“All clear.” Sandy leaned back inside the Blazer and smiled.

  Ben settled back into his seat and eyed the map again to try and estimate when they’d reach the river.

  “We should see the bridge in about five miles. Over.” He leaned forward in his seat as if that would allow him to get a look at the river crossing sooner. Making plans that utilized a potential choke point like a bridge always came with a healthy dose of anxiety. They’d seen their share of bridges rendered impassable, and there was no guarantee this one would be any different.

  They all rode in silence until the four-lane interstate began to rise in elevation above the surrounding farm fields.

  “Getting close. I can smell the water.” Sandy sniffed at the air, following Sam and Bajer’s lead.

  The two dogs were awake now, and Sam seemed to have already forgotten about her near miss with death. Ben doubted very much that the dog had forgotten any of it; rather, she’d chosen not to think about it, like the rest of them.

  “Good girl, Sammy.” Emma scratched the dog under her chin in an attempt to keep her from spilling down into her seat from the back.

  “We’ll stop on the other side for water. Over.” Ben spoke over the radio but looked at Emma. “The dogs can get out then.” He added for his daughter’s sake.

  Emma found herself grappling with both dogs, their anticipation of an upcoming stop boiling over. Ben originally considered getting water on the Missouri side of the river but opted to cross the bridge first. If an alternate route over the river was necessary, he’d rather know sooner than later. They could find a way down to the water from the other side. To be truthful, Ben simply wanted to get across the state line. While it was merely a physical distance of another mile or two, it symbolized much more than that to him.

  “Looks clear. I think we’re good. Over,” Joel announced over the radio.

  Sandy let the Blazer drift to the left for a better view of the road ahead. There was no shortage of charred wrecks littering the bridge, but the freeway had expanded to three lanes several miles back, affording them plenty of room to navigate around the obstacles.

  Ben encouraged Sandy to hug the right-hand shoulder when they reached mid-span so he could get a good look at the river flowing underneath them. The brown swirling water spun into small whirlpools as it ran southeast toward St. Louis and the Mississippi, then on to the Gulf of Mexico. The water looked clean enough, at least by current standards.

  Allie copied their movements in the Scrambler and slowed down by the concrete guardrail along the right edge of the bridge.

  Joel stood up so that his top half was visible over the Jeep’s roll bar and looked back at the Blazer. “More muddy water.” His tone and expression showed his disappointment.

  Ben knew what his son was hoping to find, but they were still too far from the Rockies to encounter crystal-clear mountain streams and hungry, opportunistic trout. The extent of Joel’s passion for fishing never failed to impress Ben. It made sense, considering Joel’s upbringing. In his early years, Joel spent more time dipping his toes into the chilly waters of the Animas River from Ben’s Kelty child carrier backpack than he did anywhere else.

  Even amidst the unraveling chaos of the world, Ben was happy to see that getting a fly in the water remained a top priority for Joel. His son found solace in the act of fishing, as did Ben, a respite from the mundane routines of everyday life. And especially now, in a world gripped by disorder and turmoil, this simple activity took on even greater significance. Even though they were on a mission to reach Durango, Ben tried to encourage the boys to wet a line when possible. Watching them fish did him as much good as fishing himself.

  The river was one of Ben’s favorite places to take the kids when he had them all together. There were so many good memories and family moments created on their days hiking and fishing the many rivers and streams that dotted the San Juan Mountains. Even Emma, whom Ben sometimes had a hard time connecting with, seemed to open up on their backcountry adventures. She had her own unique way of enjoying nature. While she might not be as enthusiastic about the fishing part, she found joy in the little things like picking wildflowers, skipping stones across the water, and observing the diverse array of birds and wildlife that graced the Rockies, then doing her best to re-create them in her sketchbook.

