I waited until I could no longer see him, a tiny, tiny figure hauling ass and headed south back to Las Cruces to play with the dead and hunt down my friends. As soon as he was out of sight and the sun tipped up over the mountains, I sat up and pulled my backpack completed apart. I removed and inspected every piece of gear that I had had while I was with James: every scrap of cloths, every box of ammunition, everything until all of my stuff was strewn out across the top of the roof. Then, once I had inspected every item, I began pulling apart the seams of my pack until I found what I was looking for.
I’d remembered what James had told me outside of Las Cruces, “I can track you anywhere you go,” he said right after beating the shit out of me, “Don’t believe me? Then consider this. I left you in Phoenix, what, three weeks ago? I got here long before you, made my way through a fucking million dead people, countless burning towns, and I still nearly put a bullet right up you scrawny ass. I can do that anytime I want.”
I had thought long and hard about that as I planned my escape from James. Sure, we were going the same direction so James knew roughly where to look for me. But how did he know I hadn’t been caught by the dead or killed by King Ahg or died in any of the thousands of fascinating and painful ways there were in the New World Wreck?
Blind luck? Expert tracking skills?
Nope. He had found me with the thing I was now holding up in front of me: a tracking device. He had somehow gotten his hands on one, probably in the armory in Blythe, rigged it up with a shit tone of extra batteries and slipped it in my pack. All that fucker had to do was get within a few miles of me and he’d know where I was. And since I had stuck to the freeway, all he had to do was move east and eventually he find me or my body.
He thought he could find me anywhere but I had a little surprise in store for him. I put the tracking device back in my pack, gathered up the rest of my gear and headed down stairs.
I hit the streets and pulled out a small map. I found the nearest cross street, located my position on the map and headed west along Roosevelt street until I found what I was looking for: Hatch Bicycle and Outdoor Supplies.
I broke in through the front door and found a suitable bike. I bypassed the trailer and any other gear taking only the bike and a tire repair kit. I grabbed a new water pack, and filled it up with my bottles of water in my old pack, transferred the bare bones of ammunition I needed and left everything else on the floor of the shop. Before I left the store, I stopped and grabbed an inflatable tube that kids used for playing around on in a pool. I quickly pumped it up, then placed the tracking device in a water proof bag, then tapped the bag to the inner tune. I was ready. It was nearly six o’clock and James should be a good four to five miles south if he was really boogying and wouldn’t be able to spot me as I made my escape.
I jumped on the bike and headed east until I came to a bridge that passed over the Rio Grande. I stepped off the bike, took the pool float off the back, and tossed it into the river. The Rio was swollen from the rains and was flowing rapidly. I watched as the pool float with its tracking device sail quickly away and thought, Good luck following that, you fucker! Maybe you’ll follow it all the way down to the Gulf of Mexico. And I, my insane fucking friend, will be long gone!
I laughed and raised my arms up to the sky. I was free! But I still had work to do to make sure James didn’t hurt my friends back in Las Cruces or catch up to me so I jumped back on my bike and quickly left Hatch passing over I-25. But instead of heading south, I kept going east on a paved back road until it turned into a dirt road that lead to the base of the low hills to the east of Hatch. There I found Road E077 that lead south to East Jornado Road which would take me all the way back to I-10 and Las Cruces without me ever having to cross paths with James.
The road was hard packed dirt and I was able to fly along as fast as I could peddle the bike. This far east of the highway, I knew James wouldn’t be able to spot me so I was free to focus on pushing myself as hard as I could. All that ridding from Phoenix to Las Cruces paid off and I was able to eat up the miles until I hit East Jornado road. From there it was only a few more miles until I hit the freeway on the eastern outskirts of Las Cruces.
I should have reached Las Cruces far ahead of James who was on foot and didn’t think I’d have to be careful to hide myself once I hit the city and by mid-morning I was there panting and sweating sitting under and overpass of I-40 outside a small museum dedicated to space flight. I went inside and found, behind a counter and covered by a tarp, what I had asked Birch to get for me.
