“It used to be such a clean town,” Emory said. “Now it’s an ashtray.”
“Smells like one too,” Sullivan said, hawking up a mouthful of phlegm and spitting it onto the street.
They drove into the suburbs, where it turned out that Marty had been largely correct about being able to forage canned food. They saw living people here and there, darting in and out of houses in ones and twos with sacks over their shoulders, all of them ragged and filthy-looking, wretches for the most part. No one came near the trio, however, and there seemed to be very little sense of danger. Still, they kept their eyes peeled. Some of the houses had mysteriously escaped the flames entirely, while others were completely incinerated. They stood talking in the drive of a brick home that had gone largely undamaged, their mouths covered with green triangular bandages against the ash blowing in the breeze.
“Traveling is going to get more difficult from here,” Marty said. “We’ll still find food but before long the highway’s likely to be covered with ejecta.”
“Won’t be any gas north of here,” Sullivan said. “Not with the cars all burned up.”
“But there will be in the underground tanks,” Marty said. “Beneath the gas stations.”
“How do you propose to get it out of the ground?”
“We can go to Home Depot or someplace like that,” Marty said. “All I need is some PVC pipe, some glue, and a few other things, and I can make a hand pump.”
Sullivan stood looking at Emory.
“We’ve got nothing better to do, John.”
“I disagree,” he said. “Okay, he was right about the food. But he’s wrong about heading any farther north. We should be scavenging all the food we can. We can hook a trailer to the Jeep, find a place south of here to hole up for the winter, a house near some trees with a big-ass fireplace in it.”
“He’s right, Shannon. That’s exactly what you guys should do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m pressing on,” Marty said. “I’ll find a four-wheel drive somewhere in Denver that didn’t burn up.”
“You’re nuts!” Sullivan said.
“I’ll be one less mouth to feed.”
“Um, no,” Emory said. “I don’t like that idea.”
“I’m not asking you guys to come with me,” he said. “But it’s the only thing left that makes any sense for me.”
“Then I’m coming with you,” she said. “John L?”
He shook his head. “No, Shannon. I’m sorry. That way is a total dead end and there’s nothing up there I care about. Not anymore.”
“I’ll be there,” she said, her eyes grinning over the bandage.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve only got so much faith to sustain me.”
“Well, if it’s a matter of faith,” she said, grabbing his belt and pulling him off toward the house.
“Shannon, what the fuck are you doing?” he said, trying to pry her hand loose, but not terribly hard.
She towed him through the door and into the kitchen, pushing him up against counter and reaching down with one hand to unbutton his trousers.
He stood looking at her, his arousal increasing. “Shannon… what are you doing?”
She freed his manhood and began to massage him. “Restoring your faith.”
“This isn’t going to—”
Sullivan drew a deep breath and slid his arm around her, quickly giving in to her touch. He took off her helmet and pulled the bandage down to put his nose into her hair, breathing her in. Even after so many weeks without bathing, there was still the unmistakable essence of a female.
“Goddamnit, that feels good,” he said with a sigh.
“I know what guys like,” she said, stroking him more vigorously until she got him groaning into her ear.
He gripped her tight against him. “Ohh… fuck!”
When he was finished shuddering, she stood back and took a handful of dust-covered paper towels from a roll hanging beneath the cupboard, grinning at him as she wiped her fingers clean. “Too bad you’re not coming along,” she said. “That’s as easy for me as shaking your hand.”
He finished buttoning his pants and stood looking at her. “You know it’s a one-way trip,” he said helplessly. “You have to know that?”
“Go ahead and consider that my thanks for what you’ve done for us.”
“Shannon, think about this. Seriously.”
“Already have.”
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, grabbing his carbine from the table and walking out of the house. Without saying a word, he walked past where Marty stood in the yard, got into the Jeep and shut the door.
“What’s his problem?” Marty asked as Emory came walking out with a self-satisfied smile on her face.
“He’s got a crush on a lesbian,” she said. “What about you? You need a crank before we go?”
“Stop it,” he said, turning away, but she grabbed his jacket.
“I’m a practical woman, Marty. You need one or not?”
“Not today,” he said quietly, embarrassed. “But thank you.”
She bumped him on the shoulder. “We’re buddies, right?”
“Yes,” he said. “We’re buddies.”
“Okay then. Me and you stick together.”
“Of course. What about Sullivan?”
“Sullivan… well, he’s sorta fucked,” she said with a laugh. “’Cuz I play dirty.”
Two days later Sullivan slowed the Jeep and came to a stop in the middle of a back-country road twenty-five miles north of Cheyenne, Wyoming. The boulder resting in the center of the road was over ten feet tall and twice as wide. “Sweet Jesus,” he muttered.
“See what I’ve been telling you guys!” Marty said, jumping excitedly out of the Jeep and running up to the monolith.
Emory and Sullivan got out and stood looking at the rock.
“That flew up in the sky and then came back down, right?” Emory said.
“Sure as hell did!” Marty answered, running around the side of it, trying to calculate the weight. “Definitely igneous rock,” he muttered. “Hey, either of you guys know the unit weight of granite? I’m not sure—no, wait—about a hundred pounds per cubic foot.”
They followed him around it and were shocked by what they saw in the distance.
“Now that’s a goddamn debris field!” Marty shouted.
For as far they could see to the north, the barren landscape was scattered with boulders, though not all were as big as the first one, and there were great gashes in the earth where they had come to land, inexorably altering the landscape with their presence alone.
“See those cars out there?” Marty said, pointing far off the highway where a dozen vehicles lay scattered like broken toys. “That’s where the blast wave threw them. Which means we can cross over to the interstate now. It should be mostly clear.” He turned and paced off the size of the boulder. “Finally, some numbers I can work with.”
Sullivan looked at Emory. “He doesn’t have his head on right.”
“Let him go,” she said. “He’s a got a thing for numbers.”
“Just look at it, Sue,” Marty was muttering. “Just look at it, honey!”
He came back over to them after nearly fifteen minutes of mumbling to himself and stood scratching his growing red beard.
Okay,” he said. “Judging from the size and estimated weight of this monster, speed and angle of attack, we shouldn’t be much more than five hundred miles from the point of impact.”
Sullivan looked at him disbelief. “You’re telling me the explosion threw this fucking thing five hundred miles?”
“That’s an estimate.”
“Well, shit, how close can we get to the crater before the road’s all blown away?”
“That won’t be the problem,” Marty said. “The road will be buried. But that’s what the Jeep is for.”