Even small towns can be deadly. Yet we have to be able to resupply. In particular, we have to be able to get water. If that means going into the more populated areas around one of the other highways, we’ll do it. Meanwhile we’ll be careful, resupply every time we get a chance, never pass up a chance to top off our water and food, waste nothing. But, hell, the maps are old. Maybe the area around I-5 is more settled now.
To reach I-5, we’ll pass a big freshwater lake— San Luis Reservoir. It might be dry now. Over the past few years a lot of things had gone dry. But there will be trees, cool shade, a place to rest and be comfortable. Perhaps there will at least be a water station. If so, we’ll camp there and rest for a day or even two days. After hiking up and over a lot of hills, we’ll need the extra rest.
For now, I suspect that we’ll soon have scavengers being driven north toward us from Salinas, and refugees being driven south toward us from the Bay area. The best thing we can do it get out of the way.
We got an early start, fortified by the good food we had bought at Salinas— some extra stuff that Bankole had wheeled in his cart, though we all chipped in to buy it. We made sandwiches— dried beef, cheese, sliced tomatoes— all on bread made from wheat flour. And we ate grapes. It was a shame we had to hurry. We hadn’t had anything that good tasting for a long time.
The highway north was emptier today than I’ve ever seen it. We were the biggest crowd around— eight adults and a baby— and other people kept away from us. Several of the other walkers were individuals and couples with children. They all seemed in a hurry— as though they, too, knew what might be coming behind them. Did they also know what might be ahead— what was ahead if they stayed on 101. Before we left 101 I tried to warn a couple of women traveling alone with kids to avoid the Bay Area. I told them I’d heard there was a lot of trouble up there— fires, riots, bad quake damage.
They just held on to their kids and edged away from me.
Then we left the 101 and took our small, hilly road, our short cut to San Juan Bautista. The road was paved and not too badly broken up. It was lonely.
For long stretches we saw no one at all. No one had followed us from 101. We passed farms, small communities, and shanties, and the people living in these came out with their guns to stare at us. But they let us alone. The short cut worked. We managed to reach and pass through San Juan Bautista before dark. We’ve camped just east of the town. We’re all exhausted, footsore, full of aches and pains and blisters. I long for a rest day, but not yet. Not yet.
I put my sleepsack next to Bankole’s and lay down, already half asleep. We had drawn straws for the watch schedule, and my watch wasn’t until the early morning. I ate nuts and raisins, bread and cheese, and I slept like a corpse.
SUNDAY, AUGUST 29, 2027
(from notes expanded TUESDAY,
AUGUST 31)
Early this morning I awoke to the sound of gunfire, nearby and loud. Short bursts of automatic weapons fire. And there was light from somewhere.
“Be still,” someone said. “Stay down and keep quiet.” Zahra’s voice. She had the watch just before mine.
“What is it?” one of the Gilchrists demanded. And then, “We’ve got to get away!”
“Stay!” I whispered. “Be still, and it will pass.”
I could see now that two groups were running from the highway— the 156— one group chasing the other, both firing their guns as though they and their enemies were the only people in the world. We could only stay down and hope they didn’t shoot us by accident. If nobody moved, accidents were less likely.
The light came from a fire burning some distance from us. Not buildings. We hadn’t camped near buildings. Yet something was burning. It was, I decided, a big truck of some kind. Perhaps that was the reason for the shooting. Someone, some group had tried to hijack a truck on the highway and things had gone wrong. Now, whatever the truck was carrying— food, I suspected— the fire would get it.
Neither the hijackers nor the defenders would win.
We would win if we could just keep out of the fighting.
I reached over to feel for Bankole, wanting assurance that he was all right.
He wasn’t there.
His sleepsack and his things were still there, but he was gone.
Moving as little as I could, I looked toward our designated toilet area. He must be there. I couldn’t see him, but where else could he be? Bad timing. I squinted, trying to pick him out, not knowing whether to be glad or afraid because I couldn’t. After all, if I could see him, so could other people.
The shooting went on and on while we lay still and quiet and scared. One of the trees we’d camped under was hit twice, but well above our heads.
Then the truck exploded. I don’t know what exploded in it. It hadn’t looked like an old truck— one of those that used diesel fuel, but it might have been. Would diesel fuel explode? I didn’t know.
The explosion seemed to end the gunfight. A few more shots were exchanged, then nothing. I saw people, visible in the firelight, walking back toward the truck. Sometime later, I saw others— several together in a bunch— moving away toward the town.
Both groups were moving away from us, and that was good.
Now. Where was Bankole? In as low a voice as I could manage, I spoke to the others. “Can anyone see Bankole?”
No answer.
“Zahra, did you see him go?”
“Yeah, a couple of minutes before the shooting started,” she answered.
All right. If he didn’t come out soon, we would have to go looking for him. I swallowed, tried not to think about finding him hurt or dead. “Is everyone else all right?” I asked. “Zahra?”
“I’m fine.”
“Harry?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay.”
“Travis? Natividad?”
“We’re all right,” Travis said.
“What about Dominic?”
“Didn’t even wake up.”
That was good. If he had, his crying could have gotten us killed. “Allie? Jill?”
“We’re okay,” Allie said.
I sat up, keeping my movements slow and cautious.
I couldn’t see anyone or hear anything beyond insects and the distant fire. When no one shot me, others sat up too. Where noise and light had not
awakened Dominic, his mother’s movement did the trick. He awoke and began to whimper, but Natividad held him and he quieted.
But still no Bankole. I wanted to get up and go looking for him. I had two mental images of him: One of him lying wounded or dead, and one of him crouching behind a tree holding his own Beretta nine millimeter. If the latter was true, I could scare him into shooting me. There might also be other people out there with ready guns and frayed nerves.
“What time is it?” I asked Zahra who had Harry’s watch.
“Three forty,” she said.
“Let me have the gun,” I said. “Your watch is almost over anyway.”
“What about Bankole?” She passed both the watch and the gun over.”
“If he isn’t back in five minutes I’m going to go look for him.”
“Wait a minute,” Harry said. “You aren’t going to do that by yourself. I’ll go with you.”
I almost said no. I don’t think he would have paid any attention if I had, but I never spoke the word. If Bankole were injured and conscious, I would be useless the moment I saw him. I would be lucky to drag myself back to camp. Someone else would have to drag him back.
“Thank you,” I said to Harry.
Five minutes later, he and I went first to the toilet area, then around it, searching. There was no one, or rather, we could see no one. Still, there might be other people around— others camping overnight, others involved in the shooting, others prowling… .