The Green Rising

Chapter Thirty-seven

My eyes drooped as the soft monotony of tires rolling across gravel lulled me to sleep. The car veered to the right, and I jolted awake, correcting the wheel before the bumper could meet a tree. I reluctantly held my finger on the switch to the windows until cold air swirled inside and taunted me for my brief respite from its grasp. I shuddered as rocks no longer kicked up beneath the car. Town was at most five minutes away, if memory served me well.

I had no doubt that the Greenies would apprehend me in town or on the interstate. In a way, my capture would be better sooner than later; I wanted to rescue Luc and stop Abi, and I really just wanted this to end. But I knew that achieving any of my goals was highly improbable. The most I could hope for was to lure the Order away from my children.

As I drove through what looked like a ghost town, shattered windows and doors knocked askew from their frames marked every house and business on Main Street. Was this the aftermath of havoc caused by looters or mass killing by Greenies, or was it a combination of both? I deflated as an emerald flag emblazoned with a white swastika flapped triumphantly beside the courthouse, the only building that appeared to be untouched. A body swayed from the bottom branch of a sprawling oak, a warning to passersby that these times were indeed perilous.

Bile rose to my throat, as the dead man seemed to scream that he was watching me, and we would see each other again. Unable to shake that spine-tingling feeling of being watched, I stomped on the gas pedal and headed out of town.

An hour later, the interstate loomed in the distance. I tapped the brake and, in a momentary upsurge of self-preservation, debated turning off the headlights. Flicking the brights instead, I eased onto the interstate’s ramp. No one was waiting.

West Virginia and Pennsylvania sped by in a lonely blur. An hour from Washington, DC, and I still hadn’t seen the first sign of life. The gas tank was approaching empty, maybe enough for twenty-five more miles, depending on how long the car could travel on fumes.

I hadn’t planned for not being captured. A bottle of water and a pistol with five rounds were all the survival items I’d thought to bring with me. The United States supposedly was under the Greenies control, so how had I managed to travel so many miles without being apprehended?

Fifteen minutes later, the car rolled to a stop and I let off a string of cuss words. I didn’t want to take my chances in the elements with such little sleep, so I climbed into the back seat and curled up under my coat. The cold nipped at me as I lay there, trying to sleep. Memories of Maggie and my father poked at me each time I nodded off.

After tossing and turning, my children filled my dreams, some happy, and one sounding of gunshots. As the sun’s rays flooded into the car, I awakened with damp cheeks. Even while sleeping, I knew my time with the kids hadn’t been real.

Throat parched, I reached for the water bottle. It buckled as I glugged, the pops jarring me as a reminder of my scant supplies. The thirst would only intensify after a hard day’s walk. Conservation was essential. I yanked the bottle away from my lips and frowned as a couple of drops dripped onto my pantleg.

I searched the glove compartment for anything that might assist me on my journey, and was relieved by the presence of a first aid kit. I stuffed it and the water bottle into my left pocket, the gun into my right, and the rolled-up journal into the interior pocket. The day wasn’t getting any younger. It was now or never.

The brisk wind quickened my pace as I jogged along the interstate. Every couple of minutes, I stopped, out of breath, and listened for sounds of water or life. It hardly seemed possible that less than two months ago, traveling down this road without seeing another car would have proven difficult, yet I’d traveled four hours and seen no one except for the dead man.