Let Those Who Have Ears Hear
The truckers never stopped pouring news of a world coming apart over the CB channels.
For all the noise and chaos on the air, we kept rolling west across I-80, straight through the barren heart of Nevada.
The desert stretched without end. Beneath a sky the color of ash, the distant ranges lay like the spine of some vast beast, barren and still. The whole world had been reduced to faded brown and gray.
It was a frozen desert. Even with the Great Winter upon us, no snow fell here. It felt as if the desert night had simply refused to end, stretching on through what should have been day.
The tires rolled over desert asphalt, and the radio kept feeding us grim news. The anchor's voice no longer carried excitement or urgency. It was the dry, spent tone of a man working the night shift at a graveyard, every emotion already burned away.
So it begins.
Someone keyed up on the CB. They were watching the same broadcast.
Whether the government itself had caught the scent of the end, the great fortress of America had finally cut the bridges to the outside world. I turned my attention back to the anchor.
Dominoes. One great block had gone over, and the whole world was coming down in a chain.
A sigh escaped me before I knew it.
"Hah. All it took was two volcanoes."
A civilization that had looked so vast, so unshakable, was coming apart at the seams over nothing more than two sneezes from the planet.
Right. For China to keep that many people fed...
Where a starving dragon would turn its head in search of the last remaining meal was obvious enough. The world, it was clear, would not be finished merely by freezing.
We kept driving through the anxious news, and around midday we pulled off onto a small rest area along the shoulder. We made a quick meal of canned goods and MREs from our own rigs, then rolled back out onto the parched asphalt.
I switched on the radio out of habit. Through the crackle of static, the anchor's voice came through.
Winnemucca.
I picked up the handset.
"Raven, you copy?"
"Yes, boss. I hear you."
"That rest stop you ran from two nights ago, after you heard the gunfire — was that the Winnemucca truck stop they just named on the news?"
"...Yes. That's the one. That's exactly it."
Tension bled into the channel. We had slipped past the heart of that hell by a day, maybe two.
"Damn it. They were right on our tail."
Frank's voice was tight with unease. Dave's, by contrast, had relief mixed in.
"Still, we got lucky. Our boss gave those bastards a real beating, which made them hesitate, and Raven's family warned us in time so we didn't get tangled up with them twice."
Then Raven's voice came over the radio, trembling.
"Wait. Then... those raiders... you were the ones who drove them off?"
Instead of answering, I turned the conversation to the next rest stop. Nobody had settled on a destination, and the channel filled with hemming and hawing. I checked the map.
"Next truck stop is in Lovelock. It's a decent-sized place. We'll stay there tonight."
"But... won't that be dangerous too?"
I answered Dave's worried voice.
"Raiders hit big, then they go to ground to regroup. Hitting the same area twice in a row is a stupid play. They're probably being more careful than we are right now. We'll be fine."
I bit back the rest. Dry camping was safer, but it burned through our limited fuel, water, and emergency rations. Stay at a truck stop, and at the very least we could top off the water — and if we were lucky, sleep in a real bed. On a journey this long, resupply and rest were just another form of combat.
The moment we rolled into the Flying J in Lovelock, we were met with a sight we had not expected.
At the fuel island entrance, in front of the store doors, and posted throughout the lot, guards in black tactical vests and ballistic helmets stood watch with automatic rifles. The discipline in their bearing was not the sloppy posture of some amateur militia. These were real mercenaries, contracted out of a PMC.
"Huh. So Flying J's fielding an army now."
Gunner clicked his tongue. The sight of them actually put us at ease. At least tonight, it looked like we could sleep with our legs stretched out and not worry about what was coming from outside.
We found a quiet corner at the far edge of the lot and arranged the vehicles in a circle. Six rigs and two campers finished parking in a wide ring. Mike took one look and snorted.
"Looks just like a wagon circle from the Old West. All we need now is a campfire in the middle. Haha."
I fed Wolf first. The big guy finished his meal in no time, and the two of us headed for the diner.
We had just pushed two large tables together and sat down when Dave and Frank came back from the store.
"There's still some stock left in the store. We can salvage a few cans."
"Fuel's rationed. Ten gallons even if you're in a pickup. That'll get you maybe a hundred miles. Next tanker isn't due for four days."
We ordered our food, and at last made proper introductions with Raven's family, who had only just joined us. Frank's boy Liam, in particular, lit up the moment he met Adam, who was the same age. The two of them were fast friends, pulling out handheld game consoles and disappearing into a world of their own.
Eleven people, and one dog lying quietly under the table.
I found myself looking around at the strange scene. My place at the head of the table. The way my companions' eyes turned to me without thinking. The trusting looks from their families. All of it was making me the patriarch of a large family. It was not a role I had asked for, but it carried a sense of duty I could not dodge.
In a corner of the diner, we set the end of the world aside for a little while and enjoyed an ordinary dinner.
"So tomorrow evening, we actually set foot in California. That's the idea, right?"
Frank asked it in a voice full of hope.
"That's right. At this pace... if we're lucky, we could make it to the farm near Dave's aunt's place by tomorrow night."
Mike answered with the map in front of him. Dave already looked like a kid on Christmas morning.
"Oh man. We're going to have to sit down with her pickled olives and a glass of whiskey. You boys try that once, you'll fall right out of your chairs."
"Now that sounds good! Shouldn't we swing through Las Vegas on the way?"
Gunner shot Frank's joke down without a hint of humor.
"That's crazy talk. That place'll be actual hell by now."
We closed out the day on that easy conversation. Everyone else decided to take rooms at the truck stop. I stayed in the trailer. It had a no-idle heater, and there was Wolf to think about besides.
I got Wolf a snack, grabbed a can of beer for myself, and switched on the TV. As I flipped through the channels, the same breaking bulletin was erupting on every one of them.
"What? So they actually did it."
Over the anchor's agitated voice, another reporter cut in.
In the end, it started from the inside. This country was no longer a single nation.