Landing

For a while, silence filled the trailer, one thought chasing the next in a long, unbroken chain.

Federal government or state government — in the end, they were just another colossal competitor, clawing for their own survival. The nation was no longer a fence that protected the individual. It had become nothing more than a vast organism, demanding sacrifice from its people in the name of its own instinctive continuance.

We, too, were walking a precarious line — cooperating at times, fighting at others — all for the survival of ourselves and our community. And I knew, in my gut, that someday the things we were trying to protect would collide with that other community, the one that went by the name of public authority.

In that heavy air, the first day out from the farm was drawing to a close.

"That's enough for today. Tomorrow's going to be a long ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one."

At my words, everyone rose without speaking and scattered to their own quarters.

I clipped Wolf's leash on — then unclipped it again. He didn't need it, not all the way out here, and it was a small kindness for a dog who'd been cooped up in a cramped cab all day. He nuzzled my hand with his wet nose, tail beating, and together we stepped out into the cold night air.

Walking the perimeter of the camp, I war-gamed every scenario I could think of. Even the immediate task — crossing the Sierra Nevada and Eldorado National Forest — wasn't going to be simple. And after that, merely fending off raiders wouldn't be enough to keep this survival going. Fighting was just a part of living now, and at the end of every fight, depletion was waiting — of supplies, of patience, of everything.

To survive, we had to keep producing something. Not isolation from the outside world — we needed safe exchange and trade, a way to turn what we had into something worth more. The fresh eggs that came out of the chicken trailer every day would make excellent trade goods on their own. The nuts and dried fruit we'd brought from the farm could be swapped for things we actually needed. The same went for the ammunition, medicine, liquor, and tobacco we held in relative abundance. I decided we'd find a safe market where trade was possible — or, if none existed, we'd make one.

After that long night's rest, the next morning's dawn felt unusually cold. Frost from the night had settled white across the grass. We hurried through our preparations to enter US Route 50 before the darkness had even fully lifted.

Just before departure, I gave Jake his orders as he stood beside the helicopter.

"Jake, take off fifteen minutes after the column rolls. If any other vehicles try to come up this road in the meantime, report immediately."

It was partly for rear security, and partly so the helicopter — which cruised at a different speed — ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could match pace with the convoy.

Then Gunner's F-550 rumbled out of camp with a heavy engine note. Our long column followed, peeling off one by one toward US Route 50. I keyed the radio to Cody in the motorhome.

The road stretched east, cutting through the heart of Eldorado National Forest. As we passed near Placerville, weathered wooden buildings still bearing traces of the nineteenth-century Gold Rush slid past the window, along with the winding American River. The road through the dense pine forest was a painting in its own right — but I couldn't help thinking of the unknown dangers that might be lurking inside all that beauty.

We were just getting used to the new road, picking up speed, when Jake's radio came in.

A moment later the helicopter picked up speed and vanished from sight, and Cody's drone crossed over our column, heading rear. Mike, sitting beside me, watched the drone controller's screen.

"There they are."

On the screen, the vehicles Jake had described were faintly visible. Mike picked up the radio.

Mike turned the dial with practiced ease, and the image zoomed in smoothly, bringing the trailing vehicles into sharp focus. Pickup trucks with roofs piled high with cargo, and a faded old bus with peeling paint. Mike panned the camera around, checking the controller, then spoke without taking his eyes off the screen.

"Hmm... nothing that looks like trouble."

"Looks like families, same as us — trying to get a jump on getting out of California."

"What's with the school bus?"

"Ah, they call those a Skoolie. You buy an old school bus and convert it into a camper."

Reassured by Mike's assessment, I ordered Cody to bring the drone back. A converted school bus used as a camper — even in this chaos, people were finding their own ways to keep living.

Our column kept rolling east along the winding US Route 50, onto the stretch they called the Eldorado Freeway. After passing the small towns of Placerville and Pollock Pines, the road plunged in earnest into Eldorado National Forest. The view outside the window changed in an instant.

On both sides of the road, ponderosa pines and Douglas firs soared toward the sky, forming a massive green wall. Pale gray sunlight fractured through the leaves, scattering into dancing shadows across the asphalt. Granite cliffs appeared at intervals, along with valleys of unfathomable depth — reminders of the primordial power this forest held. Eyes and ears long accustomed to city noise and the dust of ruins felt cleansed by the crisp air and the silence of the woods.

I thought, for a moment, that hiding out in this forest wouldn't be so bad. Then I remembered I wasn't alone — leading a whole group to live like primitives wouldn't be simple at all.

The road became a gentle climb, growing steadily more rugged. It felt as though we were scaling the spine of a giant. Then Jake's radio came in.

Gunner's F-550 belched a puff of gray smoke, then surged forward and vanished from sight. Not long after, his radio came back.

Our column pulled into a gas station and rest stop beneath a weathered sign.

The pumps were wrapped in heavy chains, and the convenience store windows had been boarded over with plywood. Behind the building, a wide unpaved lot stretched out — big enough for several semi-trucks to rest — but only a single abandoned trailer sat there, forlorn. In a stillness that felt as if time itself had stopped, we dressed the column and decided to catch our breath.

We'd just finished organizing the vehicles and were bustling about grabbing a simple lunch when another engine sound came from the gas station entrance. It was the Skoolie group Jake had spotted from the rear.

They parked carefully in the far corner on the opposite side of the station, as if trying to keep as much distance from us as possible. Their glances kept flicking our way, full of curiosity about our massive truck convoy and the helicopter, but they never held eye contact for long. I could tell they wanted to avoid unnecessary conflict just as much as we did. The Skoolie group looked a little disappointed when they saw the chained-up pumps.

If the world were still at peace, someone would have walked over first — asked where they were headed, how the roads had been. The usual small talk. But this wasn't that world. We ignored each other as hard as they ignored us, neither side willing even to meet the other's eyes. It was a fresh, sharp reminder that this had become a world where no one could be trusted, governed by an unspoken rule: do not trespass on anyone else's ground.

We gathered in the motorhome, chewing sandwiches and discussing the road ahead. Mike, studying the map, spoke up.

"From here on, the road's going to get properly nasty. Elevation's going to keep climbing, too."

His words settled something in my mind.

"Until we're through Eldorado National Forest, let's put the helicopter back up on the trailer."

"Boss, I'm fine. This much is—"

Jake started to protest, but I shook my head.

"No. The further we go, the harder it's going to be to find a decent landing spot. And even if we find one, if it's too far from where the column stops, it'll be a headache in more ways than one."

Jake said nothing.

"Besides, with all the climbs and curves, the column isn't going to be making much speed anyway. Drones will be enough for now."

Once the decision was made, everyone moved as if they'd been waiting for it. Cargo from the supply trailer hitched to the bus was quickly redistributed into the other vehicles. After unhitching the trailer from the bus, Jake flew the helicopter back and set it down gently on top of the trailer.

Watching the landing skids settle onto a trailer with only inches of clearance, guided in by Cody, I marveled at Jake's piloting. Everything was done without a hair's breadth ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of error — familiar, efficient. Bill watched it all and let out an admiring breath.

"Damn. Now that's a thing of beauty."