3 years in. The location is Starr County Texas. The Year circa 2015. In these lands, there are only oil fields as far as the eye can see, but these days there isn't much you can see. It turns out 2012 would be the last year of normal life we would have, as soon after, a fog came in, so thick that even in a day you couldn't see more than a couple hundred feet. Sound has turned out to be one of your best friends these days. Who would have known that fog was going to take us out? Anyone would have thought of volcanoes, meteors or wars, but all we needed was low visibility and high demand.
In the first few days, people thought it was from a blizzard that was slowly heading north to south, but it would never pass. The snow did pass and there still are seasons, but the world is almost like the Sahara these days. Slowly over time people forgot about the government and gave up, nobody even knows if Obama is dead or alive, they took him onto a plane and we never heard back. After that, people just vanished, started their own government, moved to the ocean where there was less fog, or went up to the peaks of the world. Word of advice: Any mountain above 12,000ft doesn't have fog, but it does make you a target.
I've stuck to the Great Plains of America, and a few skyscrapers all to myself in Little Rock, because we all know Little Rock is known for its skyscrapers. No one has ever bothered me in this part of the country, well, not ‘til recently. The visibility, during daylight, is safe enough to drive, but not too fast. You never know when a deer might run out and try to get you… The point is; I had never once had a problem driving alone. I would avoid main highways, and would go around any abandoned cars, until one day driving down south route 178 in Oklahoma.
I had finally found a good amount of gas, so I thought I might as well drive. I never like getting too comfortable in one place. I was passing by a lone gas station when my tire popped. It was a trap by a group that calls themselves the AOB, (American Out Back). You'll hear, some days, their calls for help out on the AM stations, but they have been known to rob and leave people for dead. I never knew they were out this far south. I ran as fast as I could and soon lost them after about 10 miles of running and I've been walking ever since. 30 miles a day, for the last 4 days.
And now here I am in Starr County, Texas. The county has more oil per mile than citizens, well back in 2010, at least. For the next month or two, this will be my home unless something happens. Tonight, I am sleeping in the back of a semi-truck trailer. Tomorrow, maybe under a bridge. Maybe on the third day, I’ll find a nice motel room with cockroaches to not book in. But tonight, I am truly sleeping on the back of a Semi-Truck.
The next morning the trailer is shaking. Some of my things have fallen and moved. I try to stand up, but I feel something pulling me back. Then I hear it. The engine. The truck is driving, and I am its unintentional hostage. I’ve been robbed in the past, but never once kidnapped, so to speak. I press my ear to the wall on the right. I can make out the sounds of Kansas's “Carry On Wayward Son.” I open the wagon door to look out. I'm on a truck, flooring it down US Route 59. This is what I get for sleeping somewhere with a roof and insulation. Texas may be a desert, but during the night, and throughout the winter, it drops to 20 odd degrees.
I grab my bomber jacket, backpack, and that worn-out navy blue cowboy hat that I got from the old Western museum before stepping onto the back platform, and holding on for dear life, thinking of if there is any way to get off of this 40-ton death machine waiting to happen. I managed to climb to the top of the trailer and I carefully made my way to the front, clenching my hat firmly, as to not let it slip. The truck is constantly turning left and right, swerving to miss any car in the way. I feel nauseous with all these turns, and it doesn't help that I have to duck tree branches every few miles. The brakes are slammed, screeching and leaving an invisible cloud in all the fog, pushing me to the front, but leaving my boot behind. My right sock is now exposed to the rainwater, leaving it soaked.
I made It to the back of the main cab. No wonder the music was so loud. The rear window was slid open. I leaned in a bit to see if I could get the driver's attention, but realized that it would be safer and easier. I take a pause, thinking of if it would be a good option. Forgetting about It, I pulled it and the truck wheels locked up. The tires screeched to a stop and I ran off. Suddenly I heard a gun click and a woman yell out. “Not so fast, cowboy. Turn around and we'll have a nice chat.”
I look back, expecting to see the worst, but she is just handing me back my hat, with it being held by the handle of her pistol. Maybe people in this world aren't so bad. I walk back slowly to grab it, being careful in case she tries to do something. “Thanks,” I say, grabbing my hat. I start to walk up the road to make my way back to Starr County, but then she yells out “I can drive you back if you'd like. It's my fault you're out here.”. With no real options, I hesitantly walk back and hop in the truck. The inside door panels are stitched of leather, and the dash is wooden. An 8-track player with chrome trim sits in the center next to a multitude of dials and buttons. On the dash, there's a CB radio with a red screen that says channel 12. She gets in and starts driving up north, starting a bit of small talk.
