THE RED WAKE

Chapter 40

THERE WAS little space in the cargo compartment of the Ford. They'd had to make room for extra fuel and supplies. Stanford lay on a makeshift stretcher between a bundle of camping equipment and several large plastic gasoline containers.

Later, the travelers waited for Reed Maxwell and her enigmatic companion to catch up to the Ford. The survivors sat in stunned silence. They were all exhausted. As he sat behind the wheel, Alan wanted nothing more than to lie down somewhere and go to sleep. They had moved a mile to the west in the opposite direction of the spreading flames. Stanford was asleep in the back. Reed and the quiet boy were a mile behind them. Reed had relayed to the others his desire to walk for a while.

"Why don't we just leave them?" Eugenia asked.

Her voice was dull, almost placid, as if she were merely suggesting they stop to stretch their legs.

Alan gritted his teeth and looked up into the rear view mirror. He could just make out the two of them as they walked slowly along the shoulder, still well behind the truck.

"Alan...?"

"Because we need him, Eugenia. We need him to show us the way."

"What "way," Alan? This is insane," she said.

Alan spoke quietly. After the scavenger's attack, he lacked the energy to argue with her.

"Without him, we don't stand a chance of finding the Horn. Without the Horn..."

"Alan, how do you even know he's leading us to the Horn? Have you thought about that? Maybe he's lying to us, you know? Not telling us the truth? You remember that, don't you? It's called lying, Alan? Hello?!?"

Eugenia's tone had grown bitter, scathing. But Alan ignored her.

"We're waiting," he said.

Eugenia fumed. But she was wasting her breath.

And so they sat. And they waited.

*

It took them another three days to make it to the Colorado/Arizona border. In that time, Stanford rallied enough to lend his expertise, facilitating his own recovery.

But Alan had grown increasingly concerned about the possibility of infection. The scars and bites that covered Stanford's body were not healing properly, and he had grown pale from blood loss. A creeping sickness had begun to overtake him on the road to Arizona. And while the others argued and plotted their course, Stanford spent more and more time sleeping in the cargo bay.

Sometimes, he would tremble with a terrible chill that drained his already overtaxed energy reserves. When he did manage to stay awake longer than a few minutes at a time the physician refused to eat, taking only small sips of water from Gordy's flask.

But more disturbing than Stanford's physical state was the apparent depression that cast a pall over his features. When he could rise to a sitting position, he ignored his companions, simply staring quietly out of the passenger window, his watery gaze meandering over the rolling fields slowly turning brown as the Summer gave way before the coming of Fall.

When addressed, Stanford would smile weakly, nod, then turn back to his silent vigil. And even though the exhausted physician did not seem overly concerned, Alan had begun to fear for his survival. He had come to respect the older man's wisdom and experience. The two men had been through the end of the world together. Stanford had witnessed the darkest moment of Alan's life, yet stood bravely by his side. More than a mentor, Alan had come to regard Stanford as his friend.