EMP Catastrophe , Hamilton, Grace [crime books to read txt] 📗

up from the map and frowned. Around them, people ambled about the roads or stood out on the lawns, looking angry or mistrustful. Cars had haphazardly died around the streets, almost like toys that a child had upended and scattered. Some people shouted curses as they tried to push their vehicles to the side of the road, while others looked on as if trying to copy those same actions, looking sad and lost. The sense of explosive anger had transformed to a simmering pot, ready to boil over at any moment.

Matthew walked closer to his father. This whole thing seemed surreal. Sure, he could come to terms with a widespread power outage taking out businesses and maybe even affecting cars for miles, but this was almost too much. A cruel universal joke. This could be, for all intents and purposes, a weird time-traveling science fiction world he’d been plopped into where everything fell apart. Patton loved this end-of-the-world mumbo-jumbo. But now that that fictional mumbo-jumbo had become reality, Matthew felt detached and uncentered.

Get out to the interstate. That was the goal. This...whatever this was, it couldn’t extend all the way to Galena. If they could get past whatever this was, they could call Ruth, call Kathleen. Things would go back to normal.

David’s shuffle missed a step. Mathew glanced back to see he’d outpaced his father, who’d slowed considerably.

“Hate to say it,” David admitted, sounding out of breath, “but this old man needs a break.”

“All those cigars,” Matthew said, but his heart wasn’t in the joke. He eased David to the side of the road where David sat heavily on the curb, clasping his hands in front of him. Matthew opened up his pack, drew out a bottle of water, and offered it to David. David drank sparingly, swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing.

Behind them, Matthew could still see the commercialized rise of the shopping center Wilson’s Antiques had been near. They hadn’t walked very far before David needed rest—and Matthew wondered how much his father had pushed himself to get this far. With a sudden spike of guilt, Matthew realized he’d been foolish.

How could he assume his sick father could walk all the way to Galena? What had he been thinking? They’d barely walked a mile before stopping for a breather. Matthew had assumed that, worst case scenario, they’d rough it for maybe a couple of days. Now, those couple of days looked like it could easily turn into a week. Maybe two.

He couldn’t expose David to the elements for two weeks. They had nothing to keep warm, barely anything to eat that would last that long. Anger rushed through him at his irresponsibility. He was a grown man—he should’ve realized how hard this would be on David. He should’ve taken better care.

Thankfully, David’s breathing evened out. Matthew tried to control his body posture, to keep him appearing like this was just a father-son outing even as his mind worked itself into overdrive. Perhaps they should turn back. Spend the night in the truck. Even if they had to eat power bars morning, noon, and night, at least David wouldn’t be in danger of collapsing or running his heart ragged. Matthew put his hands on his hips and looked around. Just across the street, a woman studied the popped hood of her car with despair. Another group of twenty-somethings were pushing a Toyota Prius into a driveway. Another older man asked for money down the way, spurned with glares by others.

No, going back would be the same as pushing ahead. They might be able to have a roof over their heads, but help would be scarce. They’d be in the same situation. At least here, they were actively trying to save themselves, rather than waiting on the mercy of others. As much as he had faith in humanity as a whole, Matthew knew waiting would drive both him and David insane.

“Matt?” David asked.

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Everything okay?”

Matthew knew David’s question encompassed more than that. He was asking about Matthew’s doubts, about whether they should reconsider going back, whether David should stay behind while Matthew forged ahead. Matthew knew David was thinking all the same things he was. About how grim this looked. “Never better, Dad.” Matthew held his hand out and David took it.

“All right, son,” David said, accepting the unspoken decision. Together, they continued down the road once more.

Soon enough, the streets transitioned from tree-shaded residential paths to wider double lane industrial roadways, with off-shooting ramps and green signs pointing them in different directions. Matthew kept his hope close, knowing without a shadow of acknowledged doubt that once they got on the exit ramp and hit the fast-moving highway, they would find endless cars whizzing by, honking horns, that he could hold his thumb out like a hitchhiker and someone would eventually stop for them. There would be fast food restaurants along the side of the road for them to get salty fries. There would be gas stations who would hand over their landlines with a rolled eye for Matthew to make a call.

“Here we go,” Matthew said, pointing at the map and then inclining his head to a sign with “Galena” painted in shimmering white.

David nodded, still somewhat out of breath from their last rest. They’d stopped about five times since they began walking again, and David was able to keep moving in bursts of energized speed. They meandered up and around the exit’s curve, finally levelling up and out to see the long flat stretch of interstate cutting through the flat plains.

Matthew’s heart climbed up his throat. He came to a sudden standstill. A sea of stalled cars clogged the interstate. Trucks, SUVs, and cars sat at strange angles while others were bumper to bumper without a sliver of space to pivot and move. Between all of them, people screamed in rage at each other. Others pushed for space or paced in a mix of business casual and executive suits with their phones pressed uselessly to their