They wait for food and medical attention.
But there won’t be any of that either.
The skies were dark within weeks.
Then there was winter.
For two years.
That is why there are no tires.
And the bullet holes?
When there is only a little left and there are many, then there are bullet holes.
And the pit?
If you wandered this maze of rusting and frozen vehicles and walked through the burned-down ruins of makeshift fortresses hustled together by a frightened few against a terrified many, on this hot desert day that will soon turn to dry afternoon, you will feel alone and a sadness you can’t name as you listen to the accidental wind chimes of wreckage and bone. You will ask yourself, where did they all go?
And soon after that, you will find the pit.
Because there was sickness.
The flu, some virus, a horrible infection racing and unchecked consuming the weak, the tired, the burnt, the hungry, the desperate. The survivors.
Because there was a sickness, there will be a pit.
The Old Man stopped the tank. Ahead of them, tractor trailer trucks and ancient military vehicles long stripped of their tires and things that might burn for the simple luxury of heat have blocked the road.
This was their checkpoint.
Their attempt to control what was inevitable.
The Old Man looked for a way around the wreck.
Easing the tank down off the highway, they skirted the ancient wall of vehicles, riding rough over the hard- packed dirt.
Ahead, the Old Man spied a deflated soccer ball half sunk in the calcified mud.
The Old Man avoided it jerkily.
Why, my friend?
I don’t know. But it seemed wrong to run over it.
They were back on the road and headed south.
The wind and the sun feel good and the opposite of that place, that cemetery.
Why? Why did you avoid the soccer ball? You must answer, my friend. You always have. Now, don’t be afraid.
Because…
He drove on.
Why?
Because it is the opposite of all those secrets buried in the desert. All those weapons. All those burned tires and open pits. It is the opposite of those things.
How so?
It just is.
Chapter 27
At dusk, a wan sky diffused with eastern dust storms roiled across the horizon, covering the melting ruins of Vegas.
They unpacked and unfolded the Radiation Shielding Kit, which was little more than a fitted blanket of coarse nylon that smelled of charcoal. They began to drape and then secure it across the tank as Kyle, Grayson, and Trash cleaned their weapons and adjusted their gear.
“We’ll go ahead of you on foot and carry torches to guide you through the tight spots,” said Kyle. “The two outside torches will show you how wide the path we’ve found is. Keep the person carrying two torches, one in each hand, in the center.”
“What if you need to tell us something important?” asked the Old Man.
“I don’t know… we could shout through the hatch maybe?”
“There’s a telephone on the back of the tank inside this little cupboard,” said his granddaughter. “You could use it to talk to each other.”
How did she find that?
“Have you gone this way before?” asked the Old Man.
“No. No one has. But we’ve all been to parts of it even though we weren’t s’posed to. Besides the lions that sometimes pass through, and the radiation from the wrecked airplane in the center of the Strip, the old casinos aren’t too safe and seem more likely to fall down on you as much as stand up. So we were never allowed in there. But you know how it is when yer a kid.”
I want to say to him that he is, they are, still kids. That it should be me out there in the dark tonight carrying the torches and them, these children, safe behind however much this blanket will protect those inside the tank. But I can’t. They know the way, and I don’t.
The Old Man drank some of the warm water that remained.
“If we…” Kyle started to say, then stopped.
He’s under too much pressure. He doesn’t know it, but there’s a twitch just beneath his eye.
Either that or he just needs some water, my friend.
“Drink this. Drink the rest. We’ll have enough water for the night. In the morning, when we reach your Dam, is there water?”
Kyle took the water and drank.
The Old Man watched the tremble in the hand of the too-young man. His Adam’s apple bobbed jerkily.
“Yes,” gasped Kyle. “Lots.”
He’s afraid.
Wouldn’t you be?
Yes.
“If we don’t make it,” said Kyle, wiping his mouth with the back of a calloused hand, “just stay on the Strip until you get to the end. Head east when you get there and pick up the big highway that’s still in good shape except for the overpasses. We made little roads around the debris. Take that highway on out to the Dam. Tell them…”
Kyle paused.
He doesn’t know what to say. The thing he’s afraid of, he cannot name. As if this moment he’s lived in fear of for so long, cut off out here in the desert, is finally going to happen.
The Old Man rested his hand on Kyle’s shoulder. He could feel the uneasiness there. The anxiety.
“Everything will be okay,” said the Old Man.
Do you believe that, my friend?
But the Old Man had no response.
“Who will hold the two torches we must follow?”
“I will,” said Kyle quickly.
“And the others, they will guide us through the tight places?”
“Yes. Grayson and Trash know what to do. Our armor should protect us from the radiation if we don’t stick around for too long.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad. Then it’s just a little walk in the night.”
And slowly the twitching muscles in Kyle’s shoulder beneath the Old Man’s gnarled hand stopped.
The boy soldier, the Harmonica Man, Kyle, began to breathe again.
“Maybe the dust storm will cover us?” he said and smiled.
The Old Man nodded.