  Someday, they would do those things again as a family. Ben found himself lost in the captivating display of sunlight on the tea-colored water below, so much so that he was oblivious to the Scrambler coming to a full stop along the shoulder until Sandy brought the Blazer to an abrupt halt behind the kids. Ben snapped back to the present moment, the peaceful contemplation of nature and the promise of what the future might hold momentarily disrupted by the tangible presence of the parked vehicle.

  “What’s going on?” Ben’s first thought was that there had been a catastrophic failure of the fuel tank patch, but the dry pavement under the Jeep indicated otherwise.

  “I don’t know.” Sandy strained to see over the guardrail and get a glimpse of whatever had the kids’ attention.

  Joel, Allie, and Brad were all standing up inside the Scrambler and staring down at the far bank of the river.

  “We can’t get water here.” Joel pointed at the sprawling encampment of tents, vehicles, and makeshift shelters crafted from what looked like trash and scavenged building materials. Right away, Ben spotted at least half a dozen people milling about between the tents and ramshackle huts strung out along the riverbank.

  “Move the trucks to the center of the bridge.” Ben popped his door open and spilled out of the Blazer with his M24. He closed the door softly and shuffled his way over to the concrete guardrail. Joel followed his dad’s lead and did the same as the Jeep pulled away behind Sandy in the Blazer until both trucks were in the middle lane of the bridge and out of sight from below. Ben used his scope to assess the threat level and determine whether or not Joel was right about not being able to get water here. Unfortunately, it didn’t take Ben long to come to the same conclusion.

  15

  Ben stayed on the scope as Joel slid in next to him behind the barrier. “It looks like the homeless camp off Roosa Avenue by the river back home, only a lot bigger,” Joel said quietly.

  “Yeah, except some of these guys are armed,” Ben reported.

  Over the last couple of years, as home prices skyrocketed and affordable living disappeared, Durango experienced an increase in its homeless population, the majority of whom, it seemed, had for some reason taken up semipermanent residence along the Animas River in the Roosa Avenue area. The cops did their best to confiscate tents and disrupt the place, but no matter what, the encampment reappeared a couple of days later. Ben wondered if the camp was still there or if it had perhaps grown to the size of this one.

  “There’s got to be a dozen people down there with weapons.” Joel confirmed what Ben had seen for himself.

  There were several individuals with long guns, a few with sidearms, and several with large knives. Others probably had weapons he couldn’t see. A few seconds later, Sandy, Allie, Emma, and Brad joined them and huddled down behind the concrete guardrail at the bridge’s edge. Ben hadn’t meant for everyone to gather here, but it was too late to do anything about it now; any further activity might attract attention. So far, they hadn’t been noticed by anyone down by the water, or it at least appeared that way. And that was how Ben aimed to keep it.

  “So what’s the plan? They don’t look too friendly. Not exactly the types to invite us down so we can fill our water containers,” Sandy remarked.

  “Not quite. We’re going to have to keep moving. There’s other places to get water.” Ben hated that his plans had to be altered because a group of people had claimed this part of the river as theirs. He thought about going back across to the other side and trying to access the river from the east bank, but the slow-moving tributary was only a couple hundred yards wide here, an easy shot for one of those men with a deer rifle, if they were any good.

  Another deterring factor would be the necessity to backtrack along the interstate until the guardrail ended and they could find a way off the highway and back down to the water. They were no strangers to forging their own path when required to do so, but the prospect of wasting the time it would take to do all that only to be shot at convinced Ben to look elsewhere.

  “What’s left in the five-gallon container?” He glanced over at the cargo carrier hanging off the back of the Blazer but couldn’t see the waterline in the large container well enough to judge the level.

  Allie scampered over to the truck, only fully standing upright once she was far enough away from the edge to remain hidden. She unscrewed the top and peered down into the big blue water jug. “A little more than half.”

  Ben thought for a second, then made his guess out loud. “That’s about nine or ten Nalgene bottle refills.”

  “That won’t last long, though. We’ve been going through them pretty fast,” Emma stated.

