Chapter 4: A Trucker’s Departure

“I have to say, Amigo, that this truck is well made,” Videl remarked.

The rancher’s friend was standing not far from the giant rig. He was busy wiping his hands and wiping away the grease that collected on his worn-down fingers.

It had been two days of nonstop work in Greg’s warehouse. The covering on the vehicle had been lifted, revealing the monstrosity of a machine. The rig was a behemoth, a military vehicle in the glory days of old, a pinnacle of early 20th-century technology.

From what Greg knew, the truck was an Oshkosh 10 x 10-wheeler. It measured well over 10 meters in length, not including the additional 6-wheel trailer linked behind it. The front cockpit was a wedge-shaped compartment consisting of a driver and passenger seat. There was enough room behind the seats to store additional supplies and items. Numerous gauges, levers, buttons, and other makeshift gear were stored about in the midsection.

Next to the main cockpit was the central diesel engine unit. It was shaped like a box, almost giving the fake appearance that the truck could carry additional passengers behind the main compartment. Next to it was a crane lifter that carried and housed a replacement tire. Each wheel on the truck was 53 inches in height.

Videl looked at the rest of the truck. It had been neatly painted in dark green and black. On the bed of the vehicle was a makeshift container that gave the truck the highest point of height for the entire rig. A lowered set of stairs led up to a door inside the container. Inside was a set of small living quarters. On top of the container was a small, rigged turret housing station where a heavy caliber machine gun was stored. Behind the truck was the linked-up trailer, a simple unit carrying an enclosed shed big enough to hold a single vehicle. The sheer weight of the entire rig was well over 60,000 lbs.

“A huh,” Greg commented. He was dressed in his protective clothing, except for his head covering. Videl could tell that he was eager to start the vehicle up. The rancher’s attention was focused on the mid-compartment of the cockpit. A set of ad hoc digital displays was in place that provided a basic sensor unit, overhead display, and the status of the truck’s systems. It was a mixture of old and new technology mixed together. Even the doors and windows were refitted to be thicker and help contain the cabin’s interior atmosphere.

“I think your wonder project is gathering an audience,” Videl told him. “They want to see your truck in action.”

“They will very soon,” Greg said. He got out of the driver’s seat and jumped down, his boots impacting the pavement as he began to walk back, doing a final inspection of his rig.

Videl could see nothing but a sense of pride in him, held back by the rancher’s ambitions in getting his project ready to move. However, he had to state the obvious to him and make sure he was ready for this extended trip.

“I still wonder if you can do this,” Videl remarked.

“You’ve seen enough of what this truck can do,” Greg told him without looking at him. “The US military designed these vehicles to survive. Hell, they were so well built that the Martian and UHN vehicles only copied and improved upon these designs. The only real difference is that they use electric motors and move faster.”

“But can it truly handle the environment and keep you alive?”

“I have air filters installed in the cockpit and living quarters, a water purifier station, and a collector unit in the bed container. I have enough water and rations for 10 days. You already know all this, Videl.”

“But this is the first time you’ll be taking it out on a trip like this, let alone to the other side of Yellowstone.”

“Montana,” Greg corrected him. “It’s called Montana.”

Videl put his hand on Greg’s shoulder. The rancher paused as he turned around and gave a stalwart look at his friend.

“I’ll be fine,” the rancher replied. “I have one of the outer orbit GPS satellites to help me out if I get lost. You’ll be ready for me to radio you if something happens to me.”

“You have enough fuel for 600 kilometers tops,” Videl stepped over and tapped one of the fuel tanks. “It won’t be enough without a stop to get some more ... I’m sorry if it won’t be enough. But, I’ll go ahead and contact the other dome cities ahead of you ... see if they can spare some more for you.”

“It’s all that can be done.”

The rancher put his hands on his hips. On the truck’s left door were the small words “Autumn” written in white paint. He turned his head to see Doctor Himari standing by the entrance tunnel. Mac and Cheese were standing on their hind legs, remaining by the doctor’s side and pawing in the air in the man’s direction. At the same time, another individual was quietly watching Greg. It was none other than Mayor Greene, standing with a wooden box in one hand and using his cane to keep him propped up.

