Journey By Fire Read online

  "What's eatin' you?" Wiley yelled over the energized motor as they watched just trees and barren highway go by. "They didn't even shoot our tires out!"

  The view exuded a relief-filled emptiness as the toll station from hell receded in the rearview mirror.

  "We just escaped death, by the narrow margins, by God!" When his own mirth began to run out of gas, Wiley just shook his head and sighed.

  "I think I just killed another person," Wade said. "I killed two people tonight."

  Wiley looked at him, then back to the highway, newly somber. "Ever been in the military?"

  "No. You?"

  "No. But I have plenty of friends who have. The feelin' must be the same. You come to terms with it. Wouldn't feel bad. I wouldn't. You killed outa self-defense. You seem the good sort. There isn't a fine line these days, it seems. Just bad. And good. We wouldn't be alive…you seem to really think quick. It's the ones who are quick on their feet that stay alive. Damn if it isn't the damnedest time we're livin' in."

  Wade rubbed his face with his palms as if he was washing it. His vision was blurry. He figured it was the trauma. And fatigue. He decided he should be grateful, although all he felt was numbness.

  "How much gas do you have?" he mumbled.

  "Three quarters tank. I filled up at one of our stations in Laramie."

  "No fires there?"

  "'Aint nothin' to burn."

  "I guess that's good."

  "I guess so."

  "I have some water," Wade said. "What did you say your name was again? I'm just terrible with…"

  "…Names. I know. I know, everyone says that. Ever noticed? Wiley James is my name. I'm the product of Wiley Coyote and Jesse James. Heh heh."

  Wade handed him a blue Nalgene bottle of water, and they shared it. "Well, that's all I have. We'll get some more."

  Wiley took a deep breath and watched the highway hurtling by. Then he began to hum a tune, more to himself. He nodded his head affirmative when Wade said, "Mind if I sleep?"

  CHAPTER 5

  He went out as soon as he shut his eyes, a heavy sitting-up sleep. When he opened them again, the real sun, not just the glow from the fires, crested the high ridges.

  "How far's Colorado Springs?"

  "We passed it. I have to pull over in a sec."

  "Thanks for taking me in."

  "No worries. Well, I guess you saved my life. Alone, I think I would have tried to blast through that mess. Might a' worked; might not 'ave."

  "Where're you taking these potatoes?"

  "Supposed to be taking them to Mexico, where I fill up with TVs, microwaves, some such things, then make the return trip. But the way things are, well, you tell me. It's too dangerous, and outright foolish. I might just end up driving east. I'll have to get some fuel though. Don't you think there might be some workable diner around here? My eyes are about to slam shut. I have to pull over."

  Not far outside of Pueblo they pulled over in the emergency lane. Their windows were open. It was eerily quiet.

  "Maybe you should hide the truck better," Wade said.

  Wiley nodded, put the truck into gear again, then pulled off the roadside and onto the dried-up dusty gravel and grass. He nestled the cab and its bulky trailer beneath a dark copse of trees. Without any streetlights they might be hidden well enough, Wade thought, or be mistaken for an old, wrecked truck body with nothing to loot.

  Wiley shut down the engines and the lights and crawled into a sleeping space behind the front seats of the cab. He seemed beyond exhaustion. "I'll take watch," Wade said. He was hungry and tired himself. Wiley handed him the shotgun with fresh shells loaded into it, then he fell asleep and started snoring loudly. Wade opened his door and stepped down onto the road.

  The sky, as the sun came up, flickered behind the mountains and the blossoming light, like someone turning lights off and on. He could smell the fire still, but it mingled with a piney, pleasant tree smell. They'd seen no one coming north on I-25; it wasn't a good sign for gasoline in Pueblo. He stretched his arms in the cool air; all he heard were crickets and flies. It was a little warmer but not that much different than a common summer dawn. Nothing much thrived in the land of the fires. You hardly saw flocks of birds anymore; scores of animals had fled to the plains, or been killed in the inferno. The birds had gone north or east, and if it wasn't for Kara, he'd be headed in the same direction.

