by Rod Rayborne
"Sounds good to us."
When the crowds had thinned, Hershel slowed the truck to a stop and then pulled Rabbit next to him. She was cold, her hands like ice against his arms as he lifted her. The man and woman climbed slowly out of the bed of the truck and opened the passenger side door. The man was about to slide in when Hershel shook his head.
"The woman first, then you."
The man held back, looking skeptically at the big man.
"What's this," he said. "No funny business, mister. We're just looking for a ride."
"No funny business," Hershel said back. "I want the woman to hold the girl. You understand. And I'm cold too. She'll have to sit next to me, help keep me warm as well. I'm the driver, those are my conditions. I promise, no funny business."
"You got anything against me sitting against her on this side? Together we can all help keep your girl warm."
"Nothing at all. Hop in before we freeze while you stand there chatting."
The man was gangly with long greasy hair and a mousy face. He didn't offer to give the woman a hand into the truck. She slid in next to Hershel. He noted a dark circle beneath her right eye and frowned. The woman rubbed her hands together vigorously until they were warm. Then she took Rabbit into her arms, sliding firmly against him. He flushed slightly and looked away, pulling her gaze towards him. She seemed to press against him a little more and he felt his face flush again, something he hoped his skin color would conceal. The man slid in after her, slamming the heavy door behind him. Then Hershel threw the truck into gear and they roared down the road. After a few minutes, the man looked at Hershel.
"Name's LeRoy and this here is Molly. And you'd be?"
"Hershel. The girl is Rabbit."
"Rabbit? That's a funny name for a kid."
"Funny name for anybody, I s'pect. Maybe that's why she likes it. That's what counts."
LeRoy grunted. He looked at the dried blood stain on Hershel's left thigh. The holes in his pants where the bullet had entered and exited had frayed, brown threads sticking up at the edges.
"Had some excitement, I see." He nodded towards Hershel's leg.
"Might say that," Hershel replied. He left it there. LeRoy sensing his reticence dropped the subject. He looked at Rabbit instead.
"So's, is she sick or something. If you don't mind me asking."
"I don't mind. Yeah, something. Something we're all gonna come down with unless we get outta here."
"Something contagious? Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, you unnerstand, just asking."
"Radiation. That's what the doc said. From the bomb. You must have guessed that since you're going south."
"Going south cause everyone else is. Figured it'd be a good idea to follow suit."
Hershel nodded.
"So's, how do you figure this weather? Yesterday I was sweating, today I can't keep warm enough."
"Don't actually know that one myself. Bomb messed things up, I'd say. Just a guess."
"Good guess. That's what I was figuring too."
LeRoy pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, banging it against his left palm.
"No smoking," Hershel said.
"Seriously? I'll roll the winda down."
"Too cold for that."
"Shee-it," LeRoy grumbled. He stuffed the pack back in his pocket and stared out the window.
They rode on in silence for an hour before the man spoke up again.
"You from around here? We're from Texas. Came out to see her sister. See about some money she owes us." He looked hard at Molly.
"Everyone's got a story," Hershel said.
"So's how's about it?"
"Georgia. Came out about a job. Was supposed to start day before yesterday. Didn't quite work out."
"I'll say! That's a good one. Didn't quite work out. Same for Molly and me. We didn't get the money. Beverly's a lying bitch. Drove out fifteen hundred miles from Houston and her sis left us high and dry. Dummy here should never have lent her no money in the first place. Spent every penny coming out. Don't know how's we's gonna get back to Texas. Guess that's ac-e-dem-ic now."
Hershel felt a vein standout on his forehead. He glanced at Molly.
"How about you miss? What's your story?"
"Mrs. We're married. She ain't got a story," LeRoy said quickly. "She's a homebody, don't do much. Likes the soaps. Me, though, I got a story. Let me-"
Hershel looked at the man irritably.
"I asked the lady," he interrupted.
She looked at LeRoy as if for permission and then shrugged.
"Nothing, I guess," she said low. "Nothing interesting, at least."
