23. Ava
TWENTY-THREE
AVA
I think we’ve been driving for only a handful of minutes, but it feels like an hour. And I have no idea where we are, only that with San Antonio worsening to the south, we needed to get around the fires to continue north. Even on the periphery of it, though, the world smolders. The fields smoke with cinder and the horizon glows behind us.
Ashes cloak the windshield, and the wipers hiccup across the glass, clearing them away. The AC hums, circulating the air in the cab of the truck, and the trailer creaks over each bump in the frontage road. I don’t know if it’s a harmony of horrors left behind or horrors yet to come.
Shivering, I glance at Lucy in the backseat. She braces herself on the bench, our packs piled up around her as her mismatched eyes dart between the windows. Another pothole jostles the truck, and Lucy nearly flies forward.
I sneak a look at Knox. His attention is fixed on the road, but it’s clear his thoughts are back at the ranch; he checks his side mirror constantly as if Mitch might have changed his mind and rode after us.
It feels like I should say something to him, to comfort Knox in some way, but I can barely process my own thoughts. I’m still in shock, my adrenaline racing.
We continue in silence, Knox driving slowly—carefully—and while I know I am not an experienced driver, I still feel useless, with no way to help now that what was left of Knox’s life has been ripped away from him.
Knox’s grip loosens on the steering wheel with a deep sigh, and I think he’s resigned to the fact his dad isn’t coming.
“Hey,” I whisper. His jaw ticks, so I know he’s heard me, but his attention remains on the road. “Obviously, I don’t have my license, but maybe we should switch so you can process everything. I’ll drive slow.”
He blinks out the window, saying nothing.
“Knox?” I place my hand on his where it grips the center console like it’s a lifeline. That stirs him enough that he finally looks at me. The interior lights illuminate every contour of Knox’s face. His eyes are red-rimmed, though he hasn’t broken down since saying goodbye to his father, which scares me.
Knox looks at my hand on his before fixating on the road again. “I’m fine,” he mutters. “I need something to focus on anyway.”
I nod, reluctant. “If that’s what you want.” His fingers curl into a fist beneath mine, and I realize I’m stroking my thumb over the back of his hand. Immediately, I let go, but Knox’s fingers grab mine, squeezing hold of them in a silent request. Still, he doesn’t look at me, but it’s obvious Knox is barely holding himself together. His deep, steadying breaths and the quiver of his chin give him away...and I don’t know how to help him.
I squeeze his hand in return, sit back in my seat, and try to keep my own emotions in check. If holding Knox’s hand is all I can offer him—if it’s all he’ll take from me—I’m here for it as long as he needs me.
A few cars pass us as we drive on, but Knox hasn’t seemed to notice. We continue another hour or so, slow and steady, through the back and frontage roads until the sky begins to lighten in an orange haze that looks otherworldly. Only then is the true extent of the devastation obvious. The landscape is grisly in the daylight, as equally shocking as it is devastating.
Like a plague ravaging the land, the fire has consumed everything—one field after another as far as the eye can see, scorched in black. Smoke rises from the rubble. The ash-covered road is all that’s left unscathed.
My eyes blur as I process the aftermath. “This wind is feeding the fires,” I whisper. I’ve never seen anything so hauntingly grim as an incinerated world. The charred remains of a tree glint with embers as we drive closer. A gas station just beyond is nothing more than its cement foundation and scrap metal. The Mike’s Auto sign is covered in soot and half buried in debris, and I squeeze Knox’s hand tighter. “Do you think they got out of there?” The thought is so sudden, I’m not certain if I say the words or think them.
“If they were smart,” Knox says, his voice rough from disuse, “they left long before the fire got here.” Despite the lack of radio and phone communication, I have to hope Knox is right, or the thought of all these people burned to dust—their final moments—might finally break me.
“There would be more cars,” Knox adds. When I look at him, he meets my gaze. “If people hadn’t fled,” he supplies.
It’s sound reasoning, so I nod and offer him a weak but grateful smile. Regardless if it’s true, the thought gives me the slightest bit of comfort as we drive past what little is left of the farms and pastures that stretch beyond us. Brick chimneys, steel drums, metal piping, and water troughs are all that’s discernible in the ruins.
A speck on the side of the road ahead becomes a van as we drive closer. My heart rate ticks faster as I notice it’s parked and two guys are standing outside of it. They straighten when they hear us approaching, and I assume Knox will slow down to talk to them—to help them—but he doesn’t.
“Hey!” one of the guys calls as we continue past them.
