The Great Wreck (42 page)

“Deal.
Now there’s someone hear who wants to talk with you.”

“Thomas?”

“Marti,”
I said and put the radio to my forehead.

“Come
back to me,” she said, crying.

“I
can’t until James is no longer a threat.”

“I
know,” she said, “I love you.”

“I
love you, too and I’ll be waiting in Sandia.”

Birch
came on the radio a moment later, “Thomas, you need to get rolling soon son.
The dead are coming back.”

Fuck.

“We’ll
always have the dead, right Birch?”

“I
guess they took the place of the poor but I suspect that, eventually, we’ll
have the poor again.”

“Is
it another wave?”

“Worse
than the last. There is a ridge of mountains to our south along the route you
plan on taking,” he said leaving out the details in case James had picked
himself up a radio and was listening, “That should keep them away from you
until get back on I-25 far to the north. Get going Thomas, and good luck.”

“And
to you Birch. I’ll see you soon.” I said and turned off the radio. I checked my
gear tightening all the straps and making sure everything was secured, then I
ate Harriet’s dinner of enchiladas and rice thinking this would be the last
home cooked meal I’d have for a while, at least until I made it to Sandia, then
mounted the bike and rolled out onto the road.

I
climbed up the onramp and headed east on I-10 determined to be in Alamogordo
before night fall where I would set up camp, wait a full day and begin my ride
again. I hoped Birch was right about the dead being kept out of the valley I
would be traveling in otherwise I’d get trapped between Las Cruces and Socorro,
the next major city I’d hit before reaching Albuquerque and I didn’t think I’d
be able to hold out on a rooftop waiting for the dead to pass.

I
cleared the pass of the Organ Mountains and shot over into the Alamogordo
valley. The grade was steep and I let gravity do the work as I sped down the
mountain road. At the base of the mountain I passed a turn off to a military
base sign that said White Sands Missile Complex and wondered if anyone was
alive there.

I
pushed on and out into the empty expanse. The sun was already high in the sky
and baking down on me. The empty highway ahead shimmered in the heat as I
peddled on setting a solid paced stopping every hour or so to drink water from
my pack. If I kept up the pace, I’d be in Alamogordo by late afternoon.

After
three hours of riding, I pulled over to the side of the road to take a long
break. As I sat there eating stew out of a can, I noticed that the shrub
covered dunes were not the normal brown color of sand. They actually looked
white. I finished my food and set the empty can down and walked across the
empty highway to the west side. I hopped a short barbed wire fence and climbed
up the side of the nearest dune and looked back towards the mountains that I
had just crossed over.

It
was incredible: as far as I could see, all the way to the base of the mountains
to the west, stretched a field of pure white sand dunes carved and shaped by
the wind into huge crescents marching away to the north and east. I sat down
not caring that waves of dead were heading up from the south, that James was
running around back in Las Cruces and would soon be looking for me, or that I
still had a couple of hours of riding still ahead of me. I just wanted to take
the vast, white expanse in and let my mind rest for a while.

I
don’t know how long I sat there watching the gusts of wind blow the fine, white
sand across the dune sea. An hour? Maybe more? It felt so calm and peaceful
just to watch, just to sit still and let the world go by.

Then
I spotted a figure.

It
jolted me back into survival mode and I scrambled quickly to my feet while
unstrapping my pistol. The person, I could not tell if they were alive or dead,
was at least a mile away and standing in the middle of the dune filed far off
to my right. With the bright sun and the glare of the light coming off of the
dunes, all I could make out was a black stick figure standing on top of a dune.
I had binoculars in my bag back with my bike, but I didn’t have any interest in
determining if the person was one of the dead, I just assumed they were.

The
figure must have spotted me for it raised its right arm and waved at me. Not
beckoning me to come or to go away, just a greeting. I raised my right arm and
waved back at them. They then turned as disappeared behind the dunes. I waited
for a minute to see if they would pop up on another dune and try to determine
if they were heading for me or moving away but the figure never reappeared. It
was time for me to get moving.

I
climbed down the white sand dune and over the fence, crossing the road over to
my bike. The person might have waved at me but that didn’t make me feel any
safer. James used to wave at me after sending a few bullets my way, the crazy
fucker.

I
decided I’d better take a look to see if the person was heading my way or not
so I grabbed my binoculars and climbed back up on the dune. I spotted the
person moving north away from me a few minutes later. The heat waves distorting
the air made it impossible to determine if it was a man or a woman but I least
I knew they were one of the living and not coming towards me. Since I had my
binoculars out, I looked to the north along the highway I was traveling and saw
a building with a few cars and trucks parked at it.

Looking
to the east I could see the town of Alamogordo rising up on the foothills of
the Sacramento Mountains. Then I looked to the south and back towards Las
Cruces and saw…oh fuck.

It
appeared that the ridge of mountains to the south had not been an obstacle to
the dead. I could see the tiny black line of figures marching across the
military missile range. They were far away on the horizon but as I learned in
Las Cruces, when they set their dead minds to it, they could haul ass.

I
pushed on. I made it to the outskirts of Alamogordo at four in the afternoon. I
could see a few dead moving north from among the buildings but instead of
heading along the highway, they were crossing it and heading straight out into
the desert. I guess whatever was driving them on their way didn’t care about
the path of least resistance, only the most direct route there.

That
left the freeway going north wide open. I looked back behind me and saw that
the dead had already hit Route 70 and would probably reach Alamogordo later in
the night.

I had been
riding for over four hours but my legs still felt good. I got off the bike and
sat down on the side of the road. I pulled out my map and looked at the route
ahead of me. After Alamogordo, there was a small town called Tularosa and after
that Carrizozo.