  He heard a guttural engine roar coming from up the highway towards Denver. The road was still largely cast in the mountain's shadow. He walked to the back of the cab and saw lights in the distance, getting closer. He thought he better wake Wiley.

  He went back to the cab and shook Wiley's boot, which stuck up over the seat. Wiley rose up with an embittered, bearded grimace, and Wade said, "We got company."

  "Stay hidden and don't turn on any lights." Wade handed the shotgun back to Wiley who gathered himself and ducked down low in the cab as the sound of the engines got louder. It sounded like a motorcycle club used to. They didn't have "clubs" anymore, Wade thought. They had marauding bands of savages.

  "We'll have to take to the woods if they see us," he told Wiley. He pulled his backpack down from the truck, but leaned it up against one of the huge tires and hid it behind the cab. He couldn't lose his gear if he had to take off into the roadside forest. He readied his bow and crept behind the trailer to around its stern. He watched as the first of at least two dozen Harleys roared past, headlights and chrome and oversized twisted exhaust pipes blazing in the dawn light, the men and the women in studded black leather and without helmets. They're going too fast. It's still too dark to see us. Not 40 meters away, the bikes had red and black flags attached to the seats, with leering renditions of skulls and bones and Swastikas. The bikers seemed to be going somewhere in a hurry. They raised the dust and ash off the road. He felt a slight breeze tainted by exhaust. It only took half a minute. He breathed easier and thought that it was a shame that they were all going in the same direction; toward the southwest and looking for gas and nothing else really, because nothing but emptiness and desolation awaited them.

  He waited until the lights disappeared down the road south.

  ###

  "Even our little pond is getting dried up and parched."

  Standing on the roadside, he recalled that conversation he'd had with his wife Lee. It was even dry in Vermont, but they weren't having wildfires because global warming had rather increased their precipitation during the winter. He remembered Lee's warm, accepting eyes, a look that could bear any burden. Her long auburn hair and country stylish, fairly antiquated habit of wearing dresses over cowboy boots. He'd dropped her and his son Shane off in Ottawa, Canada, and she'd given him a hug, both arms thrown around his shoulders, that he didn't want to let go.

  "Get ahold of us whenever you can," she'd said. She smiled but looked at him wearily. And warily. It was nuts, really, what he was doing, but they had to get Kara back. It was a last-resort kind of effort. He kept texting them until the cell phone ran out; he used his charger and found some electricity before they got into Chicago on the train and ran into all that business, but there wasn't any cell-phone service anyways. Even the regime lost that in many of its territories and was too dumb and religiously orthodox and authoritarian in its methods to employ technical people within its ranks to keep the technology going.

  He took one of a half dozen flashlights out of his backpack and sat in the passenger seat and poured over a folded out map of the southwest. They had a decision to make in Pueblo; they could go east on 50 toward Grand Junction as an alternative. The route they were on continued to the deserts of New Mexico. He had to go east and south anyways to get closer to Sierra Vista in Arizona.

  Wiley started up the engine, and they backed slowly out of their hiding place. Then rode over the dirt and back onto the highway. It wasn't far to Pueblo.

  CHAPTER 6

  They didn't see anymore of the bikers that day, and Wade figured that to be very lucky. His stomach was growling
and he needed water, by at least the end of the day. He figured they should probably pull over and cook up a big batch of potatoes, maybe find a stream and use the matches in his first-aid kit. Maybe Wiley had a pan among his gear. One thing there was plenty of was dry wood around. He figured Wiley was hungry too, because he hadn't said anything for a while.

  Wiley had to be worried as the gas gauge was going down and there were few opportunities to refuel. There was an advantage to being able to haul all that food around.

  Once they pulled into the Pueblo, Colorado city limits they saw a person standing on the one of the highway entrance ramps. It was as though she was waiting for a ride. When she saw the truck coming down I-25 she waved and stuck out her thumb. She had long, light-colored hair and carried a small backpack, and she looked young, to be out on the road alone. Wiley put the truck into a lower gear and slowed down. So far, they weren't leaving the highway at Pueblo, so Wiley aimed to pull the truck over near where the entrance ramp connected with the highway.

