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I was behind the wheel for perhaps a half hour when I realized I was missing something. Music. The radio turned up loud with Queen, or Springsteen, or whoever was keeping me company on a road trip. I didn’t mind driving, but without a radio in the truck, the miles were lonely with only the sound of rushing wind blocking out the thoughts in my head. I’d be the first to admit that with every mile that passed from the comfort of home to the peril of the unknown, my stress level kicked up another notch, and since I had nothing as a distraction, my mind instinctively raced to thoughts of worse case scenarios. What if I was in a wreck or what if I didn’t make it to Rice? What if I got all the way there and Kayla was gone, or worse yet, dead? If I made it, what if we didn’t get back? What if I got kidnapped or killed? Although, I rationalized that if I got killed, that would end all my worries.
The tires hummed, and the wind whistled as I put miles behind me, and I realized it wouldn’t be good enough, especially since I had another thousand miles to go.
Tennessee was approaching, and I pulled off the highway and into a small town to search for gas. I didn’t like to get below a half tank if I could help it, and I certainly didn’t want to break into my reserves so early into the trip. The town post office didn’t have its own pumps, but there were a couple of trucks in the lot, and from those I siphoned enough gas to top off my tank. Across from the post office was a pawnshop, and I realized when I pulled up that it had been well-looted, but I stepped in regardless.
For the most part, anything of value had disappeared from the store, such as tools, weapons, and jewelry, but in the electronics section, I found what I wanted - a CD player, radio combination with built-in speakers that was referred to as a boombox back in the old days. I turned it on, and to my surprise, the red light on top lit up. It equally surprised me when I flipped open the cover and found a CD in the machine. I placed the cover back down and hit the play button. The disc started spinning, but no sound came from the speakers. It took only a second to discover the volume was all the way down, and when I turned it up, I heard Phil Collins from his Genesis days. That was good enough for me, so I turned off the player and turned it over to check what size batteries it took. D, like I assumed. I took the boombox with me as I checked every other electronic item left in the store, and in the end, I accumulated perhaps two dozen batteries in different sizes, including enough size Ds to change out the CD player once. I’d have to add batteries and CDs to the list of things to scrounge for whenever I stopped from now on.
Once I got back in the truck and found a spot on the floor where the CD player wouldn’t slide around as I drove, I flipped it on, and set the volume to high. Now I was cruising in style, and my mood lifted considerably.
My mood lifted again when I passed into Tennessee, which meant I had only three more states to drive through, granted, two of them were long drives, but in my mind, the math worked out to twenty-five percent complete, and I had barely been on the road. I felt everything was going to be smooth sailing.
My smooth sailing ended when I got near downtown Knoxville. I was admiring the big gold ball leftover from some World’s Fair when the interstate ended ahead of me. There was no warning, no signs, no idea at all, but as the road curved around on an overpass, the road disappeared to nothing. I slammed on the brakes, my seatbelt crushed against my chest, and Genesis stopped as the CD player rolled over and came to rest out of reach. Had it been night, or had I been going faster than fifty, I doubt I would have stopped in time. I undid my seatbelt, took a deep breath and walked to the edge and looked over. There were six cars and a semi on the roadway below, all of them smashed almost beyond recognition. I spotted one body, one unlucky person who ejected from the car upon impact with the ground, then the car somersaulted and landed on the lower half of them. It appeared to be a recent accident as the car was still smoldering and crows were dining on his entrails.
Once in the truck, I backed up a few feet and did a U-turn. I did another U-turn when I came to the first exit and left the interstate. Once I got to the end of the ramp, I hit the brakes again when a man stepped in front of the car brandishing a gun that he pointed at my eyes. I moaned, not at the threat, but rather that the boombox had done another roll. How much toppling would one machine take?
The man stepped around to the driver’s door without leveling the gun. He looked to be a bit under six feet tall and wore Army fatigues from his cap down to his pants. I didn’t see his feet, so I didn’t know if he had Army-issued boots or sneakers. Not that it mattered. He looked like he was regular Army to me, complete with his name and service patches on his jacket.
I put my hands in the air, and while I did, I cursed myself for not keeping my own gun handy.
“Howdy,” I said.
“Anyone else in the truck?”
“No, only me,” I said.
Rather than take my word, the soldier opened the door and, with a practiced hand, pulled me from the seat and tossed me to the ground. I stayed face down as he checked the truck.
“Get up,” he said.
As I did, he slung his rifle over his shoulder.
“Sorry about that. You can’t be too careful these days,” he said.
I agreed but didn’t say so.
