Dissention: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival series (Dark Road Book 12) by Bruno Miller

Author:Bruno Miller [Miller, Bruno]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wordstream books
Published: 2022-04-21T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Ben was glad to see the exit they needed up ahead. The bypass hadn’t been too congested with wrecks, but he was anxious to leave the Fort Wayne area behind.

“That’s us, right?” Sandy double-checked with him.

“Yep, head towards Roanoke. We’ll pick up the 24 there.”

“It’s a good thing the Blazer sits up so high or we wouldn’t be able to see over the weeds.” Sandy used both hands to maneuver the truck around the long curve of the exit. She was right; this would have been a blind corner in a lower vehicle.

“It’s getting a lot harder to spot debris on the shoulders. We’ll have to make sure we avoid going off the pavement as much as we can,” Ben cautioned.

That wasn’t always possible, though. Like so many times before, they’d had to cross medians and use shoulders to avoid roadblocks and hazards. The fact that they still didn’t have a spare for the Blazer was good reason to use extra caution.

It didn’t take long to reach the next intersection. Ben surveyed their surroundings as Sandy followed the Jeep and Scout through a left onto Route 24. The remains of a strip mall end-capped with a half-standing gas station occupied most of the far side of the road, along with a free-standing ice cream stand shaped like a giant double-dip cone.

The larger-than-life ice cream cone stood out against the charred backdrop of the shopping center. The small kiosk had somehow survived the inferno that took place just forty yards away, although the giant cone suffered from an anemic backward lean due to the intense heat of the blaze. Ben was both surprised and pleased to see no Patriot Hooligan markings anywhere. It would have been an acceptable place to stop and refuel if they’d needed to.

“How are we on gas?” He knew they were in good shape but was curious how much they’d gone through so far.

“Just below three-quarters of a tank,” Sandy reported.

“Good.” Ben knew the fuel would go quickly after the half-tank mark. It always seemed to work that way, at least. Ed had been kind enough to top off their trucks and the spare jerry cans, but their reserves wouldn’t last forever.

At least Martin was behaving so far, but he’d still be the one that needed fuel first. The Scout’s thirty-eight-inch mud-terrain tires would make sure of it. Ben could hear the aggressive tread sing out over their own whenever the caravan managed to break forty-five miles per hour. It really was a ridiculous truck in every sense of the word. Gaudy, impractical, and high-maintenance. The perfect vehicle for Martin, really.

Sandy looked out her window. “I see the river. Is that the Wabash River?”

“Not yet. That should be the Little River. It empties into the Wabash, but we’ve got to get through Huntington first.”

“How far is it to the Illinois border?” Sandy asked.

Ben checked the atlas. “About two hundred miles from here.”

“Oh, okay.” Sandy sounded discouraged. He understood how she felt, but the only way to get home was to log the miles.

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