“So, this is the rest of it?” the old man murmured, staring out over the horizon, “Well, shit.”
His younger friend can’t help but chuckle. “Shit’s right,” Craig said. Then, pulling out his rifle scope, he began to scan the massive plain before them. He’d sold the rifle itself ages ago, before they’d decided to head out west. The scope, though, was too useful to part with. It was like a pair of binoculars, but it also told Craig distances. He might not have had a use for a long ranged rifle stuck in the tight quarters of his particular warlord’s domain of the DC ruins, but he’d never found anything worth near as much as the scope. Now, he almost wished he’d traded his kidney instead. A rifle would’ve been useful.
“What do you see, kid?” Tim asked his partner. “We don’t have the resources to stop too long.”
Craig put away the scope, sliding it into a loop on his belt. “Don’t worry too much, Tim,” he told his friend, “It looks clear for now.”
Tim picked up their packs, slinging his own across his back, and tossing Craig’s to him. “Good, ‘cause I wouldn’t want to get caught out there past dark.” Unlike his younger friend, Tim had lived outside cities most of his days. He was from Old Tallahassee, or, what remained of it after the event. He barely survived E-0, and lived several years in the swamps before he heard rumors of civilization to the north.
Of course, Tim hit every city along his route north. He ran into a caravan around Richmond, who told him a tale of the Northern Chaos. It seemed that the elites of New York went to war, and the survivors abandoned the north to the chaos, migrating south. Atlantic City became the last refuge of civilized society in the entire Northeast. That, and rumors of the Canadian Civil wars finally coming to a close. But, with the wall of chaos the Families have caused, he decided against going too far north. Too much risk for a maybe. Arriving in DC, where he hoped to find a rebuilt society, he found himself disappointed. Ground Zero for the event had never recovered. There was a society, but was in a constant state of chaos with petty warlords, scavenging the city for supplies to survive. Disappointed, he wandered into one of the city's bars. No, not wandered. Fate drove him to that bar. Smithsonian Station Grill. It was there that he met Craig. It was there that they heard about a great city, where once there was nothing. In the plains of Nebraska. Recently, a group passed through the old capital from Atlantic City, traded supplies for living in the city for those useful in travel. So, Tim decided he would seek this new city. Craig, who hated the repetitive barely alive existence of the city, followed the elder out of the city. Together, they followed the direct route towards the rumored place.
Most all travel from east to west took one of three routes, mostly revolving around how to cross the Mississippi River. The Chicago route was the favored path, passing through Chicago then around Saint Paul. The roads entering the Windy city were well kept, meaning travel into Chicago was faster than most others. The problem is the rule of Chicago went into chaos after the unfortunate passing of the old boss. Not so much the chaotic thing like New York, but a stalemate, quiet cold war. And the only thing worse than a real war, for travel, is a cold one. Checkpoints, suspicion, and hidden threats abound. Which made that route risky in its own way. The second was south, through the swamps. The swampfolk had ways to travel across the Mississippi, they needed to be able to, for their own survival. But Tim had spent twelve years in a swamp, he wasn’t planning on going back there anytime soon. Leaving them with the third route, straight across the country. Saint Louis held a path across the river. A single, post-Event bridge. They’d never been, but they’d heard the rumors. And, at least in this case, the rumors were right. It had cost them their golf cart to cross, but it also meant they made it to the plains of Missouri and from there on, it was a straight shot to the rumored city.
Sighing as he put on his pack, Craig replied to Tim, “You do realize we basically got plains from here to the city, right?”
“Shut it,” Tim shot at the young man as he started down the hillside, his feet moving faster than he was.
Craig followed suit. “For like, the next week and a half to two weeks. You’re ready for that, right?” Tim pressed onwards into the vast plains, ignoring his less than polite compatriot. This only caused Craig to fill the void. “I’m not saying you’re not ready for it. You’ve walked through flatlands before, down south, but the lack of features has been rumored to drive people crazy.”
“You know what else will?” Tim asked, “Annoying kids.” Tim walked on, trying to listen to the environment.
Craig began to dance, a song getting stuck in his head. The two trundled onwards in relative silence. As the sun began to set, they were still in the flat land. “It’s getting late,” Tim said, “We should stop over at that hillock at our two. It’ll probably put an extra half or so onto our journey, but it should keep us a tad safer at night.”
“Alright,” Craig said, “Let’s hoof it, so we’re worn out when we get there, and we can just suck down a can of beans and sleep until dawn.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Tim said, “Race you?” He slowed down enough for Craig to catch up as they changed course slightly.
“You sure you want to lose, old man? Your legs must be tired by now.” Craig joked. He forced a smile, though his legs were equally exhausted. They couldn’t stop, though. They needed to press onwards.
