Page 7 of Unrest
Ijolted awake with a pounding in my head as the SUV swerved into rubble.
“Whoa,” Rylen called. Tater quickly righted the SUV. “You okay, man?”
My brother ran a hand roughly through his hair. “I’m fine.”
I glanced at Remy, who was watching him with worry. Had he fallen asleep? Or maybe his mind was wandering? He looked pissed off, so I was afraid to ask. Instead, I stared out at the sight of dry, rugged, mountainous terrain. The minivan in front of us began to slow.
“Where are we?” My voice was scratchy from sleep.
“Well, look who’s awake,” Tater said drily. “You missed all the fun.”
I sat up straighter. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Rylen answered. “We saw one white van back in Nevada. Looked like it was going in the direction of the Air Force Base. But we were too far away to be noticed.”
“We’re not in Nevada anymore? How long did I sleep?”
“Few hours,” said Rylen. “And we’re in Utah.”
Whoa. I stretched and cracked my neck.
And then Remy spoke so quietly at the window, I almost missed it. “We saw more bombed camps.”
“What?” My belly tightened. I looked up a Rylen, who gave a morose nod.
“Three areas that looked like they’d been fenced off and bombed.”
Oh, my God. I pressed a hand to my stomach. If they’d seen that many, just on back roads, who knew how many people had been taken from their towns and cities to these remote places to be killed? Could it really be happening all over the U.S.? The world? Horror and indignation made my head pound harder.
Tater pulled into a small lot with a sign that read: Beaver Dam Wash National Conservation Area. He followed the minivan off the pavement and into a crevice between two rocky hills.
My stomach gave a gurgle as a gnawing hunger pain struck. Climbing out of the car, I felt weaker than I had in a while. I fought against it and helped to set up the gas burner so I could heat soup for everyone. A chill in the air made me wish I had a sweatshirt or jacket. I knew as we moved north into higher elevations it was going to get cold, and I was not looking forward to that.
I handed everyone a few crackers and shoved mine into my mouth, almost choking on the dryness. I emptied all five cans of chicken noodle into the pot. That would be half a can for each of us. I hoped like hell we got to Dugway soon and that they’d have some sort of resources there. In the meantime, we had to keep up our strength, even if it was only two small meals a day. Or even one.
As I handed out tin cups of soup, I could tell everyone was just as haggard with hunger as me by the way they tipped them back and slurped until every drop was consumed. After we finished, everyone drank one-third of a bottle of water. Then we were all quiet. In fact, other than the light rush of breeze over the rocks, it was incredibly silent outside. My head felt a fraction better.
“Damn,” Texas Harry said. “I could eat a whole fucking cow right now.”
Tater and Rylen were quiet, but the other six guys proceeded to list all of the things they could devour at this moment. I saw Remy slip away, arms crossed over her chest. Since I didn’t really want to stand around and think about all the food we weren’t eating, I decided to follow. She climbed half the rocky hill and sat on a jutting red piece, leaving room for me to sit beside her. My hands were dirty from climbing, so I brushed them down my thighs.
We stared out at the spiky Joshua trees and cacti brush that dotted the barren landscape leading to distant striated mountains. So much beauty made it hard to believe there was a war going on.
“Who do you think they are?” I asked. “The DRI. They have to be some organization or something, right? But who? Some crazy, rich cult? How were they able to do this?”
She shook her head, as bewildered as me. “They look . . . I don’t know . . . like your average Americans or something. Above average, actually. Or maybe Europeans? Beautiful tanned people with money. And so many of them are women.”
I felt my forehead scrunching as I thought about our mysterious enemy. For the life of me, I could not figure them out.
A breeze made Remy tighten her arms over her chest. She wore a gray tunic sweater over a black tank.
“Is that the warmest thing you’ve got?” I asked.
“Yeah.” She sighed. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. We’ll be out of gas soon, and since we’re staying off main roads there are, like,nogas stations anywhere.”
Worry pinched my gut. Neither one of us needed to state the obvious—that we might have to end up hiking a hundred miles, in the cold, with no food or warm clothes.
“We’ll be okay,” I tried to assure her. “We’ll make it.”
