He shook his head at the undeniable notion that every time they had open road in front of them, they seemed to be tormented by some issue that worked against them and prevented them from making any real progress. They’d had it pretty good so far when it came to mechanical issues—or, rather, the lack thereof. For two vehicles of this age, their performance was nothing short of a miracle. Both trucks had suffered minor issues, but considering what they were asking of these two antiques, they had no right to complain. At least the leak wouldn’t stop them.

  The loss of fuel from the Jeep’s tank was an inconvenience and nothing more. The steady drip would eventually grow to a trickle, but in the worst-case scenario, they’d just have to stop more often for gas. They could still get home, albeit with a limp. What he needed was a two-part epoxy or something like the tube of J-B Weld he had on the shelf over his workbench in the garage at home. He’d meant to throw it in the toolbox when he was gathering supplies for the trip but had forgotten about it in his haste to get on the road with Joel. Funny how something that could be found readily at the counter of almost any auto parts or hardware store for a few bucks was now worth its weight in gold.

  He’d have to keep his eyes peeled for a place where he could look for something to patch the tank, but he wasn’t going to put himself or the others in danger doing so. They had the extra fuel tanks for backup, after all.

  Joel sighed as he heaved his and Allie’s tents into the back of the Scrambler. “Brad’s asking to ride with us again, but I thought I better check with you first before I got his hopes up.”

  Ben thought for a minute before answering, looking back at his youngest, who’d already finished packing up and was throwing a stick for the dogs. Brad and Emma were laughing at Sam and Gunner, who both had an end of the branch he’d been tossing to them and were playing tug-of-war with it. Ben hated to be the one to throw a damper on what was so far a happy, peaceful morning. Letting Brad ride with his brother, Allie, and Gunner wouldn’t just make the boy happy; it’d make Emma happy as well. Ben’s daughter already had to share the Blazer’s back seat with an overly attached dog.

  “I guess so,” Ben capitulated.

  “Okay, I’ll let him know.” Joel turned to walk away.

  “Make sure we have all the water containers topped off. Once we get moving, I don’t want to stop unless it’s for fuel. I’d like to see Kansas today,” Ben added.

  Joel nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

  While the kids all chipped in and formed an assembly line to purify water and fill bottles, Ben and Sandy continued organizing the Blazer. Sandy focused on trying to de-funk the front half of dog hair, dried mud, and whatever else had found its way inside the truck. Ben concentrated on the back while simultaneously taking inventory of their supplies. He made sure to create a spot where Sam could curl up and stay out of his line of sight to the back window, but his primary focus was setting up a good defense.

  Joel, Allie, and Brad could take the lead like they’d been doing. Ben preferred staying back and keeping an eye on things. In a world where most of their decisions were made for them, he felt like bringing up the rear gave him a small degree of control, and it beat having to rely on the rearview mirror to check on the kids. If he was being honest with himself, though, having the Jeep drive ahead of them wouldn’t keep his eyes from scouting the road behind them. That was a habit he would most likely never abandon. But now more than ever, they’d be ready for just such a situation, courtesy of Jerimiah Stone and their newly acquired M249. The light machine gun would be waiting to greet anyone who dared to follow or threaten them.

  The fully automatic weapon’s rounds would do no more damage than an AR-15’s, but what the SAW lacked in power, it made up for with its high rate of fire and intimidation. And given their ammunition situation, Ben had no reservations about putting the hardware to work. He wasn’t looking to be frivolous with their supply of 5.56, but he was tired of ending up with the short straw in these encounters.

  “Well, I think that’s as good as it’s going to get. I can’t believe how dirty it was. I just gave the whole thing a good cleaning at Ed and Julia’s not that long ago,” Sandy complained.

  “I’m surprised it’s not worse,” Ben commented.