Under the tarp was a brand new bike with a trailer already hitched to it and filled with jugs of water. On each side of the black bike were two packs filled with every piece of gear I had lost outside of Las Cruces: night vision goggles, solar chargers, a flashlight, my fancy shotgun, a new fully automatic rifle, silencers for all of the weapons, food, a new pack for me filled with water, a sleeping bag, and new camouflage netting.
On top of the counter was a small container of food that Harriet had made for me with a note that said, “Since you won’t have home cooking for a while.” The was also a note from Birch and Doc that said simple “Good luck” and one from Marti that had a picture of her. She had written on the back “I love you.” I nearly cried. To be loved again in this blackened and burnt out world. It made me feel wanted. It made me feel human. And it also reminded me that James was headed this way and I had to warn the others.
I climbed up on a nearby water tank and turned on the radio, “Birch you there?” I said and let off the send button.
Immediately a voice came back over the radio, “Thomas? My god Birch was right! This is Harriet! Stay on the radio while I go to get Birch. Are you OK?”
“I’m good but you need to know that James is coming back,” I replied.
“We figured he’d come back. Sick fucker was just waiting until he could do…well, whatever it is he wants to do to us,” Harriet replied, “Hold on while I get Birch.”
I waited in silence until I heard Birch’s voice come over the radio.
“Thomas, is that you?” Birch said.
“It is. James left Hatch this morning. He’ll be back in town in a day or two.”
“Did he have the large duffle bag with him?”
I thought about it for a minute than replied, “No why? He dropped it in Radium Springs.”
“It was full of explosives. We think he wanted them to get back inside the warehouse when he returns.”
I felt my blood run cold. Why else would he want the C-4? To get inside to the people.
“Birch you guys need to get out of there. James will get in and then…” I trialed off. I could only imagine what James would do to the people inside.
But Birch came back over on the radio, “Not to worry, Thomas,” he said with a laugh,
“Doc and I knew he’d try something like this and when we saw the explosives were gone, we uh, slipped him a little something-something in that pack along with his explosives. If he gets within five miles of the warehouse with those things, we’ll know about it and we’ll blow him sky high. Are you where I think you’re at?”
“Yes and thank you so much for all the stuff. And thank Harriet for the food.”
“I could come and get you. I could be there in twenty minutes and we can wait out the year here until the good folks at Sandia come and get us.”
The desire to go back was nearly overwhelming. I wanted nothing more than to say come and get me, to get off the endless roads, the heat, and the burning wreck filled with the dead. I could be there in no time and out of the Wreck for good. But James would know. When he found out he couldn’t get in, he might just give up and head north to catch up with me. If he thinks I’m inside, he’ll never let those people go so I just couldn’t go back.
I said as much over the radio and Birch agreed with me, “If we are able to kill him, we’re going to come and get you,” Birch said.
“You’ll know where I’m at,” I replied, “But if you can’
t get me in the next week, I’ll be too far north and we’ll meet again in Sandia.”
“Deal. Now there’s someone hear who wants to talk with you.”
“Thomas?”
“Marti,” I said and put the radio to my forehead.
“Come back to me,” she said, crying.
“I can’t until James is no longer a threat.”
“I know,” she said, “I love you.”
“I love you, too and I’ll be waiting in Sandia.”
Birch came on the radio a moment later, “Thomas, you need to get rolling soon son. The dead are coming back.”
Fuck.
“We’ll always have the dead, right Birch?”
“I guess they took the place of the poor but I suspect that, eventually, we’ll have the poor again.”
“Is it another wave?”
“Worse than the last. There is a ridge of mountains to our south along the route you plan on taking,” he said leaving out the details in case James had picked himself up a radio and was listening, “That should keep them away from you until get back on I-25 far to the north. Get going Thomas, and good luck.”
