Ben’s satisfaction with the smooth pit stop quickly waned as the hum of the tires drowned out the chatter in the truck. He shifted his focus to the mundane task of navigating through what could only be described as a desolate wasteland as his mind drifted to memories of home and better days.

  36

  US-40 west was a smaller road consisting of only two lanes without any median separating them, and it proved to be just as clear as the big interstate for the most part. The barren landscape was beneficial here, providing ample room around any vehicles blocking the road. The shoulders and grassy areas they passed weren’t thick with overgrowth like they were elsewhere.

  Cheers went out over the radios when they crossed into Colorado, but the mood was short-lived as they passed the place where Allie was abducted on their way east. Ben looked for the sign he’d spray-painted as a warning about the dangers here for other travelers but couldn’t find it. He wondered if he’d simply missed the marker or if the people who’d taken Allie had removed it so they could continue to prey on the unsuspecting. Of Ben’s regrets, letting those two get away was one of his biggest.

  As expected, the drab landscape and drought conditions didn’t improve west of the Kansas state line and wouldn’t for a while, which also contributed to the short-lived celebration about reaching Colorado. Tired and desperate for the day to come to an end, Ben and the others deviated from the original route. At Kit Carson, Colorado, they turned off US-40 and took Route 287, making their way straight south toward a little town he’d never heard of before.

  Wiley, Colorado, and the Arkansas River lay ahead. The detour shouldn’t cost them much additional time, if any at all, and it would shave a good fifty miles off the day’s drive to reach water, leaving them ample daylight to set up camp in an area that they could fully vet before committing to making it their home for the night. They could resume their trek west in the morning by picking up Route 50 toward Alamosa and 160, which would take them all the way into Durango.

  After checking in with Joel and learning the Jeep was also holding a little over a half tank, Ben decided to forgo another gas stop in favor of reaching camp even earlier; he’d use the jerry cans to add to the gas they had in the trucks when they left in the morning. They’d have to stop for fuel either way before heading over the Rockies tomorrow, and there was no point in making any more work for themselves today. Half a tank was plenty of fuel to bug out if they needed to, and Ben made the call to push on toward water.

  Wiley, Colorado, was another speck of a town nestled amidst a vast expanse of sprawling agricultural plots, each seemingly stretching for thousands of acres. Ben squinted against the setting sun, longing for a glimpse of the Rocky Mountains in the distance, but they were still too far away for that. He knew better but couldn’t resist.

  “Doesn’t look like they fared too well here.” Sandy was looking in the opposite direction, at what was left of the small town.

  “We’ve seen worse,” Ben remarked.

  There were more houses and buildings standing than they were used to seeing, perhaps the result of this town being so isolated, but there was no confusing the place for a thriving community. In the distance, Ben spotted a tractor crossing a field. The image undulating in the residual heat rising from the earth made him second-guess his vision. The Conoco gas station on their left remained in name only; what had once been a parking lot now looked like a war zone. Ben could only assume the underground storage tanks must have exploded, leaving a crater in the parking lot big enough to swallow a house or, in this case, a convenience store. It was just as well; they hadn’t planned on fueling up here.

  Farther into the remnants of Wiley, they passed a high school football field in perfect condition, minus the dead grass. A large billboard read HOME OF THE WILEY PANTHERS and proudly displayed the score from the last game played here. Ben imagined the glistening metal bleachers along the road to their left filled with people for a Friday night game. It brought a smile to his face, but it faded quickly. He missed watching Joel play lacrosse, but then again, he missed a lot of things he’d once taken for granted.

  “You never really get used to it, do you?” Sandy caught him staring at the athletic field and the ruins of the school beyond.

  “Nope, probably never will.” Ben focused on the road ahead as they passed a collection of grain silos, and Wiley disappeared from view just as quickly as it had materialized out of nowhere. Several more miles and they could get off this long, straight stretch of highway and start to follow the Arkansas River upstream until they found a suitable place to camp. He was glad they had a couple hours of daylight left, and he planned on putting them to good use by choosing a spot to spend the night that was well off the beaten path.

  “Oh, Sam. Or is that you, Bajer?” Emma sat up and leaned forward, holding her nose, but it wasn’t the dogs this time.

  “I smell it, too. What is that?” Sandy pulled her shirt collar up over her nose.

  “That’s not the dogs.” Ben recognized the smell of death right away but kept it to himself.

  Whatever was causing the foul odor must have been huge, and his mind started to race with possibilities. What had they accidentally discovered, and did they really want to find out? But Ben didn’t have to wonder where the smell was coming from for long; the answer was waiting for them at the intersection where the road ended. Joel made the right-hand turn toward Alamosa and sped up quickly.

  Ben saw Gunner extend his head above the Scrambler’s roll bar, taking in the toxic aroma caused by hundreds, maybe thousands of dead cattle as far as the eye could see. The Five Rivers Cattle Feeding Facility on their left boasted an endless array of corrals filled with the rotting bodies of livestock too numerous to count. There were almost as many birds as there were dead cattle scattered about the property. Even a few coyotes roamed freely, oblivious to the two trucks passing by. Ben picked up speed, keeping up with Joel, who was obviously trying to outrun the stench and get past this gruesome mess as quickly as possible.

