Chapter 2

here you go, in all its unedited glory.  I couldn't think of a cool thing to end on.

Chapter 2

Interview with Mike Blum, Professor of Neurobiology

"So, Professor, did the were the aliens really telepathic?"

"I... don't care for the term, 'telepathic.'  It's been popularized in comic books and science fiction as an evolved method of communication, but The Gods achieved this strictly through advanced technology."

"Is that like a universal translator?  Like Star Trek?"

"No.  The Gods said they will learn our languages as they travel to the next sentient planet, but they didn't use translation software.  In our own history, when two or more groups interact, the language of the dominant group is learned.  When Rome ruled Europe, everyone spoke Latin.  Native Americans now mostly speak English.  And so on."

"Has anyone learned to speak the language of the visitors?"

"I'm not sure.  That's not really my area."

"So if they didn't speak our language, we didn't speak theirs, and they didn't communicate with some evolved telepathy, what's left?"

"Technology we can comprehend but are not advanced enough to replicate.  You see, when I speak, your ears hear it.  Your brain attaches meaning to words and phrases and tone of voice.  The Gods sent minute electrical pulses directly to our brains, bypassing the ears and the brain's interpretation of words.  Communication in the most direct form, freed from language entirely."

"Electricity to the brain?  Is that dangerous?"

"It could be, but The Gods seem to have mastered the use of it.  No people or animals are known to have died as a result of speaking to the followers or The Gods.  I've personally studied dozens of brains and could not find a hint of damage.  Our bodies send out electrical signals to do just about everything, and The Gods found the perfect amount of volts and amps to interact with us."

"Okay then, how did they understand us?"

"Sensitive sensors did the same thing in reverse.  They could scan our brain and interpret the electrical signals it made as we formed sentences.  They did the same with elephants, dolphins, primates, crows- anything they deemed intelligent enough.  Again, communication without language to get in the way.  It's really quite remarkable."

"Everyone remembers when one of The Followers was invited to a talk show and said, 'The Gods can see through your eyes and ours.'  Do you remember that?"

"Yes, I do."

"What did that mean?  Did they mean it literally, and is that even possible?  A lot of people felt a little uncomfortable, like they lost their privacy."

"Yes, I think it was said literally.  If they can understand what electrical impulses in our brain mean as far as communication, then it's quite possible they can interpret the electrical signals in our optic system.  It's still a matter of debate, but that's what I think they meant."

"Does the thought make you uncomfortable?"

"I find the idea more fascinating than uncomfortable.  They might have looked through the eyes of every living creature on Earth without any of them feeling a thing.  I think it's a bit intimate, in a way.  How can you know someone better than to literally see through their eyes, or hear through their ears?  Could they feel our pain, or share in our joy?"

"That's all good theory, but what about it?  The visitors left lots of gifts behind, do you think we'll learn to use them soon?"

"I don't think those of us on Earth are going to be able to reverse-engineer anything in our lifetime.  There are a lot of brilliant people working on it- I've even taken a crack at those scanners they used- but it's way beyond us."

"What about The Ten Thousand?"

"Who knows?  They left with the mothership.  They might have already been taught all sorts of amazing things.  You'd have to talk to The Watcher to know anything like that."

"Do you think The Watcher is alive?  As a neurobiologist, do you have any theories on how it thinks?"

"I've never talked to The Watcher.  It doesn't sound alive from what I've read, but no one's sure if its partially or entirely robotic, or some sort of lifeform we simply don't have locally.  I have no ideas on how it thinks.  This stuff The Gods left behind is going to take a long time to figure out.  We're going to have many generations of people asking the same questions that you are today."

new story, chapter 1

I'm starting a new story today, and should be adding a new chapter about every week.  I'll say that it's loosely similar to World War Z in that it's transcriptions of oral interviews.  The subject matter is completely unrelated, and since I only read World War Z once (eight years ago), there's probably not going to be many similarities in style.

Anyway, here's the first chapter.  I don't have a title yet.

When the aliens came to Earth, there was no invasion.  They weren't interested in body-snatching, or laying eggs in our stomachs, or plundering the planet's resources.  They did not enslave humanity, secretly infiltrate our governments, or blow up the white house.  The aliens, in their myriad shapes and sizes, came for a completely different reason.  They came as missionaries.  

I have taken in upon myself to create a documentary about our year with, "The Gods," and their followers. I will interview people from around the world to show the different ways that people reacted.  