"Let me be the judge of that."
"I think you ought to just leave it there, mister. She ain't got nothing for you."
Hershel felt a flare of anger at the man's attitude. And the purple beneath the woman's eye troubled him as well. But deciding he needed them all to get along at least until they got to Mexico, he decided to shut up.
A half hour later, LeRoy and Molly were asleep. LeRoy laid against the corner of the cab, his head jouncing as the truck bounced along. Molly's head rested against Hershel's shoulder, Rabbit safely warm in her arms. Hershel looked down at Molly and then at LeRoy. She was quiet, soft, gentle looking while LeRoy was abrasive, suspicious and unapologetic. Hershel shook his head, remembering the saying about opposites. Perhaps that's what happened here, he thought. But if it had, that was at least one black eye ago. Likely, many more bruises than that.
The road had evened out since leaving Los Angeles. And with the coming of the night, the crowds of people had too. Now they were huddled along both sides of the road in small tents and makeshift enclosures. When they saw the lights of the truck approaching, some of them stood and shouted after him. Calling out for a ride, cursing him as he passed. He ignored them, driving around the encampments, making decent time.
When they got to the outskirts of San Diego, they were met by a multitude of people, tens of thousands strong if not more. All gathered at the confluence of the 5 in a bottleneck. They were camped out there before a long line of buses, eighteen-wheelers and patrolling soldiers. Some were trying to reason with the men in uniform, others bypassing the city on the right and left, still more camping for the night to try their luck again in the morning.
The majority appeared unprepared for the sudden change of weather, barrels rolled out from the city by the soldiers, alight with whatever they could find to burn. Dozens of people stood around each barrel, the flames casting flickering yellow light on their faces. Many of them were still shirtless, having been caught completely unprepared for the sudden change in the weather. They shook violently, even those standing near the drums.
Hershel slowed behind the crowds, seeing other older vehicles mixed amongst them. These had been swamped by people who wanted a ride. As Hershel approached, men and women ran in his direction. Throwing the truck into reverse, he backed up hastily and turning to the left, roared away from them.
LeRoy and Molly had awakened and we're watching the scene with a horrid fascination. When people noticed them and began running in their direction, LeRoy shouted at Hershel to get a move on. Then he reached down into the canvas bag he had carried with him into the truck and pulled out a handgun. Hershel did a double take, veering off the pavement before righting the truck. LeRoy rolled the window down then, shooting indiscriminately into the men chasing them.
"Put that down!" Hershel shouted at him.
"They're gonna get the truck! You wanna die?"
"I asked you if you had any weapons," Hershel shouted.
"Man's got a right to protect himself!"
Hershel reached past Molly and yanked the gun out of LeRoy's hand, throwing it out of the window he had rolled down.
"You fucking black bastard! Who do you think you are? That was my property. You ain't got no right..."
"You're in my truck! You want to shoot someone, you ain't doing it in my truck. You want, you can get out and get
it. See what the people you been shooting at think about giving it back."
LeRoy grumbled angrily, throwing himself against the bench seat like a petulant child, arms folded across his chest. Molly sat closer to Hershel, casting quick, fearful looks at LeRoy. Hershel knew that if he hadn't been there, in his present state of mind, LeRoy would have taken his frustration out on Molly.
Hershel had a mind to stop and dump LeRoy on the street but he needed Molly to help with Rabbit. Too, he didn't see any reason why Molly should have to leave as well.
"You got any others surprises in that bag, LeRoy?"
LeRoy glared in Hershel's direction but said nothing. Hershel looked at Molly.
"How about it?" he asked her gently.
"Don't you tell that spear chucker nothing!" LeRoy growled. "So help me God, don't."
"You ain't threatening the lady in my presence, neither."
"She's my wife! I'll do whatever I damn well please."
Hershel brought the truck to a sudden stop, throwing his arm in front of Molly and Rabbit. LeRoy fell forward, banging his forehead into the metal dashboard.
