Plowing through the tall weeds, Ben pushed the Blazer over the rough ground until he broke through a thicket of brush and found himself on the edge of a decaying cornfield: row after row of withered and broken plants, bent over at the base of their stalks as if they’d all been toppled simultaneously by a powerful gust of wind. The failed rows of corn stretched out as far as the dim moonlight would allow them to see.

  Ben picked a line between a couple of rows and forged ahead toward the river. The dead plants made him feel slightly less guilty about driving over the field, but they also served as a stark reminder of the current state of their lives. At least his chances of getting stuck were virtually nil. The parched ground crackled under the Blazer. Its tires crushing the crusty, sunbaked earth sounded more like they were breaking through ice than dirt.

  Ben liked the look of the other side of the river better, with its denser stands of trees and heavier vegetation, but there was no way he would agree to camp on that side after what they’d just been through. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with their current location, but he was willing to settle, all things considered.

  The welcoming smell of moving water hit his nostrils before he caught sight of the moonlight-dappled surface of the Missouri River. Ben aimed for a cluster of willow trees near the base of the bridge; he thought they’d make good cover for the trucks and their campsite while allowing for a decent line of sight back down the trail they’d just forged. He wasn’t sure how long they’d be staying here, but he didn’t want to have to move the trucks again if they were still here during daylight hours, which, at this point, was unavoidable.

  He tried not to dwell on their current timeline too much, mostly because it was disappointing, but he checked his watch just the same. It was just a little after four in the morning, and they were preparing to camp along the same river they’d failed to get water from yesterday. Ben shook his head and sighed as he took the Blazer out of gear and turned the engine off.

  “Well, I guess this is it.” Sandy popped her door open and slid out of the truck. “What should we do with them?”

  Ben glanced back at Emma and Brad, who were both still sound asleep. “Let ’em go for now. I’ll get their tents set up first.” He wasn’t exactly looking forward to setting up his own tent, let alone the kids’ tents, but in the long run, this would be easier than trying to coax his younger two into action.

  By the time he and Sandy got their gear unloaded, Joel and Allie had already picked out a location for their tents. Sam and Gunner had unloaded and were giving the new spot a once-over with about half as much enthusiasm as normal, but Bajer showed no interest and stayed with Emma in the Blazer.

  A few minutes into setting up their campsite, Allie ran to find a spot to throw up. She nearly tripped along the way but managed to hold it together without getting sick. The brief episode of nausea was a reminder that they all needed water, not just because they were suffering from dehydration but because they needed to flush their systems of the toxins they’d ingested.

  “Why don’t you guys get on the water situation while we finish up with the gear?” Ben suggested.

  “Oh man, really?” Joel hung his shoulders.

  “We all need to drink as much as we can before going to bed,” Sandy added.

  Ben grabbed the empty five-gallon container and water filter from the back of the Jeep and handed it to his son. The last time he’d handled the jug, he was fighting for his life, trying his best not to drown. Now his throat was so dry he couldn’t come up with enough spit to wet his lips. He didn’t have the energy to be angry with Joel over his complaint, and quite honestly, he couldn’t blame his son for his reaction. They were all tired and anxious to crawl into their sleeping bags, but getting fresh water into their systems now would make the morning more bearable and help mitigate the hangover-like symptoms that were sure to follow.

  Joel accepted the jug and filter without saying another word. Then he and Allie headed for the water’s edge with Sam and Gunner. Ben and Sandy continued with the tents until they had everything in place. Ben adjusted his knee brace before dragging Brad from the floor of the Blazer. His youngest was still half asleep when Ben hoisted him up and carried him to his tent.

  “Where are we?” Brad mumbled.

  “We made camp for the night, buddy,” Ben answered.

  “I’m so tired.” Brad tried to lie down, but Ben caught him.

  “Not yet. I need you to take a big drink for me first. Then you can go back to sleep.” Ben took a freshly filled Nalgene from Sandy and held it to Brad’s lips.