Interview with Barbara Henkel, asteroid hunter for NASA

"Hello Barbara.  Thank you for meeting with me," I began.

"Yes, of course.  What did you want to know?"

"Were you the one that spotted the mothership?  Did anyone have any idea what it was?"

"Yes, I was the one that spotted it.  It was crossing the solar system very fast- and it was huge- and headed right for Earth.  You must remember how big it was; once it entered our orbit it was like a second moon."

"Yes, I remember.  What did you do after you spotted it?"

"I think I said, 'Holly shit!'  If it had been an asteroid we'd all be dead.  There was no time to do anything about it; that Bruce Willis moive was all nonsense.  Then I called a few people; we have to report that kind of thing."

"Then the emergency broadcast went on, right?"

"Yes!  The window before impact- what we thought would be impact- was about fifteen minutes.  Me and my colleagues spend most of our time looking through telescopes at nothing, and suddenly I reporters were on the phone asking questions, and it was live on television!  Every station!"

"What did you say on the broadcast?"

"Not much.  I could say that something huge was coming at us fast, but there was no time to speculate on the composition of the object.  I couldn't offer any advice to survive the impact, because that would have been impossible.  I know NORAD hiked up their threat level; but that was just for show.  The reporters asked a lot of questions I couldn't answer, and then the mothership decelerated at a fantastic rate shortly before it would have struck the planet."

"Did you suspect aliens at that point?"

"I didn't know what to expect, everyone was excited and scared that day.  Once it stopped moving everyone could look at it, and the reporters moved on to other experts.  A lot of people figured it had to be something alien, but me, I didn't care, I was just happy it wasn't an asteroid."

"What did you do after the ship was in our orbit?"

"I went back to work.  Something amazing had just happened, and I didn't want the moment to be ruined by some rogue asteroid that no one had eyes on."

Chapter 9

Chapter 9


They took 34 north, through more mountains, to give a wide berth to Boulder and Denver. The mountains interfered with radio waves, so they were alone. They noticed more and more animals, from bison to bear to fox, that were flourishing in the new world. Some were clearly mutated. Some were animals that they hadn't seen outside of zoos.
They drove right through Ester and Lyons, though a few people did wave. At the larger town of Loveland, they were stopped by a group of people holding a sign that read, “Welcome, Lewis and Clark!” “They spelled our names wrong,” complained Louis.
They mayor of Loveland led the group. Word had been spreading over the radio of two guys driving around, and the mayor had been expecting them. He eagerly asked to look at their map. “We sent a few scouts in all directions when the long winter ended,” the Mayor explained. “Most of them didn't come back. We don't have the speed that you have, or a Geiger counter.” Many townspeople copied the map and gave them gifts in return. Some would head the way that Clarke and Louis had come from to seek family and oppurtunity. Others asked fro rides and deliveries further along the way.
This became more common with each community they came upon. A map with a safe route was connecting isolated groups, and they were all looking for something. In Fort Morgan they were stopped by a group of about fifty men in Harley Davidson attire riding bicycles. One of them did the talking for the group. “I'm Spike. We run a delivery route between here and Weldona, and we'd really like to know about more safe routes. We love these roads, but we would love to have a larger range.” The Harley Davidson riders had been riding together on the way to a convention. They had all traded in their hogs for pedal power, and the two communities they helped loved them.
Clarke and Louis took much longer than anticipated to get near Topeka. They were giving rides to strangers, swapping stories, and making deliveries that weren't too far out of the way. They had become radio famous, and everyone they met wanted a look at the map. Before, they had just been two college kids with a cool car project. Now, they were really making a difference. “Maybe someday,” Louis mused, “we'll even be internet famous.”

Clarke did most of the driving because Louis loved playing around with the Geiger counter and changing their course as needed to avoid hazards. On a rainy day, with batteries running low, they were stopped in Manhattan, Kansas by an unhappy looking fellow under a Sponge Bob umbrella. Louis questioned the use of an umbrella in the land of a pineapple under the sea as Clarke rolled down the window. The man had news about Topeka.

Chapter 10

After significant delay, I've finally gotten back to this story.  This is the last chapter.  I'm going to edit the entire thing a few times before I call it finished, but I'm not going to edit every blog post with edited versions.  If anyone is interested in the complete, edited, finished final copy contact me through facebook or other means.

