The Journal: Raging Tide: (The Journal Book 4) Read Online Free Page A

road.
     
    We passed a few more houses, none of which
looked occupied. The closer the houses were, the rougher the road
became, and then there was pavement. A mile later we came to US
41.
    “Hot damn!” Jim said, slapping the steering
wheel gleefully. “We made it!”
    “Marquette is about twenty miles northeast,”
I said. “Let’s break for something to eat. It’s already two o’clock
and I’m getting hungry.”
    “Me too,” Jim said. “I was so excited to
finally being on the road again, I skipped breakfast.”
    He found an abandoned and locked wayside
rest area and pulled the Hummer to a stop.
    “Egg salad or tuna?” I asked, digging around
in the top cooler. I handed out the sandwiches and retrieved two
bottles of water for us. We sat on an old wooden picnic table that
had seen better days and ate the sandwiches I made up this
morning.
     
    US-41 was relatively free of vehicles,
though we did come across a couple of accidents that were off to
the side of the road.
    “Jim, look over in that parking lot. Isn’t
that semi-trailer like the one in Moose Creek?”
    “It sure is,” he said, cutting across the
four lanes and into the near empty parking lot. Upon further
inspection, we agreed it had once held supplies from Walstroms.
    “Colonel Andrews?” a voice said from deep
within the trailer. We both drew our side arms and a young man
emerged.
    “Do I know you?” Jim asked.
    “Probably not, but I know you,” he replied.
“I was at the sports arena and was one of the evacuees going to
Escanaba. I was driving this truck when we were hijacked.”
    “What happened, son?” Jim asked, holstering
his weapon. I kept mine drawn.
    “We were in the convoy, buses in the front
leading the way, followed by the medical van, then the food truck
and this supply truck, with the tankers bringing up the rear, just
like you told us to do. The buses and medical truck passed an
intersection a half mile east of here, and then a garbage truck
pulled out of a side street and blocked the road.
    “We were surrounded by a group of people,
although a mob is probably more accurate. They pulled the drivers
from the cabs and gave us a choice: join them or get shot. Not much
of a choice. We drove the trucks and tankers into a small town
south of here, Rosemont, where this mob was living. As soon as we
parked where they told us to, they swarmed the trailers like ants,
taking everything.”
    “What happened to the buses?” I asked.
    “They slowed down at first, then they must
have realized what was going down and they sped up and got out of
here. These folks didn’t want more people anyway, they only wanted
the food and supplies. After the trailers were empty, they had us
drivers move them out of the way.”
    “How far is this town… I’m sorry, son,
what’s your name?” Jim said.
    “Mickey, sir. The town starts a few blocks
in from 41. It’s mostly rundown trailer parks and a few bars.”
    “How many people are there, Mickey? And are
we going to have a problem?” Jim asked, his voice steely.
    “There won’t be any problems, Colonel. They
didn’t ration themselves, not at all, and the food was gone in a
month. That’s when they turned on each other. Darn near killed each
other off, too. The few that survived took off into the woods.
    “During that month, I hooked up with a nice
gal. She was terrified of the rest of them, even the women were
violent. When the fighting broke out, she and I took off.”
    “How have you been managing, Mickey?” I
asked.
    “We’ve been doing fine by scavenging. There
are some nice subdivisions along here and a surprising amount of
food left in the pantries. We aren’t struggling, though it is
challenging. Funny thing is, I’ve never felt more alive than I do
now. It’s not the kind of life I imagined having, but I’m not
unhappy.” He smiled broadly.
    This startled me and put into perspective
something that had been hovering on the edges of my thoughts. These
past eighteen