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Somewhere in Utah
Driving north along I-15 was an exercise in boredom. The land was mostly flat and covered with sparse patches of grass, dirt and low hills that jutted out of the ground. The lack of deep ditches or any semblance of uneven terrain made it easy for Rick to go off-road when he was in between cities. Passing through cities had become a thousand times easier thanks to the GPS unit he picked up and he could tell that he was making much better time than before.
Rick had never been in the military, but after driving for a few hours in the Humvee he concluded that people who drove and rode in Humvees all day must stuff their pants with pillows or very small mattresses. Even when driving on the highway Rick could feel every single imperfection in the road. The few minor bumps off-road reminded him time and time again that all of the painkillers he had taken from a first aid kit beneath one of the seats were doing absolutely no good.
As the Humvee started running low on fuel Rick began studying the GPS along long open stretches of road to decide where he would stop to try and get more diesel. Large cities were out of the question as he knew they would have already been ransacked. Smaller towns and isolated stations would likely have been hit as well, but he figured there would be a slightly higher chance of finding something there.
He settled on Paragonah, a tiny town that was located just off of the Interstate a few miles down the road. There weren’t more than two dozen intersections in the entire town and it was just outside a larger city by the name of Parowan. He hoped that if people were evacuating and escaping from the area that they would go to the larger city instead of the smaller, or that there would at least be a few less people around in Paragonah than in Parowan. After driving through Parowan, Rick pulled off the highway and smashed through a low wooden fence on his way to Paragonah. The detour caused him slightly more pain but saved several minutes of weaving around destroyed cars along the highway.
Although Rick had noticed the level of destruction in the towns and cities he passed by, it wasn’t until he was actually driving through one of them that he realized just how bad things had gotten. In the small town with a population of less than five hundred there were dozens of destroyed cars in the streets, swaths of houses and small shops that had burned to the ground and a feeling of unease that accompanies disasters of all types and sizes.
When Rick got about halfway through the small town he spotted one of the two things he was looking for the most: a gas station. Like the other station he stopped at the pumps at the station in town had burned to the ground but there was a dump truck parked nearby that looked untouched. Rick pulled up next to the truck and turned off the Humvee. Grabbing his rifle he climbed into the back and opened the hatch to the top where he stood, holding the rifle in both hands while he surveyed the area around him.
Burned buildings dotted the view on the side of the street opposite the gas station. On Rick’s side, however, most of them looked relatively intact, or at least they didn’t appear burned. Windows were broken, façades had been torn down and trash and debris was scattered everywhere. A chilled wind cut through the street, sending old newspapers and plastic bags tumbling and soaring, but there was no sign of any other movement anywhere he looked.
“Nice and creepy.” Rick shook his head and sighed. “Just what I hate the most. A creepy-ass town that’s completely deserted. Only slightly better than one where everyone’s trying to kill you or steal your stuff.”
Rick slithered back down inside the Humvee and sealed the hatch before jumping out. Keeping the rifle in hand he went over to the dump truck and opened one of the fuel tanks on the side, then shone the light at the end of the rifle down inside. He kicked the tank and saw liquid sloshing around close to the top and nodded with satisfaction. “Excellent. Now to get that stuff into the tank.” After another glance around Rick headed down a side street, looking into
the front yards of each house he passed. The third house on his side of the road contained exactly what he was looking for. He trotted across the yard up to the side of the house, unscrewed the garden hose coiled up next to some bushes and carried it back to the Humvee.
Once there he opened up the Humvee and grabbed the tool bag out of the back. Using a knife inside the bag he cut a length of the garden hose about four feet long and another length about six inches long. Setting the lengths of hose to the side on the ground he unstrapped one of the cans of diesel fuel from the side of the Humvee and began filling the Humvee with the fuel from the can. Once both cans were emptied and he checked the fuel level of the vehicle and saw it was nearly full again he brought the empty cans over to the truck.
Rick pushed the longer length of hose down into the open tank and stuck the other end into one of the open jerry cans. He then opened the cab of the truck and searched around until he found a particularly filthy looking undershirt, wrapped it around the middle of the shorter piece of tubing and then stuck the shorter piece of tubing into the tank. With the old undershirt jammed up against the gap between the two hoses to form a makeshift seal he put his mouth around the short length of hose and gave a sharp, powerful blow.
The change in pressure inside the tank forced the fuel to rise up through the garden hose, and a second later it was siphoning into the empty fuel can. Rick flashed a grin, pleased that a video he had watched on the internet at two in the morning years ago had finally come in handy. Once the first can was half full Rick stuck the hose into the second can and used the first to completely fill the Humvee. As the second can continued filling he went inside the gas station, emboldened by his success, and began searching for any more containers that he could use to turn into makeshift jerry cans.
The only bottles he could find that were suitable were water bottles, and they were full and intact, sitting in the back room of the gas station on a shelf. He briefly considered dumping half of them out and filling them with fuel but decided against it, knowing full well that the water could be desperately needed later down the road.
Chapter 12
The Waters’ Homestead
Outside Ellisville, VA
Dianne and Mark spent the night sitting in the upstairs hall near the stairs, taking turns dozing, watching the cameras and listening for signs of intruders. Dianne had insisted more than once that Mark needed to sleep in his bed but she was tired enough that she nearly nodded off while talking to him so he took it upon himself to ensure she got a few hours of sleep. The night passed uneventfully and when the morning light broke over the horizon Dianne and Mark slowly trudged downstairs and sat at the kitchen table.
“I can’t believe your brother and sister are still asleep.” Dianne looked at her watch and put her head in her hands. “Ugh. I’m getting too old for this.”
Across from her, Mark took his mother’s coffee cup and sniffed at it before taking a sip and making a face. “How can you stand that stuff?”
Dianne looked at her son through a crack between her fingers and snorted. “Believe me, when you reach my age you’ll learn to love it.”
“Yuck. I hope not.” Dianne and Mark sat quietly for a few minutes while Dianne sipped her coffee, then her son spoke again. “The windows look good. I don’t think anyone will be able to get in very easily.”
Dianne turned around in her chair to look at the dark space in the wall that used to offer a view out onto the lake behind the house. Only a few cracks of light were visible through the boards covering the window. “Yeah it does look good. I wish we didn’t have to do it but it’s safer this way.”
“Should we board up the windows upstairs?”
“Nah.” Dianne shook her head. “If we’re worried about people scaling the house and coming in through the upstairs then I don’t think a couple boards will stop them.” She took a long sip from her mug and set it back down on the table.
“There is something else we need to talk about, though.”
Mark looked at her warily. “What did I do?”
“No, nothing you did. It’s about the tunnel.” Mark stayed quiet as Dianne continued. “I’ve been thinking about this since we opened it up and I decided that we need to make it more than just a storage area.”
“What do you mean?”
