Lamp Black: Second Edition, Disaster, Preparedness, Survival, Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 2) (42 page)

Pete climbed the onramp and joined the flow of traffic heading north. Things were slow going in places, slower than they first appeared, which was saying something for Texas drivers, but everything was moving along. He picked a safe distance from a vehicle to his front and checked his speedometer. Traveling at a little over forty miles an hour meant it would take them close to six hours to reach John. He doubted that would be the case, but again, he hoped.

When they were about ten miles north of Temple, Texas, they hit their first obstacle. Red tail lights blazed brightly before them. Traffic had come to a complete stop. Pete and Bonnie exchanged a glance, and he said, “Let’s wait a bit and see what happens. We’ve only just passed
mile-marker 314, which means we haven’t gone far. I can always walk ahead and see what’s going on,” he added, inquisitively.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. If the traffic starts moving again I could drive right past you and not see you. Besides, if it’s an accident, the traffic might be backed up for miles,” replied Bonnie, concern etched in her voice.

“You’re right. Let’s look at the maps and see if we can find a bypass. But let’s give it at least thirty minutes, and if nothing moves by then we’ll get off the freeway and see if we can work our way around it by using the frontage road, or even the farm or ranch roads.”

They waited. The traffic inched forward a few times, but no real progress was made. Pete opened the driver’s side door, and while standing on the running boards, he tried to see what was happening up ahead. He thought he saw the flickering of yellow light in the distance, but he wasn’t sure. The ash muted everything in the distance. He also couldn’t hear if there were any emergency vehicles up ahead, but again, the ash was probably muting sound as well. Everything was too quiet for his comfort. He returned to his seat and closed the door. With his hands gripping the steering wheel, Pete said, “I think it’s time to exit the freeway.”

“Well, if mile-marker 315 is ahead, then we’re not far from the town of Brookeville. Can you make the access road from here?” asked Bonnie.

“I can, but I want to walk it first.” Pete pulled onto the shoulder and flipped on his hazard lights. “I’ll be right back,” he said, as he climbed out of the truck. After a quick inspection of the embankment down to the frontage road, Pete returned to the truck and said, “There’s a drainage ditch at the bottom, but we’ll be OK if I take it at an angle. Hold on, this may be a bumpy trip.”

Pete drove off the shoulder and down the slope. When he neared the bottom, he approached the ditch at a forty-five degree angle. The truck dipped when the first front tire entered the ditch, and Bonnie let out a gasp as she reached for a hand grip. “Three more times and
we’ll be across,” said Pete, calmly, as he eased the truck over the ditch. “There, we made it. You all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Now this is a two-way frontage road, so stay to the right. It should take us past Brookeville, or at least give us a better perspective on what’s happening up ahead,” said Bonnie, as she studied the map under a mini-LED flashlight.

Pete drove along the access road, and managed to maintain a consistent forty miles an hour. He saw no other vehicles on the frontage road, but they were alert for anything. They both kept an eye on the traffic that remained stationary along the interstate. “I see light up ahead,” said Bonnie.

“Yeah, I do too,” said Pete, concerned.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” asked Bonnie, picking up on Pete’s mood.

“In this case I don’t think it is,” said Pete, “it looks like a fire to me.”

“A fire? Really? You can tell from here?” asked Bonnie, skeptically.

“I’ve seen plenty of fires from a distance, Bonnie, yes, it’s a fire. See how it flickers? And it’s high, and yellow, not white. It’s definitely a fire,” said Pete.

“What do you think it means?”

“It means there’s an accident on the freeway and something’s burning,” answered Pete.

“Don’t be short with me, Pete. I’m just asking questions.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Bon,” replied Pete, without taking his eyes off the road, “it’s just that I’m trying to concentrate. And I don’t like the fact that the road is getting closer to the freeway.”

“You should pass under the freeway in a mile or two, and then we’ll continue north on the other side of the interstate.”

Pete nodded and said, “That makes sense. We’re doing pretty well right now. But I have a feeling our luck will change when we get close to the accident. I’m surprised more people aren’t already on the frontage road.”

They passed under the interstate and emerged on the far side after climbing a small hill. Soon they were level with the interstate and able
to see the traffic again. A flash of light, and a low, rumbling boom, filled the truck’s cab. “What was that?” asked Bonnie.

