Simon nodded. “Their fuel cans are all still full. They have three quarters of a tank left. That pretty much narrows it down to here.”
Squirrel looked at the map, then glanced down the road. “They were headed north on 25. There’s no dried mud on the chassis, so they didn’t come through Cochiti. It’s nearly impassible.” He pulled the map from Simon’s hands and studied it further. “Any place south of there is open possibilities.”
“We’ll take 14 to Cerrillos and work our way west from there.” He inhaled deeply and blew it out. “Do you smell that, Squirrel? Times, they be a changin’.”
Squirrel gave him a confused look. He was certain that Simon was off his rocker most of the time, but he’d kept the crew alive this long. He handed him back the map and yelled to the men, “Prepare for war!”
He watched as they hurriedly gathered weapons and supplies. They packed the saddle bags on their bikes with as much food and weaponry as they would hold.
“Are we coming back? Should we have the women pack up the camp and follow us?”
Simon shrugged. “One camp is as good as any other.” He shot Squirrel a crooked smile. “I reckon if we like their digs better, we can just move in.” He glanced at the families trying to help pack their men for war. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt morale if the men had something warm to come back to camp for.” He gave a curt nod.
Squirrel began shouting orders to break camp and prepare the cages for movement. The cages were four-wheeled vehicles that the families would follow in.
Squirrel swallowed his anger as he looked on. He had a wife once. The ragers took her from him. The few women who survived and gathered into their flock had been doled out to Simon’s lieutenants. Squirrel had been offered one shortly after he came on with the crew, but he wasn’t ready to share his life with somebody else again. He definitely didn’t want a partner given to him like a treat for a dog. If the time came for him to find another partner, he’d choose her himself.
He marched to the converted short bus he had been using as a makeshift home. He began packing his meager belongings and used one of the fuel cans to top off the tank of the bus. Some of the families could use it to follow them.
He started for the door, then paused. He reached above the driver’s seat and pulled the single photograph that was clipped to the visor. It was his wife. The only picture he had left. He rubbed his thumb gently across the side of her cheek, afraid he might scrub her image from the paper. Without a word, he stuffed the photograph into his jacket and zipped the pocket shut.
As soon as his feet hit the dusty ground, he tossed the keys to a passing woman. “The bus is yours.” He walked toward his bike as she began herding kids and supplies into the oven-baked vehicle.
He locked his saddle bags and ensured they were tightly secured. He zipped his jacket and straddled to the worn out Indian. As he fired the engine to life, he remembered when he first bought the bike. Polaris had just purchased the rights to revive the name and start production again. He beat a path to the dealer’s door and plopped his money down a full two years before the first bikes hit the dealerships.
He had enjoyed many a road trip with his wife before the ragers hit. The only thing that brought him more joy than the bike was her…and now she was gone. Since then, the old Chief had been his primary source of transportation and had saved his life more than once.
He pulled the bike out from the middle of camp and parked next to the highway. He shut off the engine and waited for the others in camp to get ready.
He felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder and knew it had to be Simon. Nobody else would dare.
“Take about six of the men and head toward Santa Ana Pueblo. See what you can see and report back. I’m gonna send Scratch with a handful towards Stanley. We’ll all meet up outside of Albuquerque.”
Squirrel nodded, then pointed to a group of men who were working their way toward the highway. “You’re with me.” He started the engine and eased out onto the asphalt. He glanced back to ensure the group was following, then accelerated.
Although Squirrel had been many things in the real world, he wasn’t looking forward to what they were about to do next. Yes, the world had changed. But he couldn’t pound the idea into Simon’s head that survivors should work together, not battle over resources.
More than once he considered leaving in the middle of the night. Just point the bike west and not look back until he hit the ocean. But he knew that there were just as many groups of people like theirs out there as there were herds of ragers. Although the thought brought him comfort, he knew his odds for survival were slim to none.
He took one last glance at the camp being broken down in his side mirrors, then goosed the accelerator. They had a lot of territory to cover and very little time to do it in.
He felt sorry for whomever they ran into. Whether this asshole in the truck was part of their group or not, whomever they ran into would be picked clean and left to the ragers.
Dr. Vivian LaRue rubbed her eyes, then tried again to refocus the microscope. She really didn’t like what she was seeing. All the antivirals they’d used to date were actively fought off by the host’s own immune system. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the mechanism. If they had been using a bacteriophage to deliver a foreign strand of DNA or even RNA,
