A Depraved Blessing

by D.C. Clemens

  Chapter Fourteen

  Crossing

  The night still overpowered the sky when my repose was broken by Neves’ muffled voice telling us that our expected guests had arrived. Liz did not seem enthusiastic by their announced arrival, though it likely had nothing to do with our newest companions and everything to do about soon having to leave her childhood home. The greeting was, at best, lukewarm, but supportive overall. Much bigger issues than the ones that had separated our families overruled any real unpleasantness that would have normally accompanied the assembly. However, that concept completely went over the head of my mother. She was so welcoming and cordial to Siena, it actually caused everyone else to feel a tad more awkward than they would have otherwise. The two former best friends reacted well, warmly hugging each other to essentially say that a new period of their lives had begun in that moment. Dayce was the only one who did not try to conceal his interest at the emergence of the new faces. Liz told him they were old family friends of ours and they were there to help us, which freed him from any confusion, if only outwardly.

  They came in Mr. Tillar’s bulky pickup truck, which I saw was well-stocked with essentials of all kinds and types when I checked underneath the bed’s black tarp. Before we left, we discussed and agreed on Neves’ plan to journey westward and head for an old bridge twenty-five miles from town. He knew many were no longer well acquainted with it, given that it was replaced by an updated bridge eight miles away, making it prudent for us to attempt to cross it if we wanted to try and avoid as much traffic as possible. Our plan was to then proceed to a small city called Talib, which lied two hundred miles southeast near the end of the Dows, a narrow river fed by the Iva. The population of the pursued city was somewhere less than two hundred thousand, a number we liked the sound of. It seemed low enough not to draw the unwanted attention by the Towers or Injectors, as they appeared to be allured by the sight of a larger population. Yet, if we were attacked, the number sounded large enough to feel as if we had a fighter’s chance at escaping in the fray. We understood we couldn’t isolate ourselves and still expect to receive news and support.

  The climbing sun was hiding behind thickening gray clouds, keeping the sky darker than was normal this time of year. Ultimately, the somber clouds released a light drizzle, expressing their own sorrow for our departure. The drive to the unknown was a steady one. I would have preferred to have trekked at a faster rate, and there were times where I wanted nothing more than to press hard on the accelerator, but I knew conserving fuel was more important than rushing to a place where we would be forced to idle anyway. Following my van was Neves, Delphnia, and Orins in Neves’ truck. We knew the diesel fuel would not last longer than a hundred miles, but we also recognized that the extra supplies it carried would be useful in keeping our loads as light as possible for as long as it would last. The newcomers were leading our rolling fleet in Mr. Tillar’s heavy-duty pickup. His experience in the military and keeper of the peace made him the obvious choice to be our unofficial leader. Bervin completed our convoy with his small two-door car bringing up the rear. In the van, my mother employed the passenger seat, indignant by the fact she was not permitted to calm her nerves by smoking, while Liz was with Dayce in the backseat, each helping to relax the other.

  We finally caught sight of the bridge twenty-six miles later. It would have been foolish to expect there to be no traffic or, if there was, that it would be advancing at a decent pace, so I was not disillusioned to see there was indeed a line waiting for us, but I was not indifferent to it either. It was moving no faster than a continent, but moving nonetheless. There were four lanes on the bridge, but only three were available to the public. The fourth was being used by military vehicles to travel unabated. My convoy joined the lane next to the military procession.

  A half hour passed before Mr. Tillar’s front tires were able to touch the bridge, which felt so much like a breakthrough that we might as well have touched the surface of another planet. I often looked at the rearview mirror, sometimes to look at Liz and Dayce, sometimes to view Neves driving behind me, and, more times than not, it was to look at the lengthening line. In one of these glances, I saw some small fowl flying out from the lofty trees behind us. It began with a couple, then a few more, and then a great flock. The frantic flapping of their wings was nearly as dominant as the croaking calls they used as a warning signal. My leg muscles became tight, my brain was telling them to run. Verifying my fears, I heard the blast of an explosion that made me jump in my seat. It had felt and sounded so close that I thought we were surely inside of it, but it came from the forest behind me. Distant gunfire succeeded the explosion. All I wanted to do was escape before it worsened, for unquestionably it would get worse, but I was imprisoned. I heard some commotion to my left. I discovered the clamor to be the soldiers shouting orders and getting into their vehicles, hypnotically heading to the acknowledged danger. In a minute, their lane became accessible and I, along with everyone else in our line, decided to fill it.