Chapter 10

First the man led Clarke and Louis into the city hall, where a welcoming committee sat. Topeka had not been nuked. Their buildings and infrastructurewere intact, but everyone was dead. Some country had, for some reason, aimed chemical weapons at Kansas. Wanda, the mayor, lamented the pristine buildings full of goods that could not be accessed. “Doesn't mustard gas, or whatever, dissipate over time?” asked Clarke.
Wanda didn't know. An old timer that introduced himself simply as The Veteran said that they didn't know what the places had been hit with, so they didn't know how long it would take before Topeka was safe. Or if it would ever be safe.
Next a man and a woman addressed Clarke and Louis. This meeting had clearly been practiced. The man spoke first, pointing to several specimen jars on a shelf, “We kept track of animals that ventured into Topeka. We collected several that died at various intervals after leaving Topeka. Someone should be able to analyze them.”
The woman cleared her throat and took over, “Our daughter, Cindy, was studying chemistry and one of the University of Illinois campuses. It was near the middle of Illinois, but not near Springfield or anything very big. They're supposed to have a pretty good chemistry program there.”
Everyone in the room stared at Clarke and Louis expectantly. Wanda realized it might be a little unnerving, so she spoke up, “We'd appreciate if you could help us, after coming all this way. I can understand that you might need some time to think it over. Gretel, can you pu them up at the hotel for the night?”
Clarke and Louis were treated to a generous dinner and a spacious room with a stocked fireplace. Several bottles of wine had even been sent up to their room. “I guess they really want whatever is in Topeka, “ Clarke mused. “Yeah, they must love that orange stuff,” replied Louis. They talked about it for a while. Champaign, Illinois was much farther than they had traveled so far. They had, however, nothing but support from each new town they came across. The car was in good shape.
“You know,” Clarke thought out loud, “We did tell Emma we'd check out Ames, Iowa for her husband if we were in the area.”
They made their decision and had a toast to celebrate.


The townspeople stocked the car up with supplies for the long journey and cheered as the two drove away. They had a real plan now, not a vague notion of what happens after college, not driving to a randomly chosen small city, but something concrete. “We're on a mission from God,” Louis stated, after they sang along to The Blues Brother's soundtrack. Louis and Clarke were on the road, looking for a way across the country. Their story had begun.
It was a bright day, and how could it get any better?

Chapter 8

This is the longest chapter so far.  Ten chapters just might finish it out.


