Ben nodded. “That’s fine. We won’t be long anyway.”

  Emma’s decision to stay put came as a relief to Ben. He didn’t like being forced to make a pit stop like this, but they’d do what they needed to and move on quickly, especially if there weren’t any rambunctious dogs to round up. Ben grabbed his M24 and his newly acquired, heavily modified AR-15, laying the M24 across the hood of the Blazer for quick access and shouldering the AR. Sandy followed suit and brought her AR-15 out with her as well. She recognized the less-than-ideal conditions, too, and shot Ben a look as she slid out of the truck. Ben was glad to see they were on the same page. Since last night, he’d felt a paradigm shift in their communication, as if, somehow, they were now enjoying an unspoken yet clear ability to connect on another level.

  This wouldn’t have been his first pick of places to stop, but with the Jeep running out of gas, they really had no choice in the matter. He just hoped they hadn’t done any damage to the Scrambler in the process of pulling fuel from the bottom of the tank. Joel and Allie were already out of the truck and had the underground tank riser unlocked when Ben and Sandy joined them with the pumping equipment.

  “I guess we got lucky, huh?” Allie wiped a bead of sweat from her brow and forced a nervous smile.

  “We’ll see. Hopefully you didn’t suck anything off the bottom of the tank.” Ben fed the hose into the riser pipe while Joel readied the pump at the other end.

  “I thought Grandpa had a new tank put in?” Joel asked.

  “Yeah, but that was a while ago, before Brad was born, I think.” Ben couldn’t remember exactly when Jack had the restoration done, but they’d find out soon enough if they had a bigger problem on their hands.

  Brad opted to stay in the truck as well, hiding under the Scrambler’s soft top with Gunner, trying his best to find shelter from the sunlight. Ben was jealous of the two and threw a damp rag over the back of his neck, blocking the searing rays of sun that felt like they were giving him an instant sunburn.

  “I had high hopes for cooler weather this morning, but I see that’s not going to happen,” Sandy noted.

  “If anything, I’d say we might be looking at a new record if this keeps up.” Ben glanced skyward and adjusted his sunglasses.

  It wasn’t even noon yet, and the bare metal of the vehicles not covered in the white rubber-like thermal coating was already too hot to touch bare-handed. He hated to even entertain the thought, but they might have to consider pulling over somewhere midday and sitting out the worst of the heat. Of course, they’d have to find a shaded spot to do that. Maybe at the river crossing in Junction City, if the spot wasn’t overrun with lunatics or murderous bikers. The torturesome heat was plenty dangerous, but finding respite from the sun could prove just as risky. There was no easy decision to be made, only a hard one.

  29

  Fueling up both vehicles and the two jerry cans went unexpectedly well. It didn’t take them very long to get the job done in spite of the ever-increasing temperature and copious amounts of sweat produced by operating the hand-powered pump. But then again, at this point, there wasn’t a single one of them that couldn’t perform the task blindfolded when there were no outside interferences to contend with.

  Ben and the others took turns keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings, but it soon became obvious they were the only ones crazy enough to be outdoors at the onset of the hottest part of the day. He found himself almost wishing for the return of the strange, yellowish smog that threatened to choke the atmosphere at the beginning of their trip. Although the EMPs were no doubt a direct cause of what they were experiencing with the record-setting temperatures, how or why remained a mystery, one Ben might never solve.

  Sam let out a frustrated groan and sank down onto her haunches as she watched them stow the fueling gear and top off their water bottles from the five-gallon container.

  “How are you doing in there?” Ben glanced at Emma through the Blazer’s back window while strapping down the Jerry cans.

  “I’m fine as long as we can get moving again soon.” Emma raised her voice to compete with Sam and Bajer, who were both panting loudly.

  Ben nodded. “I know I said we needed to conserve water, but maybe you should drink a little now.”

