The End of the Road…Part II…unedited…

I loaded all my gear into my Toyota Camry. “It’ll do me no good to take my truck. Diesel is outrageous, and there are sure to be banditos stalking gas stations.”

Before I left, I took one last look around. My life was upended, the same as everyone else. There was no one screaming about oppression, no one shouting on the television about imaginary privilege.  The nuclear strikes on our country made it clear that we were all targets, and no one was more targeted than the next.

This unseen adversary hadn’t target white people only, or black people only, they targeted anyone and everyone who resided in America. 

The racial divide that seemed to grow daily prior to the strikes was nowhere to be seen. Of course, it helped that one of the first things destroyed were the media corporations. 

I turned on the radio and tried to find a radio station. Static filled the airwaves. A few miles from my cabin, my CB radio squawked. 

“Ah, breaker, breaker, this is Black Wolf. Is anyone out there?”

No one answered and I continued fleeing. Black Wolf continued repeating their call over the airwaves.

“Black Wolf this is Widowmaker,” I finally retorted. “What’s on your mind?”

“Holy crap,” Black Wolf said. “It’s good to hear someone’s voice. Have you seen any others?”


“Okay. I’ll let you go. Um, if you run into anyone, I’ll be on channel 3.”


“Be safe out there, Widowmaker. Black Wolf, out.”

My children lived in Colorado. It would normally take sixteen hours to reach Colorado Springs. I doubted, I would make it in twenty.

I was prepared for trouble, but you never get the trouble you expect.

Burning husks of cars littered the roadway making my travel slow, painfully slow. As night drew near, the long shadows hid perpetrators of evil.

There were no signs of humanity anywhere. Just burning cars, destroyed homes, and signs of violence. At the border of Arkansas, I pulled off the main road, and into a thick wooded area. 

The car alarm chirped as I locked the car, but not before I unloaded my ruck and rifle. From here I would move on foot. 

Too much could go wrong, plus with satellites set to track any movement, me driving to Colorado would not be ignored. 

If I traveled on foot, or if I could find a functioning bicycle or horse, it’d be harder to track me. I struggled to keep my paranoia under control. 

My journey was only beginning, but I begged God to keep His hands upon my children.

“God, please don’t let my children pay for the sins of their father.”

Night fell and I holed up in the trunk of a rotted-out tree. I kept watch until exhaustion caused my eyes to shut. The sound of voices woke me. I peeked out from behind the rotted trunk. The voices came from the direction of where I parked my car. 

“Where do you think the owner of this Camry went?”

I watched as two bearded men looked around my vehicle. Both had semi-automatic rifles and wore flak vests. They tried the doors and moved to the trunk. 

One of the men grunted and said, “I’m gonna grab a crowbar.” The other nodded and stayed by the Camry.

While the other man walked away, I sneaked back to my trunk, secured my gear, and headed further into the woods.

“Let them have the car. Soon there won’t be any gas, God only knows what the future holds, or even if the government will ever rise from the ashes.”

My kids were first and foremost on my mind. I prayed as I traveled the woods toward the snow-peaked mountains of Colorado.

“God, please. If you’re listening, let my kids be okay.”

Gunfire rang out from behind me and to the west of me. I quickened my pace. 

Screams and shouts filled the air. More gunfire filled the air. I broke into a run, not caring who heard me.  I came to a tall ditch and slid down it, my rifle up in case of trouble. 

I raced across an opening and darted into another tree line. From the wood line, I could see the main road. Heavily armed men and women had people shoved to their knees in the middle of the road. 

“Bet you wish you had a gun now, dontcha?”

A loud, rotund woman pointed a shotgun at an old woman and cackled when the old woman said nothing. The shotgun wielding woman reached down and slapped her. 

“Empty your pockets and don’t put up no fuss,” a camouflaged man yelled. 

Those on their knees complied with the request. Once all valuables were taken, the armed people shot those on their knees. 

The man and woman high-fived each other. Both seemed to have enjoyed blasting the other survivors into smithereens. 

I screwed my suppressor onto my rifle and put the red dot on the throat of the heavyset woman. She kicked the old woman she shot and turned around with a large smile on her face.

I squeezed the trigger, and the bullet slammed into her throat. A spray of red blood and shot into the air. The man turned and searched for me. Again, I lined the dot up, this time above his nose. I fired again.

The bullet landed with a smack! He fell to the ground without firing a shot. 

I waited to see if anyone else would come to check on the two killers. No one came. I unscrewed the suppressor and stuck to the wood line. 

After I left the scene, I made good time and encountered no further trouble. 

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