  Ed and Julia’s seemed like it was weeks ago, but it wasn’t. So much had happened since they’d been at the generous couple’s farm near Fort Wayne, Indiana. Ben wondered how Ed, Julia, and her parents were getting on with things. They’d done a number on the Patriot Hooligans. They might have even struck a mortal wound to the gang’s infrastructure, but he couldn’t be certain. And even if that was the case, what was to prevent some other group from filling the void left by the murderous gang? For Ed and his family’s sake, Ben hoped they at least had a short reprieve from a criminal element running the town.

  “All right, water’s done.” Allie cradled several full Nalgenes in a towel as she climbed the gentle slope of the riverbank.

  Joel was right behind her with the five-gallon jug, while Brad and Emma tried to lure the dogs out of the water. Ben cringed when he thought about wet dogs in the recently organized and semi-clean Blazer.

  “Gunner, here,” Ben called out sternly, getting Gunner’s immediate attention. The dog stopped panting for a second and dropped his head before walking slowly toward shore through the belly-high water. Sam followed grudgingly until all three dogs were standing in the shallows just inches from shore, where Bajer had been lounging in a muddy hole she’d dug.

  “Come on, let’s go.” Ben grabbed a couple of towels and started toward the water, tossing one to Emma and another to Brad. “Better get these guys cleaned up a little.”

  Sandy jumped in and helped with the dogs while Joel and Allie stowed the big water container and distributed the Nalgenes between the two vehicles. The dogs’ enthusiasm returned quickly once they realized they were getting toweled off, an activity they all seemed to enjoy almost as much as frolicking in the water. Ben capitalized on their momentum and got them loaded up into the vehicles as soon as they were clean enough.

  He took one more look around the campsite to make sure they weren’t leaving anything here. They’d made camp fast and loose last night, and he didn’t feel like turning around in half an hour because someone left something behind. He ended his inspection alongside the Jeep, where Allie was already getting situated behind the wheel.

  “Here, let me give you a hand with that.” Ben helped Brad shove the rolled sleeping bags into the remaining crevices among the other gear. His youngest had made himself and Gunner a tight but comfortable-looking nest in the bed of the Scrambler. But what Ben liked most about the improvised seat was that Brad was practically invisible from behind.

  “Thanks, Dad.” Brad wiggled himself into place next to Gunner, making sure to keep the towel between them.

  Ben patted his youngest on the shoulder and gave him a smile before moving up to Allie’s window. “You guys take the lead. We’ll be right behind you.”

  “What’s the plan? I mean, I know we’re making our way around Kansas City, but are we looking for gas right away or what?” Joel slid the passenger seat back as far as it could go.

  “Hey, watch it.” Brad scolded his brother.

  “Sorry, man.” Joel adjusted the seat forward an inch.

  “Let’s see what you have left in the tank. Go ahead and start it up,” Ben instructed.

  Allie fired up the Jeep, and all eyes shifted to the fuel gauge.

  “That’s what I figured based on the spot under the Jeep.” Ben shrugged. “Gas it is, then.”

  5

  Ben tried not to worry about the hole in the Scrambler’s fuel tank, but it was a hard problem to ignore. Stopping for gas twice as often as normal, or maybe even more than that, was not conducive to racking up the miles they needed to call the day a success. But there were other factors at play to consider as well. The most obvious and immediate concern was the danger of the Jeep’s undercarriage being covered in gasoline. One little spark or contact with a hot enough surface to ignite the veritable fuse dripping from the underbody of the Scrambler and they’d have a bonfire on their hands.

  Another thought that was less concerning, but not by much, was performance. Ben wasn’t sure if the hole would affect the fuel system’s vacuum or carburetor in any way. It probably wasn’t an issue as long as they kept the tank level above the hole or close. He’d thought about trying to make another plug, but the dry grass and fuel-soaked ground at the campsite wasn’t exactly an ideal place to melt plastic with an open flame. Besides, the second he pulled the pen out of the hole, there was a good chance they’d lose a lot more gas before he could get it patched again.