“So where you from?”. I pause but realize that this will probably be the closest I get to a friend in this economy. “Dorset, Vermont. lived there for 15 years till this happened. You?” “Roswell, New Mexico. You have sure come a long way.” I hear radio static for a quick minute, then a voice coming from the CB. “Raven, come in Raven, change to channel Odessa and wait for further broadcast.” she grabs the radio and says “Channel Odessa over and out”
“What was that all about?” I ask while she changes the channel to channel 20. “I work for the last of the Navy. Fort Starr.” The radio static starts and another voice comes in. “Raven, we need a medical pick up at the Rockport Hospital. Trailer full of medical supplies plus 8 souls.” She rapidly grabs a map and then says “Two hours away, current location Route 59 about to head south on Route 181”. She puts down the radio and asks me “So do you want to stay till Rockport and then I bring you back or drop you off?”. I pause to think but the truck’s heater has already convinced me to stay. Modern amenities like heating are rare these days. “I’ll stay for a while,” I say. “So you got a name?” she asks. I am a bit hesitant, but I'm thinking because the old me is in a way dead because of this world. “Eastwood, Clint Eastwood,” I say. “A pseudonym, Well then, I'm Carrie Underwood, taking the wheel of this truck.”
Maybe half an hour in, trouble was found. Driving into the town of Beeville to take the 181 southbound, there was a blockade. A burnt bus blocking the main road into town. A normal act of the AOB when they want to attack you. Blocking the roads and making you take another way into town, and then ambushing and closing off your only exit. “They keep moving south,” I mention. From what I knew they always kept to the mid-west and at most as south as the Missouri-Arkansas border. “You know what's going on here because I don’t.” I pause to take a minute to collect the surroundings and say. “Okay, I might have an idea, but It could be a bit difficult. Pull a U-turn and reverse the trailer into the bus, detach the trailer, and drive off with the clearance.” She shifts the truck into gear and says “You know what cowboy I like your gumption, let's hit it.”
The truck's reverse alarm started blaring, calling for anyone to find us. Shifting into the next reverse gear pushing 12 miles an hour, and then to the 3rd reverse gear to an astonishing 17 Miles per hour. A moment later BAM! A strong jolt from behind pushes the bus but stalled out the truck. She handed me the keys and hopped out yelling “Start it up when the trailer drops DRIVE!” Frantically I hopped into the driver's seat, looking at the dashboard overwhelmed. 50 gauges, and an assorted Christmas tree’s amount of lights. I press in the clutch, leaning all of my body weight onto my left foot. I've driven stick before, but never a Semi-Truck. I cranked the truck for over 15 seconds until it finally started. By then, Carrie was already in the truck. I shifted it into first gear and floored the accelerator. The smell of burnt rubber from the wheels spinning fills the truck cabin and immediately grinding into 2nd, and 3rd. The foul sound of the gears grinding, because I can bearly press in the clutch. Carrie looks at me in a panic and disappointment with my shifting. She yells to me “Turn left!” With all the will in the world, I pulled the steering wheel to the left and floor it onto the high highway, but by then they were following.
Gunfire had started, and I felt as if I was running from the cops at a snail’s pace. My heart is racing, or rather aching. I look back and one of the cars gets closer and closer. Without much thought I slam the brakes, brakechecking and crashing into him. The impact forces him off the road. What appears to be a police car is pulling up closer. He turns on police lights and even the siren. On the megaphone, an aggressive voice yells out. “Texas State Trupper, PULL OVER!” He floors the car, the loud roar of the engine deafening everyone. Once again with the megaphone, he yells “Damn it you cowered Pullover or I’ll burn you like that bus” He is getting too close for my comfort. I shut off the lights. The truck was almost fully camouflaged in the fog. I pulled the air brake. He didn't see me stop in all the fog allowing me to steer to the right, pushing him too into the ditch. The coast was now clear. I turn back on the lights and high beams Shifting the truck into overdrive and keeping it steady at 45 miles an hour.
In this world, you take one step forward and two steps back no matter what. A loud buzzing had started coming from the gauge cluster and was flashing the words “LOW COOLANT” in red. Carrie looked up to the roof sighed and then said “Shut the truck off, and coast it in neutral as far as you can. I’ll do… Something!” She grabbed the CB Radio saying “Emergency pickup needed, Swapping to channel Armadillo #2” She swapped the channel to channel 27 and waited. By now the truck has stopped just 7 miles southeast of Beeville. “Let me know when they call in”
I hopped out to see what she was up to. The front hood was propped forward steam mixing into the fog within seconds. Carrie was standing in the engine bay looking at the radiator, with 3 bullets lodged into it, leaking out all the coolant. “It just had to be the radiator,” she says closing the hood. I look around for it being a highway it is rather empty. I start walking south with no other option. “Well, Miss. Underwood I'm sorry to tell you but I don't think we are going to make it to that hospital” I say barely seeing her 30 feet away. She stands there looking at the truck pacing around it. She grabs a toolbox and takes off the front license plate.
It is a Blue New Mexico license plate with black letters and under it, it says “Land of Enchantment” She seems distraught with the situation. I walk back and ask “Everything alright?” She hands me the license plate and hops back in the truck she grabs out of the glovebox a photo album and the truck's registration. “Does Vermont have any sentimental value to you Eastwood? Because for me New Mexico does, and this truck kept me going because of someone that I left behind there. Hoping someday I’ll find him although he's gone.” As she's talking she pulls a briefcase from the back and fills it with the photo album a few 8-Tracks, and registration. Before she closes it she grabs the license plate from my hands, places it in the briefcase, and closes it. “My real home is in Rosewell, not Texas and I need to find a way back”