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  “We should get moving, Frank.” Linda walked on ahead, not bothering to answer his question. He stood in the road for a moment watching her go before finally walking after her, shaking his head and wondering if it was such a good idea to go with her after all.

  Chapter 11

  “Come on, rookie. Get your shit together!”

  Men wearing bulky padded armor and carrying tall shields and rifles pour into the armored personnel carrier. One of the first aboard, Dean Wilson, had his hiring ceremony three days ago. Hired to work as a patrol officer he’s now been inducted into the riot control squad, handed a shield and tear gas launcher and told to hold the line no matter the cost.

  He struggles to move his shield and rifle aside as the other, more experienced officers shuffle and push their way onto the vehicle. One of them sits next to him and pats him on the leg sympathetically.

  “Name’s Jim. You’re Dean, right?”

  Dean nods nervously.

  “Yeah, thought so. You’re the new guy. Shit break you got here, kid. Listen, just stick close to me, all right? We’ll make it out of this mess before you know it.”

  Dean gulps and nods again, though there is little reassurance to be found in the older officer’s words.

  “We’re moving out! Everybody hold on!” The announcement comes over the speakers as the vehicle roars to life and lurches forward. Dean clings to his rifle and his shield as though they are the only things keeping him alive. Fifteen minutes later the vehicle stops and the back drops open. Harsh sunlight pierces the interior, and Dean is suddenly grateful for the dark glasses he wears underneath his riot helmet.

  “Move, move, move!” The officers pour out of the APC and begin running down the street. A block away stands a line of riot police that have been on duty for only a few hours, but their lines are starting to break. Tens of thousands of people surge forward against the officers. Tear gas is fired into the crowd but it does little good. Rocks and flaming bottles of alcohol are launched in long arcs against the police, injuring a few and rattling their nerves. There is shouting from bullhorns that order the people back to their homes, though these instructions are completely ignored.

  Dean looks around in amazement at the chaos as he runs to help support the line. Everywhere he looks there are people engaged in both acts of violence and acts of compassion. A small group of volunteers wearing bright red crosses on their shirts helps remove the helmet from an officer who was injured. Lying next to him is a rioter whose heavily bleeding arm is bandaged before he is put on a stretcher.

  The five minute briefing before the new reinforcements were sent out has long been forgotten by Dean, though it was never clear in the first place. They are instructed to restore peace to the city. ‘But how,’ he wonders, ‘do you restore peace in a time like this?’

  Chapter 12

  Highways, in general, aren’t peaceful places. At night, when the traffic dies down they can be quieter than usual, but there are still plenty of cars and trucks going back and forth, delivering people and goods across cities and states. During the day, when traffic reaches its peak, the business is often offset by the stunning views that lie in between stops along the road. Sweeping plains, majestic mountains, thick forests and scorching deserts offer unparalleled beauty and majesty observable from within the comfort and safety of a multi-ton vehicle equipped with air conditioning, televised entertainment and heated seats.

  As the small red and white truck zipped along the highway, Frank thought nothing of the sights around him. There were no other cars on the road, the sights mattered little due to his state of mind and the comforts of the truck were sorely lacking. He stared out the window, his eyes glazed over as he replayed the events from hours prior over and over again, wondering what—if anything—he could have done differently.

  The truck—with its peeling paint, cracked windshield and smell like the inside of a smoker’s lungs—had been parked out behind one of the buildings in the small town just as Linda had said. It took Linda and Frank a few minutes to scrape out the piles of trash and debris from the seats, floorboards and back of the vehicle to make room for the two of them and their gear. Before they got in, Linda had swapped out their weapons again, giving Frank the rifle and taking back her pistol. Though his shooting abilities were no match for what she had displayed in the town before, he didn’t argue as he was too lost in his own thoughts to give the matter any consideration.

  Linda had mostly stayed quiet as they drove, leaving Frank to do his thinking in peace. After an hour or so he finally spoke up. “Why is it you’re taking me with you again?”

  Linda looked at him with a mildly confused expression. “I thought I already explained that.”

  “Not really. You said that I’m one of the ‘good ones’ but that you already suspected that beforehand. So what’s changed now?”

  Linda’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as she stared out the front of the truck. “I… it’s a long story that I don’t really want to delve into at this point. I was in trouble several years ago, though. One of my best friends—or someone I thought was my best friend—ended up abandoning me in a firefight in Ahvaz. I barely survived. Never managed to get over that, though.” Linda took a deep breath and glanced back at Frank. “So I don’t like trusting people. But at this point going alone isn’t the smartest thing to do for either of us.”

  “I’m… sorry to hear that. But thank you.” Frank didn’t really know what to say in response to Linda’s revelation that she had been in the armed forces or her admission of why she had left him behind at the barn the night before. The new information put a startling new light on her, though, and explained a lot about her actions and mentality.

  “Let’s just get to Tennessee. Once we’re there and I make sure my parents are okay, I’ll help you get whatever you need to get back to Texas.”