  Emma’s face was flush and suspiciously sweat-free considering she’d been sitting still inside a metal box in the sun. He recalled Allie’s episode behind the wheel of the Toyota. Cutting it close on water would be the least of their concerns if he or one of the others suffered from heat stroke. Emma nodded and found a Nalgene right away, taking several large gulps of water as the dogs looked on in envy.

  Emma made a face. “Don’t be too jealous. It’s hot.”

  “Better give them some, too,” Ben said.

  Emma handed Ben the dogs’ water bowl, and he filled it from the big container before giving it back. He stepped aside so Joel and Allie could finish refilling their Nalgenes as well, then headed back to their vehicle.

  The sound of the Jeep starting was encouraging, and Ben left Sandy with the last two containers to fill and went to stand near the hood and listen while Joel and Allie got situated in the vehicle.

  “I think we’re good to go.” Ben couldn’t believe their luck.

  “Junction City, here we come.” Allie feigned excitement over their latest destination.

  “Right behind you.” Ben started for the Blazer, anxious to get back on the road.

  As soon as Sandy finished topping off their Nalgenes, she climbed back into the truck and buckled up. “Should we stop somewhere and wait this out? It’s not even noon yet, and it’s almost unbearable.” She dried the sweat from her face and neck with a towel.

  “We might have to. I’ve been thinking the same thing, but I’d like to try and make the next river crossing first.” Stopping to avoid the hottest part of the day was not on Ben’s itinerary, but it was time to concede that it might be unavoidable.

  Back on the road, the hot, dry air blasting in the open windows and side vent felt better than standing still in the blazing sun but only provided minimal relief. Unfortunately, the landscape between Topeka and Junction City left much to be desired in the entertainment department. Ben didn’t expect much, but the monotonously dull, straight stretch of highway was practically featureless, save for the rolling, expansive brown fields of dead land.

  It took over two impossibly long hours to chew through the seventy-plus-mile gap separating the most recent fuel stop and their aspirations for drinking water. By the time they’d reached the outskirts of Junction City, Ben speculated that the temperature was soaring well above a hundred degrees. The air was also noticeably dryer, which only added to their misery. Their bodies were rapidly losing water, each droplet of sweat evaporating almost instantly. The absence of moisture on his skin transformed the semi-refreshing wind streaming through the Blazer into a scorching blast reminiscent of the heat he felt while loading a roaring woodstove.

  “Come in. We must be getting close to the river. Over,” Allie reported over the radio.

  “Copy that. Why don’t you let us take the lead for now? I want to cross the bridge first. We’ll access water from the west side. Over,” Ben responded.

  “Sounds good. Over,” Allie replied.

  Joel stuck his arm up over the roll bar and waved them on.

  Ben didn’t need the heads-up from Allie to know they were drawing close to the river. He could tell they were close to water thanks to the sudden appearance of somewhat healthy-looking trees and vivid green foliage that stuck out among their otherwise dead and dying surroundings. Joel slowed the Scrambler and moved to the right, allowing Ben to pull ahead of him. Ben wanted to be first over the bridge, determined to scout the place out a little and get a look below before committing to a stop here. If he saw anything he didn’t like, they’d move on without hesitation, regardless of the water situation. At another potential spot up ahead, the highway didn’t cross water but nearly intersected it where the river made a sharp but brief curve toward the interstate.

  But first things first, Ben had to make sure there wasn’t anything blocking their way over the bridge. That was always a concern. Just because they’d crossed in a certain place on the way east didn’t mean a viable route still existed.

  “Looks clear to me.” Sandy leaned forward, eyes scouring the bridge ahead.

  “Great, now let’s see if it’s clear below.” Ben took his foot off the gas and let the Blazer coast around an abandoned car wedged into the guardrail.

  He stopped the truck near the halfway point toward the far side of the westbound lanes so they couldn’t be spotted from below and left the engine running. “Stay put for now. Over.” Ben let the others know his plans. He didn’t want a repeat of the last bridge crossing.

