Vacation

9. Leaving

Jack leaned back from the dining room table, where his ancient laptop sat with a printer on the floor. Ink needed to be conserved; printing was rarely done.

Christie stood in front of the refrigerator, packing food and drinks for their ride.

An eight-hour trip lay ahead, maybe more with the checkpoints along the way.

Jack turned back to the computer screen. He entered his password for the NYPD secure site and navigated his way to an innocuously titled tab labeled ROAD REPORTS. Sometimes there’d be a connection, torturously slow, sometimes he’d get nothing.

Today he got lucky.

A screen appeared, showing a map of the metropolitan area.

A section of the Long Island Expressway glowed red. Another red spot flashed in Williamsburg, where the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway passed the Brooklyn Bridge on its way toward Queens.

And up in the Bronx, lots of red spots.

Par for the course for the Bronx.

All the hot spots were clickable, and Jack could see the details of whatever the incident was. But these would be no normal accident reports, no tractor trailers overturned and spilling diesel on the highway, no five-car pileups as commuters raced home.

No, this folder only carried reports of road incidents carried out by Can Heads.

And those could make for interesting reading.

Once, Can Heads had rolled barrels on the Belt Parkway after a fence breakthrough. The cars hit by those barrels became flaming traps; the people within turned into the pickings for the crazed Can Heads, who dug the screaming humans out.

Jack had seen video of that one. Stomach churning didn’t begin to convey it.

Human barbecue.

Or the Saw Mill River Parkway attack near Van Cortlandt Park. Though the walkway over the highway near Van Cortlandt Park was enclosed by a heavy-duty, prison-gauge steel-mesh fence, somehow a hole had been cut.

And like cavemen attempting to leverage boulders down to stop a lumbering mastodon, Can Heads had tossed down rocks and then leaped—some to their own deaths—onto the roofs of the careening cars.

Road safety. Shit.

Did that expression even have any meaning at all anymore?

In Staten Island, lots of places still looked peaceful. Living on an island, accessible only by a pair of heavily guarded and fortified bridges, with all the communities with their own security systems, there were hardly any incidents on the island.

Would the Can Heads eventually figure out how to take charge of the ferry, and ram it into the St. George Terminal?

And once they got there, would their contagion spread? Was it even a goddamn contagion?

But that brought to mind another question that bothered Jack.

The holes in fences, the stopping traffic, the breakthroughs.

Are we losing this war?

No one talked about that.

Not yet. Not on TV.

And that wasn’t surprising. Would anyone want the world to be even more panicked than it already was?

If people thought that the Can Heads were winning—what then?

Jack moved the mouse to scroll the map upward, to where he really needed to look.

He zoomed close to the New York Thruway as it snaked up to Albany. Promoted as New York’s safest highway, Jack knew that it had become a vital pipeline for the limited food and supplies that moved back and forth from the ports of New York to the rest of the state.

Who knew where they got the money for the ten-foot fences and the armored checkpoints?

A few chopper stations had been built, mini-launching platforms for a response to any problem picked up by the highway’s motion detection system or video surveillance.

Then from Albany, the Northway continued the same degree of protective armor.

As expected, these highways showed green all the way clear to Montreal.

But it was the road he’d have to take getting off the highway that concerned Jack.

To get to the Paterville Camp, he would have to travel through some of the smaller towns of the Adirondacks. Most of them—thanks to low populations and the fact that the locals had their own guns to fight back—remained relatively quiet.

Relatively.

Each week would bring the story of another battle between a horde of Can Heads and local townspeople. Each town had its own Home Patrol, a neighborhood watch on steroids. There was some support from the State Troopers, the undermanned National Guard, even volunteer militias.

Still, things could happen.

These roads—watched and guarded, but still very much open and exposed—could be attacked.

And were.

If there was any danger on this road trip, it would come on those stretches of road.

For now, the route they’d need to take—nearly an hour and a half off the highways—looked quiet.

He slid the mouse to the left and right. Western New York. A few spots glowed red, but nothing within a couple hundred miles of Paterville.

We winning this thing?

He wished he could believe it.

He clicked on an X in the corner of the screen. The NYPD site vanished.

“Jack, could you give me a hand here?”

He got up and left the quiet shadows of the dining room.

Jack looked down at the freezer chest. Full already, with so-called juice drinks, the synthetic peanut butter and jelly sandwiches—a staple—and some unknown items wrapped in tin foil.

Christie held a few bottles of water, as precious as food.

“Can you help me find some room in here? Maybe move some things around?”

Jack smiled. “Room? Looks packed.”

“C’mon. Work your man-magic. Move stuff. I want to keep this water cold for our trip.”

Jack crouched down and rearranged things. Like some kid’s sliding block puzzle, eventually he made space appear.

“See. I knew you could do it.”

“A man of many—”

“Dad! Dad! Tell stupid Simon that I get the big bag!”

He turned around to see his kids, each with a hand locked on a purple suitcase. Kate gave it a rough yank that sent Simon spinning, then flying across the kitchen, his hand released.

Jack straightened up, shooting a look at Christie, hoping she would take this one.

“Guess I get the bag,” Kate said, shooting a grin at her brother.

But Simon raced back.

“What do you even have in here, dork?”

“Look,” Jack started, “we have a lot of—”

Kate unzipped the bag and an assortment of plastic monsters, refugees from decade-old cartoon shows, spilled onto the kitchen floor.

“Hey!” Simon yelled. He gathered up the tumbled creatures while trying to lock a hand on the bag.

Kate, however, continued making jerking motions as the bag went left, then right, then up.

Christie finally took the cue that Jack didn’t have a clue how to intervene here.

“All right. Enough. Kate, put down the bag. Simon—just freeze.”

Simon held his gathered creatures close.

“We have a lot of bags.”

“Yes, but I’m the oldest and I—” Kate began.

Christie took the bag. “Really? I need to use this one. You two can use any of the other bags in my closet.”

“They’re all ugly,” Kate said.

“Not big enough,” Simon said, looking down at his toys.

Now Jack saw his opening.

“Well, they’ll have to do. We leave in an hour. Hate to leave without you.”

Kate shook her head and stormed away while Simon stood there, looking confused.

“Si, think you can pick only a few of those toys to bring? We’re only gone a week.”

Simon nodded and walked away.

Jack turned back to Christie. “Nice peaceful week ahead, hm?”

“Good thing I’ve already packed for them. Otherwise they’d only have toys and bathing suits.”

Jack turned back to the freezer chest and closed the lid. Two snaps on either side locked the top down tight.

