Satisfied that he was adequately situated for another day of convalescing, Kyle pocketed some food and climbed back into the cab of the truck. By his estimation, distance-wise he was almost halfway home from Houston. Time-wise, he wasn’t sure. The terrain had been easy to this point, but it was going to get much more difficult with the mountains ahead.
Kyle’s mind drifted to his home in Montana. Twenty-nine days had passed since he should have been there, and two weeks prior to that was the last he’d seen his family. The day he’d left had been typical, the kind that would be easily forgotten under normal circumstances. He had read the news on the internet as he ate breakfast, then packed his bags while the rest of the family got ready to go into town for back-to-school shopping. Few words were exchanged; just the routine conversations families have during the course of a morning. He hoped he’d told Jennifer that he loved her, but couldn’t even say for sure that he had.
He did remember giving the kids hugs, although he had gotten after Emma for talking on the phone and not helping Spencer. David had worn his earphones most of the morning, avoiding any interaction with the family, and Spencer had tried to help Kyle pack his suitcase but was ushered out of the bedroom under protest after knocking a stack of shirts onto the floor. Hurrying, Kyle had overreacted and brought Spencer to tears. Now those shirts he had been so concerned about were a long forgotten pile of ashes, and Spencer was hundreds of miles away without his father.
Jennifer had been frustrated with the kids, and after everyone had given dad the requisite hugs and kisses goodbye, his family had piled into the car and hurried off to shop, more concerned about new clothes and backpacks than seeing dad off. That night after the kids had gone to bed, Jennifer had called and left a message on his phone, apologizing for her mood and the rush, but Kyle was working long hours repairing hurricane damage and hadn’t returned her call for several days. By the time he did, all was forgotten, and the events of their days apart had filled the conversation. They had talked every couple of days after that, with a brief visit the day before he was to return home, but hadn’t spoken for very long, expecting to see each other soon.
Reflecting on his family and their life together, Kyle could think of countless things he’d do differently. He teared up thinking about Jennifer, the way she was with the kids, her strange affinity for yellow flowers, the way she got giggly after reaching her one beer limit, and her devotion to him through their years of marriage. Kyle knew he took his wife for granted and that their happy marriage was more a reflection of her patience and efforts than his. In many ways, his need to make it home was driven by a desire to put his whole heart into doing something for her. His first inclination, that first day at the airport when he thought the problems might be related to an EMP, had been to wait and let things get back to normal, or at least close to it, then return home the easy way. It was a fact he admitted to himself with a great deal of shame because he knew Jennifer’s first impulse would have been to get home right away, whatever the price.
Kyle ate most of the food he’d gathered from his cart, then reclined his seat and closed his eyes, with thoughts of his family playing on the stage of his mind. The warm sunshine drew out what little energy he had, and after two days of vomiting, Kyle quickly drifted off to sleep.
As he slept Kyle dreamed about his family more intensely and more vividly than he had at any point in his journey. He dreamt that his wife and children were trapped outside their home during a violent thunderstorm. That Jennifer, climbing into the house through a broken-out-window, cut herself and lay bleeding on the kitchen floor while the children cowered outside, surrounded by a lightning induced firestorm.
Kyle awoke from the dream panicked, with his heart racing and sweat running in streams down his face. Relieved to discover it was only a dream, he laid his head back and began to relax again, then closed his eyes and drifted off, this time sleeping more restfully.
After a couple more hours of sleep, Kyle felt better and more rested than he had since getting sick and was anxious to get on the road again in the morning. He finished off his water and climbed down from the truck, hungry for something to eat. The setting sun bathed the surrounding area in a golden glow, and Kyle realized he’d slept longer than he’d expected to. He ducked under the trailer where he had left his cart and stopped dead in his tracks
The cart was gone.
Kyle spun around frantically and looked in every direction, but saw nothing to indicate where his cart might be. He ran to the side of the road hoping, perhaps, that the cart had rolled into the ditch, but it hadn’t. He scanned the freeway in both directions, but between the volume of dead vehicles and the rolling of the road, he could see little. He cursed the interstate as he pulled at his hair in frustration.
He remembered that the last time he had vomited had been mid-afternoon, but wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep. At most, whoever took his cart had a four-hour head start, but in what direction had they gone? He peered up and down the freeway again, praying for a clue, but could see no sign of the cart. His head swam and his legs felt weak. Everything he needed for his journey was in that cart—his clothes, food, blankets, and tent, and he was sure it would be next to impossible to make it home without it.
Kyle forced himself to try and calm down and think. He needed to make a decision, but it needed to be the right one. If he went the wrong way, he would never find the cart. Pacing on the side of the road, Kyle reflected back on the last two days. In the hours he’d been awake, he’d seen more people heading west, their travel, for the most part, mimicking the way cars normally traveled: westbound walkers on the north side of the road, eastbound walkers on the south.
After a final scan of the road to the east, Kyle slung his rifle over his shoulder and set off at a run towards Denver. In his weakened condition, he struggled to maintain the fast pace for more than a few minutes at a time and was forced to slow down and walk ten minutes for every five that he ran. All the while, his mind raced ahead, trying to figure out what he could do if he’d made the wrong decision and his cart was heading towards Nebraska. With the exception of his rifle and the clothes on his back, everything he had was in the cart, and the chances of replacing the other supplies were slim at best.
He’d only been hunting for his cart for about five miles, but Kyle’s legs felt like rubber, his lungs burned, and the rumblings in his stomach reminded him that he’d kept little down for the past two days. In the descending darkness, he came to a rest area filled with at least a dozen trucks and knew it was a good place to spend the night. He searched the parking lot for his cart but didn’t see it anywhere, then found an empty berth and retired for the evening; weak, hungry, and terrified he might not make it home.
Sunday, October 2nd
The first hint of sunlight found Kyle feeling better and more determined than ever to find his belongings. The morning air was brisk, and he rubbed his arms as he climbed down from the truck and got his first look at the parking lot in daylight. A further search showed that his cart truly wasn’t at the rest stop, but there was a grocery truck that had gone unnoticed the night before. He hurried to the truck, the steady rumblings of his stomach setting his priorities, and pulled open the back doors, flooding the trailer with light. Most of the trailer was knee deep in empty boxes, but Kyle could see that there were still full cases of food stacked to the ceiling at the far end.
“Hello!” Kyle shouted while climbing inside the trailer. There was no reply. He had just started kicking his way through the debris when a mound of boxes only a few feet in front of him erupted, and a figure sprang out.