  “That is so bad.” Emma’s complaint was muffled by the towel she was holding over her nose and mouth.

  Ben was equally disgusted by the sight, but his first thought was of the wasted resources. He’d readjusted his initial assessment of the body count and decided he was looking at numbers that far exceeded what he’d thought. Saying there were thousands of cattle here would have been conservative considering the scope and magnitude of what he was witnessing.

  After a few miles of driving faster than they should have been, the feeding facility vanished, but the smell lingered for miles more.

  “Come in, guys. Let’s give that place some distance before looking for a spot to camp. Over.” Ben set the radio down in the cup holder and adjusted his side window vent to direct the fresh air toward his face.

  “Roger that. Sounds good to us,” Allie answered.

  About ten minutes later, the smell subsided, right about the time Ben saw a sign announcing their approach to the town of Las Animas, eight miles ahead. He had Sandy contact the kids again and tell them to start looking for a way down to the river on their left. They couldn’t see the water from the highway, but that was good. Ben didn’t want to camp anywhere they could be seen by passing travelers.

  This place was remote enough on its own. Their chances of seeing anyone out here were slim, but it felt especially important to take extra precautions on what he hoped to be their last night on the road.

  “Come in. We see a spot coming up. Looks like it goes for a ways,” Allie reported.

  “Go for it.” Ben nodded at Sandy, who relayed the message.

  The dirt road was hardly distinguishable from the rest of the ground once they were off the pavement, and Ben gave the Scrambler a healthy lead so he could cover their tracks in the fine, powder-like dirt that clearly showed the tread patterns of their tires. Ben stomped on the gas, causing the rear tires to spin and throw a shower of dirt and gravel over their path. Satisfied he’d disguised their exit to look more like someone had swerved off the road than left it altogether, he continued on behind the Jeep, holding back enough to avoid the giant trail of dust the Scrambler was kicking up.

  They must have traveled over a mile, descending into the watershed of the Arkansas River, only to find dry sand where water should have been flowing. Maybe the reservoir upstream had its spillways closed, or maybe the drought had simply claimed the river. This was a semi-arid region with normally unpredictable weather patterns, but whatever the cause for the dry riverbed, they wouldn’t be adding to their water reserves tonight. Which meant they’d be forced to continue rationing resources. Ben was only mildly surprised by the conditions, though, and glad he’d planned accordingly. At least the boys wouldn’t ask to go fishing in the morning, and if anything, the lack of water would almost guarantee they wouldn’t have to worry about running into people down here.

  “So what do we do? Keep looking farther upstream toward Pueblo, maybe at the reservoir?” Joel leaned out his window as Ben pulled alongside the Jeep.

  “We have enough water to make it through the night, and we’re already heading that way in the morning so we can re-up on water tomorrow. Let’s set up camp here before it gets dark and suck it up for the night,” Ben reasoned.

  “I guess. It’s gonna be like camping in the desert, though,” Joel stated.

  “Follow us.” Ben pulled forward and drove behind a thicket of scrub brush that had lost its battle against the drought long ago. There was no life left in the majority of the vegetation along the banks, but the tangle of bare branches and sagebrush provided plenty of cover. The fact that they were well off the roadway helped conceal them more than anything, though, and given the isolated nature of the area, he liked their odds for a peaceful night here.

  By the time they reached the reservoir, it would be dark out, negating Ben’s reason for taking the shorter route this afternoon. And he was also pretty sure they’d encounter people above the dam, where he was sure water was more plentiful.

  He instructed the others where to set up their tents for the night, avoiding the dry riverbed in case of a flash flood. He doubted they’d see any rain tonight; the sky was crystal clear and already showing a big moon and a smattering of brighter stars. But he was also aware that a downpour miles away could cause a sudden washout. He’d seen too many arroyos go from bone dry to a raging torrent of liquified mud and deadfall-filled rapids in a matter of seconds to even think about camping in the riverbed.

  Ben set his tent up quickly and got to work on digging two holes for a smokeless fire. He hadn’t planned on having a campfire tonight, but it felt like he had to make up for the subpar location in some way. Besides, some of the preserved food they’d been gifted recently would cook better in the large pot over an open flame. And with access to plenty of dry wood that would burn cleanly, there was no reason to suffer unnecessarily during their last night on the road.

  37

  With camp established and no flowing river for the kids or dogs to occupy their time, there were plenty of hands on deck to help prepare dinner.

  “Brad, over here.” Ben waved at his youngest.

  Brad turned and saw Ben trying to get his attention several yards outside camp. “What’s going on?”

  “Well, we have a few minutes before we lose light, and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me and help set a snare trap?” Ben held some sticks he’d gathered, a small roll of cordage, and the Ka-Bar knife he used for tasks requiring more brute force than he cared to ask of his pocketknife.

  Brad’s face lit up. “Yeah. What do you think we’ll catch?”

  Ben shuffled the supplies they needed to one hand and put his other hand on Brad’s shoulder, leading him toward the riverbed. As they headed out, he glanced back and winked at Sandy. He’d told her of his plan to try and spend a little time with Brad.

