Reaching Home: A Post-Apocalyptic Journey (Dark Highway Home Book 2) by Larsen Lars

Author:Larsen, Lars
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lars H Larsen
Published: 2023-07-06T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

DAWN HAD ONE hand on the wheel and the other holding a cup of the precious liquid. She completed the U-turn and took the freeway entrance for 90 West. We drove in silence, savoring the joy of what could be the very last cup of a morning Starbucks coffee.

Being an interstate highway, and the major east–west route through Montana, there were dozens of dead and abandoned semi-trucks and autos. Most had coasted to the shoulder, but there were a few that blocked a lane. We weaved and dodged our way around them. Most of the semi-truck trailers had been opened and, those that had held usable supplies, emptied.

A few miles further on, we passed the eastern boundary of the Missoula Montana Airport. To our left, and a half mile from the freeway, was the end of the runway. Two planes, one a Boeing 737 and the other a twin-engine prop commuter plane, were sitting there as if waiting their turn to take off. The 737 appeared in position for takeoff and the other was still sitting in the taxi lane. Both planes’ doors were open and the Boeing’s emergency slides were deployed and still inflated. At least these two hadn’t fallen out of the sky.

The comms chirped. It was Melissa. “The coffee is wonderful. Thanks!”

“This very well could be the last Starbucks I’ll ever have,” PJ said. “Thanks again.”

“It almost feels like it’s a normal workday and I’m driving to the office with my morning Starbucks,” Monica said.

“Except there are people who want to kill you at every other corner and bend in the road,” Kathy added.

I was surprised by how organized things had seemed. Other than armed guards at the gas stations and the two Walmart Supercenters we’d passed, the dead and abandoned cars and trucks, downed power lines, and the occasional burnt-out building, things seemed normal here.

“There’s a bunch of people at the airport off-ramp and they’re moving to block the road,” Dawn shouted out.

So much for normalcy.

This stretch of interstate was four lanes, two in each direction and divided by a grass median. Running the length and equally centered between the eastbound and westbound lanes, was a wrist-thick wire acting as a last defense against vehicles crossing over the median and into oncoming traffic. To our right was an interstate embankment rising up at a forty-five-degree angle from the shoulder and clearly impassable. We could perform a U-turn, but with the trailer it would require several back-and-forth maneuvers which we didn’t have time for. There was no place for us to go except straight ahead—right toward the crowd.

“Bring us to a stop, Dawn,” I said. I keyed the comms and warned the other drivers we were stopping.

The size of the crowd was anywhere from two to three hundred. There was no way of counting, so thick was the mass of people now running toward us. Many were armed with red-handled fire axes, golf clubs, and ski poles. There were men and women in business suits and dresses,

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