“I’ll put this in the Explorer.”

He picked up the chest and walked out the kitchen door to the car outside.

Jack backed up the SUV slowly.

Not that there was any real danger of a kid racing by on his bike. Kids playing in streets… just not something that happened anymore.

Everyone sat quietly, as if they all knew that this trip, this vacation was a big thing.

And it is, Jack thought.

Now that it was about to begin, he felt good about it. To get away. To a place where there were trees, fresh water, and even—so the brochure promised—fresh food.

Jack edged the car out onto the street.

Nope, nobody out on bikes. Warm summer day. And everyone inside.

Watching old movies. Getting excited if they caught a bit of a TV signal. Mostly boring stuff from the government. The lucky ones had old videogames to play.

Hiding.

Yeah, good thing we’re doing this.

He straightened out the Explorer, and pulled away,

In the rearview mirror he saw Kate and Simon turn to watch their house receding in the distance.

Until he took another curve, and home vanished, and the long trip lay ahead.

10. Outside the Fence

Christie saw Jack look back at the kids as the gate started to roll open and they prepared to leave their fenced-in development.

“Okay. Who can tell me the rules when we’re outside the fence?”

“Jack, I don’t think—”

“The rules are there for a purpose. So, Simon, Kate, what are they?”

“Window up!” Simon said. Christie had to smile. This is such a big adventure for him. She looked at Kate, who rolled her eyes and added, “Doors locked.”

“And stay in the car.”

“Right—as if I’d ever want to go walking around outside here.”

“Good,” Jack added.

Such a cop, Christie thought.

Only then did Jack ease the car outside. And despite everything—the beautiful early-morning sun, the safety of their car, all those rules—Christie had to admit that it felt different.

It always did.

Whenever they were outside things looked different. Grass overgrown, the road pockmarked with potholes. Buildings and stores abandoned. No Can Heads here—at least that’s what the local police had told Jack.

But could they really know, really be sure? As they pulled away, Christie turned around to smile again at the kids.

The big adventure begins!

She looked back to the tall fence with the razor ribbon running along its top as it receded into the distance.

Leaving its protection.

“We’re off,” Jack said.

He almost sounded happy about it.

Christie had to doubt herself. She had pushed this dream of getting away. Was it a good idea? Would it really be giving something to the kids, something that had vanished in this new world?

Did she need it even more than they did?

Once upon a time she had taught high school English in a school not far from Jack’s precinct. But when that sector went red, the school was shuttered. Suddenly there were too many teachers, and not enough students.

Now, like nearly everyone, she homeschooled her kids, and tutored a few neighbor kids in the development. But the neighbors couldn’t pay much, and it never had the excitement, the electric feel of a class of kids engaged in a discussion of Macbeth or Slaughterhouse Five.

Life had contracted.

But she had kept those thoughts to herself.

She reached down and turned on the radio.

Christie kept looking at the streets, so desolate, and thinking that she wanted to get on the highway fast.

It felt exposed here, out in the open. Even though she spotted a few people walking the streets and a scattering of open stores, it didn’t feel safe.

I’ve become so used to where we live, she thought. To… how we live.

The song ended, replaced with news.

Jack raised the radio volume.

“Police Commissioner Edwards again denied reports that some precincts have begun using poison traps against the Can Heads. ‘My office has found no evidence of any use of these so-called poison traps.’”

Christie turned and looked back at the kids. Kate read a book. Simon played with some plastic soldiers, making them climb up his seat belt like it was a mountainside.

Christie lowered the volume.

“Is that true?”

Jack looked at her.

“You mean about the poison traps? Leaving bodies of… whatever around, laced with poison for the Can Heads?”

“I mean, in your precinct, do you—”

Jack laughed. “And where are we supposed to get these poisoned bodies from?”

“I don’t know. You’re the police. There are morgues.”

Jack hesitated. She didn’t talk to him about his work much. She could feel him tighten whenever she asked questions, as if the very act of asking the question could take him back there.

He took a breath, and she regretted asking the question.

“Okay. I’ve heard of it. You find someone dead. Some homeless guy, some… nobody. And so they put the body out. Laced with enough deadly zinc phosphate to take out an army of Can Heads.”

He took a glance at the back, the kids tuned out. Then to Christie.

“But I never saw it. Never did it. So, far as I’m concerned, it’s a rumor.”

He stopped at a light.

Christie looked away.

Lights. Stopping at a light could be dangerous.

Lots of people just sailed right through them.

Now they waited at this quiet intersection for the red light to give way to green.

All the while, Christie wishing Jack would just go.

She chewed her lip. The street felt so empty, so quiet.

Did the buildings hide dark, hollow eyes looking out at her?

Did Jack feel it, too… or was that just her imagination?

Even Kate looked up from her book.

The light turned green.

“Almost to the Thruway entrance,” Jack said. “Won’t be long.”

Maybe he had felt it. That fear, waiting at the light.

Somehow that made her feel safer.

He turned the radio volume back up.

“—Latest reports show leading government scientists remain divided. The senate’s panel will continue its hearings for at least two more weeks. The president’s press secretary said the administration remains committed to having a new plan to deal with the decade-long Great Drought as well as reversing the so far unexplained blight that has decimated world-wide food production…”

Jack said, “They still have no damn answers.”

Christie gave him a look for the escaped “damn.” Then she leaned forward and hit one of the radio presets.

“Maybe no news for a while?” Christie said.

Jack nodded and smiled. “No news is… probably good news.”

Christie smiled back.

When she looked forward, she saw the entrance to the New York State Thruway.

Armed guards flanked a single gated entrance to the highway.

A turret stood nearby, with more guards able to get a 360-degree bird’s-eye view of the entrance area.

Jack slowed behind the lone car in front of him.

“Can you get out the papers?” he said.

Christie popped open the glove compartment and brought out a packet. To use any highway, you needed a pass from the Emergency Highway Authority. They had to know where you came from, your destination, how long you would be gone, and a host of other seemingly irrelevant details.

The gate to the highway opened and the car in front pulled away. Jack edged next to the booth as the gate came quickly down again.

Jack knew that Christie had paid all the necessary fees weeks ago, so there should be no problem.

Still, he felt a bit of a chill when the guard, an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder, stepped up to the window.

Odd position for a cop to be in. This slight air of suspicion.

“Hi, folks. How are you doing today?”

Making small talk. A technique. Sometimes Can Heads could look normal, almost act normal. But if you talked to them, if you chatted to a Can Head, you’d know damn fast.

