“Where are you going?”
Ezra couldn’t stop himself from smirking. “It’s none of your business.”
She whispered. “I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, but you have to get me some help. None of the others will venture out. They want to stay with their piles of garbage.”
“Gee, I wonder why?” he hissed. “You’ve got everyone thinking they have to guard their property, or you’ll take it away. It worked on me yesterday, distracting from what really mattered.” He thought again of the Quonset hut garage. He’d been so close to it, never thought to look in people’s outbuildings. “Give it a day or two. They’ll have to leave eventually.”
Babs looked at her broken arm. “A day or two?”
Ezra shook her off and spoke loud enough for the neighbors to hear. “No help is coming! Take care of each other.” He wanted to curse at them and brag openly that he was never coming back, but he knew it was smarter to keep his options open. If things were worse than he anticipated on the outside, he might need to come back and regroup. Burning bridges to make himself feel good for a few minutes wouldn’t help him or Grace over the long term.
“Come back!” Babs shouted.
He kept walking. After making it fifty yards, he looked back to ensure she wasn’t coming after him. The woman’s head was on the shoulder of another lady, presumably because she was in tears. He turned to face forward again, not taking any pleasure in seeing the woman break down.
“That was awkward,” Butch finally said.
“You have no idea. She’s been my worst nightmare the last few years.”
Butch glanced over his shoulder. “I think you’ve won the final battle, E-Z. You’ve heard the lamentation of their women, like Conan the Barbarian.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond to his statement, so he kept walking. They went onto the county road and turned south. Once they passed the church van where he’d rescued the children the previous night, he knew Butch’s vehicle was somewhere close by.
“Do you want to stop at your truck?” he asked.
“Nope. There’s nothing in there I couldn’t get from any of these other vehicles.” The line of cars faced south; many of their windows were blown out. If they wanted to steal goods from inside, it would have been easy. There were only a few people hovering around the fringes, waiting, like Babs, for someone to come rescue them.
They walked for nearly an hour and the traffic only got thicker. Cars had parked in both lanes, blocking out all north-bound travel. As they went on, cars parked on both shoulders, making it appear like four lanes of traffic all headed south.
“We’re coming to the bridge,” he said, after having plenty of time to think about the cause of the pile up. Ezra didn’t have a firm plan of action, since much depended on what he’d find once he was on the road, but he assumed the traffic was going to lighten up at some point. Butch earlier explained how the bridge was a big source of the problem, so they only had to get beyond it before things got better.
“Why don’t we borrow those?” Butch said as he pointed to a bike rack attached to the trailer hitch of an out-of-state car. There were three bikes; two adult-sized, and one for a kid. There was no one around to claim them, and the whole highway in the area appeared as if it had been abandoned. They would certainly cut down on travel time.
“Did you ‘borrow’ things on your tour overseas?” he asked in a good-natured way.
Butch looked at him like he’d gone mad. “Have you seen how they live over there? What would I take? Their cooking stones?”
Ezra was uneasy about commandeering the bikes, but his attempts at humor were even more awkward. He’d tried to make light of the act of borrowing since it went against everything he stood for, at least before the meteorite impacts. That said, he’d already scrounged what he needed to leave his neighborhood: the backpacks as well as what was inside of them. A precedent had been set.
“We’ll try to return them if we come back through here,” he decided, hoping he’d get the chance. “And I’ll even write a note.” The child’s backpack contained some pencils and a few pages of loose-leaf paper. He scratched out a note stating who he was, and that he’d borrowed the bikes. The doors were locked, and the rolled-up windows had somehow survived the shockwave, so he needed to shove the paper through the door frame above the window. It fell onto the front seat, as he’d planned.
“There. Now we’re legit.” Ezra rubbed his hands together.
“We’re lucky they didn’t use a bike lock,” Butch remarked as he unhooked the bikes from the rack.
He and Butch jumped on and rode the bikes alongside the roadway. Butch’s large size made him look uncomfortable on his bicycle, but he managed to keep it moving. Ezra had enough time to enjoy the feeling of wind in his face, but minutes later they came to the intersection at the approach to the bridge. A handful of men stood on the road to the right, away from the bridge. Murray was twenty miles down the road behind them.
“Hold up!” one of them shouted.
Ezra saw the guns in their hands, but thought nothing of it. Everyone with competence was going to have rifles at the ready, especially with so many strange people on the roads. They were like him; protecting their neighborhood and their loved ones inside it.
“You know these guys?” Butch asked as he wobbled on his bike, trying to put his foot down.
“No, but they’re locals. They’ll be good guys.”
I hope.
Chapter 8
Yellowstone National Park, WY
“Now how do you feel about being a ranger?” Grace asked Asher after they’d been on the road for an hour. Looking back along the long, straight stretch of highway, they had a good view of the entire procession, including the additions from Gardner Canyon. Red and blue lights flashed on top of Tessa’s truck, giving an easy way to see her at the rear.
“It’s pretty cool. We’re actually saving those people’s lives.” He thumbed behind him. “It’s a good thing you remembered they were in the canyon.”