Greg took a deep breath. All eyes were on him. He never knew that he had made such an impression on so many. However, it only drove him to do what he was doing now. The rancher walked over to his table. Most of the guns had already been stowed in the rig. However, there was one gun that was still sitting on the rack. It was his lever action 45-70, modified extensively with a scope to it. His head cover and mask also remained ready to be picked up.

Before grabbing them, there was one last thing he needed.

The US Flag and its 13 stars remained on the wall. He reached over and grabbed it. Then, he grabbed a metal pole and began linking the cloth to it before tying it into place.

“You intend to fly it, don’t you?” Greene asked, slowly approaching him.

Greg didn’t answer. He acted. The man walked over to the front portion of the cab. There was a nice placement holder that had been welded into place. The rancher took the metal pole and placed the flag so that it would neatly hang from the vehicle.

“I thought so,” Greene replied. He stood next to the rancher as he turned around to face him.

The old man gave an affirmative nod. He lifted the box and presented it to the rancher.

“What is it?” he asked the mayor.

“A spare. I know it’s 52 stars, 39 short of what you have, but just in case you lose the one you got.”

“I think you should hang it up from this dome instead of giving it to me.”

“And you think this is the only one I have? “ the mayor smiled. “Just come back in one piece. Give me an excuse to live a little longer.”

The rancher gave a hint of a smile back. He took the box and shook the mayor’s hand. Greg opened the door of the rig and neatly stowed the box in one of the rear compartments.

This left the rancher with the last things to pick up. He walked over to the table and plucked the rifle and head covering from it. Then, he walked back to his truck while slipping the mask and helmet over his bearded face.

“Take care of Mac and Cheese for me,” the rancher told Himari.

“Don’t worry,” Doctor Himari said, looking down at the two red pandas. “Maybe they’ll help me out in getting some more animals brought back ... assuming you can help me out in return.”

Greg nodded his head to her before looking back at the truck. He climbed inside and sat down on the driver’s seat.

The interior cab of the truck was spacious. There were so many dials, most of which supposedly still worked. Any that didn’t were relayed to the middle makeshift computer terminals. At the moment, all of it was powered off to conserve the main battery. Greg took a deep breath as his gloved hands grasped the steering wheel. He tried to picture the ancient times when truckers were at one with their vehicles going on long trips to deliver their cargo. It all felt foreign to him but something he was eager to recreate.

Videl felt tempted to say something, but he could see that Greg was in deep thought. Finally, the rancher reached into his pocket and pulled out a key.

“Good luck, hombre,” Videl told him.

“Thank you,” Greg told him. “ ... For all of it.”

“You did most of the work long before I ever did. I recommend going to the Salt Lake City Dome first. It’s a little out of the way, but it’s your choice on which direction you want to go.”

Greg took the key and held it for a few seconds. He stuck it into the ignition and turned it.

The engine behind the cab began to turn. It didn’t take long before a deep, hard hum could be heard. The firing pistons reverberated in the vast interior of the warehouse.

“Yeah!” Videl remarked, smacking the side of the truck. “Funciona!”

The scraggly man stepped back in pride and backed away from the entire rig. Despite the earlier successful engine test runs, now, for the first time, it felt like the vehicle was alive. After 300 years of slumber, the beast had awakened. Whatever its history was, it was all but mute now. Now, it would serve in the new journey.

The rancher knew that he needed to get this truck moving. The warehouse was no place to keep an active vehicle online. Its heavy exhaust was black at first, but it started to clear up some as he revved the engine a little bit. The warehouse was still mostly sealed up, and the CO2 and NO2 emissions were already building up.

With a tap of the button, the main garage door began to open. Videl, Himari, and Greene all stepped away and out of the emerging doors. Even the doctor scurried the red pandas away in case they were thinking of escaping outside.

