Page 44 of Hero

For years after Impact, the roadways were crowded. Gangs and droves would roam, seeking new plunder. Families and communities would migrate in search of more secure sources of food and safety. Others would simply wander, looking for gas in the cars littering the side of the road and canned food in abandoned houses.

But there’s almost no one out there anymore. The droves have broken up, gangs have laid claim to strongholds, and decent people have either died, moved out of the region, or made themselves homes they don’t have to leave.

It’s eerie. Empty. Like a postapocalyptic film where the lone survivors of disaster explore the burnt embers of the world that used to be.

Anytime we pass a house, a store, or a gas station, we stop to look for supplies, but they’ve all been cleaned out by others, probably a long time ago.

Our gas runs out near the end of the day.

Zed and I have been watching the gas gauge. We know it’s coming. Unless a miracle happens and we come across an abandoned car with a full tank of gas, we’ll have to ditch the truck and start walking tomorrow morning.

It will take longer, but maybe it will be okay. We haven’t seen the slightest hint of danger all day. We haven’t encountered anyone at all.

The sun is low in the sky when the truck starts sputtering. Zed doesn’t react. Simply pulls the vehicle off the road and maneuvers into a slight clearing in the tall grass of the former pastureland we’re passing through.

There are a few trees in the clearing. They’re as much shelter as we’re going to find around here.

“Well, that’s it for today,” Zed says in an easy, natural voice. He smiles down at Rina. “The truck took us a good long way.”

“It’s a good truck!” Rina looks around at the weirdly unnerving landscape of overgrown grass and weeds and shifting shadows from fast-moving clouds skidding over the sinking sun. “Are we going to sleep right here?”

“Yep. This is a good spot.” I can tell Zed is trying to make it sound better than it is. It would be nice if we would have been able to find an old building or at least some sheltered woods to camp in for the night. Somewhere less exposed and vulnerable.

Rina’s eyes are very round. “Okay. I need to pee-pee.”

I get out of the truck and help her out afterward. Then we go behind one of the trees for a modicum of privacy. Buddy gives a happy yap as he’s let out of the vehicle, bounding around and sniffing every inch of our surroundings.

At least the dog is happy to be here.

No one else is.

I try to ignore the coiled knot of anxiety in my belly as I spread out a blanket for us to sit on and start to put together a simple dinner of canned beans, jerky, and a couple of tomatoes.

Zed works on building a campfire. Then he stalks around the perimeter of the camp with his rifle, tense and restless.

He’s worried. Naturally. This isn’t a particularly safe spot to stay for the night. But he won’t even sit down to eat his food. He just grabs it and takes bites as he strides around. Rina is clearly picking up on his nerves.

She eats the food I give her and drinks the water and watches her dad pace back and forth.

She’s been happy and relaxed most of the day. To help pass the time, I retold the stories from books I used to read as we drove, recalling as many details as possible and answering the girl’s numerous questions. It occupied all three of us as the miles passed. But now she’s picking up on her dad’s tension, and she’s getting scared.

When we finish eating, I clean up and shoot a frustrated glare at Zed’s back. Even the back of him appears tense, the muscles of his shoulders coiled tight and his spine ramrod straight.

While I completely understand his mood, it’s doing nothing but scaring Rina.

There’s no one and nothing around. It feels like ghosts are lurking.

“Maybe we can sing some songs,” I say in as bright a tone as I can muster. “If you ask, maybe your daddy will do one for you.”

He turns around quickly, giving me a baffled, annoyed look. The last thing he wants to do right now is sing. I shift my gaze toward Rina with silent significance.

She’s huddled beside me, hugging her knees to her chest. She’s staring around at the darkening landscape like it might be hiding monsters. “Do you want to sing, Daddy?” she asks in a wobbly tone.

Zed’s expression softens. With another quick glance around, he puts down his gun and kneels next to his daughter. “We can sing a couple of songs if you want. Which one do you want to start with?”

Rina brightens immediately, picking out a few of her favorites of the old country songs Zed sometimes sings to her. He’s not a musician, but he’s got a pretty good voice, and he remembers all the words.

I never listened much to country music, but I know all these songs by now too, so I sing along.

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