A minute later, the truck started rolling over a patch of rough road and we were suddenly bounced around in the rigging. It was painful. “Do like this,” Lily said, putting her hands up against the bottom of the tank and pressing her back against the rigging. “Hold yourself in place, not too rigid, like your arms are shock absorbers.”
I put my hands on the bottom of the tank and secured myself against the rigging. The tank felt cool from the water inside. We bumped along for a couple hundred yards until the road turned smooth again.
As the trucker neared the center of Yachats, he slowed down and stopped a number of times as he maneuvered through the various intersections. During this stretch, we could’ve climbed out, but we didn’t. And neither of us brought up the next move. Instead, we rearranged some of the sacks so pedestrians couldn’t see us and I complained about the smell of diesel. Lily said she had learned to ignore it.
The trucker ground to another stop when he hit the town’s major north-south artery. We were about to get the first clue to the water’s ultimate destination.
The trucker turned south. But this didn’t mean that he’d definitely continue south, and I wondered if Lily knew that. It didn’t take long for me to find out.
“If he’s going east, he’s going to take the 126,” she said.
That meant she knew the Territory well. The 126 led inland to the 5, a highway that connected Portland, Salem, and Eugene. The 5 was a dead highway leading to dead cities. As a teen, I’d dug up an old and barely legible map of the Western states. There were no detailed maps of the Territory and I’d thought I’d discovered a rare treasure. A useful treasure. Back then, Benny and I still dreamt of exploring the Territory so I memorized this map. But unlike Lily, we never found the courage to pursue our dream.
“You want to follow the water?” she said.
“By staying under the truck?” I asked.
“That’d be the plan. For now.”
I didn’t answer.
We were closing in on the 126 and I still doubted the trucker would turn east. But regardless of whether he was headed east or south, he was headed into the wilderness. “What about food?” I asked.
“We steal a little of the trucker’s food when he’s sleeping,” Lily said. “He’ll think it’s a marauder.”
“Sounds like you know the drill.”
“Yeah. And sometimes it even works.”
“And what happens when it doesn’t?”
“You go hungry.”
The trucker slowed down, then started to execute a wide turn.
No doubt about it.
“East,” Lily said.
Chapter Fifteen
The next stretch on the 126 would give us time to reconsider our decision. Not that I’d officially made a decision. I still hadn’t really answered Lily, and I knew that there’d be opportunities up ahead to scramble out from under the truck. The trucker would be navigating the inland hills of the 126, and he’d have to slow down a bunch of times. Each time would be a chance to climb out and cut this trip short. But when the trucker hit the long flat stretch east of the border, we’d be stuck. Of course, that assumed that long flat stretch still existed. I’d never heard of anyone venturing past the border and coming back.
The trucker navigated the hills and neither Lily nor I said anything. The unwieldy water tanks weaved back and forth and, on the sharper curves, the trucker came to an almost complete stop.
“What do you want to do?” Lily asked.
I knew what she wanted to do. She didn’t have to tell me. Lily, the fierce, would always go forward even if that meant going into uncharted territory. But I wanted more information first. Information that would ease my fear about going into uncharted territory. Information that I wasn’t going to get. And she must’ve known what was going through my mind because, before I could answer her, she said, “If we don’t like what we see out there, we can always hitch a ride back on an incoming truck.”
She was right. I’d caught glimpses of trucks heading in the other direction, but I hadn’t thought of them as a way back. I’d been too uneasy about the road ahead to plan ahead.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s stay put.” I didn’t say this with any conviction. I was full of doubts. But I was willing to stick to it for now.
As we moved closer to the border, the flat stretches became longer. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go beyond the border, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I thought about the two thousand miles of dead land ahead. Inland, the Virus hadn’t shown any mercy. It had killed everyone in Eugene, Boise, Phoenix, Kansas City, Denver, Santa Fe, Austin, Des Moines, Minneapolis, Chicago, Madison, and every city in between.
But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if this could be a lie, too. Like the lie that Yachats was a fishing town. Could there be towns inland? The extra water sure pointed to it.
After twenty minutes or so, the trucker picked up speed and I knew we’d passed the border. From here, the road quickly became monotonous and Lily and I didn’t talk. At this speed, the din of the engine, the whip of the wheels, the rushing wind, they all added up to a dulling numbness.
Lily stared blankly at the countryside. I didn’t know if she was hypnotized by the scenery or lost in her own thoughts, but she looked to be a thousand miles away. I wasn’t. I was stuck right here and was now worrying about the Virus. In the Territory, truckers used roads that they knew were free of the Virus and stuck to those roads until the Virus reared its ugly head. I was trying to convince myself that our trucker was doing just that even though he was outside the Territory.
