And soon they were on either side.
“Mommy!”
Out came those guns. On my left, a man leaned out of the passenger window, wielding a nasty-looking contraption that fired more bullets than I ever wanted to know about.
BRATATATATAT! Either it was a warning shot or his aim was bad, but I could see the bullets whiz by in front of my windshield, and I didn’t want to find out.
I’m sure the best move would’ve been to slam on my brakes and have him magically end up shooting the other van. That’s how it works in cartoons, but I’m just not that kind of animated rabbit. Instead I jolted the steering wheel sharply to the left and slammed our SUV against the passenger door he was shooting from.
We bounced into the van and would’ve lost control had I not escalated the maneuver by swerving back across the road into the other guy for stabilization.
Wham!
Our SUV thus corrected its course and remained centered down the stretch of road, as the vehicles on either side of me lost traction. The first van wiggled, slowing him down so he was now slightly behind us; the other scraped the rock face and, to my shock and delight, careened back into the first one.
Now the two vans were meeting in my rearview mirror. And at a hundred miles per hour, that wasn’t a simple collision.
This would buy us at least five minutes.
I sped up to one hundred twenty-five miles per hour. I had to assume they’d resume the chase, if they could, when they could. I didn’t know what the capacity of my engine was but I knew my tires were shaking. Big, oafish SUVs are not meant to go triple the speed limit. Yet, miraculously, within a few minutes we were emerging out of the canyons, beginning the hundred-mile downslope back toward civilization. I still shook with adrenaline, constantly checking my rearview mirror as the mountains gave way to hills and landscape broadened to wide-open space.
Finally arriving at the closest intersection with the highway, I saw a flimsy barricade shutting down access to the opposite lane. No wonder! This was already a desolate highway, but Clay had ensured total privacy.
“Mommy, this is water,” said Sierra. She’d found a bottle, half full with its lovely, clear contents.
“Thanks, honey. Back in your seat. We’re safe.”
We weren’t safe, yet. We still had to encounter our first normal human. The road ahead remained sparse, mile after mile. Empty. But I needed her to hear those words. And I needed to say them.
We needed a doctor, but also needed protection. Clay said not to trust Jed, and we obviously could not trust Clay, and Aaron said be careful who you trust, so I had no idea what else was in store.
As the land opened up I could finally see my way ahead. There were roadside stores, gas stations, signs of civilization, and finally a sign for a town: Chasm, Arizona. I knew it had a population of maybe a couple thousand people, seemingly spread throughout the hills on either side of the highway.
I was driving us to the only location I knew of. Our original destination before all this started. Jed’s ranch.
Chapter 24
“Salvation,” I said to Aaron in the back seat.
He stirred.
We pulled into Jed’s ranch, which was easy to find because it was the only settlement for miles. I remember how isolated it had looked on our map when we started the drive—what seemed like ten years ago.
There were two small oil derricks just inside the front gate. We drove in with a flurry of dust behind us, barely slowing down for the turn.
“Plant,” he murmured.
“That’s right, babe. We found it.”
“I’m…I’m…” he said with slurred speech. “Plant.”
He must’ve been delusional at this point. Sweaty. Dehydrated. He was incoherently pointing at the oil wells.
The ranch property was massive, deep enough that the front drive alone ran a half mile. Once in the main roundabout, there was a barn, a shed, a small industrial-looking building, a house, and five or six different oil derricks strewn across the hillside.
I drove straight for the house and screeched to a stop by the porch. I grabbed Sierra and clutched her to my chest.
“Aaron, I need to go find a phone. Or a human being. You’re allowed to pass out once you’re in an ambulance, okay? No passing out before that, okay?”
“Plant,” he said. Again.
I kissed his knee, the closest thing I could access while holding our child and trying not to waste precious seconds. Then I hurried toward the main house. There was a pickup truck parked out front. Shiny, new. Even in my hurry, I couldn’t help but notice how nice the porch was.
“Hello?” I hollered. I walked up to the front door and rang the bell.
“My name is Miranda. Hello?! Jedediah? Can you call 911?”
I rang it again. I waited an agonizing five seconds. Then I tried the knob, felt it turn, thank God, and opened the door.
“Hello! Jed?” I said again. I walked in. I could apologize later.
The house was big and pleasant. And devoid of people. No radio playing. No pasta steaming on the stove in the back.
“Anybody home?”
“Anybody home?” echoed Sierra, my assistant.
We crept in and wandered all the way to the back without seeing a single soul. We crossed a long hallway leading to the rear of the house. The place was immaculate. More like a museum than a residence. Everything was untouched.
In what looked like a sitting room, I saw a phone. A landline.
I rushed the last few steps to snatch it up. I must have dialed 911 about five times in a row before I truly listened to the receiver. It was dead. No hiss. No tone.
“Dead?” I exclaimed, turning to look around. What’s up with this place? Panic began to set in.
Then I heard a clunk.
It came from the far end of the house. Some shuffling, then another clunk. Somebody was opening drawers in a
