CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  It felt good to be back behind the wheel. Ben was grateful that he had Sandy to share the burden of driving, but he preferred to drive over sitting idly and fretting over the atlas and worrying about how little mileage they were logging lately. But that was going to change right now; they had water and fuel, and there was no reason to stop until they reached the wetland conservation area outside Alton, Illinois.

  Of course, that was the plan before the storm nearly blew them off the road and tried to light them up with a bolt or two of lightning. The recent cloudburst made the lightning storm they’d experienced in Pennsylvania seem like a light drizzle. Even so, it was good to see the weather break. This part of the country needed the water badly. Ben wondered if the latest storm was the first precipitation the area had seen since the last time they were through this way. By the looks of things, that was likely the case.

  Their destination should have only been another couple of hours away, on the western bank of the Mississippi River. If things went according to plan and Ben had his way, they’d stay in the exact spot he, Joel, and Allie camped in on their way east. The familiarity of the route and the location of the campsite sounded like as good an option as any other.

  Ben thought about the trouble they’d encountered outside Alton at the bridge. Initially, the spot seemed idyllic, a great waterfront campsite, and Joel was able to bag two fat mallards for dinner that night. But little did they know that staying there would turn into a struggle for survival, like at so many of the places they wound up. He pictured the explosion caused by the box of dynamite he shot. Saying he’d eliminated the threat there would be an understatement.

  Whether someone new had moved into the quarry and claimed the criminal operation for themselves remained to be seen. Retracing their steps through some of these areas where they had encountered trouble was a calculated risk. Based on their experience so far, though, he wondered if it really mattered. There was no guarantee of safety, regardless of the path they followed home. At least this way they knew what to expect to some degree.

  Bad people taking advantage of unsuspecting travelers was a recurring theme in their day-to-day lives now. They’d seen so many examples of failed humanity in the last few weeks that it was getting hard to keep track. Ben couldn’t discount the good people they’d met out here on the road, but memories of those rare encounters were tarnished by the wicked deeds of the majority.

  Ben snapped out of his daze when the Jeep’s brake lights flickered and then stayed lit until the Scrambler came to a complete stop. The reason for the stop soon became apparent. Ben pulled up alongside his son, putting Sandy closest to the kids, and pulled the AR-15 into his lap.

  “What’s going on?” Emma sat up and saw for herself. The remains of a Chevy suburban lay to the side of the highway, wrapped in one of the support structures for an overhead highway sign that had at one time spanned the westbound lanes. The collision had severed the metal framework from the concrete footer holding it up, causing the row of oversized interstate signs and their support structure to collapse. Both westbound lanes were blocked, as well as some of the overgrown median. They’d have to go around.

  “Through the grass, I guess?” Joel shrugged.

  Ben sat still for a second, taking it in. He didn’t like the idea of driving blindly through the chest-high grass separating them from the clear eastbound lanes. But what bothered him more was that he didn’t remember passing this disaster on the way east. Maybe he’d missed it. That was certainly possible.

  The last time they came by here on the other side of the road, they were fresh from their fight with the quarry people. He’d just killed a handful of people and blown up several vehicles with a box of dynamite. A toppled highway sign could have easily slipped under the radar. But that didn’t make him any less suspicious of the roadblock standing in their way.

  “Take the wheel. I’ll walk in front and look for hazards.” Ben put the Blazer in park and slid out, making sure to take his rifle with him.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Joel asked.

  “Follow Sandy. I’m going to walk it first. The last thing we need is a flat.” Ben glanced behind them and scanned the wavy horizon of the highway. He’d seen too many setups to take the road blockage at face value without having a look around first. He headed toward the median slowly, sticking close to the fallen sign.

  MULBERRY GROVE 5

  GREENVILLE 10

  ST. LOUIS 63

  Ben read the reflective green signs quickly and moved around them so he could see through the web of twisted metal to the other side of the road. There could be people hiding in the tall grass and he’d never know it. At least they were close to the Mississippi and their camping spot for the night, according to the sign. Ben clung to that little bit of good news as he approached the chest-high wall of weeds.

  He glanced back and waved Sandy forward. He was glad to see that Allie had her AR-15 ready. Even Brad manned his shotgun from behind a stack of ammunition cans and kept watch on the weed-infested shoulder to their right. Sandy nodded at Ben and started creeping forward.

  Pushing the dry stalks of overgrowth aside, Ben forced his way into the thicket. He could only see a few feet ahead of his position, but he mainly concerned himself with scouring the ground for anything that could puncture a tire. There was no shortage of car parts and broken glass along the roads. Hazards were easy to spot when they first started out, but that wasn’t the case anymore.

  He reached the end of the fallen sign in the deep weeds. Clipping the AR into his sling, he climbed the remaining upright section of metal framework until he was a few feet above the thicket. From here, he could see a clear path around the sign. They wouldn’t have to cross the median and use the eastbound lanes at all.

  “Drive around the end, then back up,” Ben shouted down to both vehicles.