Shit, you could even sense it—or even smell it on them, on their clothes, on their breath. You’d see a stray red dollop marking their shirt.

“Going on a vacation, eh?” The guard flipped through the papers.

“Yes,” Christie said, smiling. The guard had lowered his head to get a good look inside. “Our first with the kids. We’re going to the Paterville Family Camp. In the mountains.”

The guard nodded, now looking right at Jack. “I hear it’s nice up there.”

Jack had trouble engaging in the chitchat, this little routine the highway cop had.

Could flash my badge, Jack thought.

Cut this short.

“Have there been any reports?” Jack said. “Any trouble, on the way up?”

The guard laughed as if it was a silly question.

“No. Nothing for weeks. Been real quiet. I think we got them on the run. In this state, at least. And you got a good steel-mesh fence, electrified all the way up there. I wouldn’t worry.”

The guard scanned the back of the Explorer, checking out the children.

“You have a nice vacation,” the guard said, backing away.

He went back to his booth and opened the gate. The two guards to the side, rifles at a 45-degree angle, watched the operation carefully. The gate moved up slowly. Then Jack gave the guard a nod, and pulled onto the entrance ramp.

They were on the Thruway.

Heading north, to the mountains. Their vacation had, Jack felt, really begun.

11. In the Backseat

Simon looked out the window. His parents sat so quietly. Usually they talked.

But now—just sitting so quiet.

He turned to look over to his sister. She had her nose in her book. That’s what Mom always said, You always have your nose in a book.

Simon didn’t like to read. Mom tried, and the more she tried the more he hated it.

Kate loved it.

He looked out the window. No one else on the highway. So empty, Simon thought. And the fence… he knew that a fence surrounded where they lived. He’d seen that lots.

But this tall fence with its curled wire at the top seemed much taller.

And every now and then… a sign.

Big red letters.

Simon read the words.

The fence was electric. Why was that? Were the bad people on the other side? Is that why it had to be electrified?

He wanted to ask his parents.

But instead he just kept looking out the window.

As the car sped down the empty highway, as one sign after the other rushed by, Simon finally picked up his plastic men.

There was danger ahead for his action figures. They’d have to climb, then fight something big and evil.

But Simon didn’t know exactly what yet.

“I’m hungry!”

“Can’t you… shut up?”

Christie reached over and touched Kate’s knee. “Kate, no ‘shut ups,’ please.”

Christie watched Simon turn and make a face at his sister.

Gonna be a long ride, Christie thought.

“And Simon—no faces.”

“Mom, can you please make him stop? I want to read my book and not have him whining about food!”

Christie saw Jack raise his head to the rearview mirror. “You guys chill. Want to watch a video?”

Christie knew that was no solution. The two kids never agreed on a video. Sometimes it seemed as if Kate liked being defiant. She still enjoyed the big animated movies from years ago as much as Simon.

Contrary, thought Christie. She just likes being… contrary. Must be an age thing, a brother-and-sister thing.

Some kind of thing.

At least I get to experience what families have always experienced on vacation road trips.

One of the reasons people always looked forward to coming home.

“Okay, you two. How about food? We have some PB&J in the cooler. And those lemon drinks you like.”

“Yuck. I don’t like that stuff,” Simon said.

As if forced to agree, Kate added: “Me neither. Nothing else?”

“Some of that fruity yogurt too… different flavors…”

Christie knew that wasn’t a crowd-pleaser either. The yogurt had been invented using soy solids. And the supposed fruit? Clumps of color and artificial sweetener.

At least the PB&J used some peanut butter. So they said.

“Go on… it’s a long trip. Eat a sandwich. And just think of the great food we’ll have at the camp. Real food, hm?”

She saw the two of them look out the window, almost at the same moment.

As if looking out at this road, they didn’t really believe her. Real food? Something they had at home—what, once a week? Maybe less? The rest of the time it was all the manufactured stuff. Nutritious enough, so they said.

But how long could people eat that and not begin to miss real food, real taste in a way that almost ached?

“Kate, could you dig out a few sandwiches? A couple of drinks?”

Kate slowly turned away from the window and the highway outside.

She nodded, and then reached into a cooler sitting between her and Simon.

Sandwiches appeared. Then drinks in curved plastic bottles, lots of color.

“Want something, Mom? Dad?”

“No thanks,” Jack said too quickly.

Christie shot him a look as if to say this might have been a time for some food solidarity.

We’re in this together.

“Sure, honey. I’ll have one.”

Though Christie wasn’t hungry.

It didn’t taste very good.

She took the sandwich and smiled at Kate. Simon had already unwrapped his sandwich, half of it gone.

Couldn’t be too bad.

Christie gave her daughter a pat on the knee.

As if to say, I depend on you. And thanks.

She turned back to the front and waited just a few seconds before unwrapping her own uninviting sandwich.

Which is when she saw something black, sitting squarely in the center of the far-right lane, just ahead.

12. Rest Stop

Christie turned to him.

“What is it?”

It took only seconds for Jack to recognize the debris on the road: a large, curled piece of black tire tread. He slid over into the left lane.

He looked at the chewed-up tire as he drove by.

“Someone blew a tire.”

Nobody said anything for a minute.

Then:

“Someone blew a tire?” Christie said. “You make it sound like it’s an everyday occurrence.”

Jack looked into the backseat to make sure the kids were otherwise engaged.

Which they were.

“Tires blow. Happens.”

“Used to happen. I did the paperwork for this trip. You’re not even allowed on this highway unless you have those new reinforced treads. Want to tell me how you blow one of those?”

Jack looked down at the gas gauge, hoping for a distraction, and said, “Going to need a stop soon. Gas is getting low. There’s a rest stop in about ten more miles.”

Christie leaned close and at the same time lowered her voice.

“You didn’t answer me.”

He looked at her.

“Okay. There are reinforced tires, and some… not so reinforced. We see them in Red Hook. Trucks that have bought them as retreads. They’re listed with all the stats that supposedly make them safe. But now and then… something happens.”

“On its own or with a little help?”

Another look.

“Both.”

Another silence.

“So, which do you think this was?”

Jack laughed. “What do I look like—a cop?”

That made Christie laugh.

“Just relax, Christie. Some trucker with inferior tires. He throws on a spare and he’s out of here. Leaving that back chunk for us to dodge.”

A sign flew by.

Then the symbol for gas, and a knife and fork for food.

“Going to stop up here. Fill up before we hit the Northway.”

Jack wondered if she was still thinking about the tire. Everything had gone so smoothly, almost as if they were some family from the twentieth century enjoying a simple summer trip up north.