  I knew the bridge spanned about a mile in length, but steering with the constant sound of gunfire in the background made it extend tenfold. Midway through the passage, two fast moving objects appeared in the sky in front of us. It was apparent a few seconds later that they were two jets flying no higher than three hundred feet. The sound I then heard after they passed over us was one I had only been familiar with through television. I could practically see the sonic boom they released, the ripple of air shaking the van. Endeavoring to follow their path in the rearview mirror, I saw a pillar of flame rise above the woods behind us. If it was a missile or a bomb initiated by the jets or by something else entirely, I didn’t see, and I did not have time to provide a guess as another like it instantly erupted, cropping up uncomfortably close to the backed up line. I was so overwhelmed by the view behind me, and so immersed by my own thoughts, I had almost forgotten I was still driving. I didn’t even realize I was about to strike Mr. Tillar’s braking vehicle, and I would have if I didn’t hear the blaring horn his truck produced. Apparently, more vehicles than could fit were trying to merge on the new lane and the lane we had left. Some were not as patient as others, something I could not hold against them.

  Notwithstanding the narrow escapes, the extra lane did allow us to keep moving at a reasonable pace, and we were finally able to touch ground on the other side. Almost immediately afterward, we were impeded by a bottleneck on the main road where automobiles were raucously deciding their future of which road to take next. It was impossible for anyone to consider going off road since a dense timberland of towering trees surrounded us. Never before had I wanted to grab a hatchet and start ripping down our precious forests so badly. I could no longer hear the gunfire, but it was only because the sound of the boisterous horns from the automobiles surpassed everything else, proclaiming everyone’s innermost fears.

  I could sense the apprehension rising as the traffic progressed at a painstaking pace. Ten seizure inducing minutes later, we were finally at the crossroads. I stalked Mr. Tillar onto the chosen path, progressively hearing my van’s engine hum longer and longer the faster the line moved. I had not dared glanced at the spectacle behind us after the jets flew overhead, lest I should forget about my responsibility of driving, but I could not resist the urge any longer when I heard a noise I never liked to hear, but had heard too much of late. Faint screaming was ballooning from the backdrop, and glimpsing into the rearview mirror, I saw people on the bridge running to our location. I couldn’t see what they were fleeing from, but perhaps it was better I did not know. I was losing sight of them as we moved quicker, but before they were able to vanish completely from my view, I watched some of them drop headlong to the ground, not dissimilar to what I might have seen if they were shot in the back or suddenly being dragged by their legs. That was the last I saw before the vista of the bridge was lost from my sight forever.

  “Can you still see everyone?” Liz asked me, never turning to look what was happening behind us.

>   “Yes,” I answered, noticing my hands were trembling. “Mr. Tillar’s truck is a couple cars ahead and everyone else is farther back, but I can still see them.”

  Another peek at the rearview and I could not elude observing the heavy smoke continuing to rise in the distance. It made me feel a new form of emotion; relief with an element of sadness, sadness with an element of confusion, confusion with an element of dread, and everything in between.

  The company joining our less popular southeastern route was a small number compared to the many more traveling directly south. The drive itself was mostly smooth and, for my part, mostly quiet. Liz was busy recounting various kinds of family stories to Dayce to take his mind off from what we were going through, but I didn’t pretend it was only for Dayce’s sake. My mother chimed in every once in a while, but was mainly reserved. I kept watching the mirrors to make certain that the rest of our coalition were still in my sights, knowing staying together was our top priority.

  Mr. Tillar guided the way until he parked at a rest stop about seventy miles from the bridge. It was already occupied by several others, but there were less than I projected there to be. As soon as we dismounted our vehicles, we were bombarded by questions from those who were famished for news. Neves’ disposition made him best suited to tell our audience what had happened at the bridge, but not even he could have prevented them from feeling troubled.

  “How much longer do you think you can go?” I asked Neves as we ate from our supplies near the van. I was having a simple heated soup straight from the can. Given the choice, I probably would not have been eating, but I knew Liz would have been worried if I didn’t, seeing as I only had some water since we set forth.

  “Twenty, maybe twenty-five miles at the most,” Neves answered with his mouth full of sandwich. He was always an untidy eater.

  “Did you see how close that was?” entered Bervin, practically yelling across the rest stop as he was returning from the washroom. “If we had arrived five minutes later, that would’ve been our asses.”

  “I wonder if that’s happening in all the bridge crossings?” said Orins. “I hope Talib is far enough south for us.”

  “What do you think, Rendry?” Neves asked Mr. Tillar, who was near his truck, but it was close enough for him to hear the conversation taking place.

  “We keep going as planned,” he impassively responded. “If we want to change course, we’ll have to do it once we reach Talib.”