Ultimately, the work camps had to be closed and the travel laws were no longer enforced. So, if you could find the gas, the roads were open. But travel was risky. There were the stories of those whose occupation was to prey on unwary travelers: the road pirates.
Close to noon, and just past The Dalles, Clayton looked in his side view mirror. “Shit,” he said. “We’re being followed.”
A brown station wagon towing a U‑Haul appeared in his side view mirror.
“Who is it, Dad?” Robert called from the back of the van.
“I don’t know,” Clayton snapped. “Sit back and keep down.” He took the .44 magnum Blackhawk from beneath his seat and fumbled with it nervously. It felt awkward to his hand. He had never fired it and, though he had paid dearly for it, only fifty rounds of ammunition came with it.
It was loaded and he laid it on the console between himself and Emily. Then he clutched the steering wheel with both hands. He didn’t want to appear nervous.
He watched the station wagon quickly gain on them until it was eight car-lengths behind. Then it slowed down and kept pace and followed them west.
In his mirror, he could make out Idaho plates. There were boxes and spare tires tied to the wagon’s roof. He wondered what was in the trailer it was towing. He nervously scanned the road ahead concerned that this could be the prelude to an ambush. The CB searched the channels but gave no hint. If the wagon was communicating with anyone, it wasn’t by CB.
They passed through Hood River and the wagon followed. The driver matched Clayton’s speed on the open stretches and slowed down to keep pace wherever debris slowed their travel.
All the while his CB tirelessly scanned the band, but now there was a lull in the bickering and praying, which left nothing but static, and Emily found the relentless white noise objectionable. Clayton said it had to be on.
Mile after mile the wagon maintained its distance. “They look okay,” he finally said and started to relax. “They’re heading south, just like us.”
“How do you know, Dad? They might be road pirates.”
“Shut up, Robert.”
They traveled past the Cascade Locks and Bonneville Dam with the wagon following. The few houses they saw from the road seemed empty. The stores were abandoned. They saw no one else.
Just after 2:00, and approaching Troutdale, he glanced in the door mirror again. “They’re gone,” he said. He wondered how the station wagon could have disappeared so abruptly.
“Oh, God, Clayton, look!” Emily screamed.
The wagon was gradually coming up on her side.
“Oh shit,” he shouted. “Everybody down.”
Emily pressed herself against the back of her seat. “What are they doing?” she asked nervously.
“How would I know?” he yelled.
He fumbled with the Blackhawk but it fell on the floor between his feet. He reached down to search for it, and the van started to swerve. He found the gun and brought it up and held it below window level. He tried to hold the wheel steady with his other hand.
“Clayton, what are you going to do?” Emily asked.
“Keep back and roll your window down,” he commanded.
She didn’t move.
“Roll your damn window down!” he yelled.
She rolled it down six inches and cold air surged through the van.
“All the way!” he shouted.
She closed her eyes and opened the window all the way. Her hands came up involuntarily and covered her ears. Clayton thought she was going to scream.
The wagon pulled abreast. He could see the man driving, slowly bring an empty hand up and wave. There were two women and some children in the wagon with him. Clayton felt a swell of relief and placed the revolver back on the console and returned the wave.
“It’s just another family,” Clayton said and took a deep breath. “They’re heading south; just like us.”
“A family?” Robert asked popping his head up from behind Emily’s seat. “They got kids with ‘em?”
Robert pressed his forehead against the window and saw a girl and a boy near his own age in the station wagon. He waved and they waved back. There was a third child, a baby, who sat on the seat between the man and woman in front.
The wagon fell back and followed them again.
“I thought you had to cock it,” Emily said derisively.
“What?”
“When Mr. Wheaton sold you the gun, he said you had to pull the hammer thing back for each shot.” She turned her head and looked out the window to watch the scenery go by.
She was right. It was a single action handgun and he’d forgotten to cock it. If he’d had to use it, he couldn’t have fired it the way he’d been holding it. He left it on the console.
They got on I-205 and he frequently checked the mirrors to keep an eye on the wagon. Sometimes one of the children in the wagon climbed into front seat and sat in the woman’s lap. Later, he’d look and the kid would have returned to the back seat.
Given the conditions of the roads, he still felt good about the progress they were making. He had mixed feelings about the wagon and wondered how long it would follow him.
Just after 3:00, Robert said, “I gotta go, Dad.”
“What?”
“I gotta go to the bathroom.”
They’d been cooped up in the van for almost eight hours already. Clayton winced and glanced in the door mirror. The station wagon still followed. He didn’t know if they’d pull over with him.
“Wait a little while,” he said.
“I gotta go bad.”
Clayton ignored him. He was sure the boy didn’t have to go as bad as he made out.
They turned south onto I-5 and Robert said, “Dad, I gotta go to the bathroom real bad.” His voice carried more urgency.
“Wait,” Clayton yelled.
“I’m gonna wet my pants.”
“I have to go, too,” Danielle said.
He watched the wagon in his mirror, again. “Shit,” he mumbled, but he kept driving.
“Dad,” Danielle demanded.