“It sounded like an explosion to me, something small though, like a car’s gas tank going off.”

“You can tell all that from here?”

“Yes, dear. I’ve heard my share of explosions while deployed. Fuel explosions are a lot different from munition explosions.”

“Well, mister explosion expert, I was just wondering why you were so sure of yourself.”

It was now clear to Pete that Bonnie was upset and looking for a fight. “Look Bonnie, I know you’re not happy about leaving home, but you have to trust me. I’ve never lied to you. This trip will be dangerous, but going to John’s is better than staying put.” Pete looked at her and continued, “I really don’t want to fight with you. It’s not the time or the place. It’s distracting . . . and I really need to stay focused right now.”

“I’m not trying to start a fight,” said Bonnie, “but I don’t like the idea of traveling, especially when there are fires and explosions all around us.”

“It’s better now than later. Right now a lot of people think the ash is temporary, that when it goes away their problems will go away. But when they figure out it’s only the beginning of their problems, things will get even more complicated. And the explosions . . . they aren’t happening all around us. We won’t even get close to that fire up there,” replied Pete, with patience.

Pete desperately wanted to avoid pushing Bonnie off her cliff of self-control. He loved her, and needed her to stay whole. He was also afraid of what he might do if she lost control. Like a volcano waiting to erupt, her hysteria was bubbling below the surface. Pete shook his head and decided to avoid using that analogy on her. The ash was stressful enough for Bonnie. Driving deeper into it did seem counterintuitive, but as Pete saw it, it was their only hope for survival. Staying home wasn’t an option. John was their only option. “You know I can
take care of you, Bon . . . that you’ll be safe with me. We’ll make it through this, and you’ll feel better when we reach John’s. We’ll make it, but I need you to trust me.”

“I know you can protect me, Pete, but that doesn’t mean I have to like what’s going on around us,” replied Bonnie.

Pete nodded and said, “Look, it is an accident. It looks like a fuel tanker’s burning.”

From across the interstate flames revealed a silver tanker lying on its side. A length of road behind the tanker was also burning. A long trail of flames reached greedily for the cars and trucks that sat trapped in the traffic, as the roadway granted just enough slope to facilitate the rapid movement of spilled fuel under the traffic behind. Pete slowed the truck and stopped. He watched in awe as the fire rapidly spread down the freeway. A car jumped slightly into the air as it was engulfed in a ball of fire. A split-second later, the sound of the exploding car reached their ears. “The fire is spreading down the line of cars,” said Pete.

“Where’s the fire department?” asked Bonnie, as if she was cursing them.

“That’s a good question,” answered Pete, “but I’m guessing they’re probably tied up somewhere else.” He put the truck in gear and moved back onto the road.

“Look, people are running from their cars, there, see . . . behind the wreck,” yelled Bonnie excitedly, as she pointed toward the spreading fire. “Isn’t there something we can do to help?”

“The best thing we can do is stay out of the way,” answered Pete, flatly.

Another car exploded and erupted into flames. Pete pulled over and looked at Bonnie. “I can go help, maybe get the other people to evacuate their cars, or maybe help clear enough cars to create a firebreak, but you have to stay here . . . in the truck,” said Pete. Bonnie looked back at him with scared eyes. He could see she was gauging her commitment to help in proportion to the consequence of Pete’s safety, and her possible separation.

“No, you’re right,” she said finally. “There’s nothing you can do for them. Besides, you would have to cross the southbound lanes of the freeway, and in these conditions you’d probably get yourself run over. Let’s go.”

Pete drove on without a word. Bonnie continued to watch the accident as they distanced themselves from it. She only turned to look forward when the road dipped away and she lost sight of the accident all together. She silently resumed studying the map with a small flashlight. After a few moments of moving the beam over the map, she said, “I think we’re coming to the area where the frontage roads are on both sides of the freeway again, but they’ll be one-way. That will put us about twelve miles from Waco. Are you planning on getting back on the freeway?”

“I’m thinking it will be the fastest way over the Brazos. What do we have for other options over the river?”