I turn in my seat, watching them quickly fade into the distance. “Knox, why didn’t you?—”
“Because my dad told me not to trust anyone,” he grits out, and a lump forms in my throat. “And if two young guys my age can’t change their own tire, or are too dumb or lazy to hoof it to safety instead of hanging out on the side of an abandoned road, we don’t have time for them.” He grits his teeth. “We don’t have room for them, anyway, and I won’t risk your safety and what little we have left for two strangers.”
I blink as Knox’s words sink in. “All right.”
His exhale fills the entire cab of the truck and he runs his hand over his face. “If we’re going to Sweetwater,” Knox says, changing the subject, “we’ll have to get on the highway soon.” He doesn’t sound happy about it, and I can’t blame him. Mitch warned us to stay off the roads. Knox’s safety was paramount in their final moments together, and once again, I am struck by the reality that Knox is sacrificing what he truly wants to do, because instead of heading directly to his uncle’s place in Kansas like his dad thinks he’s doing, Knox is changing course. For me. Guilt hollows my stomach, but as much as I wish I could tell Knox to keep driving, I need to be with Julio. I need him to know I’m okay and to see that he is too; he’s the only family I have left.
I refocus out the window, acutely aware of how complicated this situation is about to get. Julio and Knox in the same space? I get heart palpitations thinking about it. “Thank you,” I murmur. “I know my uncle is the last person you want to see right now.”
A heartbeat passes. “I told you I would take you,” Knox finally says, but the stilted tone of his voice gives me pause, and I look at him, studying his pensive profile. “We don’t know what condition Sweetwater will be in, Ava,” he adds carefully, and I realize it’s hesitation in his voice, concern even. “I doubt it will be unscathed.” His gaze shifts over my face, lingering a beat before he refocuses on the road. “Just...prepare yourself for whatever we find.”
Picking at my fingernail, I peer out the window again. I’ve thought the same thing, I just haven’t allowed myself to stew over it. Not when the world is literally burning to ash around us, and Knox just left Mitch to whatever his fate will be. So, I keep my eyes ahead.
As the farm road veers toward the highway junction, my stomach drops again. Cars, or what’s left of their metal carcasses, clutter the turnoff and shoulder. “Do you think the fire blocked the road?” I wonder aloud. Knox and I stare at the carnage and it feels like a moment of silent mourning. The odds that every car in the gridlock was empty are slim to none.
“Maybe,” he breathes.
Bile inches its way up my throat, knowing people might’ve been stuck inside. I can’t imagine it—I don’t want to. And yet...it’s impossible to think of anything else.
“Shit.” Knox brings the truck to a stop where the vehicles thicken. I scour the congestion stretching in all directions, looking for a chink in the soot and steel maze.
“That big rig,” I say, pointing a quarter mile ahead. Sitting up straighter, I attempt to gauge the distance between it and what few cars are spread along the shoulder. “If we can get to it, there might be a way around it to the off-ramp. Maybe another farm road on the other side we can take.” Tapping my finger on the console, I assess the obstacles in our way of getting that far. “It’ll be tight, though.”
Knox looks at me—more like stares through me as he weighs our options, but there aren’t any others.
“We have to try,” he finally says, and he glances back at the horse trailer. It’s heavy and bulky and the horses are going to freak if we aren’t careful.
“Do you want me to get out and find a path?—”
“No,” he says quickly, scanning the sea of cars. Most of them are only remains, though it looks as if some were miraculously spared by the flames.
“Stay in the truck.” Knox climbs out, leaving the engine running and the AC circulating as he shuts the door behind him.
Lucy whines and jumps into the front. She steps on me, oblivious to her weight as she shoves me against the passenger window. “Back, Lucy. Sit.” It’s a feeble command, and she doesn’t listen. She only pauses, moving around to lick my face with a whine before her eyes search for Knox in the maze again. He surveys the road and landscape as he makes his way farther down the highway. Suddenly, Knox’s steps falter. He does a double take at one of the cars, and I cringe, certain that is not a good sign.
Lucy and I watch as he continues through the gridlock, walking around the vehicles like he’s avoiding headstones in a graveyard, beelining for the big rig. Some of the trucks are only half the size they once were, their tires gone and their bodies melted.
Eventually, Knox disappears behind one of them. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until he reappears around a diesel rig in the distance and makes his way back to us. Knox’s eyes meet mine through the windshield. I don’t know what his expression is trying to convey, but he passes the driver’s side and continues to the horse trailer.