  Frank nodded and turned back to look out the window, mulling over what Linda had said. Lost in thought, he didn’t notice that she had turned the truck’s radio on and was cycling through stations until a garbled voice cut through the static.

  …unconfirmed reports of----detonations at the-------along the border of Vermont and Massachusetts. Authorities believe that------------------but residents are advised to stay clear of the area. Clouds of fumes are currently blowing to the east and anyone-------------of the facility are advised to evacuate immediately before----------

  Frank turned to look at the radio on the dashboard, then over at Linda. “What the hell was that about?”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Sounds like another explosion, though. Somewhere along the border of Vermont and Massachusetts.”

  Frank scratched his chin as he mused. “I wonder if it’s the new fuel refinery they were building. I had a couple of deliveries there during my first week. Had a hell of a time getting through security since I was so new. It was right on the border and it was a huge place, too.”

  Linda shrugged. “You’d know better than I. Should we keep going south, though?”

  “Where are we right now?”

  “Last mile marker looked like we’re about thirty miles from the border. We’ve got enough gas in the tank and in my cans they threw in the back to get down to the northern part of West Virginia, if we keep going straight south.”

  “The problem with that,” Frank said, “is this highway’s going to take us straight by that refinery. We can risk it, but if I were you, I’d say we should cut west into upstate New York and head south down through Pennsylvania. That’ll keep us clear of the highways which are only going to get even more treacherous as we get into the more densely populated areas.”

  “You think that’s why the roads have been mostly clear so far?”

  Frank stretched his back and neck, feeling and hearing the satisfying cracks as he talked. “I do, yeah. If you think about it, what are people going to be doing when they see a bunch of trucks on the road exploding? They’re going to get off the roads and back to their homes as s
oon as possible. Most people probably had less than a half tank of gas left, and with food shortages and a lack of fuel it’s going to force them to move on foot before too long. The closer we get to the larger cities, though, the more cars will have been destroyed by the explosions of the trucks and the more people will be driving around trying to find food and supplies.”

  “All right, then. Upstate it is. Do you know the area?”

  “I lived in the area for a couple years. I don’t know every road but I know the general layout of the area.”

  “Anything we need to worry about?”

  Frank shrugged. “Not particularly. Most folks are going to be keeping to themselves, I’d guess. I think we’ll run into the same problems no matter what high-population center we visit. Like you said, there are a lot of scared people out there. Scared, desperate and soon to be hungry and willing to do anything for a meal.”

  “This couldn’t have happened at a worse time, too.” Linda looked up at the sky and shook her head. “Going into autumn and winter with transportation networks down is going to add a whole new twist to this whole thing if people can’t get electricity or fuel deliveries for their heating.”

  Frank whistled softly. “Damn. I hadn’t even thought of that. But still, I mean come on—give it a week or two and you’d think the government will have things back under control.”

  Linda snorted. “Really? Frank, I’d have thought that if your parents were preppers you’d have learned a few things from them.”

  Frank shrugged. “Anytime I wasn’t helping them I was busy applying for jobs. I didn’t exactly have time to attend Prepper 101 classes.”

  Linda’s laugh was genuine, and Frank couldn’t help but smile in response. “All right, fair enough. Consider this, then; if it takes around two weeks for the government to come up with and implement a response, what do you think they’ll be able to do?”

  “I don’t know, implement some better checks for explosives on the tractor-trailers? Come up with some temporary repairs to the electric grid to get power back for some people? Maybe start airlifting food supplies to towns?”

  “Think about it, Frank. No trucker is going to go back on the road anytime soon, even if somebody wearing a badge says their truck is safe. And even if everyone did, there are hundreds—maybe thousands—of trucks destroyed. That’s small potatoes compared to how many are in use across the country, but it’s going to force every single company to recalculate their logistics and figure out how to get deliveries going again. That’ll take more than a couple weeks to smooth out.”

  “Okay…” Frank frowned. “So why not work on the grid? Surely that can get straightened out a bit so that at least people in major cities can get power back.”

  “No way in hell.” Linda shook her head. “The power grid in the United States has been perpetually on the verge of collapse for decades. Beyond the problem of getting new parts that take years to manufacturer, if enough of the grid is down it can’t just be brought back online. The grid in the United States is incredibly complicated and interconnected. It takes a massive amount of work—most of it computerized—to keep everything coordinated and to respond to constantly changing power demands.”

  “Food deliveries, then. We give enough foreign aid to other countries. We can feed our own people for weeks or months until we start getting things straightened out.”

  “You think so? There are over three hundred and fifty million people living in this country. We’re spread out so far that even if the Air Force was working nonstop and we somehow had enough emergency food supplies there simply aren’t enough aircraft that could get food to people before a lot of them start starving and dying. And that doesn’t even bring up the problem of people who need medication or who are in the hospital who’ll go first.”