  “The Kansas River would be our next closest chance for water. That’s about an hour’s drive from where we get back onto I-70, and that’s about ten miles from here,” Ben explained.

  Sandy glanced at the sinking sun. “Temperature should be dropping soon. We can make it.”

  Ben wanted to agree, but he didn’t like having to settle for less-than-ideal traveling conditions, although that was a better option than getting into a fight with an armed encampment of people who wanted their supplies. He was also worried about the state of the Kansas River. It was a smaller watershed and a lot bonier than the big Missouri River, and in these conditions, Ben had concerns about the water quality. He also didn’t like last resorts, and that was exactly what the Kansas River would be to them. If they couldn’t get water at the next place for some reason, they’d be in real trouble.

  “You’re not actually considering getting water here, are you?” Sandy’s eyes widened.

  “No… no. It’s too risky.” He grappled with the decision to continue without water. The right choice seemed clear, but the scorching afternoon sun burning the back of his neck and the ever-present threat of dehydration clouded his judgment. Even if they made the effort to reach the water on the opposite bank, they’d be inviting a fight. Ben struggled to determine which option he despised more—facing potential gunfire or forging ahead into what would likely be the hottest, driest terrain they had encountered yet, with insufficient water supplies. But that didn’t matter, either, because regardless of how he felt, they needed to move on from here before it was too late. And the situation wasn’t improving while they sat idle on top of this bridge in life-sucking heat.

  Ben was about to suggest that they all slowly make their way back to the trucks and sneak out of here before being noticed, but the look on Allie’s face told him that ship had sailed.

  “I think they see us.” Her dire tone got everyone’s attention.

  Ben got back on his rifle and scoped out the camp. Three men were looking and pointing at the bridge while shouting to the others. He watched as a flurry of activity kicked into gear and the encampment came to life.

  Ben clenched his jaw, angry that he and his group had been discovered—but more angry that this situation could have been avoided. They’d stayed too long, been too indecisive. And the setting sun’s reflection off their optics as they spied on the camp below had pinpointed their position on the bridge. It was a rookie mistake, but a mistake with heavy consequences just the same.

  “Let’s go. Come on.” Ben stood up and pushed everyone toward the vehicles ahead of him. There was no need to crouch behind the concrete divider any longer.

  “What are we doing? Are they coming after us?” Brad lingered at the edge of the bridge, staring down at the encampment, his curiosity getting the best of him.

  “We’re leaving right now.” Ben scooped up his youngest and carried him to the Scrambler, heaving him up and over the pile of gear in the back. Before Brad had a chance to settle into his makeshift seat, Ben lifted Emma into the Scrambler as well.

  “There isn’t enough room for both of us,” Emma protested.

  “It’s only temporary. Make do for now and stay down.” Ben forced a slight smile in an effort to put his youngest two at ease, although he doubted his attempt at hiding his concern for the situation was very successful.

  “Get going. We’ll be right behind you,” he added as he made eye contact with Allie, who hurried to resume her position behind the wheel. Joel was already in the passenger seat, laying out spare magazines for his AR-15.

  “But, Dad, we can—” Joel was interrupted by the bark of several engines firing up under the bridge. Ben recognized the thunderous bluster of bikes, and for a brief moment, he thought about the devastation and destruction caused by the motorcycle gang that had terrorized Cloverdale.

  Joel started to talk again, but Ben cut him off. “But nothing. Now get going. And don’t wait for us if we fall behind. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Joel muttered through a clenched jaw.

  “Allie?” Ben pressed her for an answer to make sure she was on board with his instructions.

  “Got it,” she agreed reluctantly, then sank behind the high-back bucket seat and put the Jeep in gear. Ben watched as the Scrambler covered the last half of the bridge and picked up speed. Brad and Emma peered over the gear as Allie drove away.

  “Who’s driving?” Sandy asked, her voice quivering, probably because she knew the answer to that question.

