They passed through the small riverfront town of New Roads, Louisiana, without incident. The old Bronco chugged up the John James Audubon Bridge, a two-mile-long crossing that rose to five hundred feet above the Mississippi River.
As they drove up the fairly steep slope, more of their surroundings came into view. To their left sat the Big Cajun 2 Power Plant, a fifteen-hundred-megawatt gas and coal-fired power plant along the Mississippi. Louisiana’s first coal-fired station, it now appeared to be nothing more than skeletal remains as it sat dormant below them. The power station relied upon power to generate more electricity for the region. In order to function, computers were required to monitor and control the process. When the cascading failure of the Eastern and Western Interconnection occurred, it took Big Cajun 2 down with it. It would sit empty and useless for nearly a decade as it waited for replacement parts necessary for its operation.
At the top of the bridge span, Lacey slowed their progress to take in the view. They were shocked as they realized they were barely able to see the river. At five hundred feet above ground, they were immersed in the gray, ashen clouds of soot that hung over the earth. It prevented them from seeing into the distance, which meant they’d be driving blind into the lowlands on the other side of the river. If there were roadblocks ahead, they wouldn’t know until they were on top of them.
“We’re committed now,” said Lacey as she caught Tucker’s look of apprehension. He obviously shared her concerns by the way he gripped the rifle he’d pulled out of the back seat before entering New Roads.
“I know, Mom. We’re stuck on this road for a few miles, and then we pick up Highway 61. We’ll be changing roads a lot until we get to Florida unless you wanna chance getting on I-10.”
“Too much traffic. We’ve only got a few hours of daylight left, so let’s keep rolling.”
“I can drive,” Tucker offered.
“Let’s wait until dark. Your eyesight is better than mine right now. My vision has been getting blurry at the end of the day since I woke up.”
Tucker understood. His mom had been injured more by the flash freeze than he was. He was amazed that she hadn’t experienced more issues during the two long days of traveling.
Their drive through the back country of Eastern Louisiana was relaxing. They both began to feel better about their prospects of getting to the Keys by the next evening. Tucker vowed to drive late into the night. By his calculations, they could make it to beyond Tallahassee by midnight, maybe even to Lake City in north-central Florida.
They were able to enter Mississippi at Bogalusa before turning south. They ran into a large group of refugees walking in the middle of the road toward the coast. Tucker was driving now, but he still laid a handgun in his lap as he approached the group. His mother did the same. The two of them had discussed the use of firearms after Lacey broached the subject of Tucker shooting at the vehicle in Arkansas. They’d agreed he’d exercise restraint and only use his gun in self-defense.
Initially, the group of people politely stepped to the shoulders on both side of the two-lane road as Tucker drove past them. Their faces were haggard, and their eyes were sunken into their sockets. Each of them appeared exhausted, hungry and defeated.
Lacey was curious about where they were headed because they didn’t seem to be part of a cohesive group. Rather, they seemed to have banded together for protection, not unlike animals who stick together in herds or flocks.
“Where are you going?” she asked after rolling down her window.
“We’re headed to a FEMA camp in Slidell. It’s been there for years following the hurricanes.”
“We’re headed to the marina at Bay St. Louis,” said another woman, who was holding the hands of two young children who barely kept up. “We heard boats are leaving for South Florida, where it’s still warm.”
“Hey, that’s what I like to hear,” whispered Tucker.
Another woman joined in with her opinion. “Supposedly the weather’s decent and doesn’t have all these clouds. Something about the way the wind blows.”
A man caught up to the group and said, “Those boats aren’t cruise ships or anything. They’re just fishing charters trying to make a buck. And they’re really expensive.”
Lacey became genuinely curious. “Like what?” she asked as Tucker continued to roll along slowly, matching the pace of the refugees. As his mom asked questions, he watched his mirrors and all sides of the truck in case somebody decided to move on them.
“Like, trade your truck for two seats. Crazy expensive.”
“Say, lady,” said one of the men, “let me ride by standing on your bumper. I can hold on to the roof rack if you won’t go too fast.”
The suggestion urged others around the Bronco to make similar offers. They began to draw closer to the truck, making Tucker nervous.
“I’ll do that if you’ll let my little girls ride in the back seat,” said one of the women. “They don’t take up much room.”
“No! Me! I can pay, too!”
“Tucker?” questioned Lacey apprehensively.
“I know, Mom. I know.”
Tucker pressed on the gas pedal and tried to move the refugees out of the way who’d tried to surround the truck. They were becoming belligerent. Several tried to slam on the hood in an attempt to get him to stop. One attempted to open Lacey’s passenger door.
“Dammit, they asked for this,” said Tucker. He furrowed his brow, set his jaw, and began to push through them without regard to whether they might get hurt. In his mind, they were on a street made for vehicles, not pedestrians. It was a risk they chose to take.
He blared on the horn, which only served to make the mob angrier. He slammed on the brakes as one man tried to jump on the hood. He slid all the way across and landed hard on the pavement. Tucker slammed his foot down on the gas, causing the Bronco to surge forward into a slight gap in the crowd. It was all the opening he needed, and he never looked back. Several people tried to chase them, and one managed to get a foot on the nerf bar before being knocked sideways and spinning to the ground. He sped off, hitting sixty-five miles an hour, the loaded-down Bronco’s top speed, before finally responding to his mother’s pleas to let off the gas.
“Tucker, this is getting old.”
“I agree, Mom. But what choice do we have? I mean, we’re almost to Florida.”
“Yeah, think about that for a minute. If the word is spreading around that Florida is still the Sunshine State, we’re gonna run into more and more groups like this one. Only, the next bunch might have guns pointed at us.”
Tucker took a deep breath and thought for a moment. They had the ham radio, and they could try to use it to monitor things like traffic and mobs of people walking down the road. However, he doubted they could trust something like that. This group they’d just encountered had come out of nowhere.
“What about the boats?” he asked.
“Bay St. Louis?” Lacey had given it some thought as well.
“Obviously, we may not be able to trust what those people said, but it was more than one who seemed to know about it.”
Lacey stared out the window and then up at the sky. “We have to drive past there anyway, right?”
“Well,” began Tucker in response, stretching the word out as he spoke, “sort of. If we take I-10, absolutely. If we cut across Mississippi and Alabama just above the interstate like we planned, it would be about twenty miles out of our way.”
“Is it worth looking into?” she asked. “We could avoid another thousand miles of this type of stuff. No more hunting for gasoline or sleeping in cemeteries.”
“Mom, you heard that guy. We’d have to give up Dad’s truck.”