Ben laughed to himself. He didn’t believe that for one second.

  He approached the pulpit, climbing the plushy carpeted steps until he was only a few feet from the tank. A large cross hung on the wall over the raised platform, which led left and right to a backstage area. Ben stood there for another moment, listening and thinking about the last church he was in near Fort Wayne, Indiana. Vince made the ultimate sacrifice that night, a vision that would stay with Ben for the rest of his days, just like the responsibility he felt about the way things went down that night.

  Ben’s thirst snapped him out of his morbid daydream, and as he stepped toward the tank, his left foot caught something on the floor, and he nearly fell down. Regaining his composure quickly, Ben flipped on the red light of his headlamp and identified the tripping hazard that had almost taken him out.

  “There you are.” Ben took a step back, studying the body.

  A man, or what was left of him, lay on the floor. The skin on his face was taut and sunken, his eyes missing, no doubt the work of a resident critter. His velvet robe and ornate sash were covered in a fine layer of dust, indicating the body had been here for quite some time. Ben wagered the body had lain here untouched since the bombs went off.

  Ben noticed the priest was clutching a book in one hand and an empty communion glass in the other. Boney knuckles devoid of flesh clung to the items as if the man was still alive, the dehydrated skin chewed away, most likely by whatever had taken the eyes. He backed away toward the raised baptismal tank until he felt it against his back. Ignoring the corpse as best he could, Ben focused his headlamp on the objective. At first glance, he thought there was some type of cover over the tank but soon realized it was just a thick layer of dust. He grabbed a nearby empty offering plate and stirred the water gently, trying to clear the gray film off the surface.

  There wasn’t as much water as he’d hoped to find in the baptismal, but there was enough to fill the empty Nalgenes and some of the five-gallon container. He’d move the body before inviting the others inside. Or maybe he’d just have Sandy bring the filter and empty containers. They could spare the kids this experience, and Joel and Allie could keep a much-needed watch on their surroundings outside.

  These were less-than-ideal circumstances, but their gamble had paid off. They’d have enough water to get them through until tomorrow, when they could find a proper place to resupply.

  24

  Ben pulled the radio from his belt and was about to call the others and give them the good news when he heard something behind him. Spinning around with the MP5 ready for action, he prepared to unload. As his headlamp bathed the sanctuary in an eerie crimson hue, Ben discovered the real cause of the nauseating stench inside the church.

  Staring back at him were no less than a couple dozen corpses scattered throughout the pews. Some of the bodies had fallen over in their seats, but some were still sitting upright, mouths agape as if they’d launch into a hymn at any moment. The noise he’d heard was a mouse scavenging what nourishment it could from one of the bodies nearby.

  The revelation made Ben gasp, and he drew in even more of the putrid air, making his eyes water and triggering his gag reflex. He let the MP5 fall to his side and hang by its sling while attempting to regain his composure. Eventually, his heart rate began to normalize, and he felt confident he’d suppressed his urge to vomit.

  He couldn’t let the others come in here, especially the younger kids. They’d seen more than their fair share of dead bodies, but this was different and uniquely disturbing. They’d been exposed to enough nightmare-inducing memories on this trip to last a lifetime; this wasn’t an image they needed to add to the library of atrocities they’d witnessed.

  Finally feeling like he had a handle on his initial reaction to the grisly scene, Ben approached the first row of pews, noticing something familiar right away. He took another step forward, inspecting the bodies as he went. They were all in possession of or sitting near a communion cup, like their dead leader up on the stage.

  Ben thought for a minute. Then the realization of what had possibly taken place here hit him harder than the foul stench that burned his nose when he first opened the church door. This was a mass suicide, the result of a gullible congregation deceived by their leader. Or simply a group of people believing the afterlife was a better option than what the EMPs had left them with.

  Ben returned the two-way radio to his belt, realizing that his recent discovery had further implications beyond exposing the others to additional trauma. He made his way back up to the pulpit and performed a more thorough search of the immediate area. As he suspected, Ben found an empty bottle a few feet away from the priest’s decaying body. Examining the container without a label, he waved his hand over the opening and sniffed the air. There was no discernable odor, or if there was, he couldn’t smell it over the decomposing remains.

  Ben was concerned that the baptismal was tainted with whatever this gullible congregation had ingested. There was no way of knowing if their leader had dosed out the lethal serving directly into the communion cups for his flock or if he’d laced the water in the tank with the toxin and the dead men and women in the pews had lined up to serve themselves from the baptismal, one by one. The stack of cups along the edge of the baptismal—which Ben hadn’t noticed until now—didn’t answer any questions about what exactly had taken place here, but it did solidify his reservations about the safety of the water.

  Ben mustered enough saliva to swallow, but not enough to satiate his parched throat, reminding him that the lack of drinkable water was more than just an inconvenience. And although the undeniable evidence was laid out before him, the disappointment and realization that they would not be able to get water here was a hard blow. He’d tried to temper his expectations as they pulled into the gravel parking lot, but the roller coaster of emotions that came with finding water and then having it yanked away like this was almost too much to bear in the moment.

