D. MacHale - Storm

“Yeah, well, I do have good ideas sometimes.”

Everything he said had a double meaning for me. I was about to say, “So, Kent, when did you and Tori get together? By the way, are you a traitor?” But I bit my tongue.

We were about to hit the last leg of our journey. The go-karts were a fun diversion but nothing more. It was time to get back to reality. I had to make sure my head was on straight and focus on what lay ahead, not on what could have been.

I drove out of the racetrack and headed toward Denver, where we found yet another hospital. We went through our practiced routines of finding food, washing up, and claiming beds in the ER. Jon didn’t even bother trying the radio. What was the point? We would find the truth for ourselves the next day. We went to bed with the agreement that we would get up early to begin the final leg of our journey.

Nevada.

After all the speculation and debate, we were almost there. When we left Colorado, we had to traverse the width of Utah before entering the state of Nevada. The Silver State, as a highway sign proclaimed. Once we crossed the border, it would only be a short leg to the park, and… whatever.

The map looked as though we were going to be traveling through some desolate country with nowhere to stop for supplies. There was limited room in the Volvo, so we chose to stock up on bottled water rather than gas. There were plenty of abandoned cars to siphon along the way but no guaranteed spot to find fresh water.

Once again, we hit the road long before dawn. When we loaded up the car, there was a definite pregame feeling. Whatever was in Nevada, we would find it soon. Was it hope? A new life? Would we find a group of tenacious survivors who had banded together to wrestle control back from the two military forces that had decimated the country? Or would we fall into a trap that was set to lure in the stragglers who weren’t wiped out the first time?

Or would we find a gate to hell?

I drove first. The camaraderie from the go-kart experience was a thing of the past. We were back to stony silence. I imagined that this was what it was like to be nearing the appointed hour on death row. Up until then, it had all just been theory. What lay ahead was real.

Kent and Olivia were snuggled together in the way back. I wanted to call him out so badly, but if Tori wouldn’t do it, I wasn’t going to rock the boat.

We drove as fast as the day before, stopping for gas several times. Until then, we had been driving through civilization. Granted, it was an altered civilization, but most of our journey was through developed land. The West proved to be very different. In Colorado, we crossed the Rocky Mountains. I’d never seen anything like them before. It was breathtaking. In Utah, we passed through deserts that were stunning in their natural simplicity and rugged, unspoiled forests. I’d lived in only two places in my life: Connecticut and Maine. I’d only seen sights like these in the movies or on TV. It was awe inspiring, and depressing.

I would have liked to be seeing them with my mom and dad.

As I took in the amazing vistas, I was struck by yet another disturbing thought. We were used to living in towns with electricity and clean water. We could watch TV and send texts and buy whatever we needed in a store. We had enjoyed all the advantages of living in an advanced, civilized society. And now those luxuries were gone. We had been adjusting to that reality for some time now. What I hadn’t considered was what these changes would mean to the ecology of the planet. What plans did SYLO have for the land? Or if the Retros triumphed and were allowed to “reset” civilization, what would that mean to the physical world?

Until then, I’d only thought about the war’s impact on people, and cities, and governments. But this was real life. This was our world. What did these military powers have in mind for the most basic aspects of life on earth? Civilization was going to change. Did that mean severe changes for the mountains and deserts and oceans too? The Retros had not only wiped out people, they’d decimated other living things as well. What would that do to the balance of nature? To the food chain? The circle of life had been broken for good.

Once again, I was overwhelmed by the scope of the change that this war had brought.

Kent, on the other hand, was probably thinking about making out with Tori.

He was behind the wheel when we entered Nevada.

“We’re here,” he announced.

It was as simple as that.

The final leg of our journey was through wide-open desert. The temperature outside rose to 110 degrees. There was nothing to see for miles but sand and rocks and more sand. In the distance were mountain ranges, but they were hundreds of miles away. We were square in the middle of beautiful desolation.

“Look at the temperature,” Kent said. “A hundred and five. Sure seems like we’re getting nearer to hell.”

“We gotta decide,” Jon said. “What are we gonna do when we get there?”

Nobody answered.

“Seriously,” he pressed. “We just drove two thousand miles. We’ve got to have some kind of plan.”

“It depends on what we find,” I said. “We’ll go to where the coordinates say. Who knows? Maybe it’s a camp of survivors.”

“In the desert?” Olivia asked skeptically.

“What can I tell you?” I said. “This is where we were called, so this is where we’re going. Once we get there, we’ll figure out what our next move is.”

That seemed to satisfy everyone, though it was a totally unsatisfying answer.

“There!” Jon pointed out.

There was a highway sign for the Valley of Fire State Park.

The tension in the car suddenly amped up.

“It’s real,” Olivia said with a gasp.

“Here we go,” Kent announced and took the exit.

We followed a barely paved dusty road for several miles. Each time we thought we were lost, we’d see another sign that directed us to the park.

Nobody spoke. My mouth was bone dry as we entered the Valley of Fire.

“It’s beautiful,” Tori said. They were the first words she’d said since we left Denver.

We were surrounded by towering natural sculptures cut from rusty-orange rock. The “valley” was the desert floor. Surrounding us were soaring, jagged peaks of the same amber stone. Looking off into the distance, I saw many other impossible rock formations. It was like a sculpture garden created by nature.

“Are those pueblos?” Jon the historian asked.

He was pointing to several huts that at first seemed like part of the terrain, but when you looked closer, you could see the hand of man. Ancient man, probably. Native Americans.

We had hit the park at the exact right time of day to get the most stunning effect. The sun was sinking toward the horizon behind streaks of clouds that glowed orange and purple. Its fading light spread over the desert floor like warm butterscotch, highlighting the detail of the rock formations and their multiple layers and colors.

Olivia said, “This doesn’t look anything like a gate into hell. This is… beautiful.”

We drove further on, past a section that was scattered with mobile trailers. Abandoned mobile trailers. My mind was already jumping ahead and thinking that we could spend the night in one of them.

We continued until we hit the parking lot and a building that looked like the visitor’s center. Kent parked in front, and we all got out.

After traveling in an air-conditioned car, stepping into hundred-degree heat was a brutal shock.

“Okay, maybe this is a gate to hell after all,” Olivia commented while dabbing her forehead.

We all glanced around looking for… what? We didn’t know.

“We’re sure this is the place, right?” Kent asked.