  Frank couldn’t recall how many times in the last day he felt dwarfed by the magnitude of what was going on, but it was happening again. He felt his head spinning and he pressed it against the window and closed his eyes. “How is it you can say all of this and sound so calm?”

  Linda gave Frank a sympathetic look. “Some of us figured something like this would happen one day. Honestly I thought things would be worse than this. At least nobody’s lobbed any missiles. Well.” Linda hesitated. “At least none that we know of, anyway.”

  Frank groaned. “Oh boy. Something else to look forward to.”

  Chapter 13

  Jim Collins, the manager of Tony’s Sports World, watches from his small office at the top of the back of the store, staring out at the chaos below through a heavily tinted piece of glass. Behind him, on the floor of the office, are several of the sales associates who are tending to their wounds. Two of them are standing guard at the door to the office, holding baseball bats and looking nervous as the sounds of fighting and looting grow louder down in the warehouse and on the sales floor.

  Jim takes another drink from a small bottle of Tennessee whiskey he pulled out of his desk drawer and glances at the young sales associate standing next to him. Her hair is disheveled, her clothing is wrinkled and she stands watching through the window with a hand on her mouth, horrified by what she sees below.

  Dozens of people flood through the store, sweeping over its contents like starving locusts on a field of wheat. Fistfights break out between pairs and groups of individuals as the people fight over scraps that they aren’t even sure they need.

  Most of the useful supplies are long gone, including camping and fishing equipment, coolers, dried food packets and warm clothing. The guns are still under lock and key, though several individuals have brought in bolt cutters and are working to break the thick cables that hold the weapons fast. Not a single bullet remains in the store as the ammunition was first to disappear. It is no small miracle that there have yet to be any gunshots, though the tension is still rising and panic is palpable in the air.

  Jim glances over at the young sales associate and puts his arm around her. She is crying now, and she manages to get out a few words in between the sobs. “My brother… my parents… what do we do, Mr. Collins?”

  Jim takes another drink from his bottle and grits his teeth. “I don’t know, Sarah. I don’t know. Why don’t you go sit down and try to rest. Hopefully they’ll be done down there soon and we can all go home.”

  Another of the sales associates speaks up from the back of the room, an older man who works in the fishing department. His hair is stained with white and grey flecks and he groans as he stands to his feet, feeling the effects of his age and weight. “What makes you think home is going to be any better?”

  Sarah turns to look at him, her face smudged with makeup as she tries to wipe the tears away. Jim walks over to the older man and speaks softly to him. “Come on, Sam. Can’t you keep quiet for just a while? People are already scared enough here. They don’t need anything else to be afraid of right now.”

  “People deserve to hear the truth!” The older man raises his voice louder and Jim steps aside, shaking his head. “It’s the end times, people! Repent from your sins and turn away from your wickedness!”

  “Sam! For pity’s sake, shut up and sit the hell down!” Jim turns back around as he shouts at the older man who is taken aback by the harsh tone. He glowers at the store manager but he eventually sits back down, though not without muttering a few choice words under his breath.

  Jim walks back to the mirror and takes another drink from his bottle. The chaos below has reached its apex and is beginning to die down as people realize there isn’t much left to steal. A pair of teenage boys stand on a high shelf, pulling at a canoe that is mounted to the wall. Several women cluster around near the front of the store, talking about where to go next. In the gun department, another set of bolt cutters is foiled by the security cable and the would-be thieves throw down their tools and traipse towards the exit in disgust.

  Jim turns around and sits down at his desk and looks at the pictures sitting on it. He touches the pictures and picks up the phone on his desk, hoping to h
ear something other than silence on the other end. He has picked up the phone more times than he can remember since the chaos began. Each time it has been silent.

  The silence persists once again.

  Chapter 14

  Upstate New York is a wondrous sight with its rivers, lakes, farms and seemingly untouched landscape that stretches for miles in every direction. In the autumn the colors change between dark green to orange to yellow to red in a shifting kaleidoscope of richness and beauty. The back country roads twist and meander through the forests and towns, offering a view of an entirely different universe from the one most people think of when they hear “New York.”

  A light breeze rustled the trees as Linda leaned against the truck, tilting another gas can up to drain its contents into the truck. The rolling hills, mountains and lushness of the multi-colored foliage made her feel at peace and she very nearly forgot about the events of earlier that day. She and Frank had taken turns spending the rest of the day driving through Vermont and Massachusetts and by the time they entered New York the afternoon was giving way to the evening. As the sun began to sink off in the west, the orange and purple hues from the sunset made the sight of the autumn leaves all the more wondrous to behold.

  After the third can had been emptied into the truck, Linda threw the empty container into the back and walked around the vehicle to inspect the tires. A rustle in the brush off the side of the road caught her attention and she glanced over to see Frank walking out of the woods.

  “Freaking poison ivy everywhere out here.” Frank zipped up his fly and rubbed his hands on his pants. Linda laughed and shook her head, then walked back around to the driver’s side of the truck.