Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Day Fifteen
We crossed into California the next evening, a little earlier than we’d estimated, and camped near a reservation that was completely still and silent, no evidence of people living there at all, though we didn’t enter the area.
We drove through Joshua Tree at daybreak, the sun a glittery yellow diamond rising behind the hills, pearly rays fanning over the desert. And it was so beautiful I nearly wept.
We drove around the city of Palm Springs, foot traffic now heavy even on the outskirts where many of the neighborhoods were primarily Airbnb’s. I looked over my shoulder at a group of women carrying suitcases who looked both shocked and scared, and wondered if they’d been here on vacation and then hunkered down as long as they possibly could before packing their bags and hitting the road. So many stories. So much fear and tragedy.
We drove on, heading toward home. It felt so close now, and so very far away. That feeling intensified when we saw the fire. “Holy shit,” Tuck said, slowing down.
It looked like the entirety of the San Bernardino National Forest was burning, the sky practically black as we crested a hill. My heart sank. As a native Californian I was no stranger to forest fires, but this, in the midst of the current desperation and lack of water, was nothing short of calamitous. Tuck swore and then turned back the way we’d come, finally heading north rather than south toward my parents’ home in an effort to go around the fire. He unfolded the map, glancing at it as he drove on the shoulder of the road by necessity as both lanes were filled with vehicles. We drove on, my hands clenched at my sides as we veered away from what had looked like a valley of hell.
The sky cleared and the scent of acrid smoke dissipated as we drove by a sign for Temecula, the parked cars and trucks becoming more sparse on the stretch of road we were on. But when I reached down to the floor where I had a bottle of water, I felt Tuck slow and come to a stop. I sat up just as Tuck began reversing away from a row of cars that had been arranged to block the road up ahead. In front of the blockade of vehicles were men in hunting gear holding rifles and standing duty at the perimeter. “What is that? Would they not let us through?” I asked as Tuck turned around. “Should we try?”
“No. I doubt they’ll let us through. Everywhere is being sectioned off into mini states,” Tuck said. “Borders are being established.”
“On main roads? They can’t do that.”
“Who’s going to stop them? It’s smart, Em. It’s the only way anyone is going to survive.”
“The military must have a store of gasoline somewhere? Even if it’s taken them a couple of weeks to mobilize. This would be one of the first things they addressed, right? The inability of citizens to travel?”
“Even with gasoline, most of the military’s equipment might not work. And any military that tries to knock down these borders will have a fight on their hands because knocking down these borders is sentencing the people inside to death.”
I looked back at the road. He’d given similar advice to the Pritchards. He’d told them to create a perimeter and have neighbors take shifts guarding it. Protecting their food and water and livestock. And it made sense to guard your own property at a time like this. I just hadn’t realized people would start claiming whole swaths of land, setting up roadblocks into any area that had resources a certain group decided to claim.
“What about the ones outside the lines?” I asked. What about travelers, like us?
He shot me a troubled look but didn’t say more. I supposed I didn’t need him to.
We backtracked an hour and took another route, only to find that one was blocked as well. This one however, had a large group of people standing in front of it, yelling at the men with rifles. At the back of the group there was a man and a woman with a double stroller loaded down with items, a baby and a toddler both crying from the seats. “Fuck,” Tuck swore, banging his palms on the steering wheel. He pulled off to the side of the road and unfolded the map just as the loud crack of a gun made me jump and reach for Tuck, gripping his shirt.
The crowd in front of the barrier was screaming now, as were the men behind it. The people parted, and a man lay on the ground, and even from a distance I could see the blood spreading from his body. “They shot him,” I said. “Tuck, they shot him.”
Tuck dropped the map, backed up and then turned around just as one of the women spotted us, raising her hand and yelling, “Hey! Hey! Help!” and began running toward our car. I watched her through the rearview mirror, the others turning too and beginning to pursue our car, but then stopping as we sped away.