Lucy whimpers as she jumps into the backseat again, watching him and impatiently waiting. The trailer shifts a little, the horses’ heads bob in my side mirror, and before long, Knox jumps into the truck bed, scouring our supplies for something. He pulls out a package, jumps out again, and climbs back into the driver’s seat. The scent of smoke wafts off him, and he hands me a N95 mask. “Put this on. The wind is picking up, and this is going to take a while.”
Knox and I pull the elastic over our heads, positioning our masks. It’s a little suffocating, my own breath hot on my face, but I don’t like the thought of all this smoke in my lungs either.
Knox leans forward, peering out at the sea of cars again. “I think I can get us through. I might have to nudge a few cars out of the way, but it’s doable.”
He sounds slightly uncertain, but I trust Knox. “What can I do?”
He glances in the rearview mirror like he can actually see past the horse trailer. “Roll your window down. I need you to watch the front right bumper and make sure I don’t clip anything harder than I have to. And the trailer.” Knox rolls his window down and leans out, assessing the road in front of him as he puts the truck in gear.
With a slight press on the gas, the F-250 starts forward, the engine revving just a little. “If I can carve a path from what’s left of that minivan over there to the hatchback, and over to the shoulder, I think I can get to the Peterbilt and inch my way past that Dodge on the off-ramp.”
His eyes shift to me like he needs the extra encouragement. “Yeah,” I say. “Good plan.” I brace myself as he locks his jaw with pure determination and starts weaving his way through the vehicles.
It’s slow going at first. Like Knox, I lean out the window, guiding him as best as I can. He nudges a car out of the way. The sound of screeching metal makes me flinch, but it’s what’s inside the vehicles I try not to notice. Some of them might be empty, but others likely aren’t, and I do all I can to not look too closely.
We’re halfway to the eighteen-wheeler when the trailer takes more of a hit than I think he expected as he maneuvers the path of least resistance through the tight turns.
“You’re close on this side,” I say over my shoulder. “But you can make it.” The bumper barely skims the front end of a Tesla. Or rather, what’s left of it. “You can?—”
A deep rumble fills the eerie silence. Lucy perks up, and Knox and I look at each other as the ground starts to shake. Like a wave cresting a stretch of beach, an earthquake rolls through Route 87. The trailer shakes, the horses stir, and Lucy whimpers as the cab creaks and groans, along with all of our supplies rattling in the bed of the truck. If the world opens up and swallows us whole, there’s nothing we can do about it, and Knox and I both seem to hold our breath.
The entire highway is riddled with movement. Steel skeletons crumble, and a body in the Tesla beside me falls forward, the skull and charred flesh of some hapless victim hitting the windshield. I jerk away from the window, covering my mouth.
“Ava—”
Knox grips my arm. “Look at me,” he urges. I drag my gaze away and peer into his hazel eyes, which are so easy to get lost in. Strong. Stoic. Quiet Knox. His hand is warm, his gaze hot like a brand as the seconds pass, becoming more like minutes, until, finally, the rumbling fades, the shaking dissipates, and the world is eerily silent again. I will my heartbeat to steady as I take a deep breath.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah—” I nod. “Yes. I’m fine.”
Knox peers beyond me at the Tesla, and the worry etched in his brow softens a little.
“I know,” I say before he can remind me. “I’m going to see much worse. I just—I wasn’t prepared. That’s all.”
Knox lets go of my arm and refocuses on the highway. He reaches back, stroking Lucy’s head to calm her, and probably himself too. “We need to keep moving,” he says more urgently this time.
When he accelerates again, Knox applies more pressure to the gas pedal, and we move through the metal graveyard with less precision.
I reclaim my place as sentry in the passenger seat, guarding the right side of the truck and trailer as we force our way to the semi. If Knox sees bodies as we weave our way through the gridlock, he has no visible reaction. So, I keep my moans and groans to myself and stay as focused as I can.
It feels like an hour has passed before we’re finally through the obstacle course. Knox stops the truck, running his hands over his jeans. He clenches his hands into fists like his fingers ache and exhales an unsteady breath. “It’s been a while, but I think I remember how to get to Sweetwater from here.” He cracks his neck, glancing up and down the shoulder of the off ramp. It’s mostly clear—easy money compared to what we just waded through—and he drives on.
We aren’t a dozen yards ahead when the road clears up a bit and Knox can actually accelerate. “This should take us to another frontage road.”
We roll up our windows to keep the smoky air out and settle in for the last stretch of the journey. The road feels endless as it winds between pastures, finally getting to Highway 70. The land here is fire-scarred like elsewhere, and I realize how long the flames must have been burning to have spread so far—a couple of days at least. The stronger the wind, the more ash fills the air, and I wonder how much farther the fires will spread before there is nothing left to consume.
