Finn
Nevada desert. Route 95.
Finn engaged the cruise control, heading toward Las Vegas along Route 95. The early morning sun was low over the mountains and directly in his eyes, mingling with the strange lights still overhead. He removed the shades from the pocket of his coverall, flicked them open and slid them on. Las Vegas was still two hours away and once his brain stopped feeling as if the sun’s rays were poking it with hot needles, he could at least go over what had happened last night in his mind.
Jackson was kind and had allowed him to stay the night at Nevada Joe’s. He’d spent some of that time trying to question Betsey about the image she’d doodled on that scrap of paper, that same image he’d been seeing floating in his head these last 24 hours, but soon enough, he realized there wasn’t any point.
She was blank, just like everyone else.
Her gaze had followed him and Jackson as they tossed around theories of what had happened, but in the end, she still couldn’t communicate in any meaningful way. A few times Finn and Jackson heard her make grunting noises, like an ape, and their eyes had grown wide with hope. Then hope had turned to despair. If she was speaking a language, it was one they didn’t understand.
He left first thing in the morning, stocked with a day’s worth of provisions and a map of Las Vegas, so he’d at least have a clue where the hell he was going. The shades, taken from the dead Tevatron worker killed with the scattergun, had been Jackson’s final gift. Before he hit the road, Finn had emptied the gas from another car. The long, isolated stretch he’d be driving wasn’t somewhere he wanted to run dry. His offer to bring Jackson and Betsy along fell on deaf, mostly stubborn, ears.
“Nevada Joe’s is all I own in what’s left of the world and I’ll be damned if I’ll let a bunch of looters come and strip her clean.”
Finn was secretly sure that Jackson was determined to wait until the government got things back under control. Didn’t matter to him that neither of them had been able to contact another living soul since whatever it was that had happened, happened.
Above all else, getting to Tevatron’s regional office was first and foremost on Finn’s mind. He hadn’t forgotten that; not yet, at least.
He whipped by an abandoned car. The driver’s side door was ajar, but no one was home.
That was a good enough analogy to describe how he felt right now, a single notch up from babbling Betsy back at Nevada Joe’s. He could speak, thank God, and remembered how to drive a car and wipe his ass, but that was about it. The memories would return soon enough, or at least he hoped they would. Maybe the sight of Sin City would rattle something loose in the old coffee can.
Las Vegas was a funny place. Out in the middle of the desert, you might think it would be visible from miles away, like an oasis, but that wasn’t how it was. It was flat and rather drab. Subdivisions flickered by on both sides, filled with rows of homes and who knows what else lurking inside; hiding, waiting, maybe even killing.
The real indication he was getting close to his destination was the increased number of abandoned wrecks along the highway. In one was a body; an elderly man, who’d stayed in his car after the earthquake and more than likely roasted himself alive in the heat.
Finn took a swig of water and then pumped the brake, slowing the Land Rover to a crawl.
He cursed.
Ahead lay a tangle of cars. There’d been a pile up, the mess forming an impassable barrier across the highway. There also wasn’t much chance of jumping the curb and going around, especially given the two concrete barriers that were hemming him in on either side.
He kicked the truck into reverse and turned around. The thought of driving in the wrong direction on a highway made his guts twist into knots, but he was nearly positive a head on collision wasn’t a real danger, not anymore, especially given that he
Nevada desert. Route 95.
Finn engaged the cruise control, heading toward Las Vegas along Route 95. The early morning sun was low over the mountains and directly in his eyes, mingling with the strange lights still overhead. He removed the shades from the pocket of his coverall, flicked them open and slid them on. Las Vegas was still two hours away and once his brain stopped feeling as if the sun’s rays were poking it with hot needles, he could at least go over what had happened last night in his mind.
Jackson was kind and had allowed him to stay the night at Nevada Joe’s. He’d spent some of that time trying to question Betsey about the image she’d doodled on that scrap of paper, that same image he’d been seeing floating in his head these last 24 hours, but soon enough, he realized there wasn’t any point.
She was blank, just like everyone else.
Her gaze had followed him and Jackson as they tossed around theories of what had happened, but in the end, she still couldn’t communicate in any meaningful way. A few times Finn and Jackson heard her make grunting noises, like an ape, and their eyes had grown wide with hope. Then hope had turned to despair. If she was speaking a language, it was one they didn’t understand.
He left first thing in the morning, stocked with a day’s worth of provisions and a map of Las Vegas, so he’d at least have a clue where the hell he was going. The shades, taken from the dead Tevatron worker killed with the scattergun, had been Jackson’s final gift. Before he hit the road, Finn had emptied the gas from another car. The long, isolated stretch he’d be driving wasn’t somewhere he wanted to run dry. His offer to bring Jackson and Betsy along fell on deaf, mostly stubborn, ears.
“Nevada Joe’s is all I own in what’s left of the world and I’ll be damned if I’ll let a bunch of looters come and strip her clean.”
Finn was secretly sure that Jackson was determined to wait until the government got things back under control. Didn’t matter to him that neither of them had been able to contact another living soul since whatever it was that had happened, happened.
Above all else, getting to Tevatron’s regional office was first and foremost on Finn’s mind. He hadn’t forgotten that; not yet, at least.
He whipped by an abandoned car. The driver’s side door was ajar, but no one was home.
That was a good enough analogy to describe how he felt right now, a single notch up from babbling Betsy back at Nevada Joe’s. He could speak, thank God, and remembered how to drive a car and wipe his ass, but that was about it. The memories would return soon enough, or at least he hoped they would. Maybe the sight of Sin City would rattle something loose in the old coffee can.
Las Vegas was a funny place. Out in the middle of the desert, you might think it would be visible from miles away, like an oasis, but that wasn’t how it was. It was flat and rather drab. Subdivisions flickered by on both sides, filled with rows of homes and who knows what else lurking inside; hiding, waiting, maybe even killing.
The real indication he was getting close to his destination was the increased number of abandoned wrecks along the highway. In one was a body; an elderly man, who’d stayed in his car after the earthquake and more than likely roasted himself alive in the heat.
Finn took a swig of water and then pumped the brake, slowing the Land Rover to a crawl.
He cursed.
Ahead lay a tangle of cars. There’d been a pile up, the mess forming an impassable barrier across the highway. There also wasn’t much chance of jumping the curb and going around, especially given the two concrete barriers that were hemming him in on either side.
He kicked the truck into reverse and turned around. The thought of driving in the wrong direction on a highway made his guts twist into knots, but he was nearly positive a head on collision wasn’t a real danger, not anymore, especially given that he
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