  If there were people down by the water, he wanted to be ready to keep moving before any potential threats had a chance to react to their presence. This was to be their method for the rest of the trip. It was time to start treating their water stops with the same level of circumspection as their fuel stops.

  Investigating the immediate area for danger before making plans or unloading gear was something they should have started practicing long ago. They’d gotten into trouble one too many times to continue being so casual about where and when they stopped. Although they had less control over when they stopped, depending on the fuel and water situation, they needed to get better at planning ahead.

  Unlike in other parts of the country, the flat contours of the land here allowed the bridge to cross the Smoky Hill River at a much lower height than at previous places, putting them no more than a hundred feet above the watershed. Ben hadn’t even made it to the concrete guardrail before he heard voices from below. He crept the last couple of feet to the edge and peered over cautiously. The scene was not unlike the encampment they’d encountered yesterday near Kansas City, but from what he could see, this one was larger. And although there were very few tents dotting the river’s banks, there were quite a few makeshift shelters scattered among the weeds and shade-providing trees. The scrap wood, cardboard, and multicolored tarp-covered shanties littered the shoreline like a patchwork quilt weaving its way under the bridge and disappearing into the shadows below.

  Ben imagined if he checked the other side, he’d see the same thing. There was no telling how many campers were down there, walking among the shanties and through the well-worn trails that snaked through the undergrowth. There was also no way of knowing how he and the others would be received if they chose to make their presence known by going down for water. His guess was that it wouldn’t be received well, and that was a based assumption, even though the place looked established to the point of possible credibility.

  The encampment might be open to trading goods for access to the water. The place even had one of those fish-catching wheels set up in the river, the kind he’d seen used to harvest salmon during their run up in Alaska. But bartering for a natural resource like water felt wrong, and the whole thing seemed too dangerous.

  It just wasn’t worth the risk.

  Ben eased back from the guardrail onto his heels for a moment, balancing himself with the butt of his rifle as he tried to ignore the searing heat on his back.

  They still had water. It was hot and unpleasant, but it would keep them hydrated as long as they could stomach it. And there was another place not much farther down the road. Fifteen or twenty minutes, he guessed. There’d be no bridge to hide under, leaving them to find shade among the trees if they could. But maybe that would make the place less desirable for others as well. He’d rather contend with a lack of decent shelter from the sun than spar with another unsavory group of miscreants over dirty brown water.

  Ben’s thoughts were interrupted by the Scrambler coming to rest several yards away. He shuffled back from the rail before standing fully upright and walked over to the Jeep, shaking his head.

  “Not here. There’s another encampment, bigger than the last one.”

  “So what then?” Joel shrugged.

  “There’s another spot not too far up ahead. Follow us.” Ben jogged to the Blazer, anxious to move on before anyone from the makeshift village below noticed them.

  “We’re not stopping, I take it?” Sandy asked.

  “If there were any more people living down there, they’d have to name the place. We can’t go down there for water. We’ll have a target on our backs with all this stuff.” Using the rearview mirror, Ben glanced at the pile of gear crammed into the back of the Blazer and caught the disappointed look on Emma’s face. “But there is another possibility just up the road a bit. Fifteen minutes, tops.”

  His initial plan to hide their gear and supplies by blacking out the lower portion of the Blazer’s rear windows was well intended but no longer effective. With all the things they’d acquired along the way, there was no disguising the fact they were wealthy with goods. At times, Ben still had to shake his head in disbelief over the things they’d accumulated. He was expecting to return home with less, not more.

  He had no complaints about the problem of being overpacked, although the extra weight ate into their fuel budget and affected the Chevy’s handling to some degree. The Scrambler was in the same predicament, loaded to the gills and more troublesome to handle than it should have been. Ben hadn’t been behind the wheel of Jack’s old Jeep, but he could tell by the way Joel and Allie took the curves that the Scrambler was maxed out. But that was no reason to give any of it up without cause.