Plenty of morning sunlight tried to pierce through the cloudy haze. However, upon the doors opening, the hint of mild dust already began to blow inside. Greg closed the driver’s side door to the truck and sealed himself in. The seatbelt light was still working, but the man was distracted by all the gauges. The air filters were already active, with the internal gauge indicating that it was safe to breathe without a filter mask.

It would have to do. The man undid the clasps and pulled the mask and head covering off. The smell of old equipment filled his senses. The GPS display monitor showed a basic layout of the region. With the vehicle being an automatic shift, the man put it into drive and slowly pushed down on the accelerator pedal.

It took a few seconds, but the entire rig began to drift forward. All sixteen wheels were spinning together as the engine was fully active. The truck was by no means some hot rod. It was a working utility vehicle. However, the monstrosity was moving and gaining speed as the entire truck slowly exited the warehouse.

Unlike the previous few days, the dust storms were slightly thicker than normal, producing a slight orange haze. Greg spared no expense in turning on the main forward lights. Even the daylight masked them. For now, it was better to just keep them on regardless.

The outside doors were linked to the neglected concrete. It struggled and buckled under the weight of the enormous vehicle. Greg turned his head to the right. A small group of people, at least ten, all wearing protective garments, including men, women, and children, were watching the monstrous truck prepare to leave.

It took Greg by surprise as he pressed down upon the breaks to bring the rig to a halt. Not far behind them was his horse’s final resting place. A simple hole and cross were placed over the disturbed dirt where the man had buried her. Every person said goodbye and wished him luck on his journey.

It brought a gentle smile to the rancher’s face. He didn’t seem to expect that he gathered a crowd for the launch of his renovated vehicle. A small child was jumping up and down, pulling his hand up and down with a gesture to honk the horn. Greg responded in kind, placing his hand on the steering wheel and giving a definitive deep honk that echoed in the area. The rest of the individuals were probably watching from inside the dome.

The man felt motivated. He pulled his steering wheel to the left and let go of the brakes. The large rig began to slowly move forward, touching the dirt and concrete in tandem. As the rear trailer left the warehouse, the doors started to close behind it. Free from the confines, the rancher put a small amount of pressure on the accelerator pedal and brought the truck to around 8 Km/H.

So far, so good. The truck was moving under its own power. To the man’s left was the other warehouse and main dome walls. To the man’s right were the remaining concrete walls of the airbase. There was plenty of space to maneuver, the truck leaving a nice trail where the numerous wheels touched. He continued to increase speed and made a long right turn, bringing the truck to the main open gate. Outside the gate was the ruins of Interstate 15.

With traffic all but extinct, the trucker had little to worry about. He touched the brakes, bringing the front wheels to the road’s edge. The man still had a choice to make. Which path was the best?

Greg looked eastward. Interstate 15 was the most likely candidate, leading straight to the Salt Lake City Dome. Taking Route 95 would most likely mean encountering fewer people or locales to restock. However, a lingering issue remained, which he kept in mind as he turned the steering wheel to the right. He couldn’t spend his time going sightseeing. Fuel was the final decision on the direction and destination.

Interstate 15 would have to do. Greg saw as the truck began its 90-degree turn, pulling itself into the heart of the main road of Las Vegas Blvd. With most of the ancient vehicles gone or stripped bare, it was nothing but a straightforward path. He pressed down on the accelerator pedal as the entire rig made its turn and proceeded forward. The truck’s engine was handling steadily, propelling the truck faster and faster. Even if the vehicle was primitive, Greg could feel a sense of enthrallment. The rig was fully operational.

All 16 wheels were rotating. The truck’s heavy, deep roar reverberated throughout the region as it accelerated. A haze of dust remained in the air, but the truck’s slow speed made it easy to navigate. To his right were the walls of the airbase, but it would be a matter of time before he left that behind...

The haze of dust and sand was growing. Even in the midst of the morning afternoon, the sunlight seemed far dimmer than usual. Hard sands would occasionally smack the side of the truck, but the immense weight of the vehicle made it hard to push it around.