They’d been on her mind last night while they hid in the extinct geyser. She couldn’t have forgotten about them if she’d tried. Knowing they’d survived was liberating. “I’m glad you like it. Maybe, when this is all over, you’ll consider a career change and come to work for the park service for real. They hire guys like you. I mean, sure, you don’t have field experience, but they do hire geologists and other naturalists with advanced degrees. Yellowstone’s one of the most unique places in the world, geologically speaking. It should be right in your wheelhouse.”
“Do you like the park service?” he asked, sounding like he was on a job interview. “I mean, besides the uniforms.”
She cocked her head toward him. “I love the service, and who says I don’t like this uniform? I actually really do. It’s nice to not have to worry about buying fancy clothes every day. I have a friend teaching high school students. She buys new dresses almost every other week, so she doesn’t get caught wearing the same ensemble in the same month.” She took a breath. “Not only that, but I don’t have to worry about fancy hairstyles, expensive jewelry, or the latest perfumes. We’re pretty much all natural out here.”
Left unsaid was her appreciation for not having to spend a dime on those unnecessary things. Her life on Kentucky Lake was great for the most part, but her parents weren’t rich. Her mom was known to use and dry out the same paper towel five or six times before she threw it in the composter. In school, buying fancy dresses only happened once a year, before picture day. It made her curious to know about Asher’s background and childhood. Before she could ask, the radio squawked an interruption.
“Hey, Grace, this is Tessa. I can see you at the head of the line. We should be at Cooke City in a few miles. If there are people there, I’d like to stop for a short time. I picked up a burn victim before we left the visitors’ center and he’s in bad shape.”
She and Asher looked at each other with concern. “Burn victim?” she mouthed to him, with
out broadcasting on the CB. “She can’t mean Misha, right?”
Asher shook his head. “Hell no. There’s no way he made it.”
She wanted to believe him, but how many burn victims could be out there? One quick reply could give her the answer, but she didn’t ask the question. If Misha was in Tessa’s truck, Grace couldn’t ask about him on an open channel. If the hitman thought she was on to him, it might put Tessa and Chester in danger.
The CB mic suddenly seemed heavy in her hand. She had to choose her words carefully and sound casual while doing it. “Hey, Tessa, we’ll stop if possible. I’m not sure I can get back there; do what you can to make him comfortable, okay?”
“Roger that, Grace. Tessa out.”
She’d put the microphone in the cradle when Asher spoke up. “I just remembered why I don’t want to become a park ranger. I never want to be responsible for someone who also wants to kill me.”
Grace exhaled to steady her clenched insides. “We don’t even know if it’s him.”
“You’re going back there, though, right?” he asked.
“I’m tempted to not stop until we get over the mountains and into the barracks for the state police. I don’t care which state. There has to be someone out there who can help us.”
She kept the truck between the lines as she led the convoy. The road slowly rose in elevation as they closed in on the bank of storm clouds. The temperature had already dropped ten degrees, a situation made worse with all the broken windows and the missing door in her truck. The heater fought hard to keep her front side warm, though she already had it on full blast.
A thousand miles away, her mom and dad were probably wondering where she was, and what she was doing. That bit of familiar comfort kept her from losing her composure, at least until she pulled into Cooke City.
He snapped one of his pictures as they arrived. “This ain’t good,” Asher said dryly.
Kentucky
“You can’t come this way!” a man at the roadblock shouted.
Ezra and Butch were off the bicycles, and walking in their direction, but they stopped about twenty yards from the turnoff. He wanted to go right, along the road to Murray. The other way would take them onto a long, thin wedge of land sticking out into the lake. A similar finger came out from the eastern shore. They were joined in the middle by a modern four-lane highway bridge arched over the lake. The flood waters were almost up to the highway leading up to the bridge, so it appeared as if the pavement was floating on the surface. Debris stacked up thick on the upriver side; flipped boats, dock floats, driftwood, and a billion pieces of houses. Another foot of water and the junk would wash on top of the road. He did not want to go that way.
“We’re only passing through,” Ezra replied. “I live up by Fairdealing.”
The man at the roadblock wore heavy black pants and a camouflage shirt, like a hunter might wear. He also wore a camo boonie hat. “Doesn’t matter. You can’t come through here. We saw you take those bikes and try to break into a car. You’re thieves.”
Oh crap.
He held up his hands, balancing the bike against his hip. “You have us all wrong! We only borrowed these bikes; I’ve got to get to my daughter out west. When I bring her back, I’ll return these bikes, too. I left a note in that car.”
“We have no problem with what you’ve done. We didn’t know the owner, anyway. Regardless, the only direction you’re going is there,” the camo guy pointed to the dark clouds beyond the bridge, “because we’re not letting you anywhere close to our properties.” The other men on the blockade closed ranks with him to show solidarity.
“I promise we’re neighbors,” Ezra said in a reasonable voice. “I can show you my ID. We don’t even care if you escort us through your territory. All I want is to get to my daughter.”
The guy shook his head. “Nothing personal, but we can’t risk it. If we let you through, you could always double back with those rifles the second you’re out of our sight. If we send you over the bridge, we’d see you walking this way again. You couldn’t sneak back to us.”