It’s true enough, Jack thought. There were cheap “certified” reinforced tires, with the “approved” additional steel and nylon belts.

Normally, even the reinforced tires didn’t just blow.

And a trucker doing a long haul on this road… why, that would be the last thing he’d want.

Jack took a breath.

He could worry. Or he could let it go. Things happen. And if he didn’t get out of his paranoid state of mind—

—if it could even be called paranoia—

—it wouldn’t be much of a vacation.

The kids didn’t deserve that.

Another sign.

Jack pulled up to a row of gas pumps. He stopped the car but left the engine running.

“Aren’t you going to get some gas?” Christie asked.

“Can we get some stuff?” Simon said, eyeing the garish sign that announced a QuikMart inside.

“Hold on,” Jack said.

Jack looked at his hands locked on the steering wheel. What am I doing? he wondered. Looking around for what?

No other cars here getting gas. That wasn’t so strange; after all, the highway had been pretty deserted.

And in the parking areas…

A sixteen-wheeler way in the back, maybe the driver catching some Z’s. Two cars parked on the side, the patrons probably inside the QuikMart. Maybe hitting the restrooms.

“Jack? What is it?”

He killed the ignition.

He smiled. “Nothing.” He pulled the key out and turned toward Christie and the kids. “Look, I’m going to lock the doors when I get out, okay?”

“Jack, do you really—”

Simon turned again to the QuikMart. “You mean, we can’t go in there, Dad? Why not? Looks like—”

Kate leaned close to her brother. “’Cause there are Can Heads inside and they’ll eat you right up!”

“Kate—” Christie said.

Jack popped open his door. “Locked. Windows up tight. Got it?”

Christie nodded.

Steady, Jack told himself.

What the hell kind of vacation would this be if he drove his family crazy? He held the nozzle tight in the tank opening as it guzzled the ever-more-expensive fuel. Amazing, that with fewer people going anywhere, still the OPEC nations could tighten supply and make the once prosperous nations of the West pay and pay.

Just as they would squeeze every last drop of oil out of the deserts, so they would squeeze every devalued dollar and pound and yen from the countries that still desperately depended on their oil.

And while the gas chugged into the tank, Jack kept looking at the rest stop station.

He saw someone sitting at the checkout counter.

But no customers came by to pay for whatever pretend-food items the place sold.

No movement at all.

And the cars remained there.

Funny, he thought. Shouldn’t someone have come out by now?

The gas stopped. Jack looked down at the tank opening and squeezed in a few more bursts. Should be enough to get us the rest of the way, he thought. No more stops.

He pulled out the nozzle and placed it back in the tank. He heard Christie’s window whirr as she lowered it.

“Jack, Simon’s gotta pee.”

“He always has to pee,” Kate said.

The window open, Jack looked around quickly. The whole place was like a still life.

“Okay. Right. You sure he doesn’t just want to see what goodies they have for sale?”

“I got to go, Dad.”

“All right, all right. Listen, I’ll go check out the restrooms. I’ll give you a wave and then everyone”—he leaned down so he could see Kate—“and I do mean everyone can come in. This will be our only stop before the Paterville Camp. So, make use of it.”

Then back to Christie.

“But not until I give you a wave.”

“Aye, aye, Captain. We’ll wait for the official wave.” Christie said.

Jack grinned at her. She had every right to be pissed at him, scaring the kids; instead, she cut the atmosphere with humor.

“Okay. I’m off to take a look.”

Jack made a signal with his finger—rolling his finger to indicate that the window should be rolled up.

When Christie had done that, he turned and walked to the QuikMart.

Jack pushed the door open.

Couple of cars outside. Got to be some people in here, he thought.

But the aisles were absolutely empty.

Can’t all be in the john.

He saw someone manning the cubicle where people could pay for their sodas, the gas, some smokes.

The man had his head down, as if staring at a newspaper.

Jack spotted the way to the restrooms to the right, a corridor with the universal male/female sign hanging above it.

Jack started walking down an aisle of snacks.

What the hell do they make this stuff out of?

Salt was still plentiful. There were new sweeteners that replaced the suddenly, improbably rare high fructose corn syrup. The packages all in screaming colors, as if promising insanely good taste.

As Jack moved down the aisle, he kept looking at the cashier. Not even a look up.

Not like the place was exactly swarming with customers. Not like the guy didn’t hear Jack, see Jack.

Once again, he reminded himself to maybe—just maybe—stop being a cop. He was just here to scope out the restrooms for the kids.

No need to engage the guy.

No need to ask him how things have been.

Quiet on the highway?

Business kinda slow these days?

These weeks… months… years…

Feet away. Still, the guy didn’t look up.

“Hey. Um, the bathrooms. I mean, do I—” Jack pointed to the corridor to the right “—need a key or something?”

And that’s when a different tumbler clicked in Jack’s brain.

Guy didn’t move. Didn’t fucking move.

Jack didn’t bother with another greeting.

In a reflex, he bent over, his hand sliding down to unholster the revolver strapped to his left ankle.

No more words as Jack moved around to get a good side view of the cashier so engrossed in his daily news. So engrossed that he couldn’t move his head from the paper. Or flip to a new page.

Until Jack got a good side view of the grizzly-bearded man sitting on a stool. Perched on it.

More like placed on it.

Because now Jack could see that a good portion of the man’s lower body had been chewed down to the bone. A pool of blood, dry and crusty, gathered below the man.

No two-way radio with police backup waiting, this time.

Jack was on his own.

He looked right. No movement. But he could see an open door, leading to a back area—storerooms, maybe—behind the counter.

Jack took a few steps in that direction.

An open door in the back, only a quarter-way open, but enough so that he could see the outside. The brightness of the day, the sun, and even—beyond the tufts of grass overdue for a mow—the fence that girded the rest stop. The tall electric fence topped with curlicues of razor ribbon.

Except he could see that the fence had been cut, a triangle of wire pulled back.

So much for the electricity.

He didn’t give that view another look. Not when he imagined that whatever came through that hole could still be here.

He spun around, his eyes darting, looking at the silent aisles, over to the restrooms, and then—as if catching on to the game way too late—to the tinted glass windows facing outside.

“Shit,” he said, moving quickly now.

Something smacked into him from the side, sending him flying against a rack of newspapers and magazines. He tumbled awkwardly, falling, and despite his grip—so tight—a metal spoke of the rack jabbed his hand, forcing his fingers to loosen.

His gun slipped away as he fell backward.

Unarmed, as something—and he knew, of course, what it was—jumped on top of him.

