smoke. Every time he saw something unique, no matter what it was, he imagined Galen being there with him so his son could see it too. But this time, seeing the smoke, he didn’t want to think of his boy.
The first parts of 95 he saw looked like a war zone; the tank fit in nicely. He was only on the highway for a mile before a small caravan of vehicles approached from the north. The line of cars was led by two monster trucks, their wheels as tall as the tank, a body that was jacked up so high the driver needed a ladder to get up and down. Behind the pair of giant trucks was a line of SUVs, the biggest of which looked like a toy compared to the trucks. The main section of vehicles only numbered about thirty. Another ten or so trailed further behind. Jeffrey kept the tank to the side of the road so he wasn’t in their way. As they passed by him, he saw each driver and all of the passengers staring at the tank in confusion. None of them slowed down, though, to ask why a tank was heading north. None of them offered as much as a wave or a smile.
Only the very last car in the procession pulled over to the side of the road. A middle-aged man rolled his window down and stuck his head out.
“I have more than one hundred gold bars in my trunk,” the man said. “I’ll give you half of them in exchange for the tank.”
“What do the gold bars do for me?” Jeffrey asked.
The man looked stunned. “Each bar is one hundred ounces of gold. And you’d have over fifty of them. Do you know how much that’s worth?”
“What does it do for me, though?” Jeffrey said, staring intently at the man.
“Fine, you can have all one hundred bars.”
“What do you think I’ll do with it?”
The man looked at the other SUVs beginning to get away from him, then looked once more at the tank. “Screw yourself,” the man yelled before giving Jeffrey the middle finger and speeding ahead to join the rest of the caravan.
A couple of minutes after the first procession was gone, the second part approached. This group had no monster trucks or SUVs, but consisted of sedans and mini-vans. This next batch of cars zigged and zagged back and forth across the highway, following the lead car’s path to avoid the major potholes. Some of the vehicles were driving on flat tires, the rubber flapping against the ground. It was a matter of time until the tire tore completely off and it was bare metal on concrete. It would be soon after that when the car wouldn’t be able to go further anymore. And by that time the monster trucks and the SUVs would be out of sight and gone.
Unlike the first group, the passengers in these cars stuck their heads out the open windows and stared at the tank as though it were an omen meant to bring them safety. Some of the people waved at him until they saw the tank was continuing past them in the opposite direction without stopping. The friendly waves turned to pleas for help.
One man yelled, “Where are you going?” Another screamed, “Please stop. Please help us.”
But the tank kept going.
Twenty minutes later, between Jersey City and Elizabeth, only two miles in actual traveling distance, Jeffrey came upon a single car broken down on the side of the road. The tags said it was from New York. The front bumper was resting on the ground. Both of the driver’s side tires were flat. The back wheel looked like it might be too bent to put on a spare. Behind the car, connected to its bumper, was a small trailer with luggage and spare tires. A man was standing next to the car, his golden retriever at his side. The man had his hands on top of his head as if pleasantly amused to see a tank roaming around.
Jeffrey thought about his parents and how easy their trip south had been years earlier. This was before the Great De-evolution and the first signs that no new children would grow up to think, create, provide. They had merely stepped on a plane and flown down. Their furniture, their belongings, arrived in a truck three days
The first parts of 95 he saw looked like a war zone; the tank fit in nicely. He was only on the highway for a mile before a small caravan of vehicles approached from the north. The line of cars was led by two monster trucks, their wheels as tall as the tank, a body that was jacked up so high the driver needed a ladder to get up and down. Behind the pair of giant trucks was a line of SUVs, the biggest of which looked like a toy compared to the trucks. The main section of vehicles only numbered about thirty. Another ten or so trailed further behind. Jeffrey kept the tank to the side of the road so he wasn’t in their way. As they passed by him, he saw each driver and all of the passengers staring at the tank in confusion. None of them slowed down, though, to ask why a tank was heading north. None of them offered as much as a wave or a smile.
Only the very last car in the procession pulled over to the side of the road. A middle-aged man rolled his window down and stuck his head out.
“I have more than one hundred gold bars in my trunk,” the man said. “I’ll give you half of them in exchange for the tank.”
“What do the gold bars do for me?” Jeffrey asked.
The man looked stunned. “Each bar is one hundred ounces of gold. And you’d have over fifty of them. Do you know how much that’s worth?”
“What does it do for me, though?” Jeffrey said, staring intently at the man.
“Fine, you can have all one hundred bars.”
“What do you think I’ll do with it?”
The man looked at the other SUVs beginning to get away from him, then looked once more at the tank. “Screw yourself,” the man yelled before giving Jeffrey the middle finger and speeding ahead to join the rest of the caravan.
A couple of minutes after the first procession was gone, the second part approached. This group had no monster trucks or SUVs, but consisted of sedans and mini-vans. This next batch of cars zigged and zagged back and forth across the highway, following the lead car’s path to avoid the major potholes. Some of the vehicles were driving on flat tires, the rubber flapping against the ground. It was a matter of time until the tire tore completely off and it was bare metal on concrete. It would be soon after that when the car wouldn’t be able to go further anymore. And by that time the monster trucks and the SUVs would be out of sight and gone.
Unlike the first group, the passengers in these cars stuck their heads out the open windows and stared at the tank as though it were an omen meant to bring them safety. Some of the people waved at him until they saw the tank was continuing past them in the opposite direction without stopping. The friendly waves turned to pleas for help.
One man yelled, “Where are you going?” Another screamed, “Please stop. Please help us.”
But the tank kept going.
Twenty minutes later, between Jersey City and Elizabeth, only two miles in actual traveling distance, Jeffrey came upon a single car broken down on the side of the road. The tags said it was from New York. The front bumper was resting on the ground. Both of the driver’s side tires were flat. The back wheel looked like it might be too bent to put on a spare. Behind the car, connected to its bumper, was a small trailer with luggage and spare tires. A man was standing next to the car, his golden retriever at his side. The man had his hands on top of his head as if pleasantly amused to see a tank roaming around.
Jeffrey thought about his parents and how easy their trip south had been years earlier. This was before the Great De-evolution and the first signs that no new children would grow up to think, create, provide. They had merely stepped on a plane and flown down. Their furniture, their belongings, arrived in a truck three days
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