abandon it. The dogs panted heavily, losing droplets of saliva off of their tongues, and she felt like panting herself. She gave in and switched the air conditioning back on. This time, cool air trickled out of the vents, having trouble displacing all the hot air that had accumulated in the cab. She turned it up until it was on the third setting, hoping that it wouldn’t put any strain on the truck and cause it to overheat again. Cold air pooled out, bathing them in its stream. The dogs moved closer to the vents, and Amanda raised her arms a little, feeling the coolness hit her armpits.
They were moving along at an average of thirty-five miles per hour, a speed that Amanda felt was safe enough to negotiate the rough road, but if the vehicle behind them continued to gain on them, she would be forced to increase the speed and risk getting the truck hung up or damaging it. She hoped that it would not come to that.
As she drove, she kept stealing glances in the rearview mirror to keep an eye on the vehicle behind them. It did not appear to be gaining anymore on them, but she couldn’t be sure. She wished that there were something that she could do to lower the dust wake that her truck was leaving besides slowing down to a crawl, and that was not an option.
There were many things to be concerned about besides the raiders and the creepers. She had used the spare tire and still needed to replace it. The roads out here were harsh, and a large sharp rock had punctured a tire on her last trip. If that were to happen again, there were no spares, and the truck would essentially be disabled. She made a mental note to remedy that on her next trip to town. It made no sense to be traveling hundreds of miles of desert terrain without a spare if it could be avoided. Back in town, there were a lot of vehicles and tires to choose from, but she had been moving so quick today that it had slipped her mind to take care of that before making the return trip to camp.
It wasn’t like her to forget very important details like that, but a lot had happened lately, and events had begun to take precedence over well-planned to-do lists. But she would need to be more careful because in the conditions that she now lived, oftentimes, survival was in the details.
Typically, she would have enjoyed this part of the run, playing music, enjoying the air conditioning, and watching the desert landscape. But that was without all the added stressors that she had now.
She turned the music from her favorite CD on and the air conditioning off. The cab had cooled down measurably, and she knew that she was risking the possibility of overheating the truck again by continuing to use it.
Normally, Amanda liked the drive across the long expanses of desert. To her, it was like navigating a great ocean—isolated, unpredictable, wild. Like the ocean, the desert was a beautiful and dangerous place. But today, she was not alone on her journey. Again, she checked the rearview mirror, forgetting to sing along when her favorite song began to play. It irritated her that others had come into her ocean to steal away her pleasure.
Amanda was thirty-two years old and had kept herself in shape before the world had changed. She was an outdoors type of person that had preferred to not be stuck behind a desk all day. Exploring and photographing nature had become her passion. Her parents had been disappointed in her because her choice of career paths had not made her a lot of money. Instead of going to college, she had opted to hike the Pacific Coast Trail, from California to Canada, with a group of friends. She had kept a photographic journal along the way, which was bought for a little bit of money by a major magazine. Later on, she had been happy to spend her time traveling in an older RV, taking photographs and selling them to magazines.
She had come to the outskirts of Blythe two years ago and had photographed the wild horses on the Arizona side and spent a lot of time
They were moving along at an average of thirty-five miles per hour, a speed that Amanda felt was safe enough to negotiate the rough road, but if the vehicle behind them continued to gain on them, she would be forced to increase the speed and risk getting the truck hung up or damaging it. She hoped that it would not come to that.
As she drove, she kept stealing glances in the rearview mirror to keep an eye on the vehicle behind them. It did not appear to be gaining anymore on them, but she couldn’t be sure. She wished that there were something that she could do to lower the dust wake that her truck was leaving besides slowing down to a crawl, and that was not an option.
There were many things to be concerned about besides the raiders and the creepers. She had used the spare tire and still needed to replace it. The roads out here were harsh, and a large sharp rock had punctured a tire on her last trip. If that were to happen again, there were no spares, and the truck would essentially be disabled. She made a mental note to remedy that on her next trip to town. It made no sense to be traveling hundreds of miles of desert terrain without a spare if it could be avoided. Back in town, there were a lot of vehicles and tires to choose from, but she had been moving so quick today that it had slipped her mind to take care of that before making the return trip to camp.
It wasn’t like her to forget very important details like that, but a lot had happened lately, and events had begun to take precedence over well-planned to-do lists. But she would need to be more careful because in the conditions that she now lived, oftentimes, survival was in the details.
Typically, she would have enjoyed this part of the run, playing music, enjoying the air conditioning, and watching the desert landscape. But that was without all the added stressors that she had now.
She turned the music from her favorite CD on and the air conditioning off. The cab had cooled down measurably, and she knew that she was risking the possibility of overheating the truck again by continuing to use it.
Normally, Amanda liked the drive across the long expanses of desert. To her, it was like navigating a great ocean—isolated, unpredictable, wild. Like the ocean, the desert was a beautiful and dangerous place. But today, she was not alone on her journey. Again, she checked the rearview mirror, forgetting to sing along when her favorite song began to play. It irritated her that others had come into her ocean to steal away her pleasure.
Amanda was thirty-two years old and had kept herself in shape before the world had changed. She was an outdoors type of person that had preferred to not be stuck behind a desk all day. Exploring and photographing nature had become her passion. Her parents had been disappointed in her because her choice of career paths had not made her a lot of money. Instead of going to college, she had opted to hike the Pacific Coast Trail, from California to Canada, with a group of friends. She had kept a photographic journal along the way, which was bought for a little bit of money by a major magazine. Later on, she had been happy to spend her time traveling in an older RV, taking photographs and selling them to magazines.
She had come to the outskirts of Blythe two years ago and had photographed the wild horses on the Arizona side and spent a lot of time
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