He wished time slowed, the way they said it did.

But after so many raids, so many times fighting Can Heads, he knew that was all a bunch of bullshit.

“Mom, I really have to go!”

“You really want to buy some of that junk they sell,” Kate said.

“I do not. I—”

“Simon, Kate—can you guys just cool it a minute? Dad will be right back. And we can go in.” Christie turned to the QuikMart. She had seen Jack in there a minute ago, but now he wasn’t there. Maybe checking out the restrooms? “He’ll be right back. Just…”

Just what?

Come on. What are you doing in there?

Christie waited.

13. The Decision

Jack felt the body on him, then smelled the breath, the mouth close to his head. Classic Can Head strategy. Go for the neck. Like any feral creature, any trained predator.

Immobilize your prey. Bite down.

The attack in Red Hook all over again.

Jack’s head turned to the side, meshed in the wire newspaper rack. He could see his gun, so close, but it lay feet away, an impossible distance with this thing on him.

Normal human-body vulnerabilities supposedly didn’t apply to them. Too amped up on whatever drove them to feed off their own kind, it was hard to cause any distracting pain when they were attacking.

Hard. But maybe not impossible.

Jack shot his right hand up to grab under the chin of the Can Head trying to chomp its way up to his neck.

That served to pin the thing’s jaw back a bit, and—for the moment—keep the teeth closed.

Now Jack risked a quick glance to his left.

Has to be something.

The Can Head wriggled its head violently left and right to free itself from Jack’s jaw-closing grasp.

A few more twists and it would be free.

Jack’s left hand reached out and began to search the area around his pinned body.

He only felt more metal spokes of the rack—but then one piece jiggled a bit. Loose. A bit of the metal frame sprung loose.

Maybe it could be detached.

Jack closed his left hand on it even as he kept his other hand locked on the creature’s head, squeezing so tight that his fingers dug into the skin of the Can Head’s throat.

He yanked on the metal strut. It moved back and forth, but it still wouldn’t come free.

Then, again, now making the piece wriggle, jerk up and down fast until—

It came off.

Jack felt a surge of hope. Now he let the other thoughts in—what might be happening outside. With his family. His kids.

He didn’t let himself imagine other possibilities. That there might be more Can Heads in here. That this one was only the first. That the trap was indeed hopeless.

Hand tight on the metal strut, he looked at the Can Head, now rearing back to free itself of Jack’s grip.

Jack letting that happen.

’Cause then it would come nice and close.

And as the Can Head reared back, it opened its foul hole of a mouth and dived forward. Jack was ready.

Though the thing’s head moved fast, Jack’s left hand seemed to match its speed, and his eyes were on its eyes, those filmy dull sockets, as he jammed the metal strut straight into one eye. As hard and as deep as he could.

At first, it didn’t seem to make any difference.

The Can Head kept coming on its downward, open-mouthed arc.

But when that plunge was completed, the Can Head turned lifeless, falling onto Jack.

He quickly twisted to dump the body off, then pried himself out of the mesh of struts that had helped pin him.

He dived for his gun, grabbing it like it was life itself.

Kneeling then, turning, scanning the room for more of them.

Standing.

No more here.

Then outside.

Everything peaceful by the car. Christie, the kids, oblivious.

Christie looked back to the QuikMart.

Where is he? Just supposed to be checking it out.

At least the kids had stopped complaining about not getting out.

Then she saw Jack. Walking slowly toward the car.

Too slowly, too apparently casual, she immediately thought.

Then…

Something happened.

As Jack got closer he felt Christie’s eyes on him. She couldn’t have seen anything, all buttoned up in the locked car.

But her eyes…

No question, she thought something had happened.

When Jack got to the car, Christie opened the window.

“Bathrooms okay, Officer?”

He forced a smile. He stuck his head in the car window.

“You guys all right?”

Simon nodded. “I still have to go!”

Kate spoke. “We’re fine, Dad.”

Then, to Christie. “Can I have a word?”

That seemed to spur Simon. “Can’t we go in, Dad?”

Jack smiled at Simon. “Your mom and I… we have to talk, okay? Can you hang a bit?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Sure, we’ll hang.”

Christie walked a few steps away from the car.

“What happened?” she sad.

Jack looked away. A breath. “Ran into one of them in there. Broke through the so-called electric fence somehow.”

She moved so her eyes were locked on his. “You okay?”

“Yeah. No problem. One less Can Head.”

The joke fell flat.

Funny, kids and peeing. Used to be no big fucking deal.

Christie spoke: “So how’d it get in?”

“How the hell do they always get in? Look—I think this… vacation is a bad idea. We should just—” He stood there, her eyes locked on his. She had wanted this so badly. “We should go home now.”

Christie didn’t take her eyes off him. And she didn’t say anything.

Until she glanced at the car. A quick look, but one meant to tell Jack something.

Then—

“No.”

Jack tilted his head. A habit of his when he didn’t grasp some edict about life in the house. Like rinsing dishes before they went in the dishwasher.

“What?”

He watched Christie take a breath.

“I don’t want to go back. And… I don’t want them to go back. You said… you’re okay.”

Jack’s head tilt turned into a full shake now.

“Right. Sure. But this place is not safe. This goddamn highway.”

He spoke quietly, aware that the kids had a window open.

“And I didn’t know that before? There’s still some TV, Jack. Where do we go that’s safe? Can you tell me where the hell that is?”

He had no answer.

She turned away from him and looked at the sky. The wispy morning clouds had all burned off. The sky a clear robin’s egg blue now. A few puffy clouds. Beautiful, if you took the time to look up.

Then back to Jack.

“That’s the world we live in.” She gestured at the deserted rest stop. “This is the world we live in.”

“Which is why we live in a safe complex that—”

“Safe complex? More gates. Bigger fences. People like you protecting us. Trying to stop them, kill them. Only difference between here and there, Jack, is that maybe we might have better fences. They work—for now. Same world, same fears.”

“And what’s down there? Down the road? You think the camp will be safe?”

“Could be the same as anywhere else. And this, here… we ended up here on the wrong day.”

“You can say that again.”

“It could have happened at home.”

Jack shook his head but the core truth of what she was saying stuck. This was the world.

And the unanswered question.

Is anywhere safe?

“The kids, you… will be safer back home. Mark it off as an adventure.”

Christie forced a derisive laugh.

“An adventure? We just go back home? And what—we live behind our fence? Sealed in our house, terrified. Is that our life?”