The guy at the blockade waved behind Ezra. “Or you can go back the way you came. We’re already watching in that direction.”
He tried again. “What if we returned the bikes? We’ll put them on the bike rack, no big deal. You can watch us walk over the horizon.” It would take longer to walk south, but anything had to be faster than going east across the bridge. Even on the best of days, it was twenty-five miles due south to the next bridge over the lake. With the rain and fires, there was no telling how far out of the way they’d have to go.
“No dice,” the man replied, sounding as uncaring as when they first began negotiating.
Ezra turned his back to the roadblock. “I don’t want to cross the bridge, but we don’t have much of a choice. The storms look brutal over there.”
“Sorry, sir,” Butch said under his breath, “this was my foul-up.”
Ezra was unperturbed. “What happened to calling me E-Z?”
“This is serious,” the kid replied. “I shouldn’t have made you borrow these bikes. I was thinking like a tired walker, not a soldier.”
“We did what we thought was right. These men don’t know our motivations; they’re playing it safe. We can stand here and complain about it or we can accept our situation and try to make up for it.” His voice changed to a whisper. “We’re lucky they aren’t going to shoot us.” He drew in a deep breath. “You willing to cross with me?”
Butch gave him a mock salute. “Roger that. Let’s keep moving.”
Ezra waved to the men. “We’ll be heading over to the LBL. I want you to know I’ll return someday. I’m going to bring the bikes back, so you’ll see we’re men of our word.” It seemed unreasonable to make the promise, but he also didn’t like the way the men glared at him with distaste. Up until fifteen minutes ago, he thought looters were the scum of the earth, too…
They still are, he told himself. There was a big difference between borrowing two abandoned bikes and stripping the stores of anything not bolted down.
The modern bridge had a steep incline up to the center point, with four lanes going over, two for each direction. Giant silver arches supported both sides of the central span. They were about two hundred yards from end to end and a hundred feet tall at the midpoint. The eastbound lanes were choked by abandoned cars, but the westbound lanes were empty, as if a clog was blocking them on the far side. Rather than risk being around the cars, they entered the dedicated bike lane, which remained completely empty.
“Up and over,” Butch exclaimed as they went along the bike path and started up the incline. Both had to shift to lower gears several times until they were comfortably able to turn the cranks. After a minute or two, Butch was twenty yards ahead and pulling away. “Come on, old man!”
Ezra was forty-five. Hardly an old man, except when compared to a kid barely in his twenties. Ezra pumped as hard as he could, but didn’t catch up until they were both going down the other side of the arched bridge. From there, he saw why the far lanes were empty.
“It’s just like you said yesterday,” Ezra remarked.
“Yep, the rumor mill was right this time. They tried to go around the jackknifed tractor trailer in those lanes. When they came over to these other lanes, it ended up killing traffic in both directions.” A tractor-trailer was sideways across the whole approach to the westbound span of the bridge.
Beyond the accident, they encountered another problem. The swollen lake was high enough to allow a lone barge to run aground. The rust-colored container was about two hundred feet long, maybe thirty feet wide, and about twenty feet from top to bottom. It was a brick-shaped boat and it had been shoved about halfway across the eastbound lanes.
“It must have been moving pretty fast,” he mentioned to Butch as they rode next to and around the hull.
“It’s empty, too. That’s why it rode up the land so far.”
Butch was right. It never would have come ashore if it wa
s filled with coal, as he often saw while boating the lake. Barges went up and down the Tennessee River, including through the locks at the dam, adding a small hazard whenever he and Susan took the pontoon boat out.
A couple of minutes later, Butch led them away from the bridge, toward the thick clouds billowing almost directly above. He called back to Ezra, “Looks like we’re not going to be dry much longer.”
Ahead, the four-lane highway went into the forest, though most of the trees were toppled over, and almost none had any greenery left on the branches. The hazy skies were much darker ahead, and thunder rumbled almost continuously from deeper in the woods. The terrain was relatively level, so they had a great view of the clouds to the north and south. It didn’t look like there was a break in the line of storms, though the south looked marginally lighter.
When they reached the start of the fallen trees, he put a foot down and pointed to a dirt path intersecting the roadway on the north and south. “We’re going that way.” He pointed south.
Butch acted surprised as he slowed and stopped. “We’re not sticking to the roadway?” There were still lots of parked cars, though it wasn’t quite as jammed up as the road by his house. They hadn’t seen anyone alive, however, which was a sign of how bad things had been the night before.
“No. The highway takes a longer way around before it reaches the other bridge. This trail runs along the lake for sixty miles, from the dam to Tennessee. All we have to do is stick to it until we reach the next bridge.”
“And how far is that?”
“Twenty-five, give or take,” he replied, knowing from experience his guess was close. He and Susan had hiked the North-South trail shortly after they moved to the lake. Back when he was in much better shape. It was one of the first times they’d left Grace alone with a babysitter—Susan’s mom—for the three days and two nights it took to complete the hike.
“Are you sure?” Butch asked.
Impact Series Box Set | Books 1-6 Page 26
