Читать книгу The Road is a River - Nick Cole - Страница 13

In the night, the headlight of the tank flooded the streets with bright light. Only one woman, out late and coming home with a pushcart of salvage, saw them as they turned onto the overpass and headed north into the midnight desert. He expected someone, anyone, all of them maybe, to come rushing out and stop him. To save him from himself and his foolishness. But they passed only the woman with the pushcart and no one came out to stop them.

Are you really going to do this?

The Old Man looked down at his granddaughter. She was smiling as the tank bounced over the crumbling remains of the interstate.

It seems I already have.

The night covered them all the way past Picacho Peak, where the Old Man could no longer smell the rotting bodies of the Horde above the exhaust and heat of the tank.

But they are out there in the dirt and the scrub all the same.

“When can I see where we’re going?” asked his granddaughter over the intercom.

“It’s too dark and there is nothing to see right now.”

“Here,” he said. “Move to this seat below my knees and do not touch anything. It’s where the gunner sat.”

She unplugged her helmet cord, and after squeezing by the feet of the Old Man, she found herself looking out onto the desert floor through the targeting optics.

The Old Man drove on toward the fire-blackened remains of Gila Bend and felt they should stop, but he knew the road and knew their village was just another few hours beyond the charred dust of the place.

We can stay in our village one more night. At least it will be familiar.

When they arrived at the village, the Old Man shut down the tank and stood in the hatch looking at the collection of shacks in the darkness. He turned off the tank’s headlight and waited to hear the sounds of the desert.

This is madness. In the morning I will wake up and take us back home. Maybe no one will have missed us.

“Grandpa?”

“Yes?”

“How will we get there?”

“Aren’t you tired?”

They were rolling out their sleeping bags onto the floor of the tank.

“Not really.”

“I suppose we will drive this tank as far as it will go. After that, we will walk.”

“The lady said we needed to hurry.”

“First we must find fuel at the old fort outside Yuma. The Proving Ground it was called.”

It was quiet in the dark tank now as they settled into their bags. The Old Man left the hatch open, and through it he could see the stars above. He thought of closing the hatch but leaving it open seemed to him like a small act of bravery. As though he were preparing himself for other times when he might need more courage. As though giving into fear now would welcome an uninvited guest.

And it is still our village. There was no one here but us for all the years that we lived here and I doubt anyone’s come along since.

“That’s where you got the hot radio.”

The Old Man thought of the desert and the wasteland and the radio that had sent him off on his own. For many nights as he recovered from the sickness, those days in the wasteland had seemed a dream or a story that had happened to someone who was not him.

I was free though.

And you were scared, my friend.

I was that too.

“We’re never to go salvaging in the Proving Ground. It’s too close to Yuma. Everyone knows what happened to Yuma, Grandpa.”

The Old Man was drifting now, thinking of his days on the road and the heat of it beneath his huaraches.

“Was there really a bomb, Grandpa?”

“Yes.”

“And you saw it go off?”

“I did.”

“Then how can we go to Yuma for fuel?”

Almost asleep now, in fact probably just, the Old Man called as if from down a well, “The fort is far out in the desert, north of the city. I always told them it would be okay to salvage there. But its name was also Yuma and so they would not go.”

Soon they both slept.

At first light, familiar birds they’d heard all their lives began to sing in the cool before the heat of the day. The Old Man, lying in the tank, looked up through the open hatch and watched the last stars disappear as morning dark turned into a soft blue above them. He slid silently from the tank while his granddaughter slept.

He walked the streets of the deserted village, his home for forty years, as morning washed everything in clear gold.

We should go back today. This was foolish to start with and it is even more foolish to go on. I was still sick and I got carried away. To go all the way with no promise of fuel is …

He came to his shack. He opened his door. Only the bed and the table remained. Everything was covered in dust.

What is expected of us is too much for just an old man and his granddaughter.

