“Probably wise,” I said. Then, realizing I had nothing else to say, I gave Sophia a short nod and stepped back. “Let me know if you need anything.”

She looked me over candidly, gaze lingering on my weapons, fatigues, and tactical gear. Her eyes were pools of shadow in the bluish light. “Thanks,” she said.

I walked away before things could get awkward.

Across the room, I saw Dad, Blake, Mike, and Tyrel standing in a cluster with Lauren hovering nearby. Lauren’s face looked gaunt, the strain in her eyes matching the tenseness of her posture. It didn’t take a great deal of perceptiveness to tell she was close to the brink. I had a second or two to worry for her before I came within earshot of the conversation.

“Has anyone given thought to where the hell we should go?” my father asked. “Just heading west until we run out of west doesn’t seem like the best idea. Everybody and their brother will be doing the same thing.”

No one said anything for a moment, then Tyrel spoke up. “I think we should follow Gary’s advice and head for Colorado.”

Everyone looked at the former SEAL. When he said nothing else, dad asked, “Why is that?”

“I’m from there,” he answered. “I know places we can go.”

Dad crossed his arms. “Can you elaborate on that, Tyrel? What kinds of places? Where?”

Tyrel breathed a sigh through his nose. “I think maybe we should talk about it on the way, Joe. Those fires coming our way ain’t gonna slow down while we chit-chat.”

Dad nodded, then looked at Mike. “What about you? You coming with us or striking out for Oregon?”

Mike pondered a few moments, then said, “I’ll stick with you until we find someplace safe for Sophia. Then I’ll head for Oregon. When we do find a safe place, can I trust you to look after my daughter for me?”

Dad didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”

Mike gripped his shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”

*****

Because Black Wolf Tactical was sufficiently in compliance with the National Firearms Act to possess automatic weapons—and because people were willing to pay significant sums of money to fire them—the facility had a number to choose from. Mostly small arms, but a few SAWs and M-240s as well.

Then there were the Humvees.

Three of them, although we only planned to bring along two: one to lead the convoy and another to bring up the rear. Blake and my father mounted M-240s to both Humvees’ roof turrets and divided the supplies and ammo between all five vehicles. Mike volunteered to take point in the lead Humvee, my father in his truck behind him. Lauren and Sophia would be in Mike’s four-wheel-drive Tundra, Blake and I behind them in his Jeep, with Tyrel bringing up the rear in the second Humvee.

As we were loading the supplies, it occurred to me if a casual observer saw us dressed in our modern tactical gear, they might mistake us for a military escort. Which posed the risk someone might flag us down for help, and possibly respond badly if we didn’t stop. There was also the risk a real military convoy might mistake us for deserters. I mentioned this to my father, but he just shook his head and said there was nothing for it. It was a risk we had to take.

Once we had everything ready to go, Blake tossed me the keys to his Jeep. “You drive,” he said. “I’ll navigate.”

For once, he wasn’t smiling.

We got seated and belted in, engine idling, wipers fighting a losing battle against the falling ash. The orange haze in the distance grew steadily brighter. Blake turned on the overhead light, plugged his handheld radio into a dashboard power outlet, and consulted his trucker’s atlas.

“All stations, looks like we can stick to the back roads and parallel the highways all the way to I-35. From there, we’ll have to find a safe place to get across. Any ideas? Over.”

Mike cut in. “You see Five Mile Dam Park on your map? It’s between Kyle and San Marcos. Over.”

Blake’s finger traced the map where indicated. “Yeah, I see it. Over.”

“Take us that way. I know a service road overpass hardly anyone uses. Should get us across no problem. Over.”

“Sounds good to me. Head for 1094 West until it turns in to Bastrop Road, then hang a left. Will advise from there. Over.”

“Roger. Out.”

Blake shot me a level stare. “Remember, Caleb. No matter what happens, Do. Not. Stop. If we get hit, keep going. If a vehicle gets in trouble, we can always regroup and double back if there’s still a chance to help them. Understood?”

I swallowed and nodded.

“If we run into any problems, let your father and me do the talking. If diplomacy fails, remember your training and don’t hesitate. And always, always follow our lead. Okay?”

I nodded again.

Blake put a hand on my shoulder. “You okay, man?”

“No, Blake. I’m not.”

He smiled then, sharp white teeth bright against his dark skin. “That’s good, kid. I’d be worried if you were.”

Mike’s hand came out the window and made a circling motion as he began to drive out of the parking lot.

The rest of us followed.

FOURTEEN

Humvee’s are good for many things, but speed is not one of them.

Their top speed is just over seventy MPH on a good day, but as laden as ours were with ammunition and supplies, the best we could hope for was a little over sixty. This did not fly well with what few cars we encountered on the way to I-35, whose drivers proceeded to swerve around us at breakneck speed, horns blaring.

I saw only one car crashed by the side of the road, but it was a doozy. The driver had misjudged a curve and skidded off the shoulder to plow headlong into an unyielding stand of trees. The front end of the little sedan was completely smashed in, the cargo formerly on the roof scattered like tornado wreckage in the woods ahead.

Amidst the ruin, I saw the driver. He—or she, I couldn’t tell—should have worn a seatbelt.

If I had wanted to, I could have looked inside the little sedan’s windows as we passed, but I didn’t dare. If there had been children in there, I’m not sure how I would have reacted. The sight of the driver had me breathing heavily and choking down bile as it was.

Focus on the road, I thought. Just stay focused.

Despite the road conditions, we managed to outrun the raging fires to the east, if only by a slim margin. The billowing ash waned in intensity, but the sky grew inexorably darker as the afternoon wore on. Toward nightfall, the gray-shrouded road became almost indistinguishable from the tainted, wind-blown air. Visibility dropped to about twenty meters, forcing us to slow to a crawl. When we finally reached the service road near Five Mile Dam Park, Dad got on the radio and called the group to a halt.

“We need to scout the way ahead before we try to cross,” he said. “Blake, how far to the overpass? Over.”

Blake referenced his map under the pasty yellow dome light, and said, “About two-hundred meters, little less. Over.”

“I got this,” Tyrel cut in. “Blake, you’re with me. Caleb, come take the wheel and keep an eye on our six. Over.”

Dad started to raise an argument, but cut off with a curse when Tyrel went sprinting by. Blake grabbed his carbine before jumping out and following him. As they ran, both men donned goggles and tied a scarf around their mouths to shield their eyes and airways from the suffocating fume. I did the same, then picked up my rifle and ran back to the rear Humvee.

Once outside the air-conditioned cab of Blake’s tricked-out Jeep, the heat enveloped me like an ocean wave. The ambient temperature was well in excess of a hundred degrees, while the wind blowing in my face felt like standing in front of the world’s biggest blow dryer. Despite the scarf around my face, the air was harsh and difficult to breath, permeated with heavy smoke. Even a respirator would have been hard-pressed to scrub it clean. By the end of the short run from the Jeep to the Humvee, my throat was raw and my lungs felt hot. I worried for Blake and Tyrel, who had farther to go and were no better protected.