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C.J. and Curt went out before they all left, riding the healthy horses out to scout ahead for two days in advance. While they were gone, everyone else in the neighborhood made the final preparations.
There were dried vegetables to gather and bag, hens to put in their newly made traveling cages, cages that opened into temporary fencing for them. There were clothes to wash and set out to dry. They would make do with two changes of clothes each, their best clothes. And they were bringing blankets and animal skins because it might get cold where they were going. All the food, and all the seeds, garden tools, and some pots, plates, and so on. All the goods of a household, but just enough to get by. Items that had two uses were chosen over items that had only one, so a pot with a handle and tight lid was better than one with no lid, because that could be used to haul water as well as to cook stew. Plates that were lightweight and had a curve could hold soup. They chose each item with care.
They packed as much as they could for the wagon, and then they packed their own gear. Sierra thought for a moment about an old, faded photo she had of her mother, and then decided against taking it. She’d ask Zoe if she might want it, but she couldn’t imagine she would. Zoe had never met the woman, and Sierra had no stories to tell her of her grandmother. Still, who knew? Sierra put it with a pile of other items she was going to ask others if they wanted.
She sifted through her books one last time, the ones she’d hand-written that were full of information she believed one day would be useful in the future. Most of what was useful was firmly established in their heads. She’d done a good job the first time through in selecting, and there was nothing left that was worth the weight of her carrying it.
They went quickly through their library of printed books. Pilar had briefly considered taking a cookbook, but had decided there were few enough ingredients from it available to make it worthwhile, even as a trade item. “If something calls for olives or cinnamon, no one is going to have that,” he said to her.
“I have half a mind to take this,” she said, holding up one of Zoe’s favorite childhood books. “But you know, we’ll make up our own stories for any babies that come along.”
“Could be Brandie and them will come up and find it.”
“True. I’ll leave it on my bedside table so it’s easy to see. With a note for her.”
“That’s smart, leaving a note for them. I’ll write one too before I go to bed. Nothing in it that will tip the military, if they find it. No names. But something.”
“You feeling all right now about leaving?”
“As good as I can. I’m happy I’ll be with you, and Joan, and Zoe and C.J. With everybody. You’re all a thousand times more important to me than any of this stuff. You know, I was thinking something odd.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re doing a sort of reverse version of the Westward Expansion of the country. The old country, the country that is no more. People came out in covered wagons to the western states, for better land and a chance to thrive. Stole a lot of Indian land, but found some that was fair for them to take. Now we’ve got a wagon and we’re headed back the other way, doing much the same thing. Funny.”
“It is. I hope we don’t have to go all the way to Ohio or someplace like that to find decent weather.”
“All we can do is move along and see.”
“I’m glad you’re okay with it,” she said.
“Yeah. I am. Nervous, of course. Worried.”
“Everybody is,” Sierra said, though strangely enough, she wasn’t. What would happen would happen, and they’d cope with it the best they could. If they died, well—everyone dies one day. And it was better than staying here and being killed by the military. It was better than never having fought them in the first place. What was the use of life, if you were in thrall to men who had no respect for you?
Sierra believed that it was far better to die on your feet than to live on your knees. She didn’t regret this. She mourned their losses, she hoped as hard as it was possible to hope that her children would survive, but she still believed fighting had been the right—the only—thing to do. And this was the natural consequence of that.
It could be argued, she supposed, that they should have done this from the beginning, from the moment that one guy—not Vargas, the other one—had shot the hen. They could have packed up then and saved three lives.
But they wouldn’t have. They’d hoped for the best from those men, and when it was clear the worst was coming, they’d made their stand. If she lived to know her grandchildren, that’s the story she’d tell them—one of bravery, and intelligence, and a final choice that had let those very grandchildren come to exist.
* * *
THE FINAL MORNING DAWNED bright and hot. The scalding season was hard upon them, when nothing could grow, and they usually all spent as much time working in the shade as they could. Sierra hoped that wherever they landed, they never felt this kind of heat again, enervating, terrible heat that sucked all the moisture right out of plants and soil.
Curt and C.J. had come back just after supper the night before from scouting, reporting that the highway was clear well beyond the break. They’d gone ten miles and ranged out to either side. “Not a soul to be found,” Curt had said.
Dev had asked, “Anything like abandoned houses? Bodies?”
“No. No sign anyone has been living around there in decades. Some burned areas from ten years back, dry scrub growing there. But no sign of people.”
The horses had all night to rest, and this morning, Curt had connected the wagon to the pair of the horses pulling, showing everyone how it was done. They’d all need to know how to do it, and eventually, everyone would learn how to ride, but not just yet. First, get away, and get to a safer place. They probably had at least two weeks’ head start, or more, with the ruse the young people were planning down in Payson. They could be two or three hundred miles along if all went well. By the time the military came to each crossroad, they wouldn’t know for sure where their quarry had gone.
They all loaded the wagon, which they had practiced before, so they already knew how everything fit. Three loaded rifles went in easily accessed sites. The one without ammunition that they might use for trade eventually was at the bottom of the wagon. For the road, Curt carried his crossbow and Dev and Zoe their bows.
The wagon went off, Curt on the stallion ahead of it. The horse had healed up in time for the trip. Pilar drove the wagon, and C.J. walked alongside. Joan and her family followed.
Dev, Sierra, and Zoe were the last to leave. They stood alone at the last place on the highway that their neighborhood was visible.
Sierra said, “I can still see it as it was. The houses bright with paint, the wind turbines turning, Kelly in the yard, her hair still dark.”
Zoe said, “All I need to do is shut my eyes, and she’s there.”
Dev said, “She’s there inside you, all the time. Always will be.”
“You all are. And you will always be.”
Sierra said, “Before Vargas and his men came? It had to be a couple months ago, Zoe, maybe three or four. We were talking, just down there, and you said something about letting go. I don’t even remember what we were discussing, probably C.J., but you said I needed to learn to let go. And you were right about that, and about this too. I’m ready.”
Dev said, “It’s a lot to let go of. The memories. The fields. The graves.”
“They’d want us to live. Rod, Yasmin, the Morrows. Arch and Kelly, most of all. They’d want us to survive.”
Dev nodded. “You’re right.”
Zoe said, “Dad, you’ve always been too sentimental for your own good.”
“Am I?” He smiled at her. “Maybe so.”
“I like you that way.” Zoe said to Sierra, “And I like you the way you are. Tough, practical, stubborn.”
Sierra laughed. “Thanks, I think.”
“So think of it as a new welcoming home we’re going off to find, Dad. And Sierra, you think of it as a challenge and a puzzle to work out. Between the two of you, you’ll keep us going.”
“I’m ready,” Sierra said, and she turned her back on the only home she’d ever known. Two people she loved stood alone together while she walked off. She heard her daughter speak.
“C’mon, Dad,” she heard Zoe say, kindly. “It’s time.”
And they walked up the hill, and on into a new life.
The End
Thank you for reading. This concludes the Oil Apocalypse series. If you need to know more of an ending, yes, they will survive...and I have plans for a short series about their many-generations-removed descendants who are living in a post-apocalyptic world where old technology is mysterious and sometimes holds invisible dangers.
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Now on to the next series, to be released in 2019!