When he returned to the tank, his granddaughter was opening a package of food and kicking her feet on the side of the tank as she chewed, which was a thing she did often when she ate.

I cannot remember when I had so much energy to spare that I could kick my feet as I chewed and smile and think of the day as nothing but a waiting adventure or something to be explored.

“Maybe we should go back,” he said standing in front of her.

She continued to chew.

“If we do, then we should call the lady and tell her we’re not coming, Grandpa.”

The Old Man paced the length of the tank looking for something he had no idea of.

“Would you be mad if we returned?”

“No, Grandpa. I understand. But you should call her. Tell her we’re not coming.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

The Old Man climbed back into the turret, donned his helmet, and switched the comm channel button near the hatch over to the radio setting. He pushed the button on the cord and began to speak.

“General Watt.”

A moment later the voice of General Watt was there in his helmet.

“Yes, go ahead.”

“We …”

He paused.

Tell her. Tell her you’ve left and you’re not coming all the way. Tell her you’re giving up now.

“We … are beyond Gila Bend and proceeding toward a fort we know of north of Yuma. We think we might find some fuel there.”

There was a pause.

“Thank you.”

Her voice was tired.

“I wasn’t sure if you were actually coming. I didn’t think … just, thank you. I’m glad Captain Roberts’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain.”

The Old Man lowered his head. Then he raised the mic to his mouth and said, “Save that until we make it there. We still have a long way to go.”

His granddaughter’s face, solemn as she considered the morning’s breakfast, erupted in the smile he loved. She took off her helmet, put down her breakfast, jumped to the ground, and began to do cartwheels.

“So we’ll go to the old fort above Yuma and look for some fuel,” said the Old Man.

“I might be able to alter a satellite to search the Yuma Proving Ground for you. I’ll allocate my resources immediately. I have limited access to the outside world, but we’re not powerless down here,” replied the General.

The Old Man thought of the satellite he had once seen in the night.

They are still up there.

“Anything would be helpful.”

“I understand,” said the voice of General Watt in his helmet. “I can still contact the automated systems of certain facilities. There may be more help along the way.”

“Anything would be appreciated. To tell you the truth …”

Words refused to come.

His granddaughter disappeared off into the place where she had been born and where they had lived their entire lives until recently.

I thought we would always live here. I was happy here.

“I almost felt …” said the Old Man.

“Like it was too much?” the General asked.

“Yes,” whispered the Old Man.

“I understand that too,” said the General.

The Old Man felt tired. Felt like he could let go of a burden he’d never remembered picking up but had been carrying for longer than he could remember.

“I brought my granddaughter with me. She’s just thirteen years old. I was afraid this would be too much for just the two of us.”

“But you will continue?”

“Yes.”

“If you weren’t afraid, I’d be concerned you were some kind of idiot.”

The Old Man watched his granddaughter run from one shack to another, flinging open doors in the morning light, dust motes swirling about her.

“I won’t lie to you,” said General Watt. “What you’re heading into is very dangerous. If you turned off this radio and went home and never answered it again … I would understand. I have children and grandchildren too. But please don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” said the Old Man.

“Don’t be. If you knew my story, you would know that when I was … let’s just say it was never considered possible for me to have children. But I have them and they are mine now. I will do everything I can to save them. Sadly, I have done everything and it isn’t enough to overcome the one problem we’ve faced since the mountain above us collapsed down onto our emergency exit. You sound like a good man. Maybe if there had been more like you back before the war, we wouldn’t be stuck here now.”

“I was only twenty-seven then,” said the Old Man. Static rose like a sudden ocean wave cresting and then falling violently onto the shore.

“I know what I’m asking you to do is beyond … reason. But I have to. You are our last hope. My grandchildren’s last hope.”

The Old Man wiped a sudden hot tear of shame from his eye.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of there,” he said.

Static.

“Thank you,” said General Watt just before a storm of white noise consumed her voice.