  He motioned for Sandy to drive around the pieces of metal and pull back up onto the highway on the other side. She followed his lead, and the Jeep was right behind her. From his vantage point, Ben watched as the vehicles traversed the median and found their way back to asphalt again. He climbed down and carefully lowered himself to the ground. His knee was feeling all right, and he wanted to keep it that way.

  When Ben came out of the weeds, he waved Joel on. “Go ahead. We’ll catch up.”

  Sandy was back in the passenger seat and was waiting for him with her weapon ready. Ben was no longer worried about any surprises or an ambush, but it was reassuring that she had him covered. If there were bandits lurking nearby, they would have made their move by now. The downed sign was simply the result of the runaway Suburban.

  He took one last look around before assuming his spot behind the wheel, but he stopped closing the door and listened. He heard something familiar but couldn’t place the sound. It was getting louder.

  “Do you hear that?” Ben looked at Sandy, then at Emma.

  “Yeah.” Emma was straining to get a better look out her window.

  “Is that a… plane?” Sandy opened her door and got out, looking skyward. Ben did the same, scanning the horizon in every direction. When he found the source of the sound, he could barely believe his eyes.

  He fumbled for the radio. “Look up, nine o’clock. Over.”

  The Jeep stopped some twenty yards ahead of them, and Joel and the others leaned out.

  “I want to see.” Emma slid out from under Sam and climbed over the console to get out of the Blazer behind Ben.

  “What is it?” Joel shouted.

  “A-10 Warthog.” Ben watched as the familiar silhouette in the sky grew larger.

  “I think it’s coming this way,” Brad shouted with excitement from the back of the Scrambler. He was leaning out of the Jeep so far Ben was sure he’d fall any minute. The wind-up of the twin, nine-thousand-pound-thrust turbofan engines filled the otherwise quiet sky as the aircraft approached their position. Then the shape split; there were two A-10s headed their way. He watched in awe as the planes separated and entered into a dive toward the trucks.

  The sight was reminiscent of his days in the Middle East. The dry, sun-burnt landscape and unrelenting heat almost made him feel like he’d stepped back in time.

  “They’re coming right at us.” The tone of Joel’s voice made him sound like a kid again, and Ben couldn’t help but crack a smile. He wondered where the pair of subsonic attack aircraft had originated from. With a range of around 2500 miles, they could be from almost anywhere. It was a versatile aircraft, to say the least, and Ben had even seen them land on impossibly small stretches of highway before.

  He wondered if they were from Peterson Air Force base in Colorado Springs, or maybe they were Indiana Air National Guard. He wasn’t up to speed on where the remaining fleets of Warthogs were stationed, but that didn’t really matter.

  The planes screamed by at what must have been no more than a few hundred feet off the deck, enveloping both trucks in a swirling cloud of dust. Ben squinted as they turned toward the sun and set up for a second pass over the trucks. The pilots were definitely checking them out and probably reporting their location. Not that anyone would care about a couple of trucks on the road. Maybe they were looking for something specific or just out scouting for signs of life.

  “Here they come.” Brad was out of the Jeep now and running along the road under the roaring Warthogs, waving his arms at the A-10s while they screamed past. The second plane tilted its wings in response, then quickly returned to level. Both pilots pulled into a steady climb and held their trajectory this time. Ben and the others watched in silence as the planes slowly disappeared into the neon-orange horizon.

  No one spoke until they were completely out of sight. Then the kids talked excitedly among themselves about what had just happened. Seeing the Warthogs wasn’t going to change their lives, at least not immediately or in any measure that would help them get home faster, but it was a confidence boost, complete with goosebumps.

  The sighting made Ben feel less alone. They weren’t, but knowing the U.S. military had a presence out here was comforting on some level. And maybe seeing two Warthogs patrolling the skies would deter some of the thieves and criminals that had welcomed the lawless order of things. It couldn’t hurt.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  After the excitement of being buzzed by a pair of Warthogs died down, Ben urged everyone to load up and get back on the road. The trucks were running well, and the temperature had returned to something more tolerable.

  Leaving the back roads for the big interstate was a gamble. But it was time to do just that, at least until they made their way around St. Louis. The decision to leave the interstate was bittersweet, especially now that they were making decent time. However, the choice had been made for them. And it was just as well. Considering the recent spate of trouble they’d encountered while traveling through the more populated areas, Ben had no reason to believe any attempt at traversing the ruins of St. Louis would go well for them.

  He thought about the downed airplane and the destroyed bridge where they first tried to cross the Mississippi on their way east. St. Louis was a smoldering mess when they saw it last. Now, instead of hundreds of dark columns of smoke rising from what was left of the city on the horizon, there was a gray, hazy, smog-like cloud that seemed to hang lower than the rest of the clouds.

  The city had been hit hard; they knew that from what they’d witnessed passing through initially. There were other places that had taken just as much damage or more, but they’d seen St. Louis up close and personal and just a couple of days after the EMPs hit. It was odd to think that passing through the cities when all this first happened was safer than it was now.

  Joel came in over the radio. “Come in. I see the exit up ahead for 140. Is that the one we want? Over.”

  “Affirmative. That’s our exit. The 140 will take us right through Alton. Over.”

  “Still stopping where I shot the ducks? Over,” Joel asked.

