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.

Two hours later, blisters poked at my toes. I was probably on my seventh mile and already pain surged through my legs, but I pressed forward, hoping to walk twenty miles or until my legs gave out before retiring for the day.

A hunger pang seared through my body as I passed a sign advertising an exit with multiple gas stations two miles ahead. There was the remotest of chances they hadn’t been looted, but it was a chance worth taking.

The first three stations’ shelves were bare. Broken glass littered their floors. Nothing had been left for the taking. The fourth station’s shelves were empty, but as I went outside, an overflowing trashcan caught my attention. I cringed at the thought of dumpster diving for food. My stomach wasn’t too proud, and I began tossing the trash onto the ground. Relief hit me as I held a half-eaten bag of potato chips in my hands. The chips were gone before their staleness could have any effect.

I passed over two-month old burgers and fries, but scrapped together another half bag of various chips, some candy, what would be about two bottles of soda, and half a bottle of water once all the partials could be melted and combined. I placed the supplies in a plastic bag then pulled off my coat, sliding my arms through the loops in the bag. The coat closed around the bag and I hoped that my body would produce enough heat to thaw the liquids over the next few hours.

My journey began anew as snowflakes floated to the ground. After stumbling on the slippery pavement, I debated returning to the station’s shelter. Instead, I slowed my pace, my feet sinking deeper into the snow with each passing mile. Snow fell in clumps to the ground as I dusted it off my coat. The next exit would be my last until the weather let up.

Walking along the off-ramp to a rest area, relief hit me as I stared at the trashcans lining the sidewalk. I combed through them, finding crackers and a wrapped candy bar inside a bag that appeared to have been discarded accidentally. I could feel the corners of my mouth stretch to my ears as this was as close to striking it rich as I was going to be. Not waiting to go inside, I tore into the candy, savoring each peanut and caramel-filled bite of chocolaty nougat bliss. It wasn’t quite a power lunch, but it hadn’t been nibbled on by someone else and it was delicious.

The bathroom door opened to complete darkness and the stench of human waste. It was out of the snow, but if this were my only alternative, snow it would be. I searched for a doorstop, anything that would not force me into the bleakness that had been the past several weeks. The wedge was tucked behind the door, and I placed it so enough light could enter the room and still block much of the frigid air. I ran to the sink and turned the faucet, but the spigot provided no water. I couldn’t say that it was a surprise.

Heaving from the smell, I exited the restroom in search of a break room or janitor’s closet, anywhere that might give me some sort of warning of intruders joining me. I climbed through the window of the visitor’s center, mindful not to scrape my leg on the jagged pieces of glass that lingered in the pane.

The room had been ransacked, and the vending machines were destroyed by what looked to be an ax.  A television remained fixed to the wall. I supposed that it was junk when there was no electricity. I pressed the handle to let myself behind the partitioned desk and climbed under the desk, pulling the chair in to provide added wind blockage and a good hiding space. It took but a few minutes to fall asleep.

I dreamed of Maggie, her soft curls bouncing as she walked through a lush flower garden. She wore her favorite green dress and carried her teddy bear loosely in her left hand. She reached for a pink rose, saying, “Mommy, this is for you. Auntie wants you to have it.”

“Thank you.” I took the rose from her, careful not to catch my finger on a thorn, and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “It’s from Aunt Sheila?”

“No, not Auntie Sheila. Auntie Rose. She looks just like you, Mommy. ‘Cept she has dark hair.” Maggie seemed to stare beyond me, her face whitening.

“Is something wrong, sweetie?” I turned to follow her gaze, but nothing was out of the ordinary. We were alone amongst the flowers.

Maggie didn’t relax, though. Then, almost as if she snapped back to reality, she whispered, “I gotta go, Mommy. Love you.”

Before I could hug her goodbye, the dream morphed into an office setting.

Jack sat at his desk that was piled high with term papers. His hair was disheveled and circles ringed his eyes like he’d spent the night here, but I knew that wasn’t the case. He dropped his pen, placed his glasses atop the stack in front of him as he took in my appearance, and came around the desk, pulling me into a warm embrace.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he whispered, nuzzling my ear. “How did it go?”

I wasn’t sure what ‘it’ was, and pulled away from him, confused. Luc was my husband now and Jack had been gone for so long. This couldn’t be real.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you here,” I stuttered.

“Is that a bad thing, me being here?” This time he was cold, the Jack I doubted so often before he died.

“My heart no longer belongs to you. I don’t even know why I’m here. You’re dead.” I tried to walk away, but he gripped my arm, stopping me before I could turn around.