  “A rabbit, maybe. That would make for a nice breakfast, wouldn’t it?” Ben let Brad lead the way as they traversed the steep riverbank.

  “Yes, it would,” Brad agreed.

  Ben had noticed tracks earlier when they first arrived. There appeared to be a prominent game trail running through the cattails at the edge of where the water once flowed. As the river shrank, the animals were forced to go deeper and deeper into the dry channels in search of the remaining pockets of water.

  “Here, this looks like a good spot. What do you think?” Ben’s finger hovered a few inches off the ground as he traced a set of rabbit tracks imprinted on the loose sand.

  “Looks good to me.” Brad nodded his approval.

  Ben set his supplies down and explained the method for setting the snare as he whittled the two sticks into a trigger and a base anchor. He used the blunt end of the Ka-Bar’s handle to pound the sharpened end of the anchor several inches into the dry earth until it held firm. Next, he found a suitable willow sapling and tied one end of the cordage to the tip, then the other end to the hook. He then forced the young tree into a tight arc toward the ground, attaching the hook to the anchor by means of the opposing notch he’d carved into both pieces of wood.

  “Now what? The snare?” Brad squatted down near the contraption, studying what his father had done so far.

  “Do you have the other piece of cord ready?”

  “Yep, here you go.” Brad handed Ben the roughly three-foot piece of string he’d been asked to cut from the coil of cordage.

  “Now we make a noose or a slipknot and attach it to the hook on top here and prop it open across the trail.” Ben used some twigs and stiff grass to position the noose in a manner that would force any critter using the trail to go through the loop or choose a different route. “And then we wait.”

  Ben sat back on his heels and admired his creation. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He pulled a few kernels of corn from a baggie and laid them along the trail through the noose. Thanks to Evelyn and her family’s generosity, they had irresistible bait.

  “When should we come back and check on it?” Brad rubbed his hands together.

  “That can be your job in the morning.” Ben patted his son’s shoulder and used Brad for balance as he stood up slowly for the sake of his knee.

  “Knee still hurting?” Brad remarked.

  “Not too bad. Do yourself a favor, will you? Don’t get old.” Ben chuckled.

  “Yeah, right.” Brad laughed and stood up, following Ben back to camp but not without looking back at their snare trap at least a few more times.

  By the time Ben and Brad joined the others, they were using the red lights on their headlamps to avoid tripping over the clusters of dead grass that dotted the ground.

  “I heard you guys are going to catch us breakfast.” Allie welcomed them back while the dogs ran to greet them and gave them both a thorough sniffing as though they had been gone for hours.

  “We’ll see, but it’s a pretty good snare trap.” Brad strutted the rest of the way into camp. “I’ll check it in the morning.”

  Sandy handed them each a plate of rice, green beans, and corn with a smile. Ben wished they had the rabbit now. Or anything, for that matter. If they kept eating like this, he’d have to add another notch to his belt. He hadn’t been this thin since he was a kid coming out of basic. But that would change once they got home and could invest time in hunting game rather than fending off bad guys.

  They all sat around the fire, letting its light accompany their meal, along with the moon and more stars than they could count. The dogs ate their portion of food in a matter of seconds, it seemed, and resumed begging for scraps. Gunner stood in front of Ben and waited. Ben knew what the dog wanted. He stuck out his good leg and used his foot to rub Gunner’s chest to a tune of grumbles and low growls.

  Gunner loved to wrestle. At least that was what Ben called it. A game of pushing and shoving where Gunner would jockey for position against Ben’s foot as he tried to fend off a mock attack by the fearsome animal. The contest lasted a couple of minutes as the others laughed until Gunner got tired and gave up, finding a spot next to Joel and Allie near the fire. Even the dogs knew they were close to home.

  The temperature was dropping fast, and there was no doubt the geography had changed; the desert-like ecosystem provided a stark but welcome contrast to the harshness of the day. With no flowing water to utilize, they did their best to use as little water as possible to clean up and brush their teeth.

  Sandy shoved the dirty utensils and dishes into a sack with a smile.

  “What?” Ben noticed her grin.

  “We can wash these when we…” She choked up for a moment, then regained her composure. “When we get home tomorrow,” she finished.

  Ben nodded. “We sure can.”

  Ben saw that the kids were occupied getting their sleeping bags ready and grabbed Sandy’s hand, pulling her behind the Blazer for a quick kiss.

  She blushed. “What was that for?”

  Ben pulled away just a few inches and looked into her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” She rested her arms over each of his shoulders and kissed him back after checking to see if the kids were still busy.

  “Everything. I couldn’t have done this without you.” Ben brushed a strand of hair from her face.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she cooed.

  “No, I mean it. I couldn’t imagine going through this alone.” He shook his head and gazed skyward for a second. “I mean, I have the kids, but it’s nice to have… I mean, it’s… You’re…” Ben stumbled over his words, struggling to convey what he was feeling.

  Sandy covered his mouth with her hand and nodded. “I know what you mean. We do make a good team, don’t we?” She smiled.