  The best place to try and make a repair would be at their next gas stop, before they filled up. And it would be best if the tank was almost empty so there was no fuel dripping out while he was trying to plug the hole. Running the Jeep’s fuel level down to below a quarter tank was risky, but what wasn’t these days? They had the jerry cans to fall back on, but deliberately running the Jeep to the point of almost empty meant they wouldn’t have the luxury of passing up a gas station even if they didn’t like the look of the place.

  Ben mulled over their options as Sandy navigated the rough, dry ground back through what should have been a lush field full of vibrant green cornstalks. He meant to concentrate on coming up with a better solution for the Scrambler’s tank repair, but all he could think about was how tough the winter was going to be. It was hard to imagine, given the record-breaking high temperatures and drought-like conditions he’d seen so far this summer, but winter was only a few months away. And by the looks of things on their cross-country trip, food would be scarce.

  Ben watched the Jeep claw its way through the last several yards of overgrown weeds that lined the highway’s shoulder. The smooth pavement felt like instant progress as the aggressively treaded tires sang out against the blacktop. The concrete divider that separated the double eastbound lanes from their side of the highway ended abruptly, leaving the entire four-lane road and grassy median wide open to view. The road was elevated above the surrounding farmland, allowing for a commanding view of the area. There wasn’t much to see, though: dead crops, empty pastures, and the occasional corpse of a farm animal that had been well picked over by the coyotes and buzzards.

  Ben studied the atlas, trying to guess where the first gas station might be. His map didn’t show that kind of thing, but it was a pretty safe bet that he’d find something where the bigger roads intersected, a presumption that he’d found to be fairly reliable so far. But finding a gas station was the easy part. Finding one that didn’t look like trouble was a different story, and if he was being honest, they all looked like trouble.

  He laid his pencil down on the atlas page and counted the notches he’d put into it with his thumbnail at one-mile increments, according to the map’s scale key. It was a quick way to ballpark distance.

  “About ten miles to Henrietta,” he said. “Next town after that is Richmond. Should be able to find gas at one of those places.”

  “It’s a shame. We’ve almost got a full tank.” Sandy lifted her hand off the wheel for a second and checked the Blazer’s gauges.

  Ben had filled both trucks back at the impound yard in Sanctuary, but the Jeep lost most of the stolen fuel last night while they slept.

  Ben sighed. “I know. Hopefully we can find a place that hasn’t been picked clean by looters. I need to find something better than a pen to fix the tank or the last thousand miles to Durango are going to hurt.”

  “How many days do you think it will be before we get home?” Emma moved Bajer and leaned up between the front seats.

  That was a loaded question, one Ben hesitated to answer. “Well, a lot can happen between here and there. You know that.” He turned to look at his daughter.

  “I know, I know. But if you had to guess,” she persisted.

  “Don’t hold me to it, but⁠—”

  “I won’t,” Emma said impatiently.

  “If we can get the Jeep fixed and get back to our old routine of driving all day, maybe under a week.” Ben actually hoped it would take less time than that but figured he should be conservative. His daughter said she wouldn’t hold him to his guess, but he had a feeling she’d put more weight in his answer than he wanted her to.

  “Hmmf.” Emma sat back and resumed staring out at the sunbaked countryside.

  Ben wasn’t sure if she was happy with his estimated time to Durango or not, but she seemed content enough. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about the answer to the question. If anything, he thought about it too much. But it was hard not to when they were this close. The nine hundred and some odd miles they had left to cover was nothing to discount, but the distance from home was shrinking at a satisfying pace now. They’d be in Kansas soon. Crossing the flat, almost featureless plains of a state known for its vast fields of wheat rather than its scenery was normally nothing to look forward to, but this time would be different.

  Ben anxiously anticipated the road beyond Kansas City and Topeka, as they would be the last sizable cities they’d have to contend with. There were plenty of little towns scattered across the plains along I-70, but nothing big. Using secondary roads, they could skirt most of them in a matter of minutes rather than the hours it took them to drive around the larger municipalities. If it wasn’t for Kansas City, they’d have been on I-70 right now, making much better time.