  Initially, Brad resisted, but after the first swallow, he held the bottle himself and guzzled almost half the Nalgene, letting the excess spill out of the corners of his mouth. He took a big breath and wiped his face, then lay down and fell asleep immediately. Ben left the water by his son’s head and zipped him into his tent before heading to the Blazer for Emma.

  He was surprised to see his daughter sitting up, although she looked as though a slight breeze could tip her over. He helped her out of the truck, then waited for Bajer to join them before closing the door.

  “Where are we?” Emma was as confused as Brad.

  “We’re making camp for the night. Or at least what’s left of it.” Sandy was ready with an answer and another fresh bottle of water.

  Emma took the water without being prompted and drank a good amount while Ben helped her navigate the uneven ground to her tent. She climbed inside, sat down with heavy eyes, and took another drink while waiting for Bajer to join her. The gray dog found a spot at the end of Emma’s sleeping bag and curled up, grunting her approval. Ben got his daughter to drink a little more water, then helped her settle in. She fell asleep almost as quickly as the dog.

  Sandy put her hand on Ben’s shoulder as he crouched down by Emma’s tent. “I’m glad we stopped. I know you didn’t want to, but I think it was the smart thing to do.”

  “No, we needed it.” Ben kissed his daughter’s forehead and zipped the screened tent fly shut before getting up.

  “Sore, huh?” Sandy asked.

  Ben forced a tight-lipped smile. “Just a little, but I’ll take it over a night in Sanctuary.”

  He stood for a minute, eyeing the bridge that nearly ran directly above them, and listened to the frogs singing in the still night air for a minute. This wouldn’t have been his first choice of places to stay, but it was as good or as bad as any other campsite they’d made. And if anyone passed on the highway above, at least he and the others would be out of sight and have plenty of warning.

  Joel and Allie returned from the river, and Joel heaved the full five-gallon container of water up onto the Blazer’s rear cargo rack with a sigh. Allie carried the refilled Nalgenes in a towel and handed one to her mom before giving a second to Ben.

  “The water’s pretty cool, actually,” Allie noted.

  There was no reason to talk for the next minute or so as they all drank their fill and settled into the calm quiet of their surroundings. One by one, they said goodnight and retired to their tents, with Gunner and Sam choosing to sleep outside in the narrow gap between Allie and Joel. Ben stopped for a second and gave both dogs a little attention to show his gratitude for their willingness to stand watch, whether that was their intention or not.

  Ben was the last one to get into his tent. He took a final look around before partially zipping himself inside. If something happened, he wanted to be able to get up and outside while making as little noise as possible. He laid his AR-15 alongside his bag and tucked the Glock behind the rolled-up towel he was using for a pillow, then worked on stripping off his boots and the knee brace.

  He was grateful to Julia for the brace, but it felt good to be free of the neoprene and metal support for a change. Ben worked his knee through a couple of full extensions before lying down and trying his best to clear his head by focusing on the chirping frogs. He felt his eyes getting heavy, and despite his worries about the lack of miles between their camp and latest near-death experience, he drifted off to sleep.

  3

  Ben knew he’d slept longer than he intended to when he woke up on top of his sleeping bag soaked with sweat. There was nothing quite like waking up on the ground, inside a hot tent, and well behind schedule to start the day. He sat up and listened for a couple of seconds, thinking it was much too quiet for the amount of daylight coming through the thin green nylon tent shell. A quick glance at his watch confirmed his fears and propelled him to get moving.

  He pulled on his boots and stood without bothering to lace them up. He returned the Glock to its holster on his belt and made sure to grab the AR-15 for good measure. He stepped all the way outside his tent and was almost instantly greeted by three wet dogs.

  “All right, all right. I see you. Thanks for that.” Ben held Gunner at arm’s length in an effort to stay dry and clean, although he’d already failed at both. He tried to brush the sand and water from his pants and watched the dogs gallop back toward the river, where the others were gathered.

