Lamp Black: Second Edition, Disaster, Preparedness, Survival, Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 2) (43 page)

He tapped the filter against the bumper. Ash fell heavily from it, but it didn’t seem to affect its overall serviceability. He regretted not putting his twelve-volt, portable, air compressor in the truck’s cab
before leaving. I was buried under the tarp covered supplies in the back of the truck. As he dreaded the hunt for his air compressor, Pete remembered that he had a can of compressed air in his cab. He used it to blow dust off the truck’s instrument display, and hoped it would work well enough for the air filter.

When Pete opened the driver’s side passenger door, looking hurried, Bonnie asked, “Is everything OK?”

“Yeah, I need some air.”

“What do you mean you need some air?” asked Bonnie, confused.

“I need to blow ash from the air filter, Bon” replied Pete, with waning patience. “I need some compressed air to blow the ash from the filter so the truck can breathe. Can you help me look for it? I’ve got a can of it somewhere in the cab. Please check under your seat.” Just as Pete said it, he found the can on his side. “Never mind,” he said. “I found it. I’ll be done in a sec,” and closed the passenger door harder than he intended, which meant Bonnie would certainly comment on his bad attitude. She hated it when Pete showed attitude, and he hated being short with her, but her questions were pushing him over his own edge. Pete paused to consider the state of his mood. He had no reason to snap at Bonnie. It wasn’t really her questions that bothered him, it was the disaster, the conditions of the disaster. He didn’t know what was going on, but the enormity of it all was beginning to sink in, and he didn’t like it. He knew he had to get Bonnie someplace safe, and the safest place was John’s. He knew if he could make it to John’s everything would somehow be better. At least that’s what he wanted to believe. But the first step was actually making it there, and in order to do that he needed his truck.

Using the canned air, Pete blew ash from the filter through the back. The canned air wasn’t strong enough to thoroughly clean the filter, but it did make a difference. He put the filter back into the box and sealed it up. Next, he returned to the truck for a piece of t-shirt, and a roll of duct tape. The t-shirt rag would cover the air intake and serve as a pre-cleaner of sorts. With some pulling and stretching, Pete
managed to get the rag over the intake. He then secured the rag in place with duct tape. It wasn’t pretty, but he hoped it would filter out some of the heavier ash before it hit the truck’s air filter. It would make cleaning the air filter easier.

Before the trip was over he would have to dig the air compressor out of the back. He would need it to keep the truck alive. He knew he couldn’t afford to neglect it, because it was their best hope for reaching John. The truck was their lifeline to sanctuary, their only means of survival, and for the time being, it was also their home.

Pete pulled down the hood and conducted a quick visual inspection of the truck’s exterior before approaching the driver’s side door. Since he was already out and dirty, Pete considered adding more fuel, but he decided against it when he saw the truck’s fuel gauge was still above three-quarters. The tank wouldn’t hold another five gallons of diesel, so why bother. Besides, he wasn’t ready to mess with the tarp. When it came to the tarp he wanted to be under something, like a barn or an overpass, before he removed it. He really didn’t want the ash getting on all his stuff. Everything looked good, so he patted himself off and climbed back in the truck.

Bonnie cringed at Pete’s ash coated appearance, but she said nothing. Other than stripping down and changing his clothes, there was nothing he could do about the ash. He was glad she didn’t comment, because he wasn’t in the mood to argue or change. When the engine started, Pete smiled. It sounded so much better than before. “Interesting how such a simple thing as a choked air filter can knock the truck out,” said Pete. “We’ll probably need to do this again . . . every forty miles or so,” said Pete.

“Do you want me to keep track of the mileage?” asked Bonnie.

“Would you?”

“I will, but you have to promise not to be short with me, Peter. This is all very stressful for me you know.”

“I know it is, Bonnie, and I’m sorry. I’ll try harder. But you’re right, we’re both very stressed right now. I’m just glad you’re with me. Do you need to pee before we go?”

She turned to look out the window, and then at Pete. “You don’t think the conditions will improve?” she asked. Pete shook his head slowly, left to right. “Well, I’m not ready to look like you just yet. I think I can wait a little longer.”

