M. Banner - Desolation

Now, every long mile on this journey was accompanied with ample amounts of self-loathing for his not having made trike riding a habit. Ever since the second day, his legs were cramping and he was sore everywhere. The 560-mile journey was taking its toll on him. The first leg should have been the most difficult—through the Wasatch Mountains outside of Salt Lake City—but the joy of hitting the road and the anticipation of his destination provided the adrenaline rush that eased his way. He made thirty-five miles, getting him well clear of the mountains, on the first day and then seventy each the second and third. Then the trike riding caught up with him, slowing him down to about twenty to thirty miles per day, because he had to stop and take extended rests. In spite of its difficulty, he was already more than halfway to Cicada, near Boulder. He was starting to feel much better, stronger, purging the impurities of his life from his system. And in ten days he knew he had already lost a lot of weight.

He chose a route that had minimal mountains and towns, avoiding people at first as he wasn’t sure if they would be hostile or friendly. Strangely, he had only seen a few people on the roads and no one in the last few days. More strange were all the fires. He knew the induced currents from the CMEs would cause fires in many places, but he was flabbergasted by the level of destruction they had wrought. Between the fires and potential for hostile people, Carrington steered clear of towns when he could.

The first big town, Rock Springs, he had purposely biked around. Today, when he approached Rawlins, Wyoming, he hoped to stop and check in to see how they were faring as it had been a few days since he talked to another person, and despite his assumptions he already missed human contact. He and his wife had once stopped in Rawlins on their only road trip together some years ago, and loved the few people they met there. Sadly, it looked like the whole town had burned to the ground. Lifetimes of memories were now just smoldering ashes tossed around by the warm winds.

As flakes of Rawlins landed on him, Carrington reminisced about that day with his wife, when she was so full of life and their future together full of promise. She was the most beautiful woman in his world. She was the only one who found his acerbic humor amusing. “I miss you, darling, and so wish you were with me on this journ—”

“Look at this guy, talking to himself,” said a scratchy voice right in front of him .

Carrington dug into his brakes as hard as he could, metal and rubber screeching complaints. The skid ended at the boot-toes of three men with guns, who all looked like they were extras in a Mad Max movie.

“Dirk, that fucker almost ran you over,” said Scratchy Voice, who was inches from him.

“Why would this stranger want to run us over?” Dirk said with a smirk, as his forefinger tapped the trigger guard on his gun.

Carrington gulped hard and steadied his thoughts before speaking rapidly. “Hello Dirk, my name is Dr. Carrington Reid, and you sound like you’re in charge. I don’t have much, but you’re welcome to it. I’m just passing through.” Sweat from fear and physical exertion dripped down his face.

“A doctor, huh? Are you a doctor of medicine or some worthless piece of shit?” Dirk goaded him.

“I’m a solar astrophysicist. I’m trying to get to a place to find answers to this problem,” he said, pointing toward the sun.

“Problem? If you mean, the power going out, that’s not a problem, that’s what I call opportunity.” Dirk leaned on Carrington’s handlebar. “Before the lights went out, I spent most of my time in jail. I was a nobody trying to live by rich men’s rules. Now, I take what I want, when I want.”

“Well as I said, you can take what you want—”

Dirk held his free hand up, the universal stop signal. “Doc, before I change my mind, I would suggest you don’t say anything more.” He turned to the largest of the three men, who had yet to speak. “Grab his backpack and check his saddlebags. Take his food and water. If the doctor is as smart as I think he is, we’ll let him figure his way out of this problem first.”

“You mean we’re going to let him go? We’re not going to kill him and take his shit?” Scratchy took a step closer to Dirk, glaring at him nose to nose. Dirk looked him dead in the eye. In his right hand a large hunting knife glinted in the ashy light.

Dirk backhanded him, and he slinked back a step, his pride keeping him only semi-slouched. “If I wanted the doctor dead, I would have told you. We’re letting him keep his little kiddy tricycle and his life.”

“Got everything,” said the quiet man, hefting the backpack in one meaty hand, the saddlebags slung over his shoulder.

“Great, let’s go.” Dirk nodded, turning back toward the east, toward Laramie, where Carrington was headed, still some fifty miles away. “So long, Doc. I don’t expect we’ll be seeing you again as men like you don’t last long in this new world,” Dirk said over his shoulder with a guffaw, then walked away. The quiet man, with all of Carrington’s stolen belongings, fell in step behind him. Scratchy still stood with knife in hand. Vexed from his new purpose in this new world, he frowned. Dirk hadn’t given any direct order. An idea popped into his head and his face drew a grim smile. Just like stabbing a stick of butter, he plunged his knife into Carrington’s front tire and pulled it back out, chuckling with pride. Satisfied, he took off after the others.

Although relieved at being spared his life, Carrington grimaced as his tire squealed like a stuck pig until all its air was gone. They had taken the repair kit, along with all his food and water. I am going to be severely delayed.

“Our Creator spoke to Noah commanding him to raise an ark, as an offer of hope for humanity’s salvation and then purged the earth of all its evil. God then opened up heaven’s floodgates, filling our world with water that touched the loftiest peaks.”

Thomas watched with awe as the Teacher stood on top of a stack of unopened folding tables near the front of their hotel’s entry, a new stage around which as many as two thousand people listened. They were sitting on the lawns, the parking lots, the sidewalks, even the streets. Many of them had already been fed. Thomas and the Teacher’s army used all the food from their hotel’s storehouse and from the one across the street.

“God later spoke to Moses and told him to lead his people from bondage to the Promised Land.”

He spoke without a microphone or the electronic bullhorn that was as inert as every other electronic device. Yet, even without artificial amplification, his voice stood on the air and reached out to everyone listening.

“God sent his Son, Jesus, to the Jews and Gentiles to make a new covenant and lead them to the promised land of everlasting life.”

Thomas could see it on everyone’s faces: that expectation, that desire to hear what came next. They waited, knowing that his next words would bring resolution to their own questions.

“Now, God has spoken to me.”

To Thomas, as to everyone else there, only the Teacher existed.

“God told me to take my people west to a new promised land . We are to take what we can carry and leave tomorrow. Whoever wishes to follow me can come along. If you decide to come, you are to process forward and speak to my staff, letting them know what possessions you have to offer this ministry and what skills you possess.” He stopped for just a moment to let what he said sink in, and then continued, “I’m going to leave you in peace and fast until tomorrow when we leave.”