  “Good morning.” Sandy was the first to greet him, in a tone that was way too chipper for his current state of mind. He was sore; the pain in his face and neck from getting hit with the rifle butt overshadowed his bum knee or any of the other half dozen aches and pains that plagued him.

  He glanced at his watch again. “I don’t know if you can still call it that. It’s almost 11:30.”

  “Joel tried to wake you up around nine, but no luck. You needed the rest,” Sandy insisted.

  Ben leaned his rifle against a dogwood sapling and proceeded to run through a series of stretches he was hoping would loosen him up a little. He was getting too old to sleep on the ground and pull all-nighters—at least consecutive all-nighters.

  “Oh, that doesn’t look good.” Sandy winced as she drew closer to Ben and got a look at his face.

  “Bad, huh?”

  “Does it hurt?” Sandy continued to study the side of his face. “Stupid question, huh?”

  “No, it does a little, yeah. It’s my neck more than anything.” Ben moved his head from side to side a few times, then changed the subject. “Have you seen anyone pass by?”

  “A car crossed the bridge early this morning, headed that way.” She pointed east. “Toward Sanctuary or Lexington or whatever. They didn’t even slow down.”

  Ben nodded. He was jealous of the early-morning travelers and wished he and his crew had managed to get on the road at a decent time. But he also understood they needed their rest. He couldn’t very well expect the others or himself to be alert and aware of their surroundings if they were fighting exhaustion as they traveled. He figured the foul-up in Sanctuary would cost them a couple of days, and he was right, although today wouldn’t be a total loss travel-wise. If they broke camp soon, they could still get half a day’s worth of travel under their belt, and with a little luck, they could reach Kansas by dark.

  “We saved you some coffee and oatmeal. I’ll go heat it up for you.” Sandy let her hand rest on his shoulder for a moment before heading off toward the water. “I’ll grab you something for the pain, too.”

  “Nothing too strong. Just a few ibuprofen will be fine,” Ben called out.

  The last thing he wanted was to be doped up on the pills Julia had sent with them. He knew Sandy meant well, but today was a chance for a fresh start, albeit a late one. And Ben was determined to leave the state of Missouri in the rearview mirror. He already anticipated pushback from Sandy over who would drive. He wouldn’t argue, though, not today, and if she was up to drive, he’d let her have the first shift. It was going to be a long one, and there would be plenty of opportunities for everyone to take a turn behind the wheel.

  As long as there continued to be no reason to rush out of here, Ben planned on topping off their water supply and straightening out the gear in the trucks enough to quiet his OCD tendencies. He was initially afraid they wouldn’t make it out of Sanctuary with all the supplies, ammunition, and hardware they’d gone in with, but that wasn’t the case. In fact, it was the opposite; they’d picked up a few things during the escape. There really wasn’t room in either truck for more than they already had, but he couldn’t resist grabbing the body armor or the M249.

  They were close to home now. Had they been any farther away, he might have considered ditching some of the stuff weighing them down. But the time it would cost them now would be well worth the effort when they reached the house. He already had a spot picked out for the SAW on the corner of the front porch, facing the dirt road approaching the house. Unfortunately, he only had the top part of the mounting bracket, but he was working through a solution for that as well. They were still a long way from home, although he was admittedly getting ahead of himself with problems that didn’t need solving yet. That was okay, though. If a time came when he no longer planned for their future, then hope was lost.

  Ben turned his attention to their current state of affairs as he watched the boys cast their lines over the chocolate-milk-colored water. The river didn’t look very promising as far as catching fish went, but that didn’t seem to dampen their enthusiasm or affect the determination written on their faces. But it wasn’t always about landing that trophy catch. There was therapy within the rhythm of motion required to keep the big loops of line flowing outward and the fly airborne.

  Sandy returned with a cup of coffee and another mug of oatmeal and dehydrated fruit. Hardly a gourmet meal, but satisfying just the same. She delivered the hot beverage and steaming cup of food without attempting to engage in conversation, as if she knew Ben needed fuel before discussing their chances of survival today any further.