  Wade could see that she was smiling and had bent down and lifted up a pant leg to show them a little calf, and he smiled in spite of himself, because not much up till then had been amusing. He found a young woman hitchhiking here incredulous and outrageous.

  Pueblo was the beginning of a ghost town and there weren't any other vehicles or people around. They stopped the truck, and she trotted up the entrance ramp to where Wade had opened the passenger door. She was pretty and had long hair and freckles on her face and bell-bottomed pants. Her clothes were a bit heavy for the heat, he thought, and made of a funky patchwork of other garments. She smiled and stopped short of the truck.

  "Fee fie foe fum…friend or foe?" she said.

  "Friend."

  "Thought so. Thanks for stopping…I mean, you mighta' been the only car or truck for days. My name's Phoebe Tate." She stuck out her hand. He took it gently.

  "Mike Wade. The driver's Wiley. Come on, get in."

  "Oh, many thanks." She took his boost up the steps and climbed into the back of the cab.

  "What are you doin' out there in Crazy Land girl?" Wiley exclaimed.

  "Trying to get from Point A to Point B."

  "I guess we all are. Did you see some bikers come through here? Glad they didn't see you…"

  "Yeah, I saw 'em." She settled down on a cushion that Wiley slept on behind the front seats. Wiley restarted the truck and angled it onto the highway again. It coughed and a loud spurt of black diesel exhaust came out of the oil-stained pipe that stuck out of the back of the cab.

  "I was camping under those trees over there. Then they came in like a flock 'a vultures and parked in a field and had some kind of weird funeral…they were burning a cross."

  "Figures," Wiley said.

  "Did they leave?"

  "Early this morning."

  "Good."

  Wiley looked over at her; she had energy and a pretty sparkle in her young, green eyes. "Seen any working fuel stations around here?"

  "I know where we can get gas…and food."

  "Where?" Wiley said.

  "Over west past Pueblo, if you take the exit for 50 coming up."

  "What is it?"

  "The old Southwest Grill. It's half burned down, it doesn't look like anyone would be there, which is good obviously…but I know the family that runs it. The Santiagos. Real nice folks. Kindly and caring. They still live over by there and they can keep the grill going and they have all this used grill oil that a truck can use for fuel. They have fuel."

  "You don't say…"

  "Yeah."

  "You can find it from here?" Wade asked, looking back at her as she leaned eagerly between the two seats.

  "Yeah…take the upcoming exit there."

  "I'm starving," Wiley said.

  "Me too."

  They got on 50 and headed west towards Grand Junction. Wade got out his map again. He felt uplifted by simply going in another direction.

  "Gee, I really could use a Starbucks about now," Phoebe said, bouncing along on her perch in the back. "Or a Seattle's Best."

  "What about Green Mountain?" Wade said, thinking of his home state.

  "That too…"

  "As long as it's dark and strong," Wade said.

  "You drink it black, too?" Phoebe said, hopeful of a another connection between them.

  "You bet, dark roast, black…"

  "Will you guys quit talking about Starbucks and such?" Wiley said, staring straight ahead through the windshield. "It all kind of rubs it in…reminds me of a diner they had in Buffalo that had better coffee than anyone in the morning…wash down a plate of eggs and hash browns with it."

  Then he looked back at Phoebe half serious, and smiled. "Yeah, one of them coffee-house lattes would go over good about now."

  "What did I used to get…" Wade said. "A chocolate machiatto on ice."

  "Chai latte," Phoebe said.

  "I figured you for chai," Wiley said. "That's a complement." They'd seen a half-burned green sign for Starbucks, out in front of a crumbling mall in Denver. It'd be worth it to stop and harvest the stainless steel, Wade thought, with a practicality he couldn't resist. Thinking of favorite franchises and restaurants and the habits of eating out of malls and parking lots seemed like a very recent past that wasn't coming back. Who knew what would arise from the ashes.

  "Did you see the bikers go this way?" Wiley asked.

