There’s a peace here that Greg can’t quite get secure with. He’s become used to that underlying tension. That’s not a bad thing, but it can’t be sustained. He’ll have to talk with Jack when he sees him next. At the very least, these people have given him something to strive for and the knowledge that it can be done.
Dawn arrives without a single scream to wake him. He folded into the comfort of the sheets and fell instantly asleep following his watch. Feeling like he could sleep the entire day away, he rises and performs his ablutions. Walking into the parking lot with the sun having just crested the eastern horizon, the metal hull of the Stryker is bathed in the early morning rays. After the comfort of the bed, he’s loathe to climb back into the cramped quarters which will more than likely be their only home for some time to come.
James pulls in with his pickup shortly thereafter and greets Greg and his team. Off in the distance, Greg hears other vehicles driving through the streets of the city. The town had a day off with their arrival but is now back at whatever tasks they have. Greg is eager to be off but will miss this place. He won’t forget the peaceful feeling but doubts he will ever see these people again. It’s like those at Mountain Home. To the people he meets, he and the team are just a quick interruption in their quest for survival — something that will be told in stories around the table for a couple of weeks and then forgotten.
He and James exchange some small talk and they are soon on their way. They follow the truck through the northern gate and turn left onto a dirt road. They turn again and come to a narrow dirt causeway between two sloughs. The sloughs give way to swampy areas that would be next to impossible to cross with a motorized vehicle. James negotiates an almost invisible pathway through. They wind this way and that until arriving at the river. Sand and stunted trees line the banks. James guides them to a narrow part of the river and they ford. Staying near a hill, they come across another dirt road. Following it, they soon intersect the highway north of the fallen bridges. James pulls to halt on the side of the road. Greg has the Stryker pull behind and the two meet on the grit-covered shoulder.
“Thank you for everything,” Greg says as the two exchange handshakes.
“It’s our pleasure. Good luck to you, captain,” James says.
“And to you, James.”
There’s nothing left to be said, so Greg climbs aboard the armored vehicle. He has the driver pull onto the road and, with a wave to James, they head north. Greg glances back to watch James diminish as they motor down the road. James climbs into his truck, backs up, and, entering the dirt track, disappears from view. Not far to the north, the road bends, turning east toward Pueblo.
If anything, the terrain is even more remote and barren upon leaving Lamar. They continue their slow travel and it’s a couple of hours before they come across their first town. Greg holds to his plan and circumvents the city. He’s ever-watchful for the bandits James cautioned them about. They aren’t impervious in the Stryker, and he is mindful that it wouldn’t take much in today’s world for a group to raid a military base and come up with hardware that could quickly take them apart. At their current rate of travel, Greg hopes to arrive at their destination by mid-afternoon. This assumes they can continue to circumvent the larger towns and make it safely through Pueblo and Colorado Springs.
The highway continues to parallel the river course. Greg finds a gas station in the small town of Manzanola which has above-ground fuel tanks. With the team set out in a small perimeter, they top off the Stryker’s tanks. Well into their day, they haven’t run across a single sign of survivors. It makes Greg think that the town of Lamar and finding others in the nearby communities was either a fluke, or anyone in the towns they’ve come across since has ran afoul of the bandits. Either way, each place has proven to be a ghost town. With little food sources nearby — cattle or fertile hunting grounds — he doubts any night runners have survived in this remoteness either.
Each road sign they pass shows the mileage to Pueblo counting down. At times, the opposite lane of the two-lane highway gives the impression of vehicle tracks — side by side sections of pavement can be clearly seen. The traces appear to be the width of autos rather than armored vehicles which brings some relief to Greg. He isn’t sure of the observations as it could be just a trick of the wind, but he isn’t taking any chances. He slows and they methodically survey the area ahead before proceeding on. This takes more time, but Greg doesn’t want to gamble.
Housing developments and small industrial parks appear ahead as they near the outskirts of Pueblo. At the very edge of the metropolis, a highway branches off which skirts the outer edges of the city. The Stryker turns onto this new highway and they are soon in barren lands once again. Before long, residential neighborhoods appear to the left toward the urban sprawl, with the large expanse of Colorado State University to the right. As they proceed, there are an increased number of bare spots in the pavement.
Just past the university, Greg has the vehicle turn onto a highway that parallels the interstate connecting Pueblo and Colorado Springs. The increase in the vehicle track sightings makes him nervous, especially with the report from James that the bandits came from this direction. With Fort Carson’s proximity and the large armored presence there, he wants to proceed with all the caution at their disposal. The thought of abandoning this leg of their mission doesn’t enter his mind, but he won’t rush pell-mell into it either. The protection and armament of the Stryker suddenly seems very limited compared with what they could come across.
They leave Pueblo behind in the mid-afternoon. A wide river bottom separates them from an interstate a klick to the west. The river and its surroundings will make it difficult for anyone on the other side to intercept them. The route they have chosen will join with the interstate just south of Colorado Springs.
Sporadic farm houses disappear entirely as they proceed north. Escarpments hide the interstate for miles at a time. The eastern hillsides, showing deep ravines from runoffs, are cast in shadow as the sun pushes its way west across the blue sky. They need to be on the other side of the river in order to get to Manitou Springs, so it’s imperative that they find a bridge or some other means to cross. Going through Colorado Springs isn’t an option; an urban environment can become a deadly place.
There isn’t a single bridge to be found along the way and Greg doesn’t want to risk foundering the Stryker while fording across sandy beaches he sees next to the river. They continue until sporadic farm houses give way to the beginnings of a residential neighborhood. He’s left with a decision. They can go through the urban area to find a bridge to cross, they can ford the river, or they can abandon the mission altogether. With the last not being an option and, as he doesn’t want to enter into the large community ahead, he has the vehicle strike west.
Traversing an empty field, they come to the river. It’s not wide at this point, and they cross a small strip of sand before plunging in. The river is initially deep, rising to the hull itself, but shallows as they progress across. On the far side, the Stryker powers up a low ridge of rock. The engine whines louder and the nose of the Stryker rises into the air before crashing back down with a jolt. To one side, hidden in a copse of trees, old washing machines, toilets, and other discarded sundries are piled.