  They could have used a little more food, MREs specifically, but as far as guns and ammunition were concerned, they had the ability to wage their own little war if need be. There was definitely an inconvenience factor involved with carrying the extra hardware and ammunition, which by itself made up for most of the additional weight. But the confidence it gave them was more than enough compensation. And how well they’d be set up at the house in Durango was the icing on top.

  Ben put the pedal down hard and got moving once they’d cleared the bridge. He picked up speed rapidly, pushing the Blazer upward of seventy miles per hour. They’d been averaging decent speeds so far today, but that was due to being out here in the middle of nowhere.

  Ben wasn’t sure exactly what time of day the EMPs hit this part of the country, but if it was close to when he and Joel had experienced the attack, then it stood to reason the interstate was fairly deserted. Most of the wrecks they saw were trucks transporting goods from city to city, and they were large and easy to spot at a distance, giving Ben and the others plenty of warning to navigate around any upcoming hazards. He expected this was a trend that would continue as they struck deeper into the heart of Kansas. It was an aspect of the journey they had failed to appreciate on their way east, only because they had nothing to compare it to at the time.

  The roads were much worse back east, but that made sense due to the increased population and density of major cities. The number of burned-out or abandoned vehicles increased exponentially as they ventured east, a detail that hadn’t slipped by unnoticed. The comparatively wide, open roadways here were a breath of fresh air, unlike the climate. Ben couldn’t help but crack a smile as he realized there was a very good chance they’d seen the worst of it when it came to the roads.

  30

  Ben leaned forward in his seat, straining to see through a windshield that desperately needed to be cleaned. “That’s it. That’s the exit we’re looking for. Can you let the others know?”

  Sandy used the radio to contact the Scrambler and give the others a heads-up about the impending turn. Ben kept both hands on the wheel as he slowed the Chevy to a manageable speed and prepared to navigate the waist-high grassy median to cross the interstate and access the on-ramp from the other side. Traversing blindly, for the most part, through the tall, dead grass, risking a tire puncture on some unseen piece of debris, and heading the wrong way down the ramp wasn’t Ben’s first choice.

  An overturned log truck and its spilled cargo were clogging the westbound exit ramp, the result of the driver’s failed attempt to avoid a car that now sat crushed under the truck’s cab with only the trunk exposed. The felled timber was strewn about like a box of spilled matchsticks, making the entire section of highway impassable. Whether they had intended to stop here for water or not, they would have had to circumnavigate this section of interstate littered with trees. It was as if the universe was punishing him for being optimistic about the chance for clearer road conditions.

  “What a mess.” Emma glued herself to the window, staring at what must have been quite the spectacle at the time of its occurrence.

  “I was just about to comment on how the roads have been getting better.” Sandy sighed. “At least it seemed that way.”

  “They are, for the most part,” Ben stated. “Not much out here between where we are and home. And other than a few smaller towns, it should be pretty desolate all the way home from here. I’d say the worst is behind us.”

  He instantly regretted making such a bold prediction. They had no idea what lay ahead. And just because an area was less densely populated or uninhabitable didn’t mean they could let their guards down. Ben was reminded of what happened to Allie not too far from here. Ben would never forget the fateful and almost tragic event at Daisy’s pit stop, where Allie was abducted right out from under their noses. He’d also never forget the sinking feeling in his gut when he thought they’d lost her for good. If only they’d have known that episode was only the beginning of their troubles. Then again, it was probably for the best they hadn’t.

  Fewer people didn’t mean they were any safer than anywhere else, although Ben imagined that would gradually change as survivors gravitated toward reliable water sources, abandoning drought-stricken areas and turning them into uninhabited wastelands. Only the strong or crazy would occupy those places, both dangerous attributes. It took a certain breed to make it in a world full of harsh realities and an even tougher environment. The characteristics that made someone capable of eking out an existence on the road were the same qualities that made every person Ben encountered suspect.