“What’s wrong with the way I look?” said Pete, with a smile.

“You look like someone rolled you in an ashtray,” said Bonnie, with a grin. “You kind of smell like it too,” she added, as she mimed smoking a cigarette and snuffing it out in an ashtray.

“Oh really? Well, I happen to like how I look and smell,” teased Pete.

“And I do too. You’re so sexy to behold right now,” cooed Bonnie.

Pete laughed and put the truck into gear. When he pulled back onto the frontage road he asked, “Food?” It was actually more of an idea than a question, but he was hungry.

“I can get you a sandwich,” she replied.

“That will work,” said Pete. “And can you also grab me a bottle of water. My mouth is really dry from rolling in the ash.”

Anticipating a smooth ride all the way through Waco proved premature. As soon as they hit the southern edge of highway-6 the road conditions changed dramatically. It wasn’t the actual condition of the roads that changed, for this section of the interstate was new and it endured the quakes and ash, even the flyways that connected H6 to I-35 were still standing. What changed for them was the heavy traffic. It seemed to come out of nowhere. The ash churned up by the moving vehicles hung in the air like a cloud of doom.

Pete narrowly avoided colliding with the first stopped car by slamming on the brakes and swerving onto the shoulder. He cursed
and apologized to Bonnie. Visibility was only about five yards, and he knew he shouldn’t have been driving so fast. But now that he was stopped, he stretched his legs and relaxed. Driving in the ash cloud was stressful. It was worse than fog.

As traffic backed up behind them, the ash finally began to drift away and settle into its normal pattern of descent. Up ahead, a long line of taillights rose to the horizon line about a half mile away. Pete noticed southbound traffic was now much heavier, and that it didn’t seem to be hindered. He assumed there was another accident up ahead, but unlike the previous accident, a bypass wasn’t really an option given their need to cross the Brazos River. Glad for the rest, Pete decided to wait out the traffic and see what happened next.

He noticed there were more cars and trucks pulled over to the side of the road. He didn’t know if all the vehicles were disabled, but he suspected most of them were. They were probably suffering from ash related mechanical problems. He figured a lot of folks probably didn’t know how to clean their air filters, let alone where to find them in their vehicles.

They passed exit 330A and their eyes were drawn to a large and well-lit hospital on the west side of I-35. Pete marveled at how majestic the structure appeared. It looked like a white pearl against a gray panel of silk. Apparently other people felt the same way, for countless vehicles were lined up to gain access to the hospital grounds. To Pete it seemed very medieval; like when peasants would turn to the castle before an invading army, or how the cathedrals in France must have looked when all other nearby structures were no more than a couple floors high. The grandness of the hospital held his attention until Bonnie mentioned that the traffic had moved. “It looks like a cathedral,” said Pete.

“What?” Bonnie replied, having been startled from her preoccupation with the maps.

“The hospital,” said Pete. “It’s attracting survivors like flies.”

“It looks beautiful,” she said. “I can see why they’re drawn to it.”

Pete said, “Yeah, me too,” and forced his eyes back to the road. He wanted to look, needed to look, to see something normal, or as normal as could be in the ash, but he knew he had to stay focused on the road. The traffic crawled forward. At points it would move slowly, but then it would surge ahead with speed and raise ash high into the air. He could barely make out the taillights to the car in front of him, but mostly because everything was covered in ash. He reminded himself to wipe off his taillights at the earliest convenience.

It was clearer off to the sides, but that served no purpose other than to distract. Pete knew the hospital lights would attract the attention of other drivers, so that meant he would have to be extra careful along this stretch of the highway. A collision would end their trip, and after seeing the accident in Temple, he very much wanted to avoid one. Besides, it was obvious all first-responders were either completely overwhelmed, or just not able to respond to all the emergency calls. “I think we should stick to side roads after we cross the Brazos,” said Pete. “What do you think?”

