When they stopped that evening the glow of the fire was still visible in the distance behind them. They were both tired and dropped off to sleep before the last vibrant colors of dusk had fully faded from the sky.
The next day they traveled steadily onward through the rising mountains. The going was slower and they had to stop several times to move stalled vehicles out of the roadway.
Finally they had been stopped by the wreckage of three cars that had collided high in the Elk Mountain overpass. Joe managed to winch two of the cars out of the way, and together they had pushed the third off the roadway and over the steep rocky embankment.
They had both watched as the car careened down the side, and finally flipped off a rocky ledge disappearing from view. At the expense of a small amount of paint, which was scraped from the truck as they passed the two remaining vehicles, they managed to get up and over the high pass before nightfall.
Two additional days of travel brought them just into the Nebraska border and the small town of Bushnell. After Joe had set up the tent he walked back over to take a closer look at the truck while Becky started dinner.
Becky had surprised him earlier in the day when they had stopped by the side of the road to rest. A large buck had wandered out of the trees to their left and stood staring at them in the roadway. She had used the Remington, and carefully sighting, had brought the large animal down. Between them they had managed to dress it out, and had filled a large plastic cooler in the back of the truck with the venison. The smell of fresh steaks sizzling on the fire made the delay worthwhile.
The trip through the mountains had been tough on them, but it had been much harder on the truck, Joe saw now, as he looked it over.
Most of the damage was superficial, long scrapes down both sides of the truck, a small dent here and there. Joe had jokingly wondered aloud whether or not the warranty would cover the damage. They had both laughed at that. The big problem however was mechanical.
The brakes were borderline, soft and spongy, probably due to the rough terrain they had traversed. Joe had had to constantly ride the brakes as they went down steep inclines to get around the road when it was hopelessly blocked. The other problem was the motor. It had developed a constant rattle deep within the block, every time it climbed even a small grade. He supposed most of it was due to the fact that they had been forced to use whatever gas they could find, and several times that had been low grade unleaded. That and the fact that the fuel injection system had not been set up for high altitude. The truck was running better than twelve hours at a stretch, most days, and almost all of that was labored driving. As a result the truck had also developed several small oil leaks.
He walked around the truck and looked it over carefully. The tires were chewed badly from the rocks they had crawled over. It looked ten years old, Joe realized, not like he had only recently driven it off the lot. He pulled the map out of the glove compartment, and after studying it, decided the truck would probably make it to Kimball, and they should be able to pick up something to replace it there. He really hated to though, as he had grown to like the truck a great deal, even become attached to it. But he realized, the truck would never make it the rest of the way.
He tossed the map back into the glove compartment, shut the door and walked back over to the fire. The smell of the cooking venison was maddening.
While he had meant it when he told Becky she had done wonders with the canned stuff, there was nothing like the real thing. He resolved to also hunt around for a case or two of Quick Cold to keep what was left of the meat fresh when they reached Kimball.
Although they had seen plenty of wildlife, they had yet to see any people. They both felt, however, that there were people. For whatever reason they just weren't showing themselves. They both understood, to a point, what would make other people distrustful of them. They had seen a lot of evidence themselves, bodies horribly mangled, cities burned, and they had no wish to meet up with the people who had left it. They had found most of the bodies as they passed through some of the larger cities and towns, and most looked to have met with violent deaths. It was almost as if they were trying to finish the killing that the bombs had not been able to finish. It was sobering to both of them, and Becky had taken to carrying the machine pistol with her whenever they left the truck. Joe had already gotten into the habit of keeping the Remington close at hand, but he too now made sure it was with him, and the safety off, all of the time.
Joe walked back from the truck and sat down next to the fire. He reached over and pulled Becky close, kissing her softly before he released her.
"The truck's in bad shape, Beck. The one front tire's cut to the threads already." He had also checked the oil and other fluids as well. "She took two quarts of oil, last two we had, and it's still not touching the stick. Not good."
She screwed up her face and looked at him pensively. "Well, I suppose I could get
