“You said we’ll go out and come back together, each with our own loads?”
“Yes. Until you’re comfortable and we find out what the situation is with marauders and squatters. Until then we’ll always stay together, in case one of us has mechanical problems or if we come under attack.”
“Do you think marauders are going to be a problem?”
“Marauders? No. But I think we may have some problems with squatters taking over sections of the highway. They may think we’re invading their territory and taking what’s rightfully theirs. And they may shoot at us to make their point.”
“So what do we do then?”
“Shoot, I don’t know that there’s anything we can do. We could shoot back, but killing someone over a truck, when there’s plenty of other trucks elsewhere, doesn’t make much sense. And if they’re better shots than we are, we may be the ones who get killed. It’s probably better to just back off and go elsewhere.”
Brad had Rusty crawl into the driver’s seat of the big Kenworth and crank her up. The engine came to life with a rumble and the cab began to vibrate. Everything on the console was clearly marked, and Brad told him to familiarize himself with the panel.
“I’m going to start my own truck. If you see something you don’t recognize, leave it the hell alone until I get back, and I’ll tell you what it is.”
He came back a couple of minutes later and crawled into the passenger seat of the big cab. Rusty looked confident, and anxious to try out the rig.
But Brad didn’t want to rush him. He explained to the rookie trucker how to watch his air pressure gauges and when he could release the brakes.
“What if I release them too early?”
“You can’t. It won’t let you.”
“Nice to know.”
“You got any questions about the tranny?”
“Nope. I can handle it.”
Rusty pressed the accelerator halfway down to help build his air faster.
“She’s got an awful lot of power she’s just itching to let loose. She’s been cooped up in here for an awful long time.”
“Well, let’s go then. I’ll take the lead.”
Brad returned to his own truck. He eased it into second gear and crept forward, then changed to third when he was rolling. Slowly they passed each bay of the mine, illuminated by their headlights, until they turned a hard left into the entry tunnel.
At the overhead door they stopped and got out again.
“Now, here’s the tricky part,” Brad said. There are three cameras outside the mine wired into both security control centers. We don’t want to just crank open the overhead and drive out into he world without checking to see if the coast is clear. That’s because the mine is supposed to be deserted, and we don’t want to announce to the world it isn’t.”
“So what do we do?”
“We call into the control center and have them check to make sure there’s no one out there. The problem is, the walkies won’t reach the compound from the interior of the mine because the salt is too dense. The only way they’ll reach the control center from the mine is at the doorway, right up against the overhead door.”
“Okay. So what do I do?”
“Go stand up against the door and call into the SCC. Tell them we’re ready to pull out and ask them to verify that we’re all clear. Then open the door.
“I’ll pull my rig out. Then I’ll come back for yours. You stand by the door in case they see something and you have to close it in a hurry.
“Once I pull the second rig out, close the door button and run out as it closes.”
“Got it. And we do the same thing when we come back?”
“No. Coming back will be different, because the door can only be opened from the inside. When we return, we’ll call the SCC when we’re about twenty minutes out. They’ll send someone through the tunnel and have them stand by, ready to push the button when we tell them we’re here.
“Are you ready?”
“Yep.”
“Let’s do this.”
-41-
Brad and Rusty left the compound and took Highway 83 to Junction, then headed west on Interstate 10.
In the first mile, Brad counted five trailers that had been parked on the shoulder of the road and abandoned.
When word about Saris 7 got out to the general public, a few brazen truckers dropped their trailers and went home to be with their families.
Others tried to complete their jobs and deliver their loads, but found it hard to find fuel. Many of the dropped trailers were diesel tankers, on their way to fill the tanks at truck stops and gas stations across the nation’s interstates.
Once the fuel started to dry up, those remaining truckers trying to do the right thing saw the writing on the wall. They were doing a job for which they’d almost certainly never be paid, for a company which would almost certainly never survive the blackout.
And they were doing that while their loved ones were back home, having to fend for themselves in an increasingly chaotic and riotous world.
One by one the remaining truckers dropped their trailers. Some at truck stops, then on the shoulder of the highway once the truck stops were full.
A tractor without a trailer could make it twenty times farther on a hundred gallons of diesel than when towing a heavy load.
The truckers now had a new mission: make it home to their families and friends, trucking companies be damned.
The abandoned trailers had become a popular and very valuable source of supplies for the survivors of Saris 7’s turmoil.
The world froze within hours of the meteorite’s collision and ensuing blackness.
Frozen goods in the trailers didn’t have time to thaw before the temperatures turned frigid outside the trailers. And the meats and produce inside the reefers thereby stayed frozen for seven long years, until the earth finally thawed out again.
For a long time, survivors picked at the food in the trailers and used it to sustain them. But most were too timid to stray far from home even before the roads grew impassable.