I
could make to Tularosa easily but that wouldn’t put me too far ahead of the
next wave but Carrizozo was another four or five hours of riding. That would
put me into town after the sun had set but if I picked up the pace, I could
make it before then and find a good spot for the night. That would put me far
ahead of the waves of dead behind me.

I
pushed on and made it past Tularosa with no problem. I began to think that I
might even make it to Carrizozo just after seven with plenty of light left to
find a safe spot for the night when my front tire went flat.

I
quickly rolled to a stop and inspected the front tire; a large screw had
imbedded itself in between the knobby treads of the tire.

Fuck.

I
pulled out the emergency repair kit and opened it up. I quickly read the
instructions and figured I could just patch the tire with the filler goo and be
on my way, then tomorrow morning change out the inner tube. I removed the
offending screw, attached the small can of sealant to the stem valve, and
watched the tire inflate. Then I closed up the repair kit and walked the bike
to allow the sealant to evenly cover the entire inner surface of the tube.
Satisfied I mounted up and was on my way.
 

An
hour later the tire was flat again.

Double
fuck.

It
looked like I’d have to replace the inner tube completely. I had never done
this in my whole life and it was getting late in the day. I’d have to hurry if
I were still going to make it before I lost the light.

I
pulled out the repair kit again, took out the new inner tube and carefully read
the instructions. They made it look so easy. I undid the front tire release
levers and used a special tool to pry off the tire cover. Let me tell you what;
that fucker did not want to come off. At. All. But I finally pried it loose and
then took off the punctured inner tube.

The
inner tune was completely full of the sealant I had put in just an hour before
and that shit went everywhere. I finally pried off the sticky thing getting the
gooey sealant all over me in the process.

Finally,
I got the new inner tube out and onto the rim, fought the outer tire cover back
on, and pumped the tire back up. I screwed the stem cap back on and attached
the tire to the front forks, then waited to see if I had changed to tube
correctly hoping it would hold the air and I could be on my way. It worked.

It
was also seven thirty and the sun was slipping towards the horizon. There was
no way I was going to make it to Carrizozo. I couldn’t even go back to Tularosa
in time. Either way I went I would be stuck out on the road, in the middle of
nowhere, in complete darkness.

Turkey
fuck.

I
decided I would keep moving north. I had my night vision goggles but they had
still been in their new packaging and were likely uncharged, but worst case, I
could use the little headlamp mounted on the front of the bike or break out a
flashlight and tape it to the handlebars if I needed more light. Then I could
find a gas station to crash in for the night. I peddled forward nervously
watching my front tire and waiting for it to deflate. I had a few extra tubes
but if I didn’t do this one right what made me think that I’d put the others on
right either?

I
pushed the thought from my mind and focused on peddling myself forward but my
legs were near the end of their strength and were starting to shake. If I
didn’t stop soon, I’d start to cramp up and then where would I be: stuck out on
the road, in the middle of nowhere, in complete darkness, with cramping legs.

Four
fucks in a row.

But
I pushed on anyways. What choice did I have? I watched as the sun slipped below
the horizon and felt my first, sharp cramp. I was going to be stopping soon
whether I liked it or not. I rode on for a mile more and then spotted something
I hadn’t see for months: the flashing red light of a radio tower.

Why
would the hazard light still be on after all of this time? Maybe running on a
generator? A solar station? It didn’t matter. What did matter was that maybe
there was a building nearby that I could hole up in.
 

I
peddled on and soon came upon my answer: stretching as far as I could see to
the left and right in the fading light were rows and rows of solar panels. A
quarter mile later I came to a small office complex, where behind it sat the
radio tower. The sun was now down and the light was fading so it looked like
this is where I was going to stay for the night. The sign outside said New
Mexico State Solar Power Plant Prototype; Three Rivers Solar Station.

I
rode up to the small building at the base of the radio tower noting that the
parking lot was empty of cars. On the building’s door I saw four industrial
dead bolts, one for each side of the door. I thought that was strange. Why
deadbolt the door from the outside? Then I saw there was a note neatly typed up
and taped to the door that said:

Survivors: this is a safe house.
All of the dead have been cleared out. If the dead bolts are still locked, then
no dead have gotten in. If the dead bolts are unlocked but the door won’t open,
it is likely that survivors are inside. Knock and they will let you in. Please
bolt the door shut on your way out when you leave. Good luck.

A
safe house! I looked carefully at all four deadbolts; they were locked. That
meant that the facility was empty of dead people and any survivors! With a gush
of relief, I unbolted the door and rolled my bike inside. I closed the door
behind me and noticed that the emergency lights were still on. I reached for
the switch expecting nothing and was surprised when the lights came on filling
the small waiting area with bright fluorescent light. The solar farm! It was
feeding the building with electricity. I noticed how cool it was and thought
the AC must be on as well.

There
was another note on the counter that read:

 
This
safe house has been completely sealed. In the back you will find beds, food,
water, medical supplies, and a radio where you can listen to and, if necessary,
talk to Sandi Station, a major safe haven located in the mountains east of
Albuquerque. Take what you need but leave what you can for others who may be
behind you.

I read the note
and carefully checked each of the small rooms in the building. Satisfied no
dead had managed to get it, I made my way to the back of the office. In one room
was a control panel set in front of a wall size screen that showed the vast
solar farm that stretched out in a great grid around the office complex. Some
of the solar panels were highlighted in red telling the operator they were off
line but the vast majority were lit up in green. I wondered how long it would
run without anyone to taking care of it.

I
moved to the next room that had been converted into a set of barracks with beds
and a shower area in the back corner. I’d hit the shower later as I set my back
pack down on the bed farthest from the door.