“And to you Birch. I’ll see you soon.” I said and turned off the radio. I checked my gear tightening all the straps and making sure everything was secured, then I ate Harriet’s dinner of enchiladas and rice thinking this would be the last home cooked meal I’d have for a while, at least until I made it to Sandia, then mounted the bike and rolled out onto the road.
I climbed up the onramp and headed east on I-10 determined to be in Alamogordo before night fall where I would set up camp, wait a full day and begin my ride again. I hoped Birch was right about the dead being kept out of the valley I would be traveling in otherwise I’d get trapped between Las Cruces and Socorro, the next major city I’d hit before reaching Albuquerque and I didn’t think I’d be able to hold out on a rooftop waiting for the dead to pass.
I cleared the pass of the Organ Mountains and shot over into the Alamogordo valley. The grade was steep and I let gravity do the work as I sped down the mountain road. At the base of the mountain I passed a turn off to a military base sign that said White Sands Missile Complex and wondered if anyone was alive there.
I pushed on and out into the empty expanse. The sun was already high in the sky and baking down on me. The empty highway ahead shimmered in the heat as I peddled on setting a solid paced stopping every hour or so to drink water from my pack. If I kept up the pace, I’d be in Alamogordo by late afternoon.
After three hours of riding, I pulled over to the side of the road to take a long break. As I sat there eating stew out of a can, I noticed that the shrub covered dunes were not the normal brown color of sand. They actually looked white. I finished my food and set the empty can down and walked across the empty highway to the west side. I hopped a short barbed wire fence and climbed up the side of the nearest dune and looked back towards the mountains that I had just crossed over.
It was incredible: as far as I could see, all the way to the base of the mountains to the west, stretched a field of pure white sand dunes carved and shaped by the wind into huge crescents marching away to the north and east. I sat down not caring that waves of dead were heading up from the south, that James was running around back in Las Cruces and would soon be looking for me, or that I still had a couple of hours of riding still ahead of me. I just wanted to take the vast, white expanse in and let my mind rest for a while.
I don’t know how long I sat there watching the gusts of wind blow the fine, white sand across the dune sea. An hour? Maybe more? It felt so calm and peaceful just to watch, just to sit still and let the world go by.
Then I spotted a figure.
It jolted me back into survival mode and I scrambled quickly to my feet while unstrapping my pistol. The person, I could not tell if they were alive or dead, was at least a mile away and standing in the middle of the dune filed far off to my right. With the bright sun and the glare of the light coming off of the dunes, all I could make out was a black stick figure standing on top of a dune. I had binoculars in my bag back with my bike, but I didn’t have any interest in determining if the person was one of the dead, I just assumed they were.
The figure must have spotted me for it raised its right arm and waved at me. Not beckoning me to come or to go away, just a greeting. I raised my right arm and waved back at them. They then turned as disappeared behind the dunes. I waited for a minute to see if they would pop up on another dune and try to determine if they were heading for me or moving away but the figure never reappeared. It was time for me to get moving.
I climbed down the white sand dune and over the fence, crossing the road over to my bike. The person might have waved at me but that didn’t make me feel any safer. James used to wave at me after sending a few bullets my way, the crazy fucker.
I decided I’d better take a look to see if the person was heading my way or not so I grabbed my binoculars and climbed back up on the dune. I spotted the person moving north away from me a few minutes later. The heat waves distorting the air made it impossible to determine if it was a man or a woman but I least I knew they were one of the living and not coming towards me. Since I had my binoculars out, I looked to the north along the highway I was traveling and saw a building with a few cars and trucks parked at it.
Looking to the east I could see the town of Alamogordo rising up on the foothills of the Sacramento Mountains. Then I looked to the south and back towards Las Cruces and saw…oh fuck.