  In a burst of frustration, Ben couldn’t contain his emotions any longer, and he hurled the bottle against the wall behind the baptismal tank, narrowly avoiding the mounted cross. As shards of brown glass rained down into the dust-covered water, Ben was flooded with immediate remorse for his impulsive actions. Being within the confines of a church only intensified the guilt he felt for letting his temper get the best of him.

  But it wasn’t just the bad water that had gotten to him; it was the thought of walking out of here and having to report to the others that this pit stop had been a failure. He could see the looks of defeat on their faces already. Ben let out a deep sigh and gathered himself for the unfortunate task of delivering bad news as he headed for the exit.

  “Come in. Everything okay in there? Over.” He could hear the nervousness in Sandy’s voice, which only multiplied the regret he already felt about losing his cool.

  He didn’t bother answering Sandy’s call and walked out onto the church’s well-weathered front stoop a few seconds later, shaking his head solemnly.

  “Nothing at all?” Joel objected to his father’s report.

  “There’s water, but it’s no good,” Ben confirmed.

  A collective chorus of sighs and groans rose from the group. Joel started for the church as if he intended to check for himself, but Ben met him in the parking lot and put his hand on his son’s chest.

  “You don’t want to go in there. Please, just trust me on this,” Ben implored.

  Joel didn’t resist, relaxing his stance and meeting Ben’s eyes. “So what’s the plan, then? It’s almost dark.”

  “We keep driving until we reach the river.” Ben slid his hand to his son’s shoulder and guided him back toward the vehicles, where the others were waiting with even bigger looks of disappointment on their faces than Ben was prepared for.

  This bust of a pit stop was hitting them all hard. Ben could sense the others’ dissatisfaction and irritation with their current predicament, but he was powerless to do anything more about it. Today had been exceptionally tough, or maybe it just felt that way because they were tired, dirty, and running on fumes. What they needed was water, a good campsite, and a decent meal. Tomorrow was a new day, and they had to remember that. This wasn’t the first time they’d been kicked while they were down, and it wouldn’t be the last.

  They were still an hour’s drive from the closest and most probable water source, a fact Ben decided to keep to himself for the time being. They all knew how far they had to go before resting tonight, but reminding them would go over like a lead balloon right now. Ben didn’t even want to think about the chances of the river being polluted.

  They’d been downstream of the Kansas River watershed, but that was no assurance there wasn’t a local issue with the water quality near the town of Lawrence. It didn’t take much to ruin a spot: an overturned truck, a downed plane, or an overflowing wastewater treatment plant that had run amuck without workers to monitor the facility. Ben thought about the plane bleeding hydraulic fluid into the stream on the way back to the house from their camping trip that fateful first day. The chances for failure out here on the road were endless. A daunting aspect of their journey that seemed to dog them constantly.

  Ben switched positions with Sandy and suggested Joel do the same with Allie. A fresh set of eyes behind the wheel might mean the difference between plowing into an unexpected wreck on the roadway or spotting the hazard in time to avoid a collision. Ben was always concerned about attracting attention with the vehicles’ lights at nighttime, but the biggest threat they faced was navigation. The vast majority of vehicles left on the highway were well camouflaged in the darkness; their flat-black, scorched exteriors were much better at absorbing headlights than reflecting them. They’d even had some near misses during the daytime, thanks to the ever-encroaching vegetation that was no longer being maintained by road crews.

  “Eyes peeled, everyone. This is going to be a group effort tonight,” Ben warned the others from his open window, although his urge for caution was probably unnecessary.

  “It’s going to be another late night,” Sandy admitted.

  Pulling out onto the highway at this hour felt unnatural. They’d abided by the daylight-traveling-only rule for so long now that what they were doing seemed not only wrong but a little foolish. He was hoping last night would be the exception; he’d been trying to put Sanctuary well behind them and avoid any of Jerimiah Stone’s overzealous, surviving militia members. Now here they were, doing almost the exact same thing.

  Was this going to be the new norm from here on out, all the way back home? Ben hoped this wasn’t an indication of how the rest of the trip was going to go. If it was, he’d be inclined to drive straight through to Durango, stopping only for gas and water as needed, hazardous driving conditions and fatigue be damned.

  Ben settled in behind the wheel, trying to extend his left leg out as far as he could in an attempt to reduce his discomfort as much as possible. It hadn’t been a long day due to their late start, but his body was telling him otherwise.

  “We’ll make something to eat when we get there, I guess?” Sandy asked.

  “How about I cover tent setup while you get dinner going? That will save us a little time. Hopefully, the kids will be on water duty if we find a good spot.”

  “It’s a deal,” Sandy agreed.

  “I can help with dinner if you want?” Emma offered.

  Sandy grinned. “Thanks, I’d like that, Emma.”

  Emma had given up on reading by headlamp, which was just as well since Ben wanted all hands on deck when it came to watching the road. He was glad to see his daughter eager to help out. They needed everyone to do their part when they reached camp if they expected to get any sleep tonight and pull off a reasonably early departure time tomorrow. Ben was determined to break the cycle and get back on their normal schedule, but as he was well aware, they often had little control over those things.