He looked at Emily. She still stared out the window letting him know this was his problem to solve.
He shook his head. She didn’t understand the big picture and he needed her on his side.
Up ahead he saw where the shoulder was clear and there were some trees. He let up on the accelerator and, as he gradually slowed down, so did the station wagon.
He coasted to a stop on the gravel shoulder and the wagon pulled in behind him.
“They stopped with us,” he said not expecting any comment.
Robert started to pull up the handle on the side door.
“Stop,” Clayton shouted. Robert stopped.
Clayton looked in the door mirror again. There was a second man in the back seat of the wagon he hadn’t seen before. The driver was getting out.
Clayton leaped out to meet him.
The man smiled until he saw Clayton had the cocked gun in his hand. “Jesus,” the man said. “Mister, it’s okay.” He opened his jacket to show he was unarmed.
“Charles, what’s wrong?” a second woman shouted. She got out and stood beside the door on her side of the station wagon looking scared. “Charles, why’s he got a gun?”
The man in the back seat was fumbling with a shotgun that was wrapped up in a blanket.
“Stop it, Harry,” the driver yelled when he looked back and saw what the man in the backseat was doing. “Put it down. It’s okay.”
The man finally freed the shotgun but he stayed in the back seat and stared at Clayton through the windshield.
Clayton held his gun, unsure of what to do.
“It’s okay,” the driver of the wagon repeated.
“What’s wrong, dad?” Robert asked. He was standing on the other side of the van looking confused.
“Get back in the van,” Clayton said.
Robert didn’t move.
“Take it easy, mister,” the man said. “We’re just li
ke you. We’re heading south.” The boy and girl were getting out of the wagon. The woman tried to wave them back in but to no avail. Like Robert, they wanted to see what was going on.
Clayton felt as if he was losing control of the situation.
“You are heading south, aren’t you?” the man asked.
Clayton didn’t answer.
“Dad, I gotta go.” It was Danielle. She was walking off into the trees with pages from an old phone book in her hand.
Slowly, Clayton uncocked the gun and put it inside his waistband.
The man in the back of the wagon lowered the shotgun.
“Are you heading south?” the man asked.
Clayton still wouldn’t answer. He turned around and got back into his van just as Emily got out.
“Good timing,” he whispered sarcastically. But she was already out of earshot.
He watched in his door mirror as she approached the other family. He could see Robert walk up to the other boy. In his hands he held his toy soldiers. The boy ran back to his car and returned with toys of his own. Robert was pulling at his crotch. He still had to go to the bathroom. He and the other boy went off in the woods. The girl stood there uncertainly. Emily must have said something because the girl suddenly went off into the brush in the direction he had seen Danielle disappear.
He turned his head to look into the back seat. Whoops was still sleeping.
Emily’s door opened. “We’re having lunch,” she said.
“We’re not stopping for lunch,” he said.
“We’re having lunch,” she repeated and threw him a peanut butter sandwich and slammed the door.
“Make it quick,” he ordered.
“Peanut butter,” he thought as he started to eat the sandwich. It was one of the foods the government still distributed. “Where in hell did they get all the peanut butter?”
Several minutes later, he watched as Danielle came out of the woods. She was holding the little girl’s hand.
“Do you want to monitor each other on the CB?” a voice asked.
Clayton jumped. The driver of the wagon was at his window.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.
Clayton glared at him.
“I just thought it would be a good idea if we listened for each other on a specific channel.”
Clayton didn’t reply.
“Seven seems to be pretty empty most of the time,” the man said.
“Sounds fine. Just don’t make small talk on it.”
“Wouldn’t think of it,” the man replied.
He looked into the van. “You’ve got a lot of stuff there.”
Clayton didn’t want to hear about all his “stuff” again. He glared at the man.
“What d’ja do before the ice age started?” the man asked.
“Mechanic,” Clayton said.
“Not going to be much of a call for that, anymore,” the man said and laughed.
Clayton didn’t laugh.
“I was a podiatrist. Guess there’ll be a big call for that, now.”
Clayton returned to eating his sandwich.
“My friend in the wagon was...” The man paused. Clayton was ignoring him. “Hey, why don’t I let you eat in peace.” He turned and left.
Several minutes later, Emily opened the passenger’s door and got in. “How’d you like them?” she asked.
She seemed cheerier than before. The back door slid open and Danielle and Robert got in, too. Whoops woke as Danielle picked her up.
“Well?” Emily asked.
“I’m not interested in them,” Clayton replied. “If they want to tag along, fine.”
She slumped back into her seat.
He removed the revolver from his waistband and pulled away from the shoulder. The wagon followed.
This part of I-5 wasn’t in such disrepair so it was possible to make better time.
The scanner searched the stations relentlessly. At 3:45 a voice on the CB asked, “Carl, you seen anyone coming your way?”
Clayton locked onto the channel.
He didn’t hear the reply, but when the speaker returned, he thanked “Carl” and instructed him to keep watching. The channel went dead, sparked only by an occasional transmission from elsewhere and several minutes later Clayton took the manual lock off. He wondered where the transmission originated and carefully scanned the road ahead as he drove.