“We don’t have to—”

“And the kids? Kate will be an adult before you even know it. Will your fences go with her? Your guns? You want her to huddle in some goddamned—”

For the first time, her voice raised.

Jack realized this must have been simmering for a long time.

“—complex? Hiding. Scared.”

“There are things to be scared of.”

Only now did she stop. Was she close to tears? Was this about fear, but more than just fear of the Can Heads?

Fear of life transformed forever. And would the silences between them only grow?

She pushed stray hairs off her forehead. With the morning haze gone, a cool breeze blew off the highway.

Coming from the north.

“Yes. There are things to be scared of. I guess that’s what I’m saying. And I’m scared. For me. For them. You, too.”

Jack nodded.

He shook his head at what Christie was saying. Maybe if she had seen how close the attack had been…

Would she still think that they should continue with this trip?

This goddamn vacation…

She didn’t move her eyes from his.

One idea became even more clear to him: what Christie feared for them all—about their life—was as great as her fear of the Can Heads.

“So, we go on?” he said.

She nodded.

Does she know what that might mean? Jack thought.

Could be, he thought… no other incidents ahead. The road north safe and secure. The camp the safest place on earth.

Or maybe not.

Either way, he saw that Christie felt strong enough that she would brave the unknown.

It was that important.

“Okay. We’ll go on.” He laughed. “Have to find someplace up the road for them to pee. They don’t go in there.”

“An adventure, you said, right?”

“Sure.”

Jack didn’t say he agreed with Christie. Because he didn’t. But he understood.

Now he reached out and took her hand.

“Let’s go, then. Simon’s gotta pee.”

Together they walked back to the car.

14. North

The question came just as they passed the multicity jumble of connecting highways of what was called the Capital Region.

Albany, still the capital of New York State, was considered to have the best defenses of any major city. Families relocated there to take advantage of the superior policing and protection.

The real reason that the Albany-Schenectady area remained safe, Jack guessed, was because no state wanted to risk losing its capital. No one talked too much about the handful of states where that had already happened… places like Lansing, Michigan, that had been hanging on by a thread, even before the outbreak.

But here, the intersection of the Thruway and the Northway was heavily patrolled.

Multiple checkpoints, occasional choppers gliding overhead, gleaming tall turrets along the road with expansive views of the area for miles.

The city area compact and all access points secure.

As to what happened in the surrounding areas, the once-farmland rolling north to Cobleskill and beyond?

Who knew?

A question—Simon’s question—made Jack smile.

“Dad, are we there yet?”

Classic, he thought. Some things never change. He started to answer but Kate was too quick.

“Right, genius. We’re there. This car is the camp and—here we are! Want to go swimming?”

“Kate,” Christie said. Usually a word from Christie was enough to get Kate to back off her sarcasm.

Simon chose to ignore her.

“Are we, Dad?”

“Well. Look up here.”

He tapped the GPS. Service was so intermittent as to be nearly useless. Now it came to life.

“Shows where we are—”

“Which is in a car, driving—duh!”

Christie turned to the back and gave Kate “the look.” Not for the first time, Jack though. Things could get interesting as Kate got older.

Wanting freedom in a world where that simply wasn’t possible anymore.

“Kate, can you ease up? Please?”

In the rearview mirror, Jack saw his daughter shake her head and then look out the window.

“So, Simon, you see… this is where we are. On this map. If I make it all smaller…”

Jack touched a button on the side and zoomed out from the screen. “There you go. We stay on this highway for a bit, for another hour or so, until we’re in the Adirondack Park.”

“Then we’re there?”

“Not exactly. Got to take a country road to get to the Paterville Camp. Bet it’ll be interesting.”

His question answered, Simon nodded.

Interesting? What would it be like when they left the highway? All the reports showing no problems ahead did little to reassure him.

If the Can Heads could break through the Thruway’s fence, then what could be happening in the small towns that dotted the way to Paterville?

“You okay?” Christie said to him.

They hadn’t talked much since the rest stop. As if letting time go by would somehow make what happened less real.

“Yeah. Fine.”

“I can drive.”

Jack laughed. “I know you can.”

“Don’t know why you always need to drive.”

Yeah. Why was that? he thought. The need to feel in control?

A cop thing? Something he inherited from his rigid-as-steel father. Someone who didn’t believe women should do—or could do—much of anything but cook and clean and raise the kids.

“If I get tired, I’ll let you know. I’m good now.”

“And your leg. Long time to sit.”

“That’s fine, too.”

That was a lie. Sitting in the driver’s seat, in the same position, had produced a growing ache near his wound. He guessed that when he got out of the car, his limp would be back, at least until he loosened the muscles and wrapped up the area again tight with an Ace bandage.

The leg was better. Not perfect, though, and never would be.

Christie reached out and gave his other leg a squeeze, midthigh. Gentle, teasing.

“Good. Just remember, I’m here if you want a break.”

“Gotcha, boss.”

They drove on.

They passed a sign.

Suddenly, the signs turned a rustic brown, themed to show that this region—the shops and towns and homes—was all part of protected land, the great state park.

About as close to wilderness as one could see anywhere near New York City.

But even in this wilderness, Jack saw signs of what had happened. Most of the majestic pines on the side of the road looked untouched, but whole patches of deciduous trees stood leafless, long dead. Almost as if some heatless, smokeless fire had snuffed them out.

Outside, it turned cool enough that he had turned off the AC. Windows open. The sweet smell of pine. The air pungent and cool.

Would the other trees ever come back?

Would whatever killed trees and plants across the country, and led to a blight that decimated the cattle, dairy, and poultry industries worldwide, ever end?

Some trees lived. Some died. Same thing with food crops and livestock.

The world scurried to adjust.

But not fast enough. Certainly not fast enough for the Can Heads, who had their own solution to the problem.

Christie turned to him.

“Smells so good.”

She didn’t point out the obvious: the disturbing leafless trees looking so eerie.

The kids had their faces at the windows. They certainly didn’t see this many trees back at their Staten Island development. And they could even see mountains, still in the distance, but already looking like an amazing backdrop from a film.

“Dad—all those trees. What happened?” Kate asked.

Jack shrugged. “Not sure, honey.”

He was tempted to add something, like Maybe not enough water. Or the obvious lie, a fire.

But Kate was smart.

Instead: “Something hurt them and not the others. I guess scientists are working on it, right?”

“Yeah, they sure are.”

And on all the other things that have happened to the planet.

“They look scary.”

Another nod. “Yeah. But look at those pines ahead. Big, hm? And the mountains.”

“The mountains are cool!” Simon said, leaning forward to get a better look at the peaks ahead. “Are we going up there?”