“Only if you are,” Tim joked back. “Three.”
“Two.” Craig’s smile fell as they got into lockstep, reading themselves to sprint.
“One.” Tim started to bounce along with his walk, loosening up for his own run.
Together, they said, “Go.” And it was off to the races. They were sprinting across the planes, into the sunset. It didn’t matter that they couldn’t feel their legs anymore. It was a beautiful sight to behold, chasing the setting sun. They, predictably, lost, as the sun set just before they reached the hill. Tim lost, though only by a hair. Craig knew better than to brag, instead setting down his sleeping bag and starting to make camp. Tim pulled out the can of beans and opened it for the pair to share, pouring half into a bowl and eating his half straight out of the can. Whoever won got to eat from their bowl with their spoon, like a human person, rather than drinking the beans from the can like the savages they were. Drinking it down took much less time, meaning Tim was finished with their dinner first. “Sleep good,” he said, pulling out his own sleeping bag, and climbing in. Curling up in a ball of warmth, Tim fell asleep.
Craig chuckled as he finished his meal. Pulling out his scope, he tried scanning the horizon. It was too dark to see anything smaller than an elephant, but he still felt the need to check. Then, climbing into his sleeping bag, he, too, fell asleep.
Dawn came upon them too soon for either of their liking. Their bodies were on fire, but they woke up with the sunrise’s glare. Craig collected the bean bowl, and wiped the spoon and the bowl with their towel. Tim rolled up their sleeping bags, and attached them to their packs. Refilling their water bottles from the gallon bottles in each of their packs, they set out once more into the plains.
The days were repetitive, the nights were uneventful. All that changed was their position. Sometimes, there were trees. Other times, hills. Rarely, both. Often, neither. For six days, they walked, running into nothing and no one. So few people lived in this corridor, even before the event. On the one hand, purely physically speaking, a lot of these people were the most ready for the Event. They had skills to be self-sufficient, they had the land to produce what was necessary for survival. The problem lay in their mental preparation. It wasn’t the end of the world that took these folks. It was human nature. Anger at their neighbors. Belief in their own righteousness. And a lack of inhibitions. Tim had seen these scenes in many communities. Urban, rural, suburban, it didn’t matter about class or region. The weakest links always could cause the most chaos. And that led to problems that many communities couldn’t find solutions for.
On the seventh day, they saw on the horizon a sight they hadn’t truly seen since Saint Louis. A city. Not a rural town, or suburb, but a proper city. Craig looked over at his walking partner. “City means people,” he said.
“Normally,” Tim replied, “Though this might be another Charlotte. Some scavengers from nearby settlements, but no one living in the city itself.”
Craig smirked. “Come on. It’s fucking Nebraska. It isn’t like they were a target for the Event.”
Tim shrugged. “I mean, maybe, but don’t get your hopes up.” Still, they made no effort to avoid the city. If there were people, they might be able to stay for awhile, live like they used to, not wanderers. And if there weren’t people, well, they could still loot supplies from whatever remained.
“I don’t know,” Craig told his friend, “Maybe this is the fabled city?” He was hopeful, because his legs felt as though they would fall off in a matter of hours, and had felt like that for a couple days now.
Tim shook his head, sighing. “I don’t think so,” he answered, “My money is that we’ve made half a day, and that there is Lincoln.”
“So?” Craig asked. He was honestly curious.
Tim sighed. “We’re uncreative creatures, by nature. If the new city was built on the old city, why didn’t they name it after the old city?”
Craig furrowed his brow. “Maybe people are just better than you think they are.”
Tim smiled at his compatriot. “Perhaps,” he said, then wistfully added, “One can always hope, I suppose.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Craig said, “I’m the one who’s supposed to hope. You’re supposed to be the cynic.”
Tim chuckled slightly. “Of course. My bad.”
Craig cracked a smile. “Why do you assume humanity is uncreative? Like, I understand your whole ‘People are the worst’ attitude in a kind of condescending and disappointed way, but uncreative?”
Tim sighed. “Well,” he said, “The remaining people in Savannah referred to their place as Savannah, the three communities in Atlanta were New Atlanta, Atlanta, and South Atlanta, both Charlestons called themselves Charleston, Greensboro at least went with UNC but still. Want me to continue?”
“I see,” Craig replied with a chuckle. “So, Lincoln is probably not the promised land. But it might be a civilized place.”
“Or filled with bandits like Louisville was.”
“Shush, let me be all hopeful,” Craig joked.
Tim looked at him, feigning confusion. “But I’m supposed to be extremely cynical, right?”
“Shut it,” Craig said, mimicking Tim. Together they headed into the outskirts of what remained of Lincoln. No idea what was in store for them once they got there.
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