The interior cabin of the truck would shake and tumble at times. Greg could still see ahead of him and note the road. Around him were hints of sandy hillsides. The pavement was in poor shape, showing signs of crumbling as the large rig rolled over it. The rancher made sure to keep both hands on the steering wheel. Despite the uneasiness he felt traveling, he felt more and more comfortable as the minutes went by.

It had been at least an hour of travel. Greg looked at his gauges, even going as far as tapping one of them with his knuckles to check if it was working. The hum of the engine reverberated.

Greg noted a broken-down car on the side of the road as he kept his boot on the accelerator pedal. Abandoned cars and vehicles had been more commonplace in cities, but they tended to serve as derelict guideposts in the middle of nowhere. The man would wonder what was in them. Was there any loot to find in them? What was the history of the vehicle? Who drove them? Did the people who operated them ever make it?

The continued motion would quickly erase those questions as the rig moved at an ever-present pace, passing the car. Bored, Greg finally tapped a few buttons on a panel. It activated the interior speakers as a music theme picked up in volume. It consisted of simple country music, a male voice, and a steady upbeat to it. The main display showed the title theme, “Six Days on the Road” by Dave Dudley.

The rancher’s gloved hand began tapping the steering wheel while he listened. A hint of a smile could be seen from his bearded chin. He imagined the good old days of what truckers listened to, or at least, what they might have listened to.

Finally, the radio was activated on the cab’s console. Greg tapped the mute button on the display, silencing the cabin speakers, before picking up the microphone. He brought it near his mouth and spoke through it while keeping his other hand on the steering wheel. He let up on the accelerator pedal and slowed down the truck some.

“Hello?” Greg called out.

“Greg, mi amigo,” Videl’s voice came through. “Can you hear me all right?”

“Yes, I can.”

“How are you doing so far?”

“Maintaining a speed of 80 Km/H.”

“Any issues with the engine?”

“No..., but I’m getting small thumps from the engine. Can’t really figure out why.”

“How often is it occurring?” Videl asked.

“Once every minute or so. I get a few thumps, and it stops. It isn’t too loud, though.”

“Hmmm ... how’s your oil?”

Greg reached forward and looked at the dashboard. “Nominal.”

“Could be the timing chain that’s off ... maybe something else that’s loose.”

“Damn...” The man frowned and shook his head.

“You can still turn around and head back so we can fix it.”

The rancher shook his head. “No. If I head back now, we’ll have to scavenge for more fuel. I’m already committed unless this grows serious.”

“Got it. In the meantime, I would still find a place to stop and check the engine out. Make sure nothing is leaking that we hadn’t missed. You already have some replacement parts with you.”

“And the tools for it, too. Is there any way that we can try to salvage gas from the abandoned local gas stations?”

“No...” Videl said. “Over 200-year-old gas? Sorry, amigo. Not going to happen. But I do have some good news. I got ahold of Salt Lake City Dome. They still have a refinery online. I spoke with a man named Owen Michael. The city is sitting on one of the largest natural gas pits in North America.”

“Did you place an order for me?”

“As much as I could. The only problem is that it still might not be enough.”

The rancher shook his head. “Autumn is a thirsty bitch.”

“Ha, ha...” Videl chuckled. “What do you expect when you’re hauling tons and tons of metal, not including a car when you return?”

“Eh ... one thing at a time. What about the other domes?”

“I haven’t contacted them yet. My only recommendation for you is to use every ounce of space you have. Use that trailer to carry the extra gas to your destination, then use that space to carry the car back home.”

“It’s the only choice I have.”

“Also, I might recommend raising your tire pressure.”

“The CTIS...,” Greg said in realization. “Of course. I was too used to the automatic systems on current vehicles.”

“Since you’re driving on roads...”

“I know, I know,” the rancher said as he reached over and began adjusting the switch. “Paved roads, I can increase the central tire inflation.”

“Exactly, hombre. Save fuel.”

The rancher was turning the dial, but an error registered on his side display.