for months, the open space of farmland is disorienting. Everything is wide, bright and magnified. The trees are spaced far apart. No more pines, cedars or lodge poles. No more scent of mountains, of forest.
This is just hot. Heat and dryness. And stillness, as if the land itself is waiting for something patiently.
Orchards line the side of the road we take to Fresno. Most of the trees are dead. With no water and no farmers to care for them, they’ve been killed in the summer heat. The fruit basketof the world is looking pretty fruitless, even with all of the slave labor Omega is using – or
was
using – to harvest crops and get food to their invasion forces.
I realize that this is one of the first signs of weakness I’ve seen from Omega. If they had a firmer grip on the central valley, this farmland would be utilized. With a Chinese army on the way, they’ll need food and water. And I’m not seeing a lot of that today.
Good news for us, bad news for them.
We hit the outskirts of Fresno in about three hours. The roads that the convoy takes are backcountry dirt avenues and boulevards woven between abandoned orchards and farming property. Colonel Rivera gave very specific instructions and coordinates that allownavigation through enemy territory without being spotted by scouts. We hope.
Growing up in Culver City, I didn’t have much of a reason to travel north to a place like Fresno unless I was visiting relatives or going on a school field trip. It looks nothing like I remember. As we roll into town, I look out the back of the truck, studying the scenery as we flash by. Gas stations, strip malls and cracked asphalt. Dead trees. The foul stink of long-burning fires eating through piles of rubble. Fast food restaurants with shattered windows and broken doors. Billboards covered with bright, vulgar graffiti.
Not the most beautiful tourist hotspot in the world.
“It’s not right,” Sophia mutters.
“What’s not right?” I ask.
“This. Being out of the trees. In the open.” She shakes her head. “I don’t like being exposed. It makes me nervous.”
“We’re all nervous,” I reply. “We’ll adjust.” I smile with confidence I don’t have, then change the subject. “You know, my dad and I used to take vacations up to our cabin in the mountains. We’d stay up there during the summer and then go back to Culver City. It took me a few days to adjust to all the cement and pollution in the city after being up in the wilderness for so long. This is like that.”
“It’s a
lot
different,” Vera says suddenly. “Because this isn’t like coming back from vacation. This is just going from one warzone to the next.”
I meet her cold, blue-eyed gaze.
“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” I answer.
“If you only had a brain,” Sophia adds, and we both stifle laughter. Vera flushes bright red and curses us under her breath. Ticked? Maybe. But she had it coming.
And that’s all we say. I’m in no mood to get into a pointless argument with the ice queen today. Besides, we’re almost there. Even against the pale moonlit sky I can make out street signs still hanging from rusty streetlights. Just a few more minutes.
Our convoy rumbles ahead, never stopping. Never hesitating.
“We’re here,” I say.
“The linkup point?” Sophia asks.
“Yeah.” I stand up, walking to the rear of the truck. I step onto the back gate and standthere, one arm on the truck wall to keep my balance. The outriders on motorcycles and quads buzz past us, checking point and flanks for danger. I know that Manny is somewhere high above us, watching for danger from his vantage point in the sky. “Standby,” I say, turning to Sophia.
The truck is slowing down. Not too much. But enough. “Just stay put.”
A convoy of National Guard vehicles and troops are waiting at the far edge of a former Wal-Mart. The parking lot is a sea of dead vehicles. Weeds are growing through cracks in the pavement and sidewalk. Our outriders
This is just hot. Heat and dryness. And stillness, as if the land itself is waiting for something patiently.
Orchards line the side of the road we take to Fresno. Most of the trees are dead. With no water and no farmers to care for them, they’ve been killed in the summer heat. The fruit basketof the world is looking pretty fruitless, even with all of the slave labor Omega is using – or
was
using – to harvest crops and get food to their invasion forces.
I realize that this is one of the first signs of weakness I’ve seen from Omega. If they had a firmer grip on the central valley, this farmland would be utilized. With a Chinese army on the way, they’ll need food and water. And I’m not seeing a lot of that today.
Good news for us, bad news for them.
We hit the outskirts of Fresno in about three hours. The roads that the convoy takes are backcountry dirt avenues and boulevards woven between abandoned orchards and farming property. Colonel Rivera gave very specific instructions and coordinates that allownavigation through enemy territory without being spotted by scouts. We hope.
Growing up in Culver City, I didn’t have much of a reason to travel north to a place like Fresno unless I was visiting relatives or going on a school field trip. It looks nothing like I remember. As we roll into town, I look out the back of the truck, studying the scenery as we flash by. Gas stations, strip malls and cracked asphalt. Dead trees. The foul stink of long-burning fires eating through piles of rubble. Fast food restaurants with shattered windows and broken doors. Billboards covered with bright, vulgar graffiti.
Not the most beautiful tourist hotspot in the world.
“It’s not right,” Sophia mutters.
“What’s not right?” I ask.
“This. Being out of the trees. In the open.” She shakes her head. “I don’t like being exposed. It makes me nervous.”
“We’re all nervous,” I reply. “We’ll adjust.” I smile with confidence I don’t have, then change the subject. “You know, my dad and I used to take vacations up to our cabin in the mountains. We’d stay up there during the summer and then go back to Culver City. It took me a few days to adjust to all the cement and pollution in the city after being up in the wilderness for so long. This is like that.”
“It’s a
lot
different,” Vera says suddenly. “Because this isn’t like coming back from vacation. This is just going from one warzone to the next.”
I meet her cold, blue-eyed gaze.
“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” I answer.
“If you only had a brain,” Sophia adds, and we both stifle laughter. Vera flushes bright red and curses us under her breath. Ticked? Maybe. But she had it coming.
And that’s all we say. I’m in no mood to get into a pointless argument with the ice queen today. Besides, we’re almost there. Even against the pale moonlit sky I can make out street signs still hanging from rusty streetlights. Just a few more minutes.
Our convoy rumbles ahead, never stopping. Never hesitating.
“We’re here,” I say.
“The linkup point?” Sophia asks.
“Yeah.” I stand up, walking to the rear of the truck. I step onto the back gate and standthere, one arm on the truck wall to keep my balance. The outriders on motorcycles and quads buzz past us, checking point and flanks for danger. I know that Manny is somewhere high above us, watching for danger from his vantage point in the sky. “Standby,” I say, turning to Sophia.
The truck is slowing down. Not too much. But enough. “Just stay put.”
A convoy of National Guard vehicles and troops are waiting at the far edge of a former Wal-Mart. The parking lot is a sea of dead vehicles. Weeds are growing through cracks in the pavement and sidewalk. Our outriders
Similar Books