Chapter 8


Clarke found a phone book at a deserted gas station, “Lou, I can't remember the last time I actually used a phone book.”
“I know. This is just like it's 1984.”
“The year, yes. The book, no.”
“Didn't I tell you? I used to be in the Big Brother/Big Sister program.”
Granby was not a large town,(the sign read 1663), but it had a mechanic with auto parts. A few townsfolk helped them push for the last stretch. “I heard about you guys on the radio!” A boy said. He wasn't helping at all, but tagging along happily, “They said it was so sunny that your car went a hundred miles an hour and jumped canyons all the way across New Mexico!” Louis smiled, “We were trying to outrun the mutant killer tumbleweeds.”
Doc, of Doc's Auto, was lounging in his garage, throwing lug nuts into a can and drinking whiskey. “What are you doing?” Louis asked.
“Playing lug nuts. Point is to toss lug nuts in a can without knocking it over.”
“That sounds boring,” Louis replied.
Doc shrugged, “It don't take no batteries like Game Boy. It's catching on a little bit, people are buying lug nuts off me now. Been slow.:
“Say,” began Clarke, “We have a bent control arm that needs replacing. Could you help us out? We'd be happy to do some work for you, run some errands, that sort of thing.”
“Well,” Doc slugged the rest of the bottle down, and threw the bottle in to a rather impressive pile of broken glass, “I could think of a few things. It's getting' dark now, how 'bout you boys come back tomorrow morning around noon?” Doc fished another bottle of whiskey from some corner of the garage, “I got plans tonight.”
“You know anywhere we can spend the night? It gets chilly in these mountains,” Clarke asked.
“You can stay in the liquor store down the street. I moved all the hooch to my garage, so there's lots of room for you two in there.”
“Do you think he's going to fix it right? He looks like a drunk,” Louis stated as they stretched out in the dark liquor store. Doc had negelcted to take the snack items out of the store, and they helped themselves to peanuts and jerky.
“I hope so, because he's the only mechanic in town,” Clarke answered, “But it shouldn't take too long. I don't think he gets a lot of customers lately.” They bundled up and slept until dawn. They partly woke because of the light beaming in, and partly because they were cold. They ate, then headed back to Doc's to see what they could do. They knocked, but there was no answer. “He might still be asleep. We can try again in an hour,” Clarke suggested. Clarke hunched himself up and wrapped his arms around himself to stay warm. Louis thought the best way to stay warm was by doing cartwheels. A stray cat regarded him uneasily.
“Can cats do cartwheels?” Louis asked, dusting his hands off on his jeans.
“Of course not. Cats do catwheel,” Clarke replied coolly.
They waited, and waited, and played lug nuts with some kids, and finally, around noon. Doc opened his door. At the moment he was hodling a can of beer. “Well,” Doc said scratching his stubble, “I got some work for you boys alright.” Clarke was tasked with tilling the soil where the Dumpster and receiving bay had been. Doc wanted to plant corn to make his own bourbon. Louis was sent in the yard to gather lug nuts from wheels, as well as valve caps from the tires. “Lotta people ridin' bikes now, and they can use these caps too!” Doc explained. He liked working on bicycles. They were lightweight and simple, and he made it sound like working on their car was a huge inconvenience.
Clarke had hard work to do, but it kept him warm. Louis had a more leisurely approach, stopping every now and then to talk to the stray cat and make cartwheel motions. They worked for hours. In this same span of time, Doc had found a car with a control arm that would work and got it up on jacks. After that he sat in a chair and drank Jack Daniels. Clarke approached him, “Are you goint to work on the car, or not?”
“I'm feelin' a bit under the weather,” Doc said, tapping the bottle. “It's not safe to mix car jacks with Jack!” Doc laughed. Clarke did not.
On their way to the liquor store, a woman with two young children approached them. “I saw you sleeping in there. Why don't you stay at my house? If you chop some wood for me, I have a couple of couches by the fireplace.” The woman, Emma, was having a hard time raising two sons without a husband, running water, or toilet paper. They chatted with her, and found out that Doc's cousin Larry had owned the liquor store. Larry had been out of town for his honeymoon and given Doc the keys to the store, just a few days before the world lit up.
The next morning they helped Emma around the house. They had hours before Doc roused himself, and Clarke had a plan. “Okay Louis, you're the affable one. I'm thinking that you can be a drinking buddy for Doc today. Offer to get him drinks all the time, make a lot of toasts, whatever. After he passes out, we can fix the car ourselves. I don't trust Doc.” Louis didn't like be deceptive, but he did like having a good time, so he agreed to it.
As soon as the door was open, Louis strolled in smiling. “Hey Doc! I got lots of lug nuts for you yesterday, how about I get a few beers?” This sounded like a great idea to Doc, certainly better than working on their car.
“Sure thing! Beer makes the best breakfast!” Doc laughed. Louis laughed. Clarke quietly grabbed some tools and went out in the yard. The car on jacks was a junker without an engine, but the front suspension was in good shape. He removed the tires and rotors, and then went back to the garage for some different sockets. Doc was already drunk, and telling Louis about a guy in town trying to convert his bus to steam power. Doc was so engrossed his alcohol-fueled conversation to notice Clarke's activities.
It didn't take Clarke very long to finish removing the control arm. Just for good measure, he took the tie rods and ball joints too. The ones on their car could very likely have been bent or damaged as well, he wouldn't get a good look at it until Doc was passed out and he could work in the garage, where their cat sat. Clarke went back to the garage, where Louis and Doc were singing, “Piano Man.” He shouted to Louis that he'd be at Emma's house. Louis nodded and pushed another drink into Doc's hand.
Clarke helped Emma with a few things, ate some lunch, and took a nap. Louis roused him a few hours later. They only had a few hours before sunset, but they were so familiar with their car that they had he front suspension replaced and everything put back together before they had to turn on the work lights. They lowered it off the jacks, happy. Doc snored on a beat up chair.
While they had been working, a heavy snow had started. They decided to give it a try the next day when, hopefully, there would be better visibility. It would be another night at Emma's for them. Emma's husband had been away on business when the bombs fell. “Where was he?” asked Louis.
“Ames, Iowa,” was the response. “But I don't think he made it. He was diabetic,” Emma continued. Diabetes, or more accurately, people with diabetes, had nearly been wiped out. The facilities that manufacturd insulin, if they were still operating, had lost the global shipping and distribution systems that people relied on. “If you're ever up that way, can you show him how to get home? His name is David.” They all knew the goal was Topeka, but Clarke said they'd ask around if they changed their minds. Who knows? Topeka might just be a big hold in the ground.
Doc was waiting for them at noon. “I don't recall all the details, but it looks like I finished fixin' your car.” Doc was drinking, as usual. Just how much booze did he have left? “Tried to take it for a spin, but it won't start. I think your solar junk might be broke.” Clarke gave a half smile; it must have been the breathalyzer that kept the car off.