Bonnie studied the map and said, “It looks like there’s five options on the west side of I-35 and two on the east side. I say we stay to the west.”

“I don’t want to go through the downtown area, nor do I want to track too far to the west. So let’s try right down the middle and see what happens. If we get bogged down we can always head west and cross over on . . . what’s the next highway over to the west?” asked Pete.

“Highway 84,” answered Bonnie.

“Yeah. That’s the one,” said Pete, and he realized that keeping Bonnie occupied with the maps was a good thing. They drove silently. Bonnie kept an eye on the road, looking for landmarks to estimate their progress. She called out the next turn and they made their way back onto the interstate, just shy of mile-marker 319, to continue their journey northward. Pete managed to maintain a disciplined fifty miles-per-hour, but after a few minutes the big truck began to sputter and act sluggish. “I need to pull over,” he said casually to Bonnie, “I need to check the air filter.”

“What’s going on?” asked Bonnie, concerned.

Pete heard fear in her voice and quickly squashed it, “It’s nothing, really, probably just an accumulation of ash. The same thing happened to our vehicles in Desert Storm. I just need to stop and beat the ash off the air filter. It will just take a minute.”

“If you say so,” she replied.

“Well, if I don’t stop,” replied Pete, “the truck will stall out and leave us stranded.”

“Please don’t stop on the freeway.”

“I wasn’t planning on it. I’ll pull off and take a look. How far to the next exit?”

Bonnie responded with a tentative “OK” and resumed her study of the map. “There should be an exit coming up soon . . . exit 325.”

“Got it,” said Pete, as he slowed to exit the freeway. He felt the truck lurch under him and knew he had to pull over soon. After driving a short stretch of the frontage road, Pete spotted a gravel parking area and turned out. He killed the engine, turned off the lights, and waited.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Bonnie, after a few short, but silent minutes.

“I’m waiting to see if we attracted any attention,” answered Pete. He reached under his seat and pulled out his pistol. He quickly checked the load, saw that it was ready to fire, that it was in condition four as the pros called it, and slid it into his waistband. He didn’t like carrying his pistol without a holster, but he didn’t plan on carrying it for long. He would wear a holster as soon as he needed to, but his waistband would do for the time being. Bonnie watched him without saying a word. “What’s the status of your pistol?” he turned and asked.

Bonnie reached behind the seat and grabbed her bag. After rooting around in the bag for a few seconds, she removed a pistol, pulled it free of its holster, and chambered a round. “There, it’s ready,” she said. “Do you want me to carry it now?”

“It’s up to you, but it would make me feel better knowing it’s more accessible. I don’t know what to expect from here on out, but I think
we should be prepared for anything,” answered Pete, and then added, “What do you think?”

“I think you’re right, but you know I don’t think I could ever use it on someone. You remember that, right?”

“I do, but I also think you would if you had to,” replied Pete.

Bonnie signed and laid the pistol on the seat next to her with the muzzle pointing forward. She looked at Pete and said, “Do you need me to do anything while you’re working on the car?”

“Just keep your eyes open,” said Pete.

“From inside the truck?” she asked.

“It’s up to you, but inside is probably fine until I signal you.” Pete studied Bonnie’s face and saw her concern. “Everything will be fine. I’ll be done in a few minutes,” he said. With that, he reached down and popped the hood release. He climbed out, shut the door, and walked to the front of the truck. After briefly studying Bonnie through the windshield, Pete waved his hand to reassure her. It was hard to see through the hazy gray film of ash that coated the glass, but he thought he saw her wave in reply. He smiled, forgetting he was wearing a cut up t-shirt as a face mask, and lifted the hood.

With the hood propped up, Pete walked to the truck’s bed and reached under the tarp to feel for his canvas tool bag. Still working by feel alone, he managed to find a screwdriver, and a small clip-on LED lamp. He slid the light onto the bill of his cap and turned it on. It wasn’t fancy, but it allowed for hands-free work, which was perfect for the conditions.

Pete inspected the engine compartment and saw, to no surprise, that everything was coated in gray powder. He immediately got to work removing the air filter cover and pulled the filter from the box. As he suspected, it was entirely coated with ash.
No wonder she lurched. She was gasping for breath
, Pete said to himself.