  Ben picked up the radio and raised the Jeep. “Come in, guys. Give me a fuel update, please. Over.”

  “Still around a quarter tank. A little less, actually. Over,” Joel answered.

  “There are a couple towns coming up in the next few miles. Let’s aim for Richmond and find a place to get gas there. Over.”

  “Copy that. Over,” Joel signed off.

  “And how are you feeling? Any better?” Sandy glanced at Ben’s bruised face.

  The pills he’d washed down with his late-morning coffee were finally starting to numb his strained muscles. “Better.”

  He was more battered and bruised than he’d ever been in his life, and in spite of his efforts to conceal the effects of this nightmarish road trip, his age was showing. That wasn’t something he found easy to admit, but he wasn’t the man he used to be. It was bound to happen sooner or later; it was part of life, after all, but the fall of civilization as they knew it had surely highlighted the fact that he was no longer a young man. He was only able to persevere by telling himself that once they made it back to Durango, he could rest and heal. He wasn’t sure that would be the case, but he clung to the thought, if only for the sake of his own morale.

  All or nothing. That was the mentality he’d adopted. He had to, because those were the stakes attached to every situation they found themselves in. Everything would be better once they got home. Ben wasn’t so innocent as to think they’d all magically get their old lives back, not in the least. But there would be some sense of familiarity in their routine, and that was enough to sustain his aspirations for a better life after all this was over. That hope pushed him forward on a daily basis. He wasn’t sure what the future held. None of them did. But he found the resolve he needed to carry on in the promise he’d made to get them all home safe. Anything that came after that accomplishment was a bonus.

  6

  Ben checked in with the Jeep again via two-way and received the report he was expecting. The Scrambler was now critically low on gas, and with the next town—and hopefully the next gas station—coming up in another few miles, they were pushing their luck. They had a few gallons left in one of the jerry cans, if it came to that, but he had concerns beyond having to stop in the middle of the road and add gas to the Jeep.

  It was never a good idea to draw fuel from the very bottom of the tank on a vehicle as old as the Jeep. Or the Blazer, for that matter. Running the tank so close to empty put them at risk of introducing foreign material into the fuel system and potentially causing bigger problems than the one they currently had on their hands.

  The town of Henrietta had proven to be a bust as far as gas stations went. If Ben had blinked, he would have missed the tiny speck of a place on his map, and as it turned out, that wouldn’t have mattered. There was nothing to the place except a run-down feedlot that looked like it hadn’t seen action in years and the usual assortment of burned-out and vandalized houses and buildings along the road.

  There was nothing unusual about the dried-up husk of a town. They’d seen plenty of places just like it in their travels. But for some reason, Ben couldn’t quite shake the sense of loss that he felt for those who used to call it home—or those who still did. It was probably a nice place to live at one time or another, but it had clearly been in decline for years. The EMPs were the nail in the coffin, and he imagined a little town like this would never make a comeback, not unlike so many others they’d passed through. Places like this were destined to wind up like the abandoned ghost towns that littered the backcountry of the San Juans around Durango.

  “Come in. I see something up ahead. Over.” Joel’s voice broke the silence and was a welcome distraction to Ben’s growing worries about fuel.

  Ben wiped the sweat from his face and grabbed the two-way. In this heat, he found it too easy to get caught up in his thoughts. Breaking camp in the middle of the day might not have been the best decision, but it was the only one he could stomach. The idea of waiting for cooler temperatures and losing another day was unacceptable. He did feel a little less guilty about pushing the trucks in this kind of heat now that they were slathered with the thermal barrier. It was a factor that helped him make up his mind about getting back on the road, although they were quickly discovering the rubber-like paint the kids had applied didn’t do as much for the temperature inside the vehicles as they’d hoped.