  “I need you to drive. Can you handle it?” Ben stopped what he was doing and looked at Sandy.

  He needed to know if she was up for it. They didn’t really have a choice, but their best chance to lose these guys, or at least discourage the bikers from chasing after them, would be with Sandy behind the wheel and him behind a weapon.

  “Yeah, I can do it,” Sandy promised in a sturdier tone, followed by a hard swallow.

  Ben nodded back and continued preparing for the inevitable encounter with the residents of the riverside camp who were headed their way. He wasn’t sure what the campers wanted, but he knew they weren’t sending out a welcome party. This was supposed to be a quick pitstop for water, and now they were in another fight for their lives. But this wasn’t bad luck or the result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. This was life in a post-apocalyptic world. This was the new normal. And it was time to stop pretending like it wasn’t. It was another day in which survival wasn’t guaranteed and being vigilant wasn’t enough to keep them out of trouble.

  Ben’s mind raced to come up with a way out of this while a chilling realization crept over him like a dark cloud, one that he’d been in denial about. They were going to have to fight tooth and nail for every inch of ground on their quest to reach Durango.

  16

  Sandy already had the Blazer in gear as Ben got situated in the back of the truck. He was tired this morning after the incident with Sam. Reloading and reconnecting the links of the ammunition belt that went inside the M249’s drum mag was the last thing he felt like doing, but it was time well spent. He didn’t expect to be putting the SAW back to work so soon, yet here he was, proving once again that they could never be too prepared.

  His reload job was a little light on account of the shortened ammunition belt he had to work with. Thanks to Joel’s wild shooting, they weren’t able to recover all the links back at the warehouse, and some were bent beyond repair thanks to being stepped on. Of course, Ben was likely still alive because of his son’s heroics, so lost or damaged gear was more than acceptable in lieu of the alternative.

  Ammunition belt links weren’t something Ben was accustomed to saving, but replacing them would be, for all intents and purposes, impossible. He had exactly 167 rounds in the reloaded drum and a bag of loaded AR-15 magazines within reach. Thanks to the M249’s versatility, he could utilize those as well if need be.

  With Sam and Bajer relocated to the bench seat, Ben braced himself using his feet like he had so many times before, more times than he cared to admit or should have been necessary. At least shooting from the inside of the truck would ensure they remained in possession of the majority of the ammunition links, one small problem he could disregard for a change.

  He kept an eye on the bridge behind them, especially the wood line along the westbound lanes, trying to determine where the campers would emerge onto the highway. Solid steel guardrail continued after the concrete bridge rail ended, making the highway immediately inaccessible as far as Ben could tell. But the barricade would end eventually.

  “Keep your eyes peeled. They’re bound to pop up somewhere,” Ben warned.

  “I don’t see a place for them to get on the highway yet,” Sandy shouted back.

  “They’ve got an access point somewhere.”

  Just as Ben finished, Sandy shouted, “There!”

  She swerved to the left, away from the shoulder. Ben turned in time to see a heavily modified, older-model Jeep midflight as it burst from the overgrown vegetation along the side of the highway. The Jeep was outfitted for rock crawling, with cutout fenders to allow room for oversized tires and a beefed-up suspension. The sudden transition from the rough shoulder to the blacktop caused the older CJ to lose touch with the ground momentarily, bouncing several times as it landed and continued the pursuit. The heavy-duty suspension soaked up the impact, permitting the Jeep to continue the chase almost uninterrupted.

  The Blazer roared as Sandy hammered the throttle in an attempt to outrun their pursuers, but the Jeep’s modifications hadn’t been limited to its appearance. The older-model CJ squatted, belched a cloud of dark smoke, and began gaining ground on them at what seemed like an impossible rate of speed. The Jeep must have had quite the powerhouse under the hood, and it didn’t take Ben long to realize he and Sandy wouldn’t be able to outrun the vehicle.