“What did the driver say his name is?” he asked Emily.
“Charles,” she said.
“Are you sure it wasn’t Carl?” he asked.
“It was Charles. Are you thinking...” She didn’t finish the question and went back to staring out the window.
They passed the turnoff to Albany. Still, they had seen no one else until just north of Eugene a skinny woman with a child beside her watched them from a porch as they breezed by. In the front yard, wooden crosses marked two freshly-dug graves.
Whoops was asleep again, Danielle hummed a song, and Robert played with his toy soldiers. Clayton could see in the side view mirror that Robert and the other boy had swapped some toys.
He glanced at Emily. She still stared silently at the road ahead.
Around 4:30 the station wagon sounded its horn. Clayton looked in his door mirror. Steam gushed out from under the station wagon’s front end.
The driver alternately blew his horn and flashed his headlights. Clayton kept driving.
The man rolled down his window and started to wave his hand. Clayton kept driving and the wagon began losing ground. The driver honked more insistently.
“What’s happening?” Emily asked.
“There’s something wrong with their car,” Clayton answered.
He pressed down on the accelerator and the van gradually gained speed. He looked at Emily and their eyes locked for a second. He looked away.
“Help,” a man’s voice cried from the CB; it was channel seven. Emily locked it in. “We’re losing radiator coolant,” he said.
In the mirror the wagon faded to a distant speck on the side of the road.
“Washington van, if you’re monitoring, please help.”
Clayton drove on. The CB transmission stopped.
Emily stared at him.
Whoops started to cry.
“Danielle,” he said, “see if Whoops is wet.”
She grumbled but she perched the baby on her thighs and loosened the diaper. “Oh, shit,” she said. “Where are the towels?”
The odor of the opened diaper flooded the van.
Emily reached to the floor at her feet then passed some rags back.
Danielle, part woman, part child, was learning to swear. Clayton didn’t approve. He didn’t want her growing up to become a woman who swore. Trashy women swore.
“I want you to watch your mouth, young lady.”
She didn’t reply but he could imagine her making a face of disgust at the back of his head.
“Why didn’t you stop for them?” Emily asked flatly.
He didn’t answer.
“Why didn’t you help that family?” she demanded.
“There’s nothing we could have done for them.”
“How do you know that?”
“Emily, we can’t save the world. We’ve got to take care of ourselves.”
Tension, suffused with the odor of the baby’s loaded diaper, was making the atmosphere in the van unbearable. Clayton rolled down his window and a gush of cold air rushed in.
Channel after channel the CB paused on promises of salvation before moving on. Emily abruptly turned it off. Clayton said nothing. Even he was growing weary of the praying, bickering, and empty noise.
At 6:30 they passed Roseburg and left I-5 for OR-42. Clayton glanced at his gas gauge. He checked the road behind in the door mirror, and surveyed what was coming up ahead. He picked a spot and pulled over onto the shoulder.
“Take another potty stop,” he said.
He pulled over, got out, went around to the back of the van, and opened the d
oors. The others sought privacy in the growth along the north side of the road.
Clayton removed six of the five-gallon gas cans and emptied them into the tank. That gave them another four hundred miles of range. He had nine cans left, another six hundred miles. It would safely get them to Southern California where his mother and his brother’s family lived.
As he put the empty cans back, he heard the barking and baying of dogs and looked out into the field to the south where, in the distance, a doe and her fawn were outrunning a pack. He watched the deer clear a distant ridge and go out of sight. The dogs reached the top of the ridge and gave up the chase. They milled around, tired, and sniffed the ground.
His family got back into the van as he watched. He identified with the doe for, like him, she too was trying to escape with her “family.” Her recent success might be a good omen for him. He got back in and drove on.
He had to reduce his speed, on this stretch of highway. The Army didn’t “clear” the roads so much as they made them navigable.
Soon, they came up on two cars outside of Camas Valley. One was parked on the shoulder; the other was turned sideways and blocked the eastbound lane. Both had their hoods up and their trunks open.
He slowed to a stop a quarter mile away. Emily sat up apprehensively and Clayton turned the CB scanner on again. “You shouldn’t have shut this off,” he said accusingly.
He listened as a man’s voice faded in and out and announced a new church. The scanner moved to the next two channels. Static. From the one that followed those came a hymn. The next explained the ice age was a manifestation of God’s wrath.
He cursed the religious nuts for hogging the channels.
Danielle and Robert leaned over the backs of the front seats to look at the cars. Whoops started to cry again.
“Hold Whoops, Danielle, and stop her from crying.”
Danielle clicked her tongue in exasperation.
“Is there someone in them cars?” Robert asked.
“How the hell would I know?” Clayton snapped.
The baby stopped crying. In the rear view mirror he could see Danielle rocking her.
The country around them was open. Copses of trees dotted the fields like islands peppering a sea. Clayton knew they could be easy targets for a sniper.
The Dog Hunters: An Apocalyptic Ice Age Story Page 7