Within four months, with all precipitation coming down in the form of snow and ice, the roads became covered with more than a foot of snow. That protected all the trailers that were more than a few miles from the cities.
After the big chill ended and everything thawed out, the trailers that were miles away from cities were protected by distance and circumstance. Circumstance because only ten percent of the population survived. There was enough food and supplies to scavenge within the cities themselves, and in those trailers within walking distance.
Few vehicles were on the road after the thaw. After seven years, car batteries were pretty much shot. Few people thought to plan ahead and put away dry cell batteries and acid to fill them. Most vehicles were now nothing but rusting monuments to the way the world used to be.
The first fifty or so trailers Rusty and Brad saw had been picked clean by the survivors. It was easy to tell, because of the huge piles of trash outside the door of each trailer.
Survivors were looking mostly for food. Sometimes for additional layers of clothing or blankets or medicines.
Most of the things on a typical trailer were neither wanted nor needed, and were thrown unceremoniously onto the highway in huge piles.
Scavengers came after the fact, rooting through the piles and scattering them further.
Now the highway was such a mess that the truckers frequently had to drive on the narrow inside shoulder, two full lanes from the trailer, just to get through. And along the way they had to drive over a myriad of things, from prom dresses to disposable diapers to alarm clocks.
Brad kept listening to various things crunch beneath his tires and hoping they wouldn’t cause a flat.
By the time they were five miles west of Junction, the scavenged trailers ended. Trailers on the side of the road still averaged six per mile. But these were intact because they were too far away to be reached by foot.
Brad slowed to a crawl
each time he passed one which looked promising.
He was looking for padlocks and seals on the back of the trailers which would indicate whether they were full or empty. While empty trailers were usually locked to prevent the locks from being lost, and to keep vagrants from hitching rides, trailers with seals were always full.
He also looked at the condition of the trailers. He intentionally passed by a Walmart trailer sealed with a numbered metal strip and a padlock.
It was probably chock full of dry goods and pasta, clothing and tools, blankets and miscellaneous other items they could use.
The problem was, two of the four tires on the driver’s side of the trailer had gone flat, leaving the remaining tires carrying twice the weight they once did. The two good tires looked like ticks, ready to burst, and the trailer was listing badly to the left.
Brad was certain that after ten years, the tires would blow as soon as the wheels started turning.
They were better off leaving this one for an adventurous scavenger and find another one farther up the highway.
And find one they did, less than a mile ahead.
The men pulled both tractors past the target and parked them, their engines still running at a roar while they stepped out to inspect the trailer.
Brad looked at the feet, which had sunk into the pavement but not excessively so. Not enough to keep a hard knock from the tractor from breaking them loose.
The seals on the air line connectors seemed sound, as did the lines themselves when he crawled beneath the trailer to look. One tire was flat on each side of the trailer, but Brad decided that wouldn’t be a problem at the speeds they’d be driving.
None of the tires seemed excessively cracked or rotted.
“Looks roadworthy to me,” he said. “You stand back and watch. I’ll hook up and we’ll see if it’ll hold air.”
-42-
While Brad and Rusty were hooking onto their second load, a fully-loaded Coca Cola trailer, David was gathering volunteers for a mission of his own.
Frank was having some concerns with one volunteer in particular.
“Eva, honey, you haven’t driven in years. And you weren’t very good at it even back then.”
“You’d better watch it, husband of mine. Or I’ll give you a fat lip. And I’m just mean and ornery enough to do it.”
Frank knew better.
“You are not. And I’m sorry about my choice of words. The truth is, though, that you’re very much out of practice. I’m worried about you, that’s all.”
“Frank, everybody’s out of practice. You haven’t driven much in the last ten years either. And you had more accidents than I did. But I’m not giving you a hard time.”
“Well, good grief. That’s because I’m not the one talking about going all the way down to San Antonio and driving back an RV.”
“A small RV, Frank. He said he only wanted Class C RVs.”
“What in hell is a Class C RV? Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“Watch your language, honey, or I’ll belt you one.”
She said it with a smile, but he got the message. Eva didn’t like it when he used salty language.
David stepped in to mediate.
“A Class C is a small RV, Frank. The ones designed for two to four people. They’re not much longer than a full-sized sedan. And you saw the highways when we went to San Antonio to visit Hannah. There’s almost no traffic at all. I’ll make sure she drives very slow. And if she starts running over little old ladies and jungle animals I’ll take the keys away from her, I promise.”
“You’re not helping. If that was your intent, you’re failing miserably.”
“Sorry. But seriously, I don’t expect we’ll be able to drive more than forty or forty five miles an hour as cluttered as the highways are. Even if she hits something it’s doubtful anyone will be hurt.”
Eva looked at her husband and said, “And I’ll wear my seatbelt and say a prayer before I leave. Now stop being a worry wart, you old fool. I can help out around here just as much as you can.”
