commenting on the run on gas stations from east to west coast, although he could've done without the man's mockery of morons waiting at closed pumps after the President had already claimed that fuel for more important government purposes.
As he left the populated areas behind and made his way up Spanish Fork Canyon the traffic faded until he was one of the only people on the road: apparently the business that had people flooding the streets in their vehicles was centered around town. The smartest thing they could've done would be to get in those cars and drive as far away from any population centers as they could on the gas left in their tanks, but Trev supposed they were still too invested in their houses and lives for such drastic action.
He hoped they didn't come to regret that decision in a few weeks when they were starving and the city around them was being torn to the ground by rioters.
After the tenseness of his departure the drive was almost disappointingly routine. He'd gone between college and Aspen Hill dozens of times in the last few years visiting family, spending time with Lewis fishing up in the Manti-La Sal mountains or building the shelter together, or just unwinding on school breaks.
To get to Aspen Hill he just had to follow Spanish Fork Canyon and then continue along Highway 6 towards Price, turning west fifteen or so miles north of the city onto a smaller road for the last several miles to get to the greener valley Aspen Hill nestled in between a few hills and the foothills leading up to the Manti-La Sal range farther to the west. Trev had followed the scenic route route through the canyon often enough he practically could've driven it in his sleep, although he always enjoyed driving it this time of year with the hillsides taking fire as the autumn trees turned.
He'd gone about a third of the way home and had not too long ago passed where Highway 89 split off from 6 in a long winding road down into the valley below. Now he was nearly to a point where the route ahead reached a downhill series of curves and switchbacks, but unfortunately at the last part of the uphill climb leading to it his engine started sputtering in a way that suggested his hopes for the limitless capacity of his gas tank were in vain.
Trev stared at the the fuel gauge in shock: he hadn't expected this. Maybe he really would've been better off just leaving immediately.
Without much choice but to squint his eyes, ease off the gas to try to make it last as far as possible without losing momentum on the upward slope, and pray he could make it, Trev listened to the sputtering get worse and worse. About ten feet short of the top of the slope with his car slowed almost to a stop his engine died, sputtered back to life, and started making horrible noises as it struggled to burn the last few wisps of fumes still in the tank.
It died for good, and Trev actually held his breath as his car coasted the final few feet, teetered, and then slowed on the slight level stretch before the downhill slope.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and leapt out of the vehicle before it could come to a complete stop, throwing his shoulder against the doorframe and pushing with all his strength. His car kept moving, helped by his effort and its last bit of momentum, and Trev did his best to keep it going. The long downhill slope felt like it was far, far away, but somehow he managed to push the distance to it and threw himself back behind the wheel, panting, as the car began to pick up speed again.
After a moment he yanked the door shut and focused on navigating the curving road that hugged the gently curving downward slope to a saddle below before the road began going uphill again through the steepest and most mountainous part of the drive. With the engine dead he'd lost power steering and brakes, which was the last thing he wanted while going downhill on these roads, so even though he knew it was horrible for the brakes he rode them constantly to keep to a
As he left the populated areas behind and made his way up Spanish Fork Canyon the traffic faded until he was one of the only people on the road: apparently the business that had people flooding the streets in their vehicles was centered around town. The smartest thing they could've done would be to get in those cars and drive as far away from any population centers as they could on the gas left in their tanks, but Trev supposed they were still too invested in their houses and lives for such drastic action.
He hoped they didn't come to regret that decision in a few weeks when they were starving and the city around them was being torn to the ground by rioters.
After the tenseness of his departure the drive was almost disappointingly routine. He'd gone between college and Aspen Hill dozens of times in the last few years visiting family, spending time with Lewis fishing up in the Manti-La Sal mountains or building the shelter together, or just unwinding on school breaks.
To get to Aspen Hill he just had to follow Spanish Fork Canyon and then continue along Highway 6 towards Price, turning west fifteen or so miles north of the city onto a smaller road for the last several miles to get to the greener valley Aspen Hill nestled in between a few hills and the foothills leading up to the Manti-La Sal range farther to the west. Trev had followed the scenic route route through the canyon often enough he practically could've driven it in his sleep, although he always enjoyed driving it this time of year with the hillsides taking fire as the autumn trees turned.
He'd gone about a third of the way home and had not too long ago passed where Highway 89 split off from 6 in a long winding road down into the valley below. Now he was nearly to a point where the route ahead reached a downhill series of curves and switchbacks, but unfortunately at the last part of the uphill climb leading to it his engine started sputtering in a way that suggested his hopes for the limitless capacity of his gas tank were in vain.
Trev stared at the the fuel gauge in shock: he hadn't expected this. Maybe he really would've been better off just leaving immediately.
Without much choice but to squint his eyes, ease off the gas to try to make it last as far as possible without losing momentum on the upward slope, and pray he could make it, Trev listened to the sputtering get worse and worse. About ten feet short of the top of the slope with his car slowed almost to a stop his engine died, sputtered back to life, and started making horrible noises as it struggled to burn the last few wisps of fumes still in the tank.
It died for good, and Trev actually held his breath as his car coasted the final few feet, teetered, and then slowed on the slight level stretch before the downhill slope.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and leapt out of the vehicle before it could come to a complete stop, throwing his shoulder against the doorframe and pushing with all his strength. His car kept moving, helped by his effort and its last bit of momentum, and Trev did his best to keep it going. The long downhill slope felt like it was far, far away, but somehow he managed to push the distance to it and threw himself back behind the wheel, panting, as the car began to pick up speed again.
After a moment he yanked the door shut and focused on navigating the curving road that hugged the gently curving downward slope to a saddle below before the road began going uphill again through the steepest and most mountainous part of the drive. With the engine dead he'd lost power steering and brakes, which was the last thing he wanted while going downhill on these roads, so even though he knew it was horrible for the brakes he rode them constantly to keep to a
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