“With any luck, we’ll get some information. Now we need to keep alert. There could be anything out here. Things could have changed a lot in the time we’ve spent at camp.”
“I can’t see how it would get any worse,” said Mandy.
“It’s a possibility we’ve got to prepare for. Keep your rifle ready. OK?”
Max glanced over at her, and Mandy nodded back at him. There was fear in her eyes.
Max ignored it. “And keep the maps out. It’ll be helpful if you do the navigating.”
“Already on it,” said Mandy, starting to unfold a large map.
Now that they were on the pavement, Max didn’t have to concentrate on avoiding bumps and potholes. That was good. It let him keep his eyes moving away from the road, scanning the trees along the side, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
The plan was to head south about 30 miles on this road, and then they’d be able to either pick up a highway or continue on the backgrounds. Both would take them south. Max wanted to see what the roads were like before he made his decision.
He was glad to have Mandy along, glancing at her now, her hair blowing in the wind. The moon was high, casting plenty of light on the both of them. Both windows were down even though it was really too cold for that. But it felt good. It felt like freedom, to be cruising down the road.
It almost felt like the EMP had never happened. Not that Max could keep that in his head for more than a split second. And not that he’d want to. That wasn’t the way his mind worked. He preferred to think about reality.
Max knew very well that driving was a luxury that would soon vanish entirely. Sure, they might be able to scavenge fuel here and there for a while. Maybe even a few years. But eventually it’d all run out. And there’d be no more oil refineries to produce it.
They continued to drive in silence for another fifteen minutes. Max’s mind was busy strategizing, trying to think of the things that he hadn’t yet thought of. It was a mental exercise that Max liked to use. It’d come in handy before. It was difficult, but the goal was to find the gaps in your own thinking by approaching it from different angles, recontextualizing the situation until the familiar seemed strange.
“Max!”
Mandy had seen it before Max.
Just around the bend ahead of them, there was something blocking the road, illuminated in the headlights. Max couldn’t tell immediately what it was. It was massive, taller than the car, and long, stretching completely across the road.
Max had his foot on the brake instinctively before his mind really registered what it was. It seemed so out of place that it took an extra moment to understand it.
It was a crashed plane, lying perpendicular across the road. A commercial airplane, by the looks of it, fairly large.
“Shit,” muttered Mandy. “You think they’re all dead? All the passengers?”
“We’ve got to check it out,” said Max. “There might be some survivors.”
“After all this time? It must have gone down when the EMP hit, right?”
“Yeah,” said Max. “But people are tough.”
Max had the truck in neutral, but he put it in first again, and started turning the truck around.
“What are you doing? I thought you wanted to check it out.”
“Just getting the truck facing the right way in case we need to make a quick escape.”
“Right,” said Mandy, a little bite of sarcasm in her voice. “You think a few starving plane crash survivors are going to be a threat? And that’s if any of them are still alive.”
Max put the truck in first, and killed the engine.
“You never know,” said Max. “There could be something going on we’re not aware of. I’ll keep the keys in the truck. If I don’t make it back, you’ll be able to start it. Here, I’ll put them right here.” Max jammed the keys between the seat cushions so that they were partially hidden.
“Right,” said Mandy. “That’ll fool everyone.”
“Take this seriously,” said Max. “Grab your gun and let’s go.”
He already had his door open, one of his rifles in hand.
6
The military-style trucks had come through earlier that day, rumbling down the street. There’d been a few types of trucks. Regular pickups, painted green, with turret guns on the back, manned by men in no uniforms. There’d been troop carriers. And there’d been some kind of armored truck that Dan wasn’t familiar with. It looked more like an armored car than anything else.
At first, Dan had felt a surge of hopefulness surging through his chest. He’d thought that the government had finally pulled through, that the military was there to take control.
But something had held him back. Maybe it was just his innate cautiousness. He didn’t know, but whatever it was, he owed his life to that instinct.
So instead, he’d watched from the window.
Across the street, the front door had swung open widely. Dan was surprised. He hadn’t even known there was anyone left on the block. He’d thought they’d all fled.
It was Mr. Davies, a retired math teacher. Dan recognized his bald head right away.
Mr. Davies had run out, waving his arms at the passing vehicles.
Mere seconds later, gunfire rang out, and Davies lay on the ground, riddled with bullet holes.
Whoever the men in those trucks were, they weren’t the military. They were something else altogether. Some group that had gotten hold of official vehicles.
Dan’s heart had started pounding. He’d ducked down below the windowsill, where the kitchen knife still lay. His hands had been clenched in fists, whitening at the knuckles.
And that was where he’d stayed until all the vehicles had passed.
Night had now fallen and the street once again seemed calm. But the calmness was only an illusion. Dan knew that Mr. Davie’s body lay there. He couldn’t get it off his mind.
He was back in his grandfather’s room now, kitchen knife in hand, staring down at his grandfather’s face. Moonlight came in through the window.
Dan had wanted to bury his grandfather. But now things seemed more urgent. He couldn’t stay there, alone in the house. Something would happen. He was sure of it. He’d already had to scare off one intruder. And the next time someone came around, looking for food or water, they probably wouldn’t be so skittish.
Dan had nothing but that knife to protect himself with.
Dan left the room, taking the knife with him. He wanted to try the radio, even though it was a little earlier than he normally talked to Max.
He was more skittish and scared than he had been, and opening the garage to let the generator breathe just seemed like a bad idea. Like he was opening himself up to known danger.
But he did it anyway.
He got down on one knee by the generator, putting the knife on the concrete garage floor. He pulled hard on the start cord.
Nothing happened.
Shit. He needed the generator to work. It was the only way to use the radio. And he needed the radio.
He couldn’t make it by himself. He didn’t have the slightest idea what to do. His only hope was Max, that deep distant voice cutting through the static.
Dan pulled and pulled on the cord. But nothing.
Nothing at all.
He was trying not to lose his cool. But the death of his grandfather and the murder of his neighbor were weighing heavily on his mind.
Dan sat down dejected on the concrete next to the generator.
OK, he thought to himself. One more try. Maybe he could still get it to start. Just another moment’s rest. He’d already exhausted himself by yanking on that cord over and over again.
As he was catching his breath, he realized that, given enough time, it was possible he could fix the generator. He’d fixed it once, after all. He could do it again.