After about ninety minutes, most of which I spent thinking that I was pushing my luck with this whole excursion, the scenery changed. We were on a six-lane freeway and the wilderness was gone. I also spotted other trucks on the freeway. Then, in the distance, when the angle was right, I caught glimpses of tall buildings, city buildings, and I realized we were approaching Eugene. I was seeing a city for the first time. I’d seen them in photos and DVDs, but never in person.
I began to wonder if Eugene was the destination for all the extra water. Were people still alive there?
The answer came quickly. Our truck skirted Eugene, and minutes later, we were back on the open road.
The miles passed and I hoped our trucker would pull over. I needed a break, to stretch my legs, to eat, to go to the bathroom. I wondered if Lily needed a break as badly as I did. Her eyes were closed, but it didn’t look like she was sleeping. It looked like she’d transported herself even farther away than before, and definitely far away from doubt.
She looked serene.
I didn’t have the discipline to turn off my surroundings.
More miles passed and I could tell from the shadows on the road that we were heading southeast. We were no longer on the 5, and the truck was now using two-lane rural highways.
My back was sore from the metal rigging and the diesel fumes were short-circuiting my senses. I was more than ready for the trucker to pull over. I looked over at Lily and her eyes were still closed. She was somehow able to ignore her discomfort and keep her fierceness in check, now that it was unnecessary.
Then she suddenly opened her eyes, found mine, and smiled. That was all I needed to keep going.
The sun was setting, the air was cold, and the shadows on the road were long. My body felt numb.
The truck finally started to slow down and I saw Lily go on full alert. From my limited vantage point, I could see that we were still in the middle of nowhere, so I figured the trucker was slowing down to execute a turn or to pull over. I hoped he was pulling over, but I was quickly disappointed. He was segueing onto a small transition road which probably led to another rural highway.
But suddenly, out of nowhere, he was passing other trucks. Parked trucks. The transition road had led into a parking lot. Was this where the trucker was going to unload the water? He pulled into a slot between two parked trucks and cut the engine. I immediately noticed the loud ringing in my ears.
The sound of the road was seared into my head.
Lily’s voice cut through the ringing. “What a fun way to ride, huh?”
“You looked like you could’ve gone for another thousand miles.”
“It’s just practice. The first time I did this, I felt like you do now. Like my brain and body had been pummeled by a concrete block.”
“Let’s get the hell out of this thing.”
“Let’s wait for the driver to get out first.”
I couldn’t argue with that. We’d made it this far without getting caught, no reason to get impatient now.
“I’d say we’ve gone about three hundred fifty miles southeast,” she said. “Any idea what towns might be out here?”
She was asking out of politeness. She’d kept track of the mileage and the direction, so my bet was that she knew exactly where we were, somewhere in what used to be southern Oregon or northern California or northwest Nevada. This area was once federal land and there were never any towns here. This was where the Winema National Forest, the Fremont National Forest, and the Modoc National Forest all met.
“There aren’t any towns out here,” I said.
“So you think it’s some kind of rest stop?”
“Never heard of rest stops in the Territory so it’s hard to believe there’d be any out here. What about a new town, one that came together after the Virus?”
Just then, we heard the driver’s door open, and that ended our conversation. A few seconds later, we heard the door shut, and we waited until the driver’s footsteps faded away. Then Lily said, “Let’s get some answers.”
Chapter Sixteen
We climbed out of the rigging and checked up and down the aisle between our truck and the one next to it. There was another row of parked trucks in front of us and behind us was the forest. More importantly, we were alone, so before anyone could spot us, we headed into the forest. I was stiff and sore and the ringing in my ears wouldn’t let up. I also couldn’t escape the odor of diesel, but in the forest, I detected another odor, faint, hovering under the diesel. I couldn’t tell what it was.
When we were about thirty yards into the woods, we turned back and surveyed the parking lot. Our view was blocked by the trucks. There were dozens of them. All double and triple tank trucks. Why were they here?
We circled through the woods, following the border of the parking lot. The rows of trucks gave way to a large, low-slung building. Steam was pouring out of exhaust fans on its roof, and I finally recognized the odor lingering under the diesel fumes. Fried food.
We moved closer to the building and through its windows, we saw truckers eating. This was a diner. The Territory didn’t have diners. Of course, this wasn’t the Territory, but this was the middle of nowhere. Then I realized that this wasn’t just a diner. It was part of the infrastructure for the transportation of that extra water. Just as Yachats was.
“So it is a rest stop,” Lily said.
“On the way to where?” I said.
“Let’s ask one of the workers,” she said, as she watched a waitress bringing food to a table. “Where do you think they live?”
I moved back a couple of yards and motioned for her to take a look. She stepped back and saw what I’d seen a few minutes ago when we were approaching the diner – a series of rundown trailers which ran along the edge of the woods.
We stationed ourselves so that we had a direct view of the diner’s back entrance. Our plan was to approach one of the diner’s workers and ask him or her about the rest stop and the water. How we’d know who’d be willing to talk to us wasn’t clear, but we set up shop and waited.
