“Looks like we’ve got some fit people here. You boys wanna enlist? We need all the help here we can get.”
Mitch answered. “We need help ourselves. Bunch of people in a plane crashed back over in the next valley, some of them hurt.”
“Are you serious? They’re only just starting pulling bodies out of what’s left of Phoenix. Right here we’ve got wrecks backed up into California that nobody’s gotten to yet and probably won’t for days. There’s about a couple of hundred thousand people in line ahead of you already.” The voice was weary, not prepared to debate the obvious. Mitch sighed and nodded. It was obvious that they didn’t have a case.
“Military mission. We have to try and see it through.”
The deputy shrugged. “Well . . . good luck.”
“Which way’s the reception center?” Mitch nodded in the direction of the crater ahead. “That way, past where the big one hit?”
“Right—about two miles farther on.” The deputy’s face showed for a moment in the light of a turning car: young, crusted with dust, streaked on one side with congealed blood that had trickled down from the bandage. He wiped his mouth with the back of a gloved hand. “Say . . . would you guys have any spare water? We’ve been waiting two hours for our truck to get back. Can’t take any from these people. The ones that thought to bring some are gonna need it.”
Mitch passed his water bottle over. Several of the other troopers did likewise. The deputy took a modest swig, washed it around, swallowed, and nodded gratefully. “Oh boy. You’ve no idea . . .”
“Is that where the chopper we heard would have come from?” Mitch asked.
“Right.”
“Who’s operating them?”
“I couldn’t tell you. The Army’s in charge now, trying to get some organization together. Where are you guys heading?”
“Texas.”
“Texas? Jeez! I’m not sure there is a Texas anymore. It might be part of the Gulf. Everybody else is coming the other way.”
“Like I said, it’s an official mission.”
“Well, I’m glad something’s still functioning. Just follow along where they’re leveling a road around the crater—there’s no way you can miss it; you’ve got a mountain blocking the road. You can see the lights they’ve got set up from here. Then pick up the interstate again on the other side.”
It was like a scene out of a war. There were hundreds of wrecked and damaged vehicles there in the darkness, stretching in a gigantic tailback from the crater, they realized as they came out onto the highway. Thousands. Standing amid a litter of glass and debris, roofs and hoods buckled by falling rocks, some apparently unscathed, others flung or pushed off the roadway completely. A number were burning. Twisting lines jammed nose to tail showed where drivers had weaved as far as they could before being brought to a halt. Many were helping each other check among the vehicles with flashlights and in headlamp beams, pulling out the injured and doing what they could for the ones trapped. Others just sat along the verge, in shock and bewildered, waiting for direction. Farther along, a tractor trailer had somehow balanced itself on end. A woman was wandering among the cars, frantically calling someone’s name. A headless body hung from the window of a Chevrolet, dripping blood onto the asphalt. A dog whimpered at the door of a stove-in Nissan van full of tangled forms, none of them moving.
Keene walked by it all at the center of the silent column, unable to suppress a feeling of callousness, yet mindful that nothing they could have done would alter anything materially. Millions of people were dying, millions no doubt already had, and many more millions would still, and nothing was going to change it.
Crunch . . . Crunch . . . Crunch . . . Crunch . . . He followed Legermount’s tirelessly swinging heels ahead of him and let his mind sink into numbness, shutting out the groans, the cries, the shouts of the rescuers, the bodies laid out in rows under blankets and tarpaulins. Others who were part of their own microworld were depending on them, he told himself, and for now nothing more mattered beyond that. Crunch . . . Crunch . . . Crunch . . . Crunch . . . In such a way was life reducing to minor achievements and small things taking on immense significance; that kept you alive and got you through to tomorrow. And that was good enough. Both his legs hurt. The boots were chafing his heels, and he could feel blisters starting to form. He hadn’t hiked like this for years. He would have to get used to it again soon. There would be plenty of it in store when gasoline stocks started running out.