Bonnie flipped on her small flashlight and shuffled through the maps. She found what she was looking for, and after studying it for a minute she said, “It’s a little more than ten miles through the city, but we can jump back onto the frontage road just north of Loop 340. From there we should be able to stay on side roads for most of the way to the I-35 split.”

The traffic was moving along nicely again, and they continued their journey in silence. Pete remained focused on driving, while Bonnie remained focused on the maps and the surrounding area. She called out the recognizable landmarks, and would report to Pete about something interesting she had seen, such as a group of people walking along the freeway with small children, or a trucker disconnecting his trailer. She reported that a few people even tried to get their attention as they passed. One idiot actually jumped out in front of Pete’s moving truck, only to quickly leap back onto the shoulder when Pete accelerated past.

“Would you have run that guy over?” asked Bonnie, fear and concern etched in her voice.

“I would have if he didn’t jump out of the way,” replied Pete.

“How would that make you feel? Running over that man,” asked Bonnie.

“Seriously? Look, Bonnie, this is not a Sunday drive to Fort Worth. For me, for us, this has become a military exercise. It’s a road-march, a road-march of survival, a . . .”

“I get it, Pete,” interrupted Bonnie. “It’s just that everything has gone so crazy.”

“That it has. And you’ll go crazy too if you allow it to bother you,” replied Pete. “You have to make a break, Bonnie. You have to let go of everything you knew about the past and look straight ahead. Thinking about the past, about how things were when they were normal, how they used to be, will only make it harder for you to adjust,” finished Pete.

“How can you just turn it off, turn off
normal
, like that,” she said, with a snap of her fingers.

“I’m a Soldier, Bonnie. I’ve turned off normal more times than you can possibly imagine,” replied Pete, with a sigh. “It’s hard at first, but it gets easier with time. Look, I need you to understand one very important thing, people are already beginning to realize that things have changed. That means we’re going to see a lot of crazy stuff . . . things that will surprise and disgust you. You have to brace yourself for it because I need you whole. I need you alert and aware.” Pete paused and swallowed before he continued. “I need you, Bonnie. I can’t survive this without you.”

She put her hand on his arm and said, “I can’t guarantee how I’ll act in any given circumstance, Pete. This is all new to me, but I won’t give up on you as long as you don’t give up on me.”

“Of course I won’t give up on you. We’re in this together, for the long haul. Look, there’s something going on up ahead.” About a half mile ahead, on a rise, opposite a long dip in the interstate, several vehicle lights were illuminating the road.

Bonnie leaned forward in her seat and asked, “What do you think’s going on?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” said Pete, more to himself than to Bonnie. “Traffic is moving, so it probably isn’t an accident,” he added more clearly.

They temporarily lost sight of the lights when they dipped into a low spot on the interstate, but when they reached level ground they saw the flashes of a car’s headlights. “Did you see that?” asked Bonnie.

“I did,” said Pete. “It’s a signal . . . and I don’t like it. That car is facing us on our side of the freeway. Get your pistol ready.” Bonnie grabbed her pistol and held it up in front of her. “Keep it low, and be ready to duck when I say,” said Pete. She nodded and pointed the pistol down.

“Do you want me to shoot?” asked Bonnie, now obviously scared.

“No,” said Pete. “I just want you alert and ready.”

At least eight cars were lined up on the side of the interstate, and all but one was pointing inward and illuminating the road with their headlights. Two men were fighting in the middle of the well-lit slow lane, and several more stood by watching the fight. “Is that a fight up ahead?” asked Bonnie.

“It is, but it looks staged,” said Pete. “Yeah. They’re just wrestling . . . play fighting.” Pete was about to move into the passing lane and shoot past the fight when a small red car shot past him. It kicked up an annoying trail of ash as it pulled ahead. Pete slowed and studied the fight scene while the ash settled. He felt, more than knew, that his truck was a target, and he was glad the traffic was moving. He kept his eyes open to see if the men would try to put something in front of him, like a spike strip, but they didn’t seem prepared to do so. That told him they most likely wanted his truck intact, to make it a clean capture, if they could manage it.
They obviously didn’t know who they were messing with
, thought Pete.