A couple workers stepped outside and started talking to each other in short bursts, like they were bored and didn’t want to put in the effort to talk. They looked to be in their fifties, set in their ways, and neither of them looked friendly. After ten minutes or so, they headed back inside.
Twenty minutes later, a woman in her forties, looking exhausted, stepped outside and dragged herself over to one of the trailers. She didn’t look too friendly either.
Then five minutes later, we saw a woman in her early twenties step outside and slam the door behind her. She whipped off her ponytail holder and vigorously shook out her long brown hair. She looked angry and ready to pick a fight. Right behind her, an older man stepped out. He was large and lumbering and walked with a stoop, as if life had beat him down. He began to talk to the woman. He might’ve been her husband but the age difference and the dynamic between them told me that he was her father. And it looked like he was telling her that everything would be okay. She listened to him and softened, her slender body relaxing, but as soon as he went back inside, she looked angry again, like she knew everything would never be okay. Ever.
Lily and I both thought that this woman might be angry enough to tell us where all the trucks were headed.
The woman marched toward one of the trailers and we stepped out of the forest. We were ready with an explanation about why we were here. We’d come up with it while we were scoping out the workers. But when I saw this woman up close, I knew that launching into our explanation wasn’t the right move. With her, it’d be better to get to the point. So I blurted out, “Can you help us?”
“You’re not truckers,” she said. “Are you marauders?” She was wary, but curious.
“No,” Lily said.
“Who are you?”
“No one special,” I said. “We’re trying to make it through the dead land to see if there are towns on the other coast.”
“How’d you get this far?” she fired back.
“We hitched,” Lily said.
“No trucker’d give you a ride.”
“One did,” I said.
“I don’t believe you. He’d lose his job and they got it easy.”
Now, it was time to lay out our explanation. “We bribed him,” I said. “We found some medicine in an old hospital – medicine that his wife needed and we traded it for a ride.” This slowed her down. She was weighing it. Everyone knew that medicine was rare.
“What happens if you’re caught on the road without a visa?” she asked.
“We haven’t been caught,” Lily said.
But I could tell that she didn’t really want to know what would happen to us. She wanted to know what would happen to her. What would happen if she ran away and was caught without a visa? So I answered that question. “You get five years in jail,” I said. “Then you go back to where you came from.”
She relaxed a little, then smirked and said, “So the trucker said he’d take you to the other coast, huh?”
“He didn’t say exactly how far he’d take us. But he took the medicine and gave us a ride,” I said.
“Well, you traded that medicine for a dead end,” she said, her brown eyes sparkling. The joke was on us. “The trucks go to Black Rock, about another hundred fifty miles away, then back to the Territory. Black Rock is as far east as you’re gonna get.”
Lily and I looked at each other, confused. Black Rock was a dry lakebed in the middle of a desert. It was the largest flat mud surface on Earth. There was literally nothing there. Why would trucks be hauling water to Black Rock?
Chapter Seventeen
Sarah invited us into her trailer. The way she put it was that if we continued to talk out here, we’d have to deal with some of her coworkers and they “hated strangers more than each other.”
Once inside, it became clear that she wanted advice. She dreamt of running away and she wanted to know how to avoid the Fibs. She told us that a few truckers had offered to whisk her away, but their offers came with strings attached. They wanted her to stay with them and, for her, that meant going from the prison of the diner to the prison of their houses. And if she ran away from them, they’d report her to the Fibs and she’d have to start her new life in the Territory as a fugitive.
So she’d come up with another plan. From the time she was a child, she’d known the forest was safe from the Virus. All through her childhood an
d teen years, she and her friends had dared each other to go deeper and deeper into the woods and not one of them had ever contracted the Virus. So over the years, she’d trained herself to survive in the wilderness, preparing for the day that she’d hike away from the rest stop on her own, without help from any truckers. She had learned how to trap small animals and cook them on open flames. She’d experimented with wild plants and knew which were edible and which made her sick. And she’d also learned to dress wounds in case she injured herself. But even with all this preparation, she’d never left.
And I understood why. Fear was more powerful than dreams.
Sarah offered us food and, as we ate, she answered our questions about the rest stop. The seven families who worked here, including her and her dad, owned it. Food for the diner was trucked in once a week, but all the other trucks that stopped here were water trucks.
I asked her why the rest stop was even here if the water was only going as far as Black Rock. The distance from Yachats to Black Rock was five hundred miles. Truckers could do the round trip in one or two days. They didn’t need a rest stop. They made way longer trips in the Territory.
She explained that the truckers weren’t allowed to deliver water to Black Rock at night. So when they weren’t going to make it before nightfall, they’d stop at the rest stop, have a meal, spend the night in their trucks, then drive the hundred fifty miles left in the morning.
We asked a few more questions before I asked the only question that mattered. Who were the truckers delivering the water to?
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