Elswood - An Interlude
July, ?
Nevada, USA
This world was lonely. The treacherous heat of the Mojave Desert meant that little could survive out here. Lizards, scorpions, snakes, and ants were happy to call the place home, but warm blooded creatures were at great risk in this environment unless suitably adapted.
Through this sandy, windswept hellhole, a lonely road stretched for miles. Sand and dirt covered its surface, its upkeep long neglected. In the middle of this forgotten stretch of asphalt, a vulture fed upon a carcass of some unfortunate animal. It would have been content to continue feeding, if it were not for the great cloud of dust rising in the distance, the ground rumbling as something massive approached. The vulture took flight, fleeing just as a convoy of vehicles crushed the carcass beneath their wheels. Three vans, a semi-truck, a technical pick-up, and a battered Ford Mustang all tore through the desert toward their goal, weaving between the wrecks of other vehicles.
Little lived out here, and this highway of death was proof of that. This was where thousands of Americans had been slaughtered, before the collapse, after they came. Humanity had been reduced to a whisper, and now the survivors fought for scraps as they kept watch, content to observe the last of humanity destroy themselves.
Sat in the Mustang at the head of the convoy, a man sat in the passenger seat. Dressed in heavy combat gear, he was understandably sweating bullets. The car had no windows left, shot to pieces by bandits back in Indiana, but despite this, the car was still incredibly hot inside. Gripping his Howell rifle, he fidgeted uncomfortably, watching as the semi clipped a wreck.
Sighing, he turned to the driver of the car, an African-American man named Ross,
"Ugh, I hate to say it," he began.
"I know, I know," Ross snapped crankily, "Are we there yet? I don't know, we haven't reached Glendale yet because, if you haven't noticed, we got one hell of a traffic jam."
"What about after Glendale?"
Ross shrugged, "Should be plain sailing from there. Everyone was trying to get outta Vegas on Long 15, the 93 should be clearer. Then we just find the trail and get where we need to go..."
There was a pause, punctuating only by the gurgle of the Mustang's V8.
"You do know this is about the twentieth time you've been told this, right?" Ross flatly quizzed.
The man chuckled, "Well, you know what my memory's like," he explained matter-of-factly, "I just need to be 100% sure of this."
Ross scoffed loudly, "You're the one who roped us all into this in the first place. We've lost good people along the way, technically because of you."
The man frowned, "If we do this right-"
"If we do this right?!" Ross was suddenly furious, "This whole endeavour has been a fools errand from the start. Hell, this roadtrip was only supposed to take four days, tops. But we left New York three weeks ago and only now is the home straight in sight!"
"You can't blame me for the end of the world! It's not my fault the roads are clogged with failed evacuations, and critical bridges were blown up."
"You know what is your fault? The fact your girlfriend paid us a visit on the boat!" The man froze, immediately understanding what Ross meant, "You did see what she did to Carlos, right? No-one deserves to die like he did."
"Don't."
"I mean, you must be real fucking lucky to have one of their head honchos cooing over your sorry ass. She make you feel speci-!" Ross's tirade was cut off by the cool metal barrel of his passengers rifle being shoved into his cheek.
"Don't. Talk. About. That thing. Or so help me, I will blow your head off right now!" His voice was equal parts fury and fear. Even Ross could hear the tremors in his voice, the mere thought of her terrifying the man. A quick glance over at the man confirmed it, the tears streaming down his dusty cheeks, his hands shaking as they clutched the rifle's wooden stock.
"She really fucked you up, didn't she?" Ross asked, softly.
"I'd rather not talk about it."
"OK." Ross sighed, "I guess we're all just restless after everything that's happened. Tensions are bound to flare up."
"Ross? Shut up."
A great deal of time passed, both men brooding, when something ahead caught Ross's eye, "Well, finally some good news." He nudged his passenger, grabbing his attention, "Check out the road sign."
The mans eyes scanned the sign as they passed, "Glendale Moapa 1 Mile. About damn time." His mood improving, he reached to the centre console, and grabbed a CB radio.
"Listen up guys, Glendale is less than a mile away. Once we get off the Interstate, we should have clear roads from here to the trail. There's just a few more hours to go before we reach our destination. Area 51 is just around the corner, guys. And with any luck, should we find what the intel said was there, we can make sure none of this ever happened."
A cry over the radio. And another. And another, and another as the radio devolved into a cacophony of noise.
"Humanity First!"
"Humanity First!"
"Humanity First!"
"Humanity First!"
"Humanity First." Johann Elswood signed off.
A/N: Unfortunately, this chapter is what killed my snippets over on the thread. My ambition out grew the scope of the thread. As such, there will be another hiatus as I work out not just this story, but the new concept for the thread.
Now speaking of this Interlude, it may seem like I've lost the plot a little, but I know what I want to happen after this, and this interlude sets a few little things up.