Primitives by Erich Krauss

Author:Erich Krauss
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781628604184
Publisher: Victory Belt Publishing
Published: 2022-04-09T14:51:19+00:00

CHAPTER 23

Sarah

“I’ve got to get the fuck out of this vehicle!” B shouts, breaking an hour-long silence.

It might be the first thing he’s ever said that I agree with. For seven days, I’ve been stuck in this tin can. I doubt we’ve spent more than an hour total outside the Humvee, stopping only to relieve ourselves and fill up our water tanks. B hasn’t come out and said it, but I’m starting to suspect he has someone in Trenton he’s eager to get back to. That poor, poor woman.

Our original route passed through Mexico City, but we changed our minds after Guatemala City, a similarly large urban area with better-paved roads. Thousands of cars had been abandoned in the streets. For a girl raised in the jungle, it was the most bizarre thing I’d ever seen. It took us two days to cross twenty miles, leaving our beefy front bumper looking like a painter’s palette. After that, B and Josh appointed me navigator so they could sleep while Cat drove. It got me into the passenger seat for a short spell, allowing me to pay close attention to how the Humvee functions, in case I ever have an opportunity to get behind the wheel.

I took us along a coastal route and have spent the past several days viewing a post-apocalyptic wasteland through the inch-thick glass of the side window—Acapulco, Manzanillo, and Puerto Vallarta. I even glimpsed the occasional slice of ocean between the thick trees and crumbling high-rises. Every minute of every day, I’ve felt the pressure of time. While Josh allowed me this journey to think about his proposal, it was just a courtesy. When we reach our destination, turning him down won’t be an option.

The map comes flying over the passenger seat, landing in Josh’s lap. He pulls his forehead away from the side window and looks at it drowsily. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“Find us a safe place to stop,” B returns. “I need to stretch my legs.”

Josh scoops a hand beneath the map, then flicks it over to me and again rests his head against the glass. In seconds, he’s snoring.

I spread it out across my lap and begin correlating the twists and turns in the road ahead with our current position. Following roads in a vehicle is harder than following paths on foot, but I think I have a fairly good idea of where we are—still buried in the jungle, but less than an hour from the beach city of Mazatlán.

For days a plan has been materializing. Despite our daily NAD infusions, sitting in the Humvee nonstop has made our Fatigue progressively worse. Cat, having done the lion’s share of the driving, seems the most worn down. Josh, on the other hand, seems almost happy. He’s been doing injections to avoid arousing suspicion, but since learning he doesn’t need it, I’ve started paying closer attention to his syringes. They look nearly identical to the ones the rest of us use, but he gets them out of a separate box.

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