It appeared that the ridge of mountains to the south had not been an obstacle to the dead. I could see the tiny black line of figures marching across the military missile range. They were far away on the horizon but as I learned in Las Cruces, when they set their dead minds to it, they could haul ass.
I pushed on. I made it to the outskirts of Alamogordo at four in the afternoon. I could see a few dead moving north from among the buildings but instead of heading along the highway, they were crossing it and heading straight out into the desert. I guess whatever was driving them on their way didn’t care about the path of least resistance, only the most direct route there.
That left the freeway going north wide open. I looked back behind me and saw that the dead had already hit Route 70 and would probably reach Alamogordo later in the night.
I had been riding for over four hours but my legs still felt good. I got off the bike and sat down on the side of the road. I pulled out my map and looked at the route ahead of me. After Alamogordo, there was a small town called Tularosa and after that Carrizozo.
I could make to Tularosa easily but that wouldn’t put me too far ahead of the next wave but Carrizozo was another four or five hours of riding. That would put me into town after the sun had set but if I picked up the pace, I could make it before then and find a good spot for the night. That would put me far ahead of the waves of dead behind me.
I pushed on and made it past Tularosa with no problem. I began to think that I might even make it to Carrizozo just after seven with plenty of light left to find a safe spot for the night when my front tire went flat.
I quickly rolled to a stop and inspected the front tire; a large screw had imbedded itself in between the knobby treads of the tire.
Fuck.
I pulled out the emergency repair kit and opened it up. I quickly read the instructions and figured I could just patch the tire with the filler goo and be on my way, then tomorrow morning change out the inner tube. I removed the offending screw, attached the small can of sealant to the stem valve, and watched the tire inflate. Then I closed up the repair kit and walked the bike to allow the sealant to evenly cover the entire inner surface of the tube. Satisfied I mounted up and was on my way.
An hour later the tire was flat again.
Double fuck.
It looked like I’d have to replace the inner tube completely. I had never done this in my whole life and it was getting late in the day. I’d have to hurry if I were still going to make it before I lost the light.
I pulled out the repair kit again, took out the new inner tube and carefully read the instructions. They made it look so easy. I undid the front tire release levers and used a special tool to pry off the tire cover. Let me tell you what; that fucker did not want to come off. At. All. But I finally pried it loose and then took off the punctured inner tube.
The inner tune was completely full of the sealant I had put in just an hour before and that shit went everywhere. I finally pried off the sticky thing getting the gooey sealant all over me in the process.
Finally, I got the new inner tube out and onto the rim, fought the outer tire cover back on, and pumped the tire back up. I screwed the stem cap back on and attached the tire to the front forks, then waited to see if I had changed to tube correctly hoping it would hold the air and I could be on my way. It worked.
It was also seven thirty and the sun was slipping towards the horizon. There was no way I was going to make it to Carrizozo. I couldn’t even go back to Tularosa in time. Either way I went I would be stuck out on the road, in the middle of nowhere, in complete darkness.
Turkey fuck.
I decided I would keep moving north. I had my night vision goggles but they had still been in their new packaging and were likely uncharged, but worst case, I could use the little headlamp mounted on the front of the bike or break out a flashlight and tape it to the handlebars if I needed more light. Then I could find a gas station to crash in for the night. I peddled forward nervously watching my front tire and waiting for it to deflate. I had a few extra tubes but if I didn’t do this one right what made me think that I’d put the others on right either?
I pushed the thought from my mind and focused on peddling myself forward but my legs were near the end of their strength and were starting to shake. If I didn’t stop soon, I’d start to cramp up and then where would I be: stuck out on the road, in the middle of nowhere, in complete darkness, with cramping legs.
Four fucks in a row.
But I pushed on anyways. What choice did I have? I watched as the sun slipped below the horizon and felt my first, sharp cramp. I was going to be stopping soon whether I liked it or not. I rode on for a mile more and then spotted something I hadn’t see for months: the flashing red light of a radio tower.
The Great Wreck Page 31
