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Authors: Keith Soares
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the sun in warm curves. She looked up and paused, her eyes on mine.
I noticed I was holding my breath. “Uh... sorry,” I said, turning and taking in air.
After a pause, I heard her say, “Don’t worry.” She got into the bed and turned toward me. “There’s only one bed. We’ve slept side-by-side each night now. It’s okay.”
I looked at her, then looked around the RV.
“Come. Lie down. Here.”
So I did.
14
We made great time all the way through to Richmond. But we had to be careful once we got there — last we heard, Richmond was a functional, walled city, like DC. We continued on 95, driving straight toward its heart. As we approached the Route 1 overpass, we saw that the space between the bridge and the street below had been filled in, walling off the entrance. Cars and trucks were heaped along the shoulders of the road, like they had been deliberately swept aside to clear the way. It was impossible to tell if the fortifications were guarded; if anyone still kept up the city’s defenses. Rosa drove ahead. Slowly, carefully.
A blast tore open the ground just ahead, to the passenger side of the RV, with a sound loud enough to cancel out everything else and leave my ears ringing. My nose filled with an acrid smell. Tiny bits of pavement rained onto the RV. Rosa swerved left, more a flinching move than actual defensive driving, sending me flailing toward into the passenger door. The RV wasn’t moving all that quickly, but it was tall and the turn was sudden. For a moment we skittered up on two wheels before thudding back down to the road, Rosa zigging to try to regain control. The RV slammed against a low concrete wall dividing the two sides of the highway and dragged to a stop, throwing sparks.
Rosa turned to look at me. “What the hell was — ?” Another shot missed overhead, cutting into an abandoned car in the opposite lane. There must have been some gas left in its tank; the car jumped into the air in a fireball explosion, making a low whump .
“Go!” I shouted. “Back the way we came! Turn us around!”
With a ripping of metal on concrete, Rosa drove forward. She had to get off the wall before she could turn around. “How far can they shoot?” she asked.
“I have no idea, just keep going!” Somehow she turned the RV around. Another blast, now behind us, lifted our back end. For a moment, it looked like the extra push of the explosion would send us crashing directly into a pickup truck that angled out from the side of the highway.
At the last minute, Rosa swerved. I was sure that I hadn’t taught her anything like that. I think it was just her good instincts. Then she did something even smarter. She drove toward the shoulder, where a large tractor-trailer jutted diagonally into the road. She put it between us and the city wall, buying us the seconds we needed. As I looked back, I saw the barrel of the mounted gun — a huge thing, I have no idea what to even call it — turning to aim at us again. But as Rosa sped away, it didn’t fire.
Maybe we were out of range, maybe we no longer appeared to be a threat, or maybe they just wanted to conserve ammunition. Either way, we lived.
15
We backtracked north for a few miles, passing several exits, before I finally asked Rosa to pull off at an interchange where it looked like we might be able to find supplies. After several wasted stops, we came across a convenience store a couple of turns off the main road that ended up being a great find — a storeroom held food, water, a small can of gas, and something we suddenly realized we really needed: a map. We vowed not to venture into the big cities again.
Using the map, we realized we could skirt around Richmond using 295 — we hoped it would swing wide enough to avoid any future confrontations. It did.
The RV was scuffed up on the driver’s side and the mirror was broken off, but it didn’t seem like we’d have to look
I noticed I was holding my breath. “Uh... sorry,” I said, turning and taking in air.
After a pause, I heard her say, “Don’t worry.” She got into the bed and turned toward me. “There’s only one bed. We’ve slept side-by-side each night now. It’s okay.”
I looked at her, then looked around the RV.
“Come. Lie down. Here.”
So I did.
14
We made great time all the way through to Richmond. But we had to be careful once we got there — last we heard, Richmond was a functional, walled city, like DC. We continued on 95, driving straight toward its heart. As we approached the Route 1 overpass, we saw that the space between the bridge and the street below had been filled in, walling off the entrance. Cars and trucks were heaped along the shoulders of the road, like they had been deliberately swept aside to clear the way. It was impossible to tell if the fortifications were guarded; if anyone still kept up the city’s defenses. Rosa drove ahead. Slowly, carefully.
A blast tore open the ground just ahead, to the passenger side of the RV, with a sound loud enough to cancel out everything else and leave my ears ringing. My nose filled with an acrid smell. Tiny bits of pavement rained onto the RV. Rosa swerved left, more a flinching move than actual defensive driving, sending me flailing toward into the passenger door. The RV wasn’t moving all that quickly, but it was tall and the turn was sudden. For a moment we skittered up on two wheels before thudding back down to the road, Rosa zigging to try to regain control. The RV slammed against a low concrete wall dividing the two sides of the highway and dragged to a stop, throwing sparks.
Rosa turned to look at me. “What the hell was — ?” Another shot missed overhead, cutting into an abandoned car in the opposite lane. There must have been some gas left in its tank; the car jumped into the air in a fireball explosion, making a low whump .
“Go!” I shouted. “Back the way we came! Turn us around!”
With a ripping of metal on concrete, Rosa drove forward. She had to get off the wall before she could turn around. “How far can they shoot?” she asked.
“I have no idea, just keep going!” Somehow she turned the RV around. Another blast, now behind us, lifted our back end. For a moment, it looked like the extra push of the explosion would send us crashing directly into a pickup truck that angled out from the side of the highway.
At the last minute, Rosa swerved. I was sure that I hadn’t taught her anything like that. I think it was just her good instincts. Then she did something even smarter. She drove toward the shoulder, where a large tractor-trailer jutted diagonally into the road. She put it between us and the city wall, buying us the seconds we needed. As I looked back, I saw the barrel of the mounted gun — a huge thing, I have no idea what to even call it — turning to aim at us again. But as Rosa sped away, it didn’t fire.
Maybe we were out of range, maybe we no longer appeared to be a threat, or maybe they just wanted to conserve ammunition. Either way, we lived.
15
We backtracked north for a few miles, passing several exits, before I finally asked Rosa to pull off at an interchange where it looked like we might be able to find supplies. After several wasted stops, we came across a convenience store a couple of turns off the main road that ended up being a great find — a storeroom held food, water, a small can of gas, and something we suddenly realized we really needed: a map. We vowed not to venture into the big cities again.
Using the map, we realized we could skirt around Richmond using 295 — we hoped it would swing wide enough to avoid any future confrontations. It did.
The RV was scuffed up on the driver’s side and the mirror was broken off, but it didn’t seem like we’d have to look
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