“I have an important message for you, Lily. You must turn yourself in and give The Order what they seek. There’s no other alternative.”

He left the dream as abruptly as he entered it, and Abi soon occupied his chair, much to my chagrin. She acted as though I weren’t standing three feet in front of her, with only a desk separating us. She ranted of how I was public enemy number one and that I was to be captured not killed.

Disgusted by all she had done to harm so many that I held dear, I reached across the desk and grabbed for her throat, but she continued speaking. I punched her, gouged her eyes with a letter opener, and dragged her onto the floor, demanding to see my husband. But even with the violence, her speech did not deviate from her prepared remarks, and that is when, for sure, I knew I was dreaming. I forced myself awake, annoyed that even in my dreams Abi seemed immortal. Heat blasted from the duct above the desk and the television blared on the wall.

“Bring him onscreen, please,” Abi said to someone off-camera. Three seconds later, Luc was on television. He looked like he’d lost a few pounds, and sadness exuded from him, but he didn’t resemble someone who was being mistreated.

“As you can see, Lily, we have your husband. If you turn yourself in within the next twenty-four hours you have my word that I will release him. We will allow your family safe passage out of the country. However, I will not extend this deadline, and there will be no further offering of immunity to any of your family once it passes. Because I’m feeling charitable, if someone brings you in, I will offer that person and his or her immediate family an opportunity for security in this troubled world we live. I repeat: Lily Clay Goodwin is wanted for murder. She is armed and extremely dangerous. We ask for her capture, as we wish to mete out the punishment for her heinous crimes.”

The broadcast ended on that note and winter started to reclaim its hold on the rest area. Twenty-four hours before any hope for my family would expire, and I was probably thirty miles from DC. Why hadn’t anything gone according to plan?

I knew the answer and knew that it had been impulsive, foolish, to come. I had to wonder why the Greenies weren’t manning stops along Interstates and main thoroughfares. Were they lying about everything in an attempt to demoralize Americans while they waited like snakes for the perfect opportunity to strike? Or had any perceived threat been contained?

Regardless, the absence of Greenies made it all the more convincing that things were not exactly as the colonel wanted us to believe. There was no way that the Greenies would have been able to usurp control of our government in such a short span of time.

But it hadn’t truly been short. The Greenies had shown due diligence and patience over more than two generations. It wasn’t as if they’d taken over the government one day and forced us to bow down in subservience the next. They’d planned this.

They’d played our own ideals against us to the point that our ideals became illogical, trivialities that even our forefathers would balk at if they were alive today. The Order had been strategic in its planning, allowing for generations to reform our populace into one more accepting, more tolerant of other beliefs. Well, until one dared to hold an opinion contrary to what was deemed acceptable anyway. Then it was a case of demonization for bigotry or ignorance. In less than three generations, the Greenies had transformed the country into one that was unrecognizable from the nation upon its incipience. The United States had crumbled years ago and no one had been any the wiser. No one had mourned her.

I took a swig of melted Dr. Pepper, pinching my nose to swallow down the syrup. I chased it with a gulp of water and tried to concentrate on the energy that it was going to provide, rather than its vomit-inducing qualities. Once I knew the drink wasn’t coming up, I combined the soda into one container and the waters into another, not wanting to be bogged down by extra weight in my pursuit of capture.

The snow had stopped, but the ground still wore a thick, white blanket. I looked down at the footprints I had left behind, and the survivor in me wished that I had a board to cover them. A trail of prints led into the men’s bathroom. Had I gone in there? I couldn’t remember, but I had been exhausted and ravenous.

My feet padded along the interstate until about a mile after I passed an exit. Tire tracks stared back at me and I couldn’t recall how long I’d been walking in them. I turned around. The tracks stretched in both directions as far as I could see. My pace quickened in anticipation of a way into DC before the deadline expired.

“I’m never going to make it in time,” I muttered, hobbling to avoid worsening the blisters. Like it or not, I would have to rest at the next opportunity. “It shouldn’t be much further.”

Somehow, my feet kept moving and I maintained my focus. It had been twenty minutes since I’d seen a sign, and that had announced the exit as being one mile ahead. Surely the exit had to be just around the curve. I rounded the bend, hesitant with the lack of visibility.

A quarter mile ahead, a line of pickups blocked the road. I counted ten men standing in front of the trucks. I also counted ten rifles point at me the moment I came into view.

__________________________________________________________________________

Author's Note: Thanks for still being here. I seriously appreciate you. I'd love to hear your feedback in the form of a comment. Thanks again!