“Well,” Louis said, “It's because the steering whell is coded to our finger prints. It's an anti-theft feature.” Doc had never heard of such a thing, but when Louis sat down and it cranked right up, he was a believer. And so they left Granby. Though it had only been a few days, that had been their longest stop on the road to Topeka. They felt restless to move past the drunk mechanic, the hard working Emma, and the stray cat that, according to Louis, could be seen doing cartwheels in his side mirror.

Chapter 7

Back on track this week.  I also have a headstart on the next chapter, and an outline of what'll happen in it.  I like to be a little ahead, makes things go more smoothly.

Chapter 7


They left at dawn, their electric motor silently moving them along the empty highway. The mountains would have set up a lovely sunrise, if it wasn't snowing. Clarke rounded a corner and braked hard, swerving around a large animal in the road. The car started to spin on the snow before stopping very suddenly as the driver's side front tire smacked into a tree. A little bit dazed, Clarke asked, “Was that a buffalo?!”
“I think so. I've never seen them in the wild. You know, the Indians were so eco-friendly, they ate every part of a buffalo.”
Nervous about the condition of the car, and a tweaking a little from adrenaline,, Clarke only replied with, “Whatever you say, Louis.” Clarke and Louis both got out through the passenger door to inspect the damage. There was some minor scratches to the body, a damaged solar panel, and, worst of all, the control arm was obviously bent control arm. With the slope of the road, the switchbacks, the inch of snow that had already fallen, and possibly other fauna romping along, the car was not driveable.
By the map, it looked like they were only a few miles away from Granby, Colorado. Clarke volunteered to push first, and they switched every half mile. One of the nice things about their car, especially in the mountains, was the weight. For a solar-powered car, the less weight the better. Most of the body had been replaced with pricey carbon fiber paneling. The gasoline engine, radiator, gas tank, and all the other typical parts weren't present, because they used a simple electric motor. The backseat cushions had been removed, along with cupholders, rear seatbelts, and even the overhead light. Pushing a car through the Rockies is hard work, but at least they had a little less to puch.
“You know what's great about horses?” Louis said between pants on one of his turns to push, “You dno't have to push them when they break down. You just let them take a nap.”
“I'm glad that wasn't shown in the Western flicks. Tombstone would have been really boring if half of it was footage of sleeping horses.”
“It would have been innovative! Like panda cam, but earlier.”
“Oh yeah. It would have been like that thing on cellphones, when we had cellphones, shown on the internet, which doesn't seem to work lately. Now that I think about it, sleeping horses sounds like a great show. Hell, turn it into a play. We can tour across the country.”

Whoever was steering (their job was arguably as hard as pushing) got to play with the iPod. They'd been listening to the same music for over a year now, and on a whim Louis tried the radio. They were surprised to find stations broadcasting from numerous small towns. They heard local news of the communities, live music from singers and musicians (Western music was making a comeback in these parts), and, from Steamboat Springs, something unexpected. “...and for listener's East of Steamboat Springs, keep an eye out for an electric car. There's two guys trying to find safe passage to Topeka, and if they're successful there may be a path for the rest of us too. Wish them luck.”

chapter 6

I've been bucking the porcelain bronco the last few days and felt run down.  I'm also preparing for a trip this weekend.  In conclusion, just one chapter this week.  Even as I write this stuff I'm struck with how different it will be after editing.  Editing and revising is what takes boring rocks and makes them into pretty trinkets.