"I've had about enough of you," Hershel shouted at him. One more word and you walk, you read me?"
"Molly comes with me. She's mine."
"She ain't your property. She wants to stay, she stays. Now I'll ask you one more time, you got anything else in that bag?"
"Ain't got nothing left but clothes. How's that sit?"
Hershel looked at Molly and she nodded.
"That'll do," Hershel said. Now sit back and shut up."
LeRoy glared threatening at Molly and then turned to stare out the window. As night closed in, the road grew deserted. A slow hour after turning east, they passed the southern entrance to San Diego and we're well on their way to the border. With thirty miles to go, Hershel asked if anyone needed to make a pit stop. LeRoy said he did but he didn't want to get out unless Molly went with him, in case Hershel decided to leave him behind. Hershel looked at Molly and she shook her head. Then he turned to LeRoy.
"Looks like you're the only one's gotta go. What's it gonna be?"
"I want Molly out there too."
"She ain't going and I don't want Rabbit out in that cold anyhow. You can hang out the window to go if you don't trust me. But Molly's staying."
"Fine. I'll hang outta the winda."
"Do it fast. It's cold."
LeRoy pulled himself up, holding onto the rain gutter above the door until he was sitting on the window frame. Then he unzipped his jeans and began to urinate. The wind blew it back against him and he fumbled to zip his pants up again without losing his balance on the door. He slipped and grabbed onto the window frame, urine spraying haphazardly, warmth catching him full in the face. He sputtered, shouting at Hershel to stop. Hershel ignored him, veering to take a large pothole deliberately.
As they hit the bump, LeRoy lost his hold on the window frame and bounced out of the truck, hitting the pavement with a hard thud. He staggered up and began to limp after the truck, screaming for Hershel to stop. Hershel looked at Molly. She wrapped her arm around his, leaning into him. He continued down the road, LeRoy's shouting growingly fainter as they went. The sound of a rock bouncing off the truck bed was the last they heard from LeRoy.
Chapter Seventy Three
A s they approached San Diego, Mika and the men had been forced to slow the hurricane pace they had been setting since leaving LA. The crowds from the north had turned into a multitude and then a torrent of the determined, the desperate and the dying. Among them were vehicles that had escaped the clutches of the EMP by means of age or repair by clever mechanics. Bicycles had made a big come back as well. The whole reminded Mika of scenes she had seen on television of the mass migrations from Africa in the wake of poverty, disease and war.
They'd been following the ever-increasing crowds for hours, watching the numbers grow until it had become nearly impossible to make any further progress along the highway. Then they moved further inland, bypassing the congested frontage roads for smaller but less populated side streets. They made good time now but suffered the fear of ambush from less kindly people haunting the abandoned neighborhoods in hopes of snagging something of value left behind by those who had already fled. Many carried their guns openly, no longer concerned about interference from law enforcement so far from the crumbling centers of governmental influence.
They witnessed not a few old timers being accosted by young thugs, in other places rapes or beatings. Twice they were ordered by determined looking people, men and women, to keep moving, guns pointed at them but neither instance had resulted in shots being fired. They soon learned to keep their eyes pointed straight ahead no matter what crossed their field of vision. Looting was widespread, the streets littered with expensive looking possessions that had been lifted and then discarded in favor of some more desirable item from another house further down the block. The thieving slowed when the weather began to turn.
Mika and the men rejoined the procession as they approached San Diego. They'd been riding for two days with little rest. Like the vast crowd they witnessed who'd gathered near the barricades, they'd intended to go through the city to make the best time in their journey to Mexico.
They were shocked by the signs of conflict that met them. It was clear that the intention to close the city had failed, the soldiers having been overrun by the sheer numbers of frightened people. There were dozens of dead on both sides of the barricade, most by gunshots but many who were simply crushed in the ensuing panic. Now people were streaming into the city, racing up the on and off ramps, pulling themselves up hand over hand to the overpasses and rushing the city from the hillsides and through the overturned buses.