Mitch’s face, shadowed and resigned, flashes to mind, and I glance at Knox. At least I know for certain Scott and Mavey are gone, but Knox will always wonder if his father is.
As we drive closer to town, utility poles line the road again, and the fire scars covering the earth disappear with the burn zone behind us.
“Look!” I point to the silhouette of wind turbines on the horizon. The skies are clearer here, and a little bit of the tension in my shoulders abates. “We’re getting close.” I catch myself smiling in the mirror and my smile grows a little wider.
But as the turbines grow taller and the hazy morning clears, patches of sunlight illuminate a world riddled with fissure scars, broken turbines, and toppled water towers—collateral damage left in the wake of so many quakes.
Sweetwater . Dread creeps a little closer as I try to focus on the open road and clearing skies instead. We pass a crumbled silo and empty green pastures, only slowing as the cracks in the asphalt worsen. Untouched by wildfires, the outskirts of town look livable, and eventually, the sporadic farmhouses and businesses we pass become many. Instead of being happy, I feel unsettled—anxious and reluctant.
I look at Knox. Once we get to Julio’s, he’ll go his own way, and I’ll never see him again.
Knox gives an overturned big rig a wide berth as I swallow the conflicting emotions thickening in my throat. “So,” I start. “I was thinking?—”
A herd of elk rush from behind the semi into the road, and Knox slams on the brakes. The trailer tires lock and screech, the weight of our haul pushing us forward. The cement wall of the creek bridge stops us from going over as we hit. The airbags deploy, and we lurch forward. I’m flung back, and my head hits the passenger window. Lucy collides with the dash, and Knox curses—a thump meeting my ears—before everything stops. The truck and trailer settle back into place as much as the pawing, anxious horses will allow.
Gaping and frozen in shock, I blink. Again and again until the world refocuses. “Son of a bitch,” I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut. Pain sings through my head and I reach for the warm blood in my hairline and cringe.
“You okay?” Knox rasps.
I think I nod, watching four elk retreat into the foliage along the creek. Knox’s door squeaks open and Lucy scrambles out. Cramped and a little claustrophobic, I can’t get out of the truck fast enough either. I reach for the seatbelt, only I never put it on after helping Knox maneuver through the gridlock. “Epic fail, Ava.” I groan, and I reach for the handle as my door opens on its own.
Knox is so close I can feel the warmth of his body beside me. “You’re bleeding.” Slightly frantic, he takes my face in his hands, assessing the wound. I know it can’t be too terrible if I’m still conscious.
“I’ll be fine,” I reassure him, and I step down from the truck. I stumble and Knox grabs onto my arm for good measure. I stare at the way his fingers press into my arm, the roughness of his palm against my skin. We’re both trembling, I realize. Adrenaline buzzes between us, and squinting against the sunlight, I peer up at him. This time, I reach for his face. “That’s going to hurt,” I warn, my fingers hovering just above the knot forming on his temple.
“Who says it doesn’t already?” he mutters.
With a nervous laugh, I loosen my hold on Knox and take a step back.
He gestures for me to grab onto the truck. “Wait here while I check on the horses. You might have another concussion.”
“Me?” I glower at him. “You’re the one with a persimmon on your head.”
He glances at me over his shoulder, but Knox doesn’t reply.
With a shoulder-loosening sigh, I close my eyes and lift my face up to the sunlight, grateful a few cuts, bumps, and bruises are all we have to worry about. My eyes pop open, snapping to the crushed front of the truck. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” Knox mutters, reaching into the back of the truck to pull out a water bottle for each of us. “Shit is right.” He hands me one, his eyes fixed on the front end.
Since there is steam coming from the hood, I assume we’re screwed. I sneak another look at Knox to gauge just how screwed we are. “I know it’s bad,” I start. “But like...how bad are we talking?”
“Fucked,” he says tersely. Knox tries to open the hood, but it’s jammed. “I’m assuming we have no radiator at this point.”
Groaning, I fold my arms on the edge of the truck bed and lower my head. “We were so close.” The longer my body trembles, the more I question whether it’s subsiding adrenaline or if I’m about to have a breakdown.
“We have the horses,” Knox reminds me, then chugs his water. “And the longer we all stay out here in this shitty air quality, the worse we’re all going to feel—the horses included.”
Knox tosses his water bottle into the cab of the truck.
“We’re riding to Julio’s?”
Knox walks to the trailer gate. “It’s why we brought them.” He unlatches the back. “Saddle up.”