  "Don't think so," Phoebe said. "Think they kept going south." They were getting close to the block containing the Southwest Grille and Phoebe told him to slow down. She pointed to a building that was one-third blackened with its roof partially collapsed. The neighborhood, a failed chunk of suburbia, looked like a riot had taken place, then it was picked over for weeks afterward.

  Wiley slowed the big truck then turned into its parking lot, which had a few junked car bodies lying about.

  "This is it, huh?" Wiley said.

  "Yeah." He turned off the engine and they sat quietly for a minute.

  "Where are they?"

  "We'll see them soon," Phoebe said.

  "How do you know 'em?"

  "I was a waitress here once."

  Wade opened his door, stepped down from the cab, and shouldered his backpack. He got his bow out. He already thought of the truck as his sanctuary; he was wary moving too far away from it.

  He looked around the emptied blocks and saw nothing moving. The sun blazed above the floppy rim of his boony hat, and the air was tangy with hot ash. He figured the fires would flow down here eventually and feed on this long dry grass and the clusters of trees and the wooden homes.

  Phoebe put thumb and forefinger into her mouth and whistled loudly toward a spot of woods behind the old grill. Wiley virtually jumped out of his shoes. "Sh-sh girl, you'll wake the dead!"

  "They'll know it's me."

  Then three people emerged from the trees and walked tentatively around the side of the building. It was two adults and a child behind them. When they recognized Phoebe, they smiled with a tired relief, and the little boy began to run.

  "Hey little guy!" He ran right into her arms. She hugged him then let him down and then hugged the man and the woman, who were short and had friendly, proud, put-upon faces, probably given what they'd seen so far, Wade thought.

  "This is Carmen Santiago, Javi Santiago, and the kooky Pepe," she said, ruffling the little kid's black, bowl-cut hair.

  "Mike Wade." It felt good to smile and shake this kind-looking couple's hands. He was beginning to think people like this, and Phoebe, had ceased to exist.

  "These guys picked me up right off the highway!" Phoebe said. "I got nicknames for 'em. This ones Latte and this here's Machiatto. It's too hard to remember the real ones anyways." Wiley chuckled and smiled bashfully.

  Carmen wiped her hands on her dress and shook Wade's and Wiley's hands and Wade thought she looked brave and pretty.

  "I'll bet you you're hungry," Carmen said. "We can go over there and cook something up." She pointed to the part of the bu
ilding that still had its intact roof. It was a one-story, fairly long restaurant in the typical, memorable roadside style.

  "I'm famished," Phoebe said. "Man oh man, remember the all-day breakfasts, and those truckers would come in and order the same thing but three-plates worth every time?"

  "We might be able to cook up something like that," Javi said.

  "Wow," Wade said. "Do you need some potatoes?"

  "Yes."

  "You need potatoes, we got potatoes," Wiley said. "I just need a couple of boxes."

  "Inside."

  It felt weird and nice to be doing anything casual, like stand in a parking lot and chat. But Wade was glad they were going inside.

  "Anybody been by lately?" Wiley said. He regretted the remark later; he hadn't wanted to destroy the rare goodwill that permeated the gathering.

  Partly grimacing, Javi looked at him and said, "We had'a group come through two weeks ago, then nothing."

  "Good."

  They had gone farther into the foothills to reach this place off 50 and Wade looked up into those hills and saw bits of whitish gray ash floating in the breeze, like snow.

  He hadn't seen snow in a while, not even in Vermont, where they had rare winter storms in the small mountains that topped out at 4,000 feet. Where he was from, it used to be Snow Land.

  CHAPTER 7

  The last thing he'd gotten from Kara was a postcard before the mail services collapsed and stopped delivering. She wrote "Daddy I'm okay…" She'd never used to call him Daddy since she became college-aged and had matured quickly as young girls do. Then she probably thought that it wasn't too cool. She wrote that she was with a small group of other students and that they'd paid some guys to truck them over the Mexican border to Arizona. That part scared the shit out of him, amongst all the other scary details of their predicament. It was then that it became an easy decision to go and he vowed to not come back without Kara. He felt bad about leaving the rest of his family, but Lee understood.