The Lost Country

THUNDER LIZARD ROAD-6

From the moment they roared into Pine Stump Junction is was obvious to both of them that they would find no help there. Indeed, besides a handful of schools and churches and a YMCA, there was scarcely a “there” there at all—no people, no police presence, not so much as a tumbleweed—or so it seemed until they rumbled past the Y and saw a girl of about 12 huddled near the bicycles, at which point Sammy geared down and brought the Harley to a complete stop.

“What’s going on? Why are we stopping?” asked Annie, suddenly alarmed.

Sammy indicated the girl with a nod of his head. “We seem to have a survivor,” he said, and pushed up his visor. “Hello there! Are you hurt in any way?”

The girl didn’t so much as look up—only curled tighter into a ball as the Harley idled.

“Put it in gear,” said Annie abruptly. “There’s nothing we can do for her.”

“She’s in shock,” said Sammy, and shouted again: “I said hello there! Are you all right?”

“Sammy. Put it in gear.”

“I’m not just going to leave—”

“We’ve no room for her. What we need to do is get to DJ’s. He’s got guns, food, liquor ... we can come back for her lat—”

And there was a sound, an engine sound, which sputtered and died even as a school bus appeared across the street and finally rolled to a stop. Nor had Sammy even processed the sight before a T. rex emerged into full view—brushing its great head against the vehicle’s hull and trying to roll it over, gnashing its teeth. And it was in that very instant that Sammy realized precisely what the hell was going on—for the bus was full of children, and what was more, it was being driven by one, as well.

“Jesus gods, Sammy. Put it in gear, let’s go.”

And he did put it in gear, having realized, at last, that she was right: there was nothing they could do. And he realized, too, as they tore away from the scene, that the girl had looked up at the last instant, looked up and began running after them.

That’s right, came a voice, wan, disinterested, her voice, following him still, as it had followed him since the divorce and the buying of the winning Lotto ticket, as it had followed him since meeting Annie and across the entire country ... just keep riding. After all, that’s what you’re good for, Sammy. Riding and driving away.

And what of it, b***h? He cycled up through the gears viciously. At least I’m good for something. I’m good for boning Annie. And I’m good for drinking and smoking and dropping mescaline. What I’m no good for is kids. What I’m no good for is saving anyone from the apocalypse—or anything else. So yes, I’m driving away. Because it’s the end of the world as we know it ... and I feel fine.

Just fine.

I feel ...

He took the bike out of gear and skidded to a halt in the middle of the road, where they just sat and idled for what seemed a long time.

“What are you doing?” protested Annie. “Why are we stopping?”

But he just ignored her and kicked it into gear, tearing back toward Pine Stump Junction—back toward the running girl and the school bus full of children, back toward the T. rex and its head full of fearsome teeth. And so intent upon his driving was he that he didn’t give a thought as to why Annie had opened one of the saddlebags and was rifling through its contents, nor just how truly dangerous throwing in with someone who was essentially a complete stranger to you could ultimately prove to be.

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