Apocalypse Trails: Episode 2 by Joe Nobody

Author:Joe Nobody [Nobody, Joe]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Kemah Bay Marketing, LLC
Published: 2016-10-20T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Even transporting his gear, riding the bike was surprisingly faster than walking. Before he knew it, the lofty sign of the auto parts store towered on the horizon, immediately followed by green road signs announcing the interstate.

Jack slowed his pace and began to scout the area ahead cautiously, Archie’s words echoing in the commander’s head.

It was Cisco’s lucky day, however. He passed through the exit’s congestion without spotting a single soul.

A short time later, Jack again found himself in the countryside, rolling quickly past farmland and semi-arid hills. Taller mountains occasionally showed themselves ahead, dark shapes peeking between the curtains of ash and dust that still hung thick in the air.

At every bend and crest, Jack would slow or stop, taking extra time to study what lay ahead. While rolling into an ambush was his worst nightmare, there were other, non-human hazards as well. Right over the top of one small knoll, he encountered a large pine that had most likely suffered a lightning strike and toppled across the road. Another section of the pavement must have been the deposit area for a wind alley, as the ash and grit were heaped nearly two feet thick. Both obstacles required that he dismount the bike and push his doomsday buggy around or over nature’s barricades.

At just over ten miles from Archie’s place, Jack observed smoke on the skyline. A small column of black soot was spiraling into the air just off the highway. The perfect size for a campfire, it was the first sign of other humans he’d detected.

Knolls and lifeless trees blocked any view of the flames or who might have started the fire, which was just fine with Cisco. He wasn’t in the mood to make new acquaintances. With his carbine now in one hand, and pedaling at a faster pace, Jack bolted from the area just as quickly as possible.

He learned to spot homes well in advance of the structures or mailboxes becoming visible. He trained his eyes to follow the power lines and utility poles leading from the main line that paralleled the asphalt highway. The area seemed sparsely populated at best, and the few residences that were visible from the road either seemed dark and forgotten or had burned.

The charred remains of one such structure reminded Jack to check over his shoulder toward the southwest. Being caught in one of the new-age lightning storms was not on his agenda.

Two hours later, a highway sign appeared, its green background and white letters in stark contrast to the carpet of grey that blanketed the area. “Pinemont 5,” it read. Around the next bend, Jack noted that the roadway climbed into the distance.

He would have slowed his pace regardless of the incline. It was just the smart thing to do when approaching a populated area. Now, however, he had no choice.

Less than a mile passed before Jack’s legs began to seriously feel the burn. He had already shifted the bike into its lowest gear, barely making enough headway to balance the machine in the sludge of pumice that fought against his tires.

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