  25

  Ben wanted to ask Sandy to check the atlas again but didn’t. He’d already asked her for several updates after passing the last set of weed-choked highway signs. Ben had announced to the others after their last fiasco with the bridge encampment gang that they would only need another hour and a half at the most to reach their new destination. He’d figured his estimate was conservative but failed to take into consideration the specific difficulties of traveling at night.

  Ben had taken the lead from Joel, and against his better judgment, he was using the Blazer’s push-bar-mounted off-road lights to supplement the fifty-plus-year-old Chevy’s original lackluster headlamps. The aftermarket LEDs did an exceptional job of lighting the way; however, Ben was afraid they were doing far more than that.

  The off-road lights were costing them more than just stealth at the moment, thanks to the solid concrete barrier that had replaced the weed-choked median some miles back. The pale white concrete highway divider reflected a good portion of the blazing-white light back into the cab of the Blazer and Ben’s eyes. But it was well worth the discomfort every time he was alerted to a flash of metal or piece of vehicle debris on the highway ahead. As much as the auxiliary lights illuminated the road ahead, though, they made the near-moonless night seem even darker outside the reach of their beams, adding to the already overwhelming sense of isolation and vulnerability.

  The sooner they could exit the highway, the better. If sitting on the edge of their seats in anticipation of the next road sign could expedite their journey, they would have seen the next milepost by now.

  “It’s got to be coming up any minute now.” Sandy was referring to the exit they were watching for.

  Exit 204 to Lawrence was located several miles before the bridge over the Kansas River, but like with most highway river crossings, they would need to utilize a few secondary roads to actually reach the river. There was almost always a power line road or utility access road that could be taken from the end of any paved route. Without the trucks, this entire trip would have ended before it even started. They weren’t without their quirks or scars, but if there ever came a time when he had the means and life allowed it, he vowed to fully restore Joel’s Blazer to a condition well beyond its former glory.

  That was a pipe dream, though, and Ben wasn’t sure fixing up the Blazer would ever be possible, but it was easy to get lost in thoughts about better days, especially with the headlights being mirrored back at them every few seconds as they bounced off the reflectors mounted to the concrete divider.

  “There, I see something up ahead.” Sandy leaned even farther forward in her seat.

  “I see it, too,” Emma stated.

  Eventually, an overhead highway sign materialized out of the darkness, indicating the exit they were looking for; it lay just five miles ahead. Seeing the sign was a relief, but finding the place they were looking for was just the beginning. There was still plenty of work to do before he could crawl into his tent.

  “Come in, guys. We’re taking the next exit. Over,” Sandy said over the radio.

  “Copy that. Over,” Allie answered.

  “I was beginning to think we’d never get there,” Sandy added.

  “It was starting to feel that way.” Ben gave a burned-out pickup truck a wide margin as he steered the Blazer around the wreck.

  He would have been more excited about their proximity to the exit, but his mood was tempered by the fact that finding the river didn’t automatically mean they’d found a campsite. Outside the chores of making dinner, filtering water, and setting up camp, there was the chance that they’d run into people by the water. But that was always the case, no matter the time of day, although making camp in the dark provided its own unique set of challenges and dangers.

  There was no way to avoid advertising their approach tonight. Ben wished once again that he’d bartered with Ed for the night vision goggles, although he doubted the man would have parted ways with them for any amount of ammunition, and he wouldn’t have blamed him.

  The last few miles went by quickly, thanks to a clear highway and Ben’s inability to refrain from pushing the Blazer along a little faster than he should have in these conditions. But the anticipation of wrapping up a troubling day was impossible to stifle. Even Sam and Bajer came to life as if they could tell their confinement to the truck was close to an end.

  Ben navigated the exit slowly, taking the blind curve with extreme caution. He followed the roundabout at the end and made the turn onto a secondary road that, according to the atlas, headed toward the river. A mile or so later, he hung a right down a dirt road that followed the highway above them. They bounced along for a couple of minutes at a reduced rate of speed, navigating the pothole- and washboard-scarred road until they reached a set of train tracks. Ben strained to see beyond the railroad without the use of the off-road lights, which he’d turned off after leaving the interstate, and spotted the river ahead.

  He stopped for a minute and turned the headlights off altogether, scanning the bank for any signs of life. Joel followed suit and killed the Scrambler’s headlights as well.

  “I don’t see anything,” Sandy commented.

  “Me neither,” Emma agreed from her perch over the console while trying her best to hold the enthusiastic dogs at bay behind her.

  Based on how the day had gone, Ben could hardly believe they were fortunate enough to find an unoccupied spot, but he wasn’t about to overthink the situation. He was too tired, anyway.

  “Hang on.” Ben drove over the train tracks and picked up another, lesser-defined trail on the other side, following the path all the way to the river’s edge and into a clearing directly under the bridge.

  Staying under the bridge would conceal them from any travelers passing overhead, and to further keep themselves out of sight, they’d forgo a fire tonight. But it was the lack of apparent firewood that made doing without a fire an easy decision. They were surrounded by barren farm fields; the local crops had failed to grow any more than several inches out of the soil before succumbing to the drought.