He came right to the point. “I could use some food, water, and a ride.”
I looked at him cautiously.
“Look, I’m not a thief. I don’t want to hurt you. I just need some help.”
After a quick consideration, I believed him. He could have killed me three times already, but didn’t. Surely, I could spare some supplies in exchange for my life. I went to the back, opened the doors, and presented the soldier with a bottle of water, a jar of peaches, and a small plastic baggie of venison jerky. He took them all, downed half of the water in one gulp, then started in on the jerky.
“How about a ride?” he asked.
“Where are you headed?” I asked.
He took a drink before answering. “Chattanooga.”
“Sorry,” I said, “I’m headed to Texas via I-40, otherwise I’d be happy to take you along.”
“No, you’re not. Nashville is half-burned to the ground, and the bridges are all out around Memphis. You’ll never get over the Mississippi River there.”
That I didn’t believe. “How do you know?”
The soldier pointed to the patch on his arm that read U.S. Army. “I have it on real good authority. When they implemented Marshall Law, most of the people in the larger cities in the country were... hesitant to comply. Let’s say things got really rough in a lot of places, and I’d recommend you avoid as many metropolises as you can.”
I didn’t know if I believed him, and my doubt must have shown on my face.
“Here, look.” He set the food on the truck’s hood, then pulled a map from his jacket pocket and opened it. The wind started to take it, so he put it down and set the water bottle on one corner and the peaches on another. The map was of the southeastern United States, with the northernmost states being Tennessee and North Carolina, and the westernmost states being Arkansas and Louisiana. What caught my immediate attention was the red Xs that covered several cities. Nashville and Memphis in Tennessee, New Orleans, Tampa, Miami, Jacksonville, Little Rock, Atlanta. Charlotte. I noticed Mississippi and Alabama were clean.
“These mean what I think they do?” I asked.
“Does a red X ever mean anything good?” came the reply.
Charlotte? I came from there. It was rough, but not bad enough to deserve the X. Or did it? Either way, I must have made it out just in time.
“When did this all happen?”
“Over the last one to six months.”
“What about other parts of the country? New York, or Washington, or L.A.?”
“With all the unrest in Washington, that was the first city to go.”
“What about Dallas?”
The soldier nodded. “Yep, that too.”
My heart dropped a bit, but I hoped Kayla was far enough away to avoid the disaster.
“I guess I need to find another route, then. Chattanooga it is. There’s only one seat, so you’ll have to sit on the floor,” I said.
The soldier nodded, gathered up the map and food, slipped into the truck, and got as comfortable as he could. “Turn left. About a mile south of here, turn right on Highway 11. We can pick up the interstate to Chattanooga about thirty miles west of here.”
I started the engine, then followed his directions as he dined on peaches and jerky.
“I’m Collins, by the way. Thank you for the food. I haven’t eaten in a couple of days.”
“I’m Baker,” I said. “What’s in Chattanooga?” I asked.
“Hopefully, my wife and kids. I’ve been trying to get back for weeks now. I’ve been walking and hitching rides for about three weeks.”
“Where are you coming from? Did you get a discharge?” I asked, making small talk.
“You really don’t want to know, Baker. Let’s just say I was a part of the cleanup crew on one of those X’s, and what I experienced made me lose my stomach for the Army, and I wasn’t the only one. I got my discharge when a soldier in my unit had enough and put a bullet into the back of the CO’s head, and that was the end of that.”
I didn’t know how to respond, so I drove in silence. Eventually, I met up with Interstate 75 and turned left toward Chattanooga.
“Where are you headed?” Collins asked.
“A small town south of Dallas. There’s a girl who—”
I stood on the brakes for the third time that day. I heard Collins mutter an expletive after I saw his head connect with the wall.
“Sorry. Bridge out. What’s with all the bridges out?”
Collins got to his feet and looked out the windshield. “Standard military procedure to prevent people from going too far. Turn around, get off at the first exit, and head east. There’s another bridge over the river in the town near here.”
I did as I was told, and Collins repeated his expletive when he realized that the alternate bridge was out, too.
“Hold on, maybe we’ll get lucky here.”
There was a boat ramp nearby, and at the end of the ramp I spotted what looked to be a barge, and on the end of that barge sat a man in a chair engrossed in a book. I turned the truck into the parking area, and Collins and I jumped out and approached the man. As we got closer, I could tell that he wasn’t reading at all, but rather, was in a mid-afternoon nap.
“Hello? Excuse me?” I said.
There was no response from the man, so Collins rapped the hull of the boat with his gun. At the sound of the clank, the man opened his eyes and focused on Collins. He shifted ever so slightly in his chair, and I noticed the pistol hidden under his right leg. When Collins returned his rifle over his shoulder, the man relaxed, then smiled.
“You need across the river?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
“What you got to offer in trade?”
“I got some food, water, not much else.”
The man dog-eared the book and dropped it on the deck. “I have food and water. You got anything else?”
The only thing of value I had were my weapons and ammo, but I wasn’t about to give those up. “Nope.”
“Sorry. No ride,” the man said, then leaned to pick up the book.
I turned to leave, but Collins stayed firm.
“Where’d you serve, old timer?” Collins asked.
“How’d you know I did?” the old man asked. He leaned forward in his chair, removed his dirty Atlanta Braves baseball cap, and pushed his long gray hair back and replaced the cap. He stood and spit over the side and into the river. I watched as it hit the water and saw something from below grab it and go.
Collins nodded at the side of the barge. I looked and saw a canvas duffel bag. The old man followed Collins’ gaze as well and spotted what had drawn his attention.
“Bah, everyone’s got one of them. I picked it up at the surplus store,” the old man said.
“No, you didn’t,” Collins countered.
The two men stared at each other for a full minute before the old man finally broke out into a grin and laughed. “Shit. Okay, you got me. I did two tours in the Gulf. Back in the good old days, when we went to war on the other side of the world.”
“I’ll bet that was tough. Especially being away from family,” Collins said.
The old man hesitated, and something in his eyes told me he was remembering just what that had been like. He didn’t answer, but gave us half a nod.
Collins pointed across the river toward the south. “That’s what I’m trying to do. Get to Chattanooga. Back to my family.”
Collins stopped speaking and waited for a reply. It took almost two minutes, then finally the old man moved his chair to the edge of the barge. “I guess we can’t let the river here stand in the way of you reuniting with your kin. Drive that thing aboard.”
I returned to the truck, Collins stepped to the side, and the old man used hand signals to make sure I centered the truck on the barge. When I did, I put it in Park. I thought Collins was going to jump back in with me, but he didn’t. Instead, he made small talk with the old man while he busied himself preparing the barge for sail. I felt a strong jerk, then we moved away from the bank. I thought perhaps there were engines moving us, but when I looked again, I noticed that the whole thing operated by a guide rope and a winch. Slowly we made our way across the river, and since I pictured the worst-case scenario of us capsizing and ending up in the water, I closed my eyes and practiced some deep breathing exercises. Ten minutes later, I felt another bump. I opened my eyes and saw the old man ahead of me on the bank waving at me to drive off the barge. I did, then stopped on the bank and waited for Collins. In the side mirror I watched as they shook hands, then Collins jumped back into the truck, and I followed his directions back to the interstate.
“Nice of him to let us through,” I said.
Collins nodded. “Yeah, we got lucky there. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to shoot him.”
I turned my head to look at Collins, trying to determine if he was kidding, but I could only spot enough of him to determine he’d started back in on the jerky. Getting the hint, I drove in silence for an hour, and when I saw the sign that Chattanooga was only a few miles away, I brought it to Collins’ attention and he got to a crouch, hung onto the back of my seat, and gave me directions until I at last pulled into the driveway of a ranch-style house with bars on the windows and front door. I saw the curtain move by what I thought was a bedroom window, then the end of a shotgun poked out. I got out of the truck and put my hands in the air. Collins got out behind me, but his hands up as well, and took a step toward the window.
“Baby? Hey, it’s me. I’m home.” Collins dropped took off his hat and sunglasses and let them drop to the ground.
He stood statue still for what seemed like forever. Then I saw the shotgun barrel retreat, and a minute later the front door opened, and a woman ran out of the house. Collins moved toward her, and when they met and embraced, I turned around to give them a moment to enjoy their reunion.
“Hey,” Collins said to me.
I turned back around and saw they were arm in arm, looking in my direction. Collins waved me over, and I joined them.
“This is Taylor,” he said.
Taylor released her grip on Collins and gave me a hug. She stood an inch taller than me, had long blond hair, and smelled of floral soap. I accepted the tentative hug, then she released me and returned to Collins’ side.
“Come on in. Have a meal. You can stay the night and get a fresh start in the morning,” Collins said.
I protested at first, but regardless of the excuses I made to get back on the road, Taylor dismissed them all, and before I knew it, they ushered me into the house and showed me the guest room, which included its own shower, complete with its own floral soap. I relented and hunkered down for the night.