Christie turned around. “We go up a little ways. Paterville is on a hill surrounded by mountains.”

“Wow. Wish we could go to the top of one.”

“Maybe we could drive up,” Jack said, unaware if he could even make good on that offer.

Everyone grew quiet, looking at the mountains, distracted from the great stands of dead trees that alternated with the still-towering pines.

Christie kept looking at the mountains.

Except for bare patches, they looked ancient, untouched by time. For the first time since they left home, she felt that they were indeed “away.”

That was the whole point, wasn’t it? To get the kids away, Jack away… her. To leave what had become their daily life with its fears, its walls—what for her felt like a belt, tightening more every day.

Looking at the mountains, she felt something that she recognized was different. Freedom, hope, the idea of possibilities.

Then Kate’s voice snapped her out of her mental wandering among the peaks that, though obviously closer, still were so far away.

“Hey, is this near the camp? Looks weird here.”

“You never saw real mountains before,” Christie said.

“Hey—” Jack said.

Christie faced forward.

“There we go. Our exit, three miles ahead.”

Exit, Christie thought. Getting off the Northway.

Onto the smaller roads. The smaller towns.

“Good,” she said.

Not at all sure she meant it.

Jack slowed, hitting a series of severe speed bumps that signaled the way to the exit checkpoint.

Always checkpoints.

Christie read the bold signs, the letters big.

Then, after another speed bump that had the kids laughing from the carnival ride effect, another sign:

Road conditions. As if there was snow, branches down, flooding. The conditions the sign referred to had nothing to down with weather.

Another bump.

Christie scanned the booth ahead. A real metal barrier instead of a simple wooden bar to block cars. Guess the locals might be concerned about New York City riffraff sneaking into their pure, clean mountains. One guard in a booth and another standing to the side with a gun on his shoulder, his eyes locked on the car, scanning it.

Jack pulled up to the booth, opened the window, and looked up at the guard.

A nod and a smile, but the middle-aged man didn’t smile back. Could be he was a veteran. There were stories that the Highway Authority had been hiring vets. It took the pressure off the suddenly unemployed combat soldiers in a changed world.

More important, they could keep their cool and knew their way around automatic weapons.

This one didn’t look too happy.

Uniform unkempt. A stray stain here and there. Needed a shave. Squinting, narrow eyes in the late afternoon, but open enough so Jack could see they were bloodshot.

“Papers.” The guard said it as if measuring out exactly how many words he could use.

Christie passed the papers from the glove compartment.

Jack handed them over.

“Paterville,” the guard said. Jack caught the guard looking over to his partner.

“Yeah,” Jack said.

This time, Jack didn’t engage in any of the small talk. None of the I hear it’s nice… or never been there.

The guard looked over the papers.

Then:

“Got to check your vehicle. Mind stepping out?”

Stepping out? Jack had read nothing about that. He looked at the guard again—the messy uniform, the grizzled face. Had he read the guy right? Someone who didn’t care?

Then the guard added: “Just gotta check your safety precautions. Before we update you on the rest of your trip.”

“Okay.”

A quick glance at Christie. Nothing needed to be spoken.

Jack popped open the door. As he shut it, he heard Christie lock it behind him.

He walked alongside the guard as he looked over the modifications on the Explorer.

The guard turned to Jack. “Double-walled spun-steel hybrid tires?”

“Yup.”

“Set you back a pretty penny.” The guard knelt down. “And these things?” He tapped the metal plates in front and rear of each tire. “Good thinking there.”

The guard didn’t get up. Jack wondered: Does he do an inspection like this with every vehicle that leaves the highway?

Maybe it’s time to flash the badge.

“But I got to tell you. Even these tires can be brought down.”

“Not by a bullet.”

“Oh, right. Sure. Not a single bullet. But you ever see those road chains? Two-, three-inch metal spikes, dozens of them on a chain? Could do real damage to even these tires.”

“Let’s hope I don’t run into any of them.”

The guard nodded and stood up, the effort of standing revealing that exercise wasn’t on his weekly agenda.

“You never know.”

The guard continued around to the front of the car. He smiled at the kids.

Or maybe it was a leer at Christie. With his face, it was hard to tell.

“Good front grill protection, and I imagine the body is all—”

“Reinforced steel. Special plate glass. Look, this gonna take much longer?”

The guard cocked his head.

“You in a rush? I’m just trying to do my job, Mr.—” he looked down at the papers “—Murphy. Just making sure you’re in good shape to head… up there.”

“Right.”

Jack took a breath and reached into his back pocket. The guard’s eyes followed him. Maybe smelling a tip? Did he supplement his income this way?

Jack flipped open the leather case, showing his shield.

“Whoa—NYPD. Guess you do know how to make a vehicle safe.” He took a few steps closer to Jack. “Imagine you got some weapons, too, hm?”

“A few.”

“We’re supposed to log any firearms.”

The guard held Jack’s gaze. “But fuck it. We’re in the same business, right? Right!”

As if…

“Okay, so I want to give you your road briefing… Officer. You’re leaving the highway now. Things will be different.”

“See, you take Nine-N to Eighty-six all the way to Paterville. Nice straight drive. And we haven’t had reports of any action in weeks.”

“Good to hear.”

“We know how to shoot up here. Still, you’ll bump into a bunch of checkpoints. Places where they’ll want you to stop. Ask where you’re going. Any latest news, that’s how you’ll hear.”

“And between the towns?”

The guard rubbed his chin.

“That’s where you gotta be careful. Don’t stop for anything. Keep your eyes open. With this vehicle, you should be in good shape. But it’s a no-man’s-land between the towns.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

The guard smiled. “In another hour or so, you’ll be at Paterville. Now, I hear those folks really know security. Good family place. So I heard.”

A nod.

“We done here?”

“Sure. Sure we are, Officer.”

The guard signaled to his partner. Slowly, the heavy duty barrier began to rise.

“You’re on your own now. Drive safe, be safe… take care of that lovely family you have in there.”

Jack walked back to the driver’s side. As soon as he grabbed the handle, Christie popped open the lock.

He slid in and shut the door.

The gate wasn’t quite all the way up.

“Dad,” Simon said, “can we finally go? This is boring.”

“Yeah. We’re all set,” Jack said. “Won’t be long now.”

The gate fully up, Jack gave the guard another glance, and left the protected world of the Northway for the weaving two-lane back road that would take them to Paterville.

15. The Mountains

“God, it’s like… everyone just left.”