  “Yep, same place. We’ve got another hour or so ahead of us. How are you fixed on fuel? Over.” Ben checked the Blazer’s fuel gauge; they were doing pretty well considering they’d been averaging legitimate highway speeds off and on since picking up I-70.

  This time, Allie answered as Ben watched the Jeep navigate around a multicar pile-up in the left-hand lane. “Little more than half a tank. Over.”

  “Still running okay? Temperature good? Over.” It wasn’t the first time Ben had asked the question since leaving Paris, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

  “Looking good. Over,” Allie replied.

  Ben set the radio down in the center console and started slowing down. Joel was moving to the right and making for the exit ramp. Ben was disappointed with how their day had turned out overall, but things were looking up at the moment. If nothing else got in their way, they’d be deep in the woods alongside the river in no time.

  Of course, the secondary roads always came with their own set of challenges, but Ben was still riding the high from the A-10 encounter. In fact, it was safe to say the overall mood of the group had improved. At least it felt that way to him.

  Seeing the planes didn’t really mean anything for them, but it was encouraging, to say the least. Ben, Sandy, and Emma had talked at length about where the pilots might be headed, where they’d come from, and what they were doing out here. And although Ben didn’t have any answers to those questions, it was refreshing to talk about something that gave them all hope.

  Ben was doing what he could to keep their spirits high. That was the reason for the early departure from the interstate. Last time they crossed the Mississippi, they took the fastest route back out to I-70, but Ben was putting a much bigger buffer between them and the decimated city this time. Based on the day they’d already had, he wasn’t taking any chances.

  He was even willing to forgo their normal protocol of fueling up before the final stop of the day. Normally, he wouldn’t consider it, but he just wanted to get to the campsite without any more incidents. If they could end the day on a good note, maybe some of this optimism they were feeling would carry over into tomorrow. He had a feeling they were going to need it.

  Forty-five minutes had passed since Ben last heard from the Jeep, but he could tell by the scenery outside the window that they were closing in on the big river. The trees gradually took on a more robust appearance and were full of green leaves for a change.

  The Mississippi was still flowing strong when they reached Alton, its muddy and roiled waters splashing southward as it made its way to the Gulf of Mexico.

  Ben felt relieved to see the water firsthand. He knew it would be there, but these days, he’d developed the habit of not taking anything for granted. It did his anxiety good to see the unpolluted water, although he noticed it was flowing at a higher level than when they’d first crossed.

  As far as the town of Alton was concerned, it was as he remembered it. There were a few people meandering about. But that was to be expected now that the sun was almost below the horizon. It wasn’t the best time of day to venture through areas with people, but it was unavoidable.

  The people they did see looked worn out and tired. One man watched them closely but never indicated he was willing to do anything more than that. Ben was sure there were more curious eyes upon them as they navigated their way through the wrecks and around the buildings that had toppled out into the streets. At this hour, there were more shadows than light, and it was impossible to know for sure if any of them held people waiting in ambush. Sandy kept her weapon ready, and so did Ben.

  He thought about stopping for fuel at the remains of a Phillips 66 gas station but quickly dismissed the idea. Moving on to the campsite without full tanks felt wrong, but there was no way they were stopping here in these low-light conditions. This looked like a sure place to get one of their windows broken, or worse, by an angry mob of desperate survivors.

  They finally reached the turnoff for Clark’s Bridge, and Joel maneuvered the Jeep out over the muddy water, officially putting them in Missouri and one more state closer to home. They passed the sign welcoming them to the new state without much fanfare. It had been a long, grueling day, and even though they hadn’t covered as much ground as Ben would have liked, he considered it a win. They were minutes away from what he expected would be a safe resting place for the night, and they were all unharmed. Almost.

  Sam was restless, and although she was heavily drugged and Emma was doing her best to comfort her, Ben was worried she wasn’t doing well. Sam had been a trooper for most of the day, only letting out a few soft whimpers when they’d hit a pothole or a rough patch on the road. But she’d lost more blood during the drive; her bandage was soaked through and needed changing. The dirt road they needed to take in order to reach the campsite wouldn’t be very enjoyable for the wounded dog.

  Ben noticed Joel slowing down. It was too soon to turn off the road, but then he saw why the Scrambler had all but stopped.

  “Is that it?” Sandy sat up in her seat, pulling her AR-15 close.

  “Yep, that’s it.” There had been mention to the others of what had happened here. Ben remembered Joel and Allie talking about it one night around the campfire. But now, they were seeing it for themselves firsthand.

  The wall of cars was bigger than Ben remembered, and the passage he’d opened with the loader was much smaller. The Jeep crept forward, and he followed cautiously. People had come through here after them, as evidenced by the tire tracks leading out of the spilled oil and other fluids on the ground.

  Once on the other side, Ben spotted the loader he’d taken from the quarry. The keys were still in the Blazer’s glove compartment. Seeing the rusty yellow piece of equipment brought the events of that morning rushing back. There was the Trans Am and the pickup. Pieces of them, anyway. The Bronco still sat in the median on its side, the twisted body already covered in spots of rust where the blast of dynamite had stripped the paint from the vehicle.