  He sat back on a deadfall tree that had been washed several yards back from the edge of the river by some forgotten flood and let the coffee work its way through his body. The sounds of the kids and dogs making noise down by the water brought to mind better days. He would have given anything to open his eyes and find them streamside in Durango, having one of the pack-lunch picnics that had become a staple when he had all the kids with him.

  Ben forced his mouth open wide and took another oversized bite of oatmeal in an effort to finish the meal quickly so he could get on with the business of getting home. He washed the last of breakfast down with the remaining coffee and contemplated getting another cup but decided against it due to the already late hour. Leaving this late was a recipe for disappointment, but he promised to do his best to temper his expectations for the day.

  What had happened to them in Sanctuary, like in so many other places, wasn’t their fault, and neither was their current schedule. He needed to give the others the credit they deserved in making it this far and coming together as a team. There was plenty of hard work ahead, but if he was a betting man, he’d put it all on them getting home without hesitation. What waited for them once they arrived in Durango was a different story, but that was well beyond their control. They’d deal with what they found at home when the time came for that.

  He pushed himself up off the sun-bleached log and stretched out one more time. It would take a while for the pills to kick in. In the meantime, he’d keep busy by packing up his gear and encouraging the others to do the same. The campsite had worked out, thankfully. After all, they deserved a break from bad luck, didn’t they? He’d never say those words out loud, though, for fear of jinxing himself.

  Ben wasn’t superstitious, but he wasn’t about to tempt fate. And now that he’d opened the proverbial can of worms that was his overactive imagination and his tendency to worry about things that hadn’t happened yet, he suddenly felt a low-key urgency to move on from this place before he willed their next crisis into existence.

  4

  Ben expected a little pushback from the kids when he suggested they break camp and prepare to get back on the road, but no one complained. He didn’t even get an eye roll from the boys when he asked them to wrap up their attempt at pulling any fish out of the muddy water. Ben had pictured himself soaking in the next big piece of water they found, but the thought of rinsing off in the less-than-appealing flow of dirty water seemed counterproductive. He’d have to settle for a wet towel and a change of clothes.

  Maybe their next stop would yield cleaner water. At least the river wasn’t polluted beyond the floating silt and sand kicked up by the persistent current. And it was good to know the river was free from any chemical or sewage spills. They had a clean water source that could be filtered for drinking water. They’d cross the Missouri again. There were several opportunities to do so on their way around Kansas City, but Ben had his eye on one spot in particular.

  He’d plotted a rough course around Kansas City to the north using a series of secondary roads that would ultimately dump them back onto I-70, just west of the troubled city. They’d been warned about Kansas City and Topeka by the couple in the broken-down Suburban, and Ben had no intention of ignoring that information or confirming firsthand the total collapse that was reportedly unfolding in those places. The news was weeks old at this point, but there was no reason to think things had improved much in either place.

  According to the route he’d plotted on the atlas, he’d have to navigate somewhere between seventy and eighty miles of road before reconnecting with the westbound lanes of I-70. The distance didn’t sound like much, and it appeared simple enough when he traced it out on the atlas with his finger. It should have been a relatively short drive, no more than a couple of hours, maybe three these days.

  The thought of speeding through the few inches of snaking back roads he’d highlighted on the atlas made him laugh a little under his breath. He knew better than that. Besides, they were going to need gas soon. The Blazer was okay for now, but until he came up with a permanent solution for the Jeep’s leaky tank, the slow but steady loss of fuel would dictate when and where they stopped regardless of the miles they covered.

  He’d already been eyeing the spot of fuel-soaked earth under the Scrambler. Parking the Jeep in the same spot all night had shown just how much gas was slipping through the melted pen. The thirsty ground did a good job of absorbing the spilled fuel, but the two- to three-foot wide patch of fuel-stained ground made the magnitude of the problem very clear.