiled broadly and sat back in her seat with her arms crossed. Proud of herself for being pretty and nice.
When they finally made it to the Arkansas side of the bridge a group of fifty black men were standing around with rifles. One young black man was taking the money.
He rolled down the window. "How much to cross?"
"We need one thousand to make sure. Make sure you're safe, ya know what I'm sayin'?"
He pulled out the stack with nine hundred dollars in it. His cash was running low, so he wanted to keep a few hundred back. "How about nine-hundred and a pack of smokes?"
The young man smiled revealing bright white teeth. "Sir, if you got a pack of smokes, I'll knock that shit all the way down to five-hundred bucks. I keep having to dig around and find old butts on the ground. And even those are gettin' hard to come by."
He gave him six-hundred for extra safety, and the pack. "Man, you alright. I really appreciate this. I know this looks bad, I do. But man we gotta eat too. There ain't nowhere to get no job. And the government ain't been around with no trucks in a month. I hate to do this to ya'll. You seem like nice folk, but we gonna die if we don't get food."
He was taken aback by the man's honesty. He motioned to Linda for another pack of cigarettes.
"Here ya go man. I'm almost home, and I need to quit anyway." The man's smile got even bigger. "
Ay! Donnie, come here." A tall thin kid walked over to the toll taker. "Get on that radio and describe this truck to them. Tell him he my boy from back home and make sure he got no problems all the way out the city."
"Okay."
The toll taker walked back to the driver's side of the truck. "You should be good now my man."
He reached his hand out of the window to shake the black man's hand. "Good luck to you. I mean it."
"I know you do sir. And good luck to you."
When they drove away it was Linda who spoke first. "Don't you feel like shit for the thoughts you had in our head before you talked to him?" He just nodded. He knew exactly what she meant.
On the far side of the bridge there were just a few men scattered about. They only needed to go about ten blocks, then head north on I40 and take a very wide arc around Memphis .It would add an hour or two to the trip, but it was worth the safety.
They were just off the bridge when he noticed the few men scattering. He glanced in the rear view and side view mirrors and noticed more men racing away from the bridge, but the cars stayed still.
A large green army truck was coming across. Next followed several more green or tan trucks of different shapes and sizes. All were military and soldiers hung off the sides of the trucks with rifles.
He pulled to the shoulder as did most of the other cars. Just ahead on the left side of the highway was a large hospital. In front of them was an interchange with several exits. The military trucks split with about half pulling off into the hospital and the other half taking positions along the exit ramps and in the median inside the loops.
"Uh Oh." He said.
"What is this?" Linda asked.
"I have no idea. But I think we may be in the crosshairs of a battle."
There was nowhere to escape. He wasn't close enough to an exit, and there was no way to drive over the large concrete blocks guarding the shoulder on either side. They had no choice but to wait it out.
The trucks emptied of more men than he thought would be possible. Some soldiers immediately struck south in groups towards the center of the city. Two fuel trucks stopped just in front of the exit ramps.
The trucks inside the loop of the exits quickly set up operations. The sides opened and lights were set all around the perimeter. Linda and he watched in awe at how quickly and efficiently the men and women moved.
He started to slowly move the pickup truck forward but was stopped. A female guard was talking to the driver of the car in front of them. She spoke quickly, then motioned him to move forward. He rolled down the window. "Sir, do you need medical assistance, food or fuel?" She asked curtly.
"I think we're good on food and medical, but we could use a few gallons of gas." He answered.
"Second truck on your right sir. You can get up to ten gallons per car. If you wish to join the cookout, or need to look for other supplies the stores are set up in the median. Park your vehicle on the edge of the highway and walk in. No firearms are allowed inside the loop, but you will be safe. We have cots and sleeping backs for the first-five thousand people…" She stopped and gave him a crooked smile. Her voice changed to a much more natural and soft tone. "Sorry." She said. "The rest of the speech is about how supplies are limited, but you're like, the second person staying, so I don't think we'll run out of anything. If we do, there will be another care center outside of Atlanta to the South and Cincinnati to the north."
She then seemed to remember her military bearing and waved him ahead.
They decided to enjoy the night in hopeful peace. He filled up the truck with gas, and even had enough room to fill up one of the cans and still be just under ten gallons.
He felt naked without his gun. But the military men and women were competent and friendly. They each had an apple. Fruit, having not been eaten in such a long time, tastes incredibly good.
The most interesting booth was an information booth. There were videos playing on a screen about all the things that were being done to restore civilization. There was another booth where you could enter your name, and search the names of others who had checked in. The two who operated the booth had stacks of binders, and two laptops. Linda asked about the name of her former roommate, but there was no information.
He asked about a young boy named Sam Daniels. There was no information. But he added his own name to the list.
Another truck piqued his interest. It had a tent built around it, and five soldiers on tables at the front with computers. They launched dozens of small drones. They would watch the screens as drones came back to be refueled. The soldiers would quickly change a battery of some kind, and then launch the drones again.
Behind the cover of the tent, he could see several more soldiers talking on radios and monitoring other screens. What they were doing one could not tell.