Christie watched the deserted motels, bars, and ice cream and hot dog places—boarded up, some with windows and doors smashed, open to the elements—roll by.

Even the kids knew better than to ask if they could stop.

A pair of faded dancing bears advertised the Mountain View Chalet. Chunks of wood missing. For fuel, maybe? One bear with a gaping hole in its head. Target practice. The colors bleached by the elements and the sun.

Then a bar with a sign announcing FOOD SERVED ALL DAY.

The front door missing, all of the windows smashed.

“Guess nobody lives here anymore.”

“No tourists, no money.”

“Yet Paterville Camp survived.”

“Well, if they saw what was coming… if they took precautions, Paterville may be the only game in town now.”

Then Christie saw a handmade sign, big block letters dripping, on the side of the road.

APPROACHING DINGMAN’S FALLS. Then in smaller letters. BE PREPARED TO STOP!

Christie spoke quietly. “Did you know that there’d be so many of these stops?”

Jack shook his head. “Nothing in the brochure about them. No big deal.” Then: “Good to know that they’re trying to keep their towns safe.”

“If you say so.”

It was nearly four P.M.

They’d be at the camp soon. Time to wash up. And then sample some of the home-grown food that Paterville offered.

He passed a speed limit sign: 25 MPH. Get cars driving nice and slow through the town.

Just beyond it, a makeshift barrier—a sawhorse with a blinking yellow light at each end.

Jack slowed down.

He leaned over to Christie and whispered.

“God, what is this? Deliverance?”

But Simon had unplugged and immediately asked, “What’s deliverance?”

Christie turned to Simon as one of the locals walked up to the car, a big rifle hung over his shoulder.

“A movie about the mountains, honey.” She saw that even Kate had looked up, taking note of the men at the impromptu barrier.

The man by Jack’s window made a rolling motion with his hand.

Christie looked at the other men at the barrier. Five of them, all with rifles. As if expecting an invasion.

Guess they couldn’t get into the volunteer fire department.

“Afternoon, folks.”

The man leaned down to get a good look into the car and Christie got an equally good look at him. Eyes filmy. A little drunk.

Good combination, booze and bullets.

The guy did something weird with his mouth, as if removing a wad of gum that had become lodged in his cheek. Maybe shifting an errant tooth back into position.

“Afternoon,” Jack said.

Two other men had also come closer now. One of the younger guys seemed to have spotted Kate.

The man at the window tried to widen his eyes. “You folks stopping here, at Dingman’s Falls?”

Jack shook his head.

“Just passing through. We’re on our way to the Paterville Family Camp.”

The man looked away from the window.

“Figured that. Though right here in Dingman’s is real nice. Got the falls… nice people. Good town. And it’s clear. Know what I mean?”

“Clear?” Jack said.

“Nothing gets into town. Not past us. Nothing we don’t want. None of them… Can Heads. Me and the boys—well, you should see some of the trophies we got.”

Christie saw Jack’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. Never a good one for hiding his tension.

“Good to hear. Nice and safe town. Great.”

The man nodded. “But I got to tell you. You seem like nice people. So, a bit of advice. Stuff they didn’t tell you when you left the big highway. The towns here, they’re safe. The people make them safe. But in between, like when you leave Dingman’s… and head on to Scooter’s Mill?”

“The next town?”

A nod.

“Don’t stop.”

The man was looking right at Kate as if she was the special of the evening at the local greasy spoon.

“Don’t stop,” he repeated. “Keep your windows up.” Back to Jack. “Eyes on the road. Look out for anything peculiar.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

Jack didn’t sound too sincere.

Perhaps the man picked up on that.

“Paterville, hm? Hear it’s nice. And pricey. Musta set you back a bundle.”

Jack clenched his hands tighter on the steering wheel. He’s just about to hit his limit, Christie guessed.

“Yeah. Saved a long time.” A breath. “Look, we’ve been traveling all day.”

The man backed up.

“Sure, sure. You wanna get going. Just remember what I said, hm? You seem like nice folk. Wanna see you coming back this way, next week, whenever your vacation is done.”

“Thanks.”

Some of the other men began to move the sawhorse, opening up a lane and a way past this checkpoint and into the town of Dingman’s Falls.

Once again, the man made a rolling motion with his hand.

Jack hit a button and the window went up as he slowly cruised past the volunteer guards.

Christie watched the town roll by, dotted with people. A lone boy on a bike. Two men outside a shuttered hardware store, talking, taking due notice as Jack drove by.

“Dingman’s Falls,” Jack said to her as they left the town.

“Have to make sure we come back real soon, y’hear?”

“Absolutely. Maybe buy a little vacation condo.”

Christie laughed. “You could join the local border patrol.”

“Get me some trophies.”

But somehow, the last thing Jack said didn’t sound funny.

Trophies. What the hell kind of trophies would they have?

Outside the town, things turned even more surreal. Motel cabins with holes in the roofs, paint flaking off in giant clumps, the color barely holding on, doors smashed in.

Lots of bears on the signs. The Sportsmen’s Lodge. The Nite Owl. The Emerald Inn. All those happy bears on the decrepit signs.

The area looked as if it had been hit by bombs, turned into a war zone.

Christie stole a quick glance at the kids, sitting in the back, barely taking notice.

Then to Jack. She had asked to drive. But he kept saying he was fine. A typical male.

No, I can do it. I can handle it.

Eight, nine hours of driving.

He had to be tired.

They rolled past more desolation. A neon martini glass that would never again glow an iridescent blue. Carved wooden deer with their limbs chopped off, probably for firewood.

Then just as quickly, another town, another barrier.

If nothing else, now they were closer.

Soon, the road trip would be done. They could get out of the car.

They could actually begin their vacation.

They had begun climbing now as well, winding past dry stream beds that had no sparkling water rippling over the rocks.

The road then began weaving between smaller mountains, and soon some of the high Adirondack peaks were no longer so far away.

Massive, ancient sentinels of stone, eerie with both dead and live trees encircling them.

She said to Jack: “It’s beautiful here.”

“It is. I almost thought—”

He stopped.

“What?”

“Almost thought places like this had vanished.”

She didn’t respond to that.

Christie saw an area to pull off the road and park. A sign indicated a trail leading up to one of the nearby mountains. Once probably filled with day hikers.

Now the trail had to be empty. The trail deserted. Nobody would do that these days.

“Here we go,” Jack said. “Up ahead.”

She turned back to the front.

And saw the sign.

She turned back to the kids.

“Simon, Kate… almost there.”

Everyone looked out the windows, ready to enter the camp.