Once inside, the masses scattered to the left and right. For most of those who'd come, the city was their destination. Once past the barricades, Mika found that the crowds had thinned significantly and they were able to redouble their efforts to get down the 5. They were exhausted and cold but they didn't dare to slow down until they were well through the city and out the other end. As was the rest of the artery, the way was blocked by dead vehicles they had to weave around.
They had gone several miles when the front tire of Aaron's bike exploded and he was tossed onto the concrete. They all slowed to a stop while Aaron stood up, brushing himself off. He lifted the bike, looking at it for damage. Another pop sounded and Aaron was hurled to the ground, a growing smear of blood staining his shirt from behind. He pushed himself up, a confused look on his face and touched his left shoulder. His hand came away red. He looked at the others as if for confirmation. He stumbled then and sat down on the pavement.
Instantly Mika and the men scrambled backwards beneath the safety of the overpass, dragging Aaron with them. The shot had come from there. Someone standing above, amidst the crowds, had shot at them. The first bullet had ripped through Aaron's tire. The second through Aaron. If they attempted to make a run for it, the shooter would be there, able to take his time, follow each of them with his scope until they were all dead.
James pulling his own rifle tighter against his shoulder, turned toward the area where the overpass sat on the hill on one side of the freeway while Arturo went in the opposite direction.
"Care," Mika whispered. They nodded and ran beneath the heavier shadow under the overpass, one to the left, the other to the right. At least one of them would be in the shooters line of sight, the other behind him. When they'd ascended the embankments, they looked at each other and then climbed the rest of the way. Laying low against the overpass, they each peered over the concrete barrier from opposite sides of the bridge. Their view was blocked by the throngs of people crossing it.
Then when a gap appeared, they could see a boy sitting against the concrete rail, skinny legs dangling over the sides, a .22 aimed downward. No one had made any attempt to stop him and he seemed uninterested in taking shots at them. The joy, it seemed rested in the more difficult shots below.
James crept along the e
mbankment until he was high enough to jump over the rail and join the crowd. Then he simply walked along with them until he was near the boy. As soon as he was, he reached out and grabbed the rifle away.
The boy jumped up then, taking a swing at James. Then Arturo approached from behind him, grabbing his arms. James looked at Arturo.
"Now what?" he said, looking at the passing throng. Most appeared no more interested in the confrontation than if they'd seen them petting a dog. Several feet away, a barrel sat, flames licking skyward. Men were gathered around it, rubbing their hands together and looking in their direction. They seemed mildly interested in the scene but none made any attempt to interfere.
Arturo spat angrily and then pushed the boy away into the moving crowd. Then he and James climbed back over the railing and down to the others. Aaron was standing, holding his bloody shoulder. It was a flesh wound but it would make for a painful ride. Throwing the boy's rifle out amongst the stalled cars, they mounted their bikes and rolled on.
Chapter Seventy Four
W inter? What're talking about, winter? It's fucking July!" Lowry roared at the communications officer.
"I'm sorry, Sir. We've lost the signal. Not just with Delta, with the entire eastern seaboard. The grid there is down and the ion storm in the stratosphere is blocking the signal from our geo-stationary satellites. There are three hurricanes striking the Carolinas, D.C. and Atlanta concurrently and another forming off the Gulf of Mexico. That one is already a Cat 4 and building. It's like nothing we've ever seen before."
"What about Omaha?"
"They're still on the air but barely. A tornado is moving through. It's five miles wide!" He paused to let the full import of his words take hold.
"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"
Nothing, you idiot, the man thought angrily.
"Something's wrong with the weather, Sir."
"The climate," a man seated at another terminal said. "The climate and the weather are two different things. The weather refers to a temporary atmospheric condition that may change tomorrow. Rain, wind, heat, all temporary conditions that changes all the time. But the long-term trend has stayed the same for ten thousand years, since the end of the last ice age. According to scientists, external stimuli, whether it comes in the form of an asteroid, air pollution or a nuclear war, can produce long term changes in the climate."
