Jake Green gripped the steering wheel as he raced along the empty road.
The dark truck raced along behind him.
He let a breath escape through his clenched teeth, and he forced himself to think of them.
It had been too long since he had seen any of their faces.
This was what he had told himself all night. As he drove along the darkened streets. From the moment he finished listening to Hawkins insist he was recuperating. As he argued with Chavez and the government officials.
He hadn't tried to contact them. The last time he'd been in town, the power had been cut. And no one had been home to pick up the phone anyway.
He had listened to their arguments. They had promised him they would look into it, to the best of their abilities in good time. They were, after all, at the start of a major war, and they had their priorities straight. They had reminded him of the dangers of the roads, the high chances of encountering trouble at the checkpoints, and the circumstances under which he had left home in the first place.
None of this had changed things for him. He'd remained adamant- he had to get back to Jericho. He'd left his people behind. Who knew what could have happened to them? Who was still in hiding, who could have been captured by now, and how many were even still alive? Now that he was satisfied that he'd done his part, he needed to get back to them, to see how they were surviving. He couldn't sleep, couldn't sit, couldn't think without imagining their faces, seeing in his head what kind of horrors could have swallowed them.
They'd argued, but it really hadn't been too hard to convince Hawkins. He was thinking a lot about some of those people back in Jericho himself. Jake had set out, armed with whatever aid the Texans could spare, determined to drive until he was back at the safe house or unable to sit up at the wheel.
Now it seemed as though one of those options was going to win out. He held his foot down on the pedal, seeing the truck gaining on him in the review mirror.
If he hadn't already been driving for so many hours, so long he'd lost track of whether it was day or night, he might have been able to scream in frustration. Now, he put all his energy into pushing the truck to go faster. The truck behind him continued to speed towards him.
It was all too familiar, only this time, so much had changed. Last time it had been unexpected. He had been fighting to survive, to help his town survive. This time, he should have known this would happen.
The thieves were a few feet away. He was so close to home now, but this truck was so much closer. He cursed himself for choosing this. He was certain now, he'd made the wrong choice again. Everyone had said to stay, to wait for a safer moment, but he'd chosen this moment. He shouldn't have given in to his impulses, but he just had to see them for himself, for his own peace of mind. He couldn't wait a minute. Now he was seconds away from failing them.
A sound of metal and glass smashing and grinding together, moving with the flying bits of machine, bones and flesh through a trash compactor, and gliding through oil, fire, water...and he was on the ground.
All was quiet, still, cold. Nothing to see or hear. It was over.
He willed himself not to feel it. Not to try to make sense of the flurry of activity moments before. After everything, this was it. Leaving everyone in Texas, everyone in Kansas, without a word.
He felt the scenes flashing as they had last time. The moments he wouldn't think were important, but as each one sharply burst into his mind, he suddenly realized, momentarily, the significance of that time he'd hid Elizabeth Brooke's lunchbox on the overhang at the back of the school, and the time he'd gotten a fish-hook in his thumb and Gramps had pulled it out. He saw himself driving Stanley's truck to its limit, and smashing a glass against the wall at his apartment in San Diego.
The little girl was there. She was so familiar, but still a shock to see. There were others too, behind her, beside her. Their shadows stretched and spread into the night.
It seemed as though there were whispers. Whistling wind. He couldn't get up for them.
They persisted. He knew what they wanted. What everyone wanted. He couldn't do it. He would fail them in this, just like he had so often before. His body was tired, wouldn't allow him to do anything else.
He could almost see their faces. The faces of the people in Jericho, that he'd been waiting to see, were fading. These ones here were getting closer. A shimmer of red hair getting brighter in the blackness, a smoky smell of cologne so familiar he could cry, a laugh he remembered from a summer's day when he'd painted a hand-me-down bike purple so it didn't look like Stanley's anymore. He wanted to see them again. He waited for them to reach out to him. He wondered what was taking them so long.
He was aware he was shaking. He closed his eyes, willing his body to stop, to let the darkness take him in. It was coming.
Jake.
This whisper was clear. A voice he knew. And suddenly, the other voices stopped. They were still there, but they weren't coming closer.
Jake, buddy, what are you doing still on the ground?
Had he been able to move, he might have laughed. Can't you see I'm a little incapacitated at the moment?
The familiar voice of his friend answered. Yeah, you're lying on the ground.
Moments passed silently. Jake felt his arms and legs were cold. He couldn't will himself to move them.
Jake, you have to get up again.
I don't want to.
What's your problem?
Tired.
It seemed a silly word to describe it. He was exhausted down to his bones. Everything that had happened in the last few days, weeks, months, was crushing into his head. He had been running so long, from one terrible scene to another, and now he was on the ground, not able to move.
Leave me alone, Freddie. I've done what I could. Now I can't do any more.
You've done what you could?
Yes. You'd have laughed if you'd seen me. I came back to town and started playing hero every week. Always worrying they couldn't look after themselves.
But they can?
Yeah. Well, I don't know, but I don't know if I can look after them anymore. Not with what's heading their way now.
So you're just gonna stay here?
It's better this way.
Okay, that's ridiculous man. Get up.
Freddie, I've just been hit by a truck.
Get up.
Surprisingly solid hands grabbed him, pulling him to his feet. Surprisingly, he stayed standing, feeling almost like he was floating. He opened his eyes. He blinked slowly. The sky was filled with hazy light. It was still cold, but it was definitely daytime.
He was surprised to be blinking at the face of his friend.
“Freddie!”
In a daze, he glanced around. He was standing on the road, but there was no sign of the car wreck, or the road gang.
Clutching his pounding head, he stammered. “What's- what's happening?”
“That's a good question. Let's go see.” Freddie was pulling him along. His touch was solid; it seemed more real than the sky and earth around them.
“Freddie, how are you here?” he asked.
“I liked your first question better. Much easier to look into,” said Freddie with a chuckle.
He had a shock as they walked towards the edge of the road and he saw Jericho in the distance. How had he gotten so close? And how was he standing now, talking to his dead friend? Jake stumbled along, unsure exactly what or who he was following. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“We're going to go find out what's happening in your town. Check in on all those people who don't need you. You'd better get ready though- they'll probably act like they're seeing a ghost.”
Jake glanced at him.
Freddie held up his hands. “You, not me. They won't be seeing me at all. Don't worry, though. I'll still be there to guide you and stuff.” He said it like it was an amusing punch