Frank gave up. Eva was adamant. And she had Sami and David on her side.
And maybe they were right. Eva often fretted that she wasn’t pulling her share of the weight around the compound. Maybe now, when they had a huge project and were short-handed, she’d have a chance to prove her mettle.
Frank owed it to her to let her try.
“Kiss me and promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I’m pretty sure I already did.”
She reached up and kissed him.
“But I will again. I promise I’ll be careful.”
David asked, “Are you all ready to go?”
The five of them stood up: Sami, Joe, Eva, Steve and Debbie. Like ducklings following their mother, they followed him down the hall and out the door in a single file.
Parked outside the big house, just inside the gate, was a Ford 250 pickup with a king cab. It seated six comfortably, and would be an enjoyable ride for the two hours it took them to get to the outskirts of San Antonio.
David’s plan, as he’d relayed it to Frank, was simple.
“We’re going to Johnson’s RV World. It’s on Interstate 10 just before you get to San Antonio. Before the freeze they used to advertise the biggest selection of motor homes in Texas. I know because one of my old friends from college was their television spokesperson, and I used to see his ugly mug on the TV all the time.
“Why do we need more RVs? Y’all didn’t have enough last time?”
“Yes. We did. But our population has grown a bit, and some of the kids aren’t kids any more. If we’re in there another seven years, God forbid, they’ll be adults and in need of their own quarters. Plus, you and I both know that if Marty and Lenny can’t get that prison ready in time, they’ll be knocking on our door looking for shelter. Probably with a lot of their friends.”
That was a point Frank couldn’t argue.
“So my plan is simple. I’m taking five people down there with me to drive back five small motor homes. The same size as the ones we already have in the mine. We’ll park them in the back of one of the bays. If we need them, they’ll be available. All we’ll have to do is place them in with the other RVs and dig septic tanks for them in the floor of the mine. If we don’t need them, no harm done. They’ll sit in the back of the mine and rot for all eternity. But it’s extra space we don’t need anyway.”
“Is that all you’re getting, is five?”
“No. My game plan is to go back four times within the next few weeks, and to bring back five each time. That’s a total of twenty, in case the math’s too tough for you.”
“What if they won’t start after all this time? Most car and truck batteries are shot after all these years of sitting unused. I imagine RV batteries are the same.”
“I already thought of that, Frank. I loaded five dry cell batteries from one of the storage bays in the mine. And some acid to fill them with. They’ll crank right up the first try. Once we get them here, we’ll take our good batteries back off of them and take them back to San Antonio on the next trip. And the two trips after that.
“And before you mention it, I’m taking several jerry cans full of gasoline too. Just in case their tanks are dry.”
“Sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into it.”
“Yeah, well, there are a lot of people around here who want to contribute. This will give them a way to do it.”
Rachel called in from the gate.
“Frank, this is Rachel. They’re ready to go.”
Frank checked his monitors to make sure there was no one lurking outside the gate.
“You’re all clear. Let them out.”
Then he said a silent prayer for their safe return.
-43-
Marty, meanwhile, had his own project to deal with. He put a sign on the front door of the storefront the tiny police department used as an office.
It said,
At Eden Federal Prison.
Short. Sweet. To the point.
Marty didn’t expect to return to his office to find his office door buried in sticky notes. The prison was only four blocks away. An easy walk, even for the aged or the timid who never ventured far from their homes. If anyone had needed something important, they’d have made the stroll to the prison in not much more time it would have taken to write the note.
The truth was, more often than not he’d go a whole day at the office without a single visitor.
There wasn’t a lot of activity going on in and around the tiny berg of Eden, Texas that required police oversight or involvement.
Until the recent murder, of course. But that would sit on the back burner for a few days.
When he and Glenna left the compound after learning of Cupid 23, they’d paid Lenny Geibel a visit. Lenny had been running the Trucker’s Paradise truck stop since Marty took the police chief’s job in Eden, and was doing a pretty good job of it.
Not that it was much of a job.
The Trucker’s Paradise wasn’t a money-making operation. Not anymore. He and Lenny had reopened it after the thaw as a public service, really. That and because they were bored and needed something to do with their time. The world was starting to get back to normal now, albeit with a much smaller population.
Lenny’s days were spent helping travelers who were finding ways to get their cars started and who were starting to venture out again.
He didn’t get paid for doing what he did, but then again he didn’t expect to. The items he stocked on the truck stop’s shelves, and which were given away free to travelers, didn’t cost him a dime. They came from the hundreds of trailers that were abandoned in and around the truck stop, and in the massive field behind it.
Lenny had been sitting in the manager’s office, his feet propped up on the desk and listening to a Jenni Dale Lord CD. His eyes were closed and his feet rocked back and forth in time to Lover, Don’t Leave.
A Long Road Back: Final Dawn: Book 8 Page 15