All four of them were enjoying the sun’s return. The truck’s cabin was less cramped when they were moving.
The scenery had been changing ever since they’d found their way back onto a proper highway. The colours of scrub and fields were changing to the washed out browns and greys of the old civilisation. They passed by roadside truck-stops, still advertising fast food chains, fuel, cigarettes, and the coffee that had been the hallmark of the trucking industry. Now the signs were faded like the cheap, transient plastic which they were. The letters on the poster-boards announcing the fuel-prices were askew or missing, with many years’ worth of condensation leaving the sign’s outer layer covered in a white film, obscuring the message. Other ads, announcing deals-of-the-week, were fallen over and flaking tiny bits of paint and plastic everywhere.
More and more refuse lined the roads on their approach; the last generation’s garbage lived on. Earlier Raxx had noted a coffee cup which must have been lying on its side for decades before getting recently blown over. The sunward side was an unreadable, a mishmash of sky-blue and yellow. The downward side was a vivid brown and red, the sharp lines of a logo still discernible.
Along the horizon, off to the southwest, the jagged fingers of concrete towers could be seen. The rain had washed away the perpetual dusty haze, leaving the sky a vivid blue. One particular concrete finger stood up higher than the rest of them, thinner, its end jagged as if the top had snapped off.
A shudder ran down Raxx’s back. The ancient city looked like the ribs of a decayed animal.
As they got closer to their destination the buildings along the side of the road began to obscure the empty towers to the southwest. Stone walls three meters high lined the road, marred by the marks of ancient gunfire; behind them tracks of houses. They were entering what had one of the Golden Horseshoe’s many suburbs — the great crescent of civilization surrounding Lake Ontario had concentrated all of its industry and commerce towards the waterfront. Those rich enough had moved to the outskirts, encroaching upon the farmland and building gated communities during the anarchic years leading up to the War. Even now, their tenants gone, each block seemed to loom on the side of the road. The communities within hidden from those that journeyed past. The only buildings visible as the gates flashed past were those housing the minor businesses which served the people in those communities. Grocery stores, flower shops, and high-end clothing stores. All the accoutrements that might be needed, shipped to within a kilometre of those that desired them.
For a moment Raxx was struck with a mental image. The great civilisation, laid out like a blueprint, with distribution lines of different colours for each product and service. Little numbers listed the frequencies and speed of each branch off the main trunk, a great logistical machine keeping millions clothed, fed, and happy. Then an atomic spark had burst in the heart, and quickening into poison along the veins.
Maria and Vince chatted on happily about what lay ahead in Sauga, but a wave of despair had swept over Raxx. It was like seeing a grandfather clock which had tipped over and shattered on the floor, springs and gears flying everywhere. Shattered glass. How could it ever be reconstructed again now that the clock-smiths were gone? Who could fit all of these pieces into their head?
Up ahead on his motorcycle Wentworth didn’t share the man’s gloom. The cold air cut through him like a knife, his fingers were numb, and his teeth were chattering, but he was overcome with a sense of light-heartedness. The pain of leaving Patricia lay behind him, bittersweet. He’d made a clean break.
Sometimes he thought his life was a series of clean breaks.
A sudden pot hole crept up on him, and he swerved to the left narrowly avoiding it. The motorcycle continued thrumming beneath him.
Even the best journey was stressful, and the rain storm had made for a bad night. Now, so close to their destination, relief swept over him. His guard duties wouldn’t be required there. He loved riding, but it was going to be good to stretch his legs soon and down a few pints.
Up ahead the road rose up, passing over a two lane freeway. An old signpost labelled it as the ‘407’. The overpass rose up on columns and must have been made out of better materials than the rest of the road, for it showed few signs of wear. Or maybe it was just that the shifting earth under the roads everywhere else had been replaced with thicker clay. Either way it made for a smooth ride when he reached it, he dropped the engine down a gear on the way up the incline. On either side the freeway stretched out to the horizon. He wanted to throttle her up, but he couldn’t see what lay on the other side of the rise so he remained cautious.
He crested without incident, and could see the next overpass a klick-and-a-half further up. Grey buildings with black, empty sockets for eyes stared at him from either side as he passed. Wind gusted through their windows. The closer they got to the Horseshoe, the more naked earth he saw; black and dusty, with nothing growing on it. Ahead on the road lay the forgotten hulks of several automobiles, stopped on the road or parked in lots.
Behind him he heard the deeper pitch of Raxx’s truck as it crested the rise. Raxx caught up with him, and the two of them rode together, side by side.
Wentworth signalled a stop just before reaching the next overpass, this one reading ‘401 Highway,’ and they both came to a rest with Raxx on his left. Vince, riding shotgun, leaned forward to look out at Wentworth.
“You sure this is safe?”
“Aye, this is the route all the companies take.”
Wentworth examined the highway ahead for a moment. “It’s just that there’re walls on either side of it.”
“Not on the far side, lad. The Brahmin in Mississauga tore them all up to build a city wall. You can get off the highway in most places.”
“Give me a sec,” Wentworth rode up the onramp cautiously, peering down the highway in both directions. After a second he motioned for Raxx to come up to him.
“She’s good?” asked Vince.
Wentworth nodded, a wide smile across his face.
“What’s up?” asked Raxx.
“The highway; she’s perfect. The road’s in perfect condition, man! Let’s see what these babies can do.”
With that he throttled up his engine, and threw her into first, jolting up the last bit of the onramp. Raxx laughed, and pressed down on the accelerator, squealing his tires. Within moments he’d caught up with him.
Wentworth had been right; there wasn’t a blemish to be seen. A few vehicles remained, pulled off to either side, but along the center the highway was free and clear. They each ratcheted through the gears, needles turning, until they’d reached one-forty.
Everyone in the truck’s cab was laughing, giddy at the speed. Wentworth’s grin could be made out despite the headwind the man was facing. With each tilt of the wheel Raxx could feel the weight of the trailer behind him, tugging him to the side. He made a game of it, keeping the vehicle under control despite the drag from it and the wind which he could sense, pressing the vehicle to either side. Beside him Wentworth wove in between the few bits of debris which he found. Raxx noticed the odd grating cut into the asphalt along the side of the highway, and decided to drive over it to see what would happen. A tremor ran through the entire vehicle, vibrating it, and causing him to release a grunt of surprise. In the back seat Maria broke into a fit of giggling.
Ahead was a cloverleaf of roads where the 401 met the 407 they’d passed earlier, twisting south. Thinking fast, Wentworth located the proper ramp, while Vince pointed it out to Raxx. They curved about, slowing down to ninety, and were heading south now on the 407.