The Column Does Not Stop
The looks around the trailer made it plain they weren't buying it. Covering nearly three hundred miles in a single day, mountain roads included, must have sounded like a suicide run. I pointed at the map and kept going.
"Until now we've formed up in whatever order we were ready, just to keep moving. Tomorrow, to get over the Pavant Range, we reorganize the column."
I looked from Bill to Matthews as I laid it out.
"The slow heavy trucks and the caravans go to the rear. Solo pickups and Humvees — the ones with real mobility — take the lead, punch the route, and lock down fuel and rest points ahead of us."
No one spoke.
"The tail is mine. My truck and one Stryker. And—"
I let the silence hang until every eye in the trailer was on me, then finished it.
"What? Nonstop?"
Dave started it, and then the whole trailer was muttering, every face full of doubt.
"Individual vehicles can pull over. The column does not stop."
Silence again.
"Fuel, latrine, driver swap — whoever needs to halt, halts. The column keeps driving east."
Mike's face had gone worried.
"I hear you, boss. But if more than a hundred vehicles start stopping and rolling at random, you're going to have one hell of a mess. You might even lose speed."
"I know. That's why we split the radio nets — movement, halt, and by echelon — and we write the comms protocol down to the letter."
"Hmm. All right then. Alpha through Delta stay as the running column. Halted vehicles get temporary call signs — Echo, Foxtrot, Golf, and so on. It's going to be a circus."
"We've only got the one road. If we allocate the resources right, we can do it."
Bill had already caught my meaning. He nodded and added his piece.
"Got it, boss. So the big boys mostly drop into Charlie or Delta. I'll reshuffle the trucks by condition and cargo weight."
Dave pulled out his notebook and muttered to himself.
"Guess that means we reshuffle the family rigs too."
I stood first when the meeting broke. The air in the trailer was thick with it; stepping out into the cold night cleared my head. Everyone scattered to their own work, and the night deepened.
I scratched Wolf's head as he wagged at my feet, and Mike fell in behind me without a word. We walked the lager camp and checked the watch. In the dark, the great circle of steel felt like a fortress.
Between the trucks, parked at even intervals, Division troopers stood guard in pairs. One soldier stared into the dark, cycling his night vision on and off. A gunner sat behind the M2 in a Humvee turret. Sentinels crouched under trailers, watching the outside world — and on their backs, the Polaris crest glowed faintly.
A young trooper spotted us as we passed a sector and snapped a salute. I raised a hand to stop him.
"No salutes on watch. Anything to report?"
"Nothing yet, sir. But every so often there's a light flickering beyond the western horizon."
I looked where he was looking. Far out in the black, a faint blink. Could have been an animal's eyes. Could have been another survivor.
"Keep watching it. Don't react unless you have to."
"Yes, sir."
We moved to another sector. I approached the sentry there and asked in a low voice.
"You short on anything?"
"I'm all right, sir. The cold-weather gloves are worn, though. Fingertips are going numb."
I pulled off the spare pair I was wearing and handed them over without a word.
"Put these on. After you rotate off, go to supply and draw a spare pair."
"Sir, I can't—"
"That's an order. I'll draw a new pair."
"Thank you, sir..."
As we walked the camp, a few of the Union trucker families came out with hot coffee and fresh bread, handing them off to the sentries. A Division trooper blew on his frozen hands as he took the cup, and a faint smile crossed his face. Under the Polaris flag, the line between soldier and civilian had gone thin.
Last, I headed for Jake's motorhome, where a light was still on. Inside, Dave's mother, Sarah, and Raven were talking quietly.
"Just stopping by."
"Chan. Come in, come in. Sit down."
Mrs. Eleanor greeted me with a bright smile. I bowed my head to her, and to Sarah and Raven.
"Thanks to you two, we got through the Utah checkpoint yesterday without a hitch. If it hadn't been for that shepherd's pie, things would have gone sideways. How did you even think of that?"
Sarah smiled, a little embarrassed, and looked at Dave's mother.
"We didn't do anything. We saw Dave and Frank loading up drinks, and Mother said, 'Those boys are working themselves to death. You think drinks are enough? Put some food in their mouths.'"
"We happened to have pie left over from baking with Mrs. Anderson. We just warmed it up and sent it out."
I bowed my head to Mrs. Eleanor again, and I meant it.
"Your wisdom got us through a real crisis, ma'am. Thank you."
Then I asked after them.
"Is anyone uncomfortable? Anything you need?"
Eleanor took my hand with a gentle smile.
"We're fine, child. We don't lack a thing, and we're not uncomfortable. You're the only one we worry about."
"I'm fine. Don't worry about me."
I turned to Sarah and Raven.
"Look after Colonel Gibson's wife and the children, if you would. They joined us all at once. Everything's going to feel strange."
Sarah nodded.
"We heard. Those people... Colonel Gibson's consideration is why we got out ahead of everyone else. Of course we'll look after them. Don't worry."
Walking out of the motorhome, I was grateful — and relieved — that the families weren't showing their fear.
On the way back to my truck, I saw Jake and Cody moving around the helicopter in a clearing.
"Checking the bird? We won't be flying her for a while."
Jake stopped with his hands on a rotor blade and looked over.
"Even if we can't get her up, you've got to keep up the inspections in this weather, or she won't be there when you need her. Haha."
I didn't answer.
"Especially in a freeze like this — hydraulics seize, fuel lines ice up. You've got to preheat, and you've got to check the grease in every fitting."
Everyone was holding their fear in their own way, doing their jobs in silence. That was how we survived this hell. And so we had to quiet our unease as best we could, and try to sleep.
Before I turned in, I scratched Wolf under the chin and, without thinking, checked the radiation meter again.
The number on the display was stubborn as ever. The invisible disaster was still coming, even in the dark we slept in.
The next day.
Dawn hadn't broken yet when the same old routine woke my body. I worked until I was sweating, and the noise in my head found its place again. I stepped outside, and the cold, clean air drove deep into my lungs.
"Come on, Wolf."
Wolf and I started running the perimeter of the lager camp. It was still dark, but the vast encampment was already awake. The low growl of diesel engines rose from every direction, and busy silhouettes moved through the headlight beams. One by one, the steel giants that had frozen overnight were stretching themselves awake. A few trucks were already climbing onto the road with a heavy rumble, forming a column of faint taillights in the dark.
I went back to my truck, sat in the driver's seat, and unfolded the map to check the next leg one more time. The line drawn on the paper was simple. What would happen on that road, nobody knew.
I checked the radiation meter again. Overnight, the reading had climbed.
Just get us out of here. We'll be all right.
Then Cody's voice burst from the radio that had been quiet.
"Cody, talk to me. Details."
"Looting?"
Even then, my eyes were on the dosimeter.
We needed to leave, and we needed to leave now. The situation, as usual, did not give a damn.