Part 2: The Beginning


Chapter 6


Clarke and Louis headed Southeast, passing through a number of towns as they drove away from the Salt Lake City metropolis, eventually ending up on Highway 40. They'd seen small groups of people as they passed, struggling but not giving up. They waved, but didn't stop. They'd been cooped up for a little over a year and it was nice to cruise along. The towns gave way to hills, buttes, and flat desert. “I like big buttes and I cannot lie...” Louis sang, mispronoung buttes. After a few hours they stopped to stretch at Starvation State park. “Cheerful place to stop. Lovely,” Louis said. Clarke tested the reservoir there, and it was safe to drink so they filled up several empty bottles. Clarke marked the reservoir as clean on his map.
Clarke had been marking a lot of things on his US highway atlas. Salt Lake City was crossed out with an X. Detours were noted when they left to highway to avoid pockets of radiation, or dormant traffic pileups. The fallout was spread unevenly, moved by wind and rain. It tended to settle in low areas, but there were no hard and fast rules. Their Geiger counter was in constant use as they drove.
Returning to their car with the water bottles, Clarke and Louis saw three men and two women leaning against their car. “Uh, hi. We just came for some water. Who are you?”
A man with dark sunglasses and a bow slung over his shoulder smiled. “I'm a state park ranger here. These other folks are on a long-term camping trip. Nice wheels,” the ranger said, kicking the back tire. “Where you boys headed?”
Louis just shrugged. “We're heading East, to see if Topeka still stands,” Clarke replied.
“That sounds safe enough. You two stay away from the Navajo Nation on your way. They weren't hit like most other places. Most of them are alright, but some of the younger, angrier ones are venturing out to pick fights and settle old grudges.”
“We'll keep that in mind,” Clarke said. Louis, apparently bored with the conversational topics, was drawing on the ground with a stick.
“Say, you wouldn't mind taking some meat and fish to Duchesne for me, would you? It would save me several trips on the bicycle, and my wife'll get you two some lunch.” Clarke agreed and loaded the backseat with as much as there was room. He realized that these people weren't really out here camping, they were hunter-gatherers. Fish, forage, return to town to feed the rest. A state park with a large reservoir could do a lot to help support the town of Duchesne.
They drove the short distance to town and unloaded the prize. The wife indeed gave them a hearty lunch. While Louis argued with the wife about the best Romero movie and what her zombie escape plan was, Clarke studied the maps. They were far enough away from Navajo country that he wasn't worried about any troublemakers there. He knew they'd have to avoid Colorado, and Boulder, and maybe even Colorado Springs. Just how many nuclear missiles had gone off? There was no way of knowing. They would stay on Highway 40 for quite a ways, and then turn onto Highway 34 to go through the mountains well North of Boulder.
The air vents for the AC, along with the vents in the trunk to regulate battery temperature, had been thoroughly cleaned. The AC was off, though. “I heard that nuclear winter would decrease world temperatures by ten degrees farfignugen,” Louis said proudly. Clarke knew he meant Fahrenheit. Louis remembered hearing that climate change had risen temperatures by ten degrees in the last century. Nuclear winter seemed to be, ironically, the quickest way to reverse global warming.
Clarke and Louis pass through the town of Roosevelt and Vernal, seeing more groups of people looking for food, looking for water, and looking hungry. Most of the next few hours are open country and big skies, the same scenery the boys have seen all their lives. “What are we going to do when we reach Topeka, assuming it's in one piece?” Clarke asked. “Settle down? Start a delivery service?”
Louis ansered in his ussual fashion, “We could be the fastest pizza delivery around! Way faster than horses and bicycles.” The truth was, neither knew anything about Topeka. They'd essentially picked a small city and figured the rest would fall into place as it came.
They stopped for the day in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. Population: 12,000. They followed some signs to the Edgemont Ski-In, Ski-Out resort, where they found half of the buildings frozen in the middle stages of construction. The completed sections were large and impressive. No one was skiing. “I guess it's not tourist season,” mumble Louis. They parked by the entrance and went to see who was inside.
Juanita was insdie. She explained that the place was going to be a ritzy place for skiing tourists, but they'd run out of both construction supplies and tourists. Clarke and Louis made a deal to fill several gallon jugs full of water from the river a few miles away in exchange for lodging (in one of the finished rooms) and some food. When Juanita found they had a vehicle, she found more containers to fill and kept them busy hauling water for hours.
Over a dinner of rabbit, pine nuts, and wild mushrooms, Juanita told them a story. “This story was told to me by a young man pasing through. He was looking for adventure. He said there was a bridge across a river far to the South. Cars piled up in a gigantic crash. Story goes, both sides were too busy watching the mushroom clouds in their rearview mirrors to see what was right in front of them.”
“Might be they couldn't see through a duststorm,” Clarke offered, “Those blast waves stireed up a mess of wind for months.” Juanita shrugged, “Perhaps, but that's not very interesting.” She nudged some of the wood in the fireplace. “The cities, the places we used to have stories about, they're all gone. We need new stories now.”
Clarke and Louis chatted with Jaunita as the fire burned lower. After the sunset, there was little reason to stay awake, and they had just gotten up to go to bed. “Wait, “ said Jaunita, “If you two tell stories to others, tell them about me, and tell them about the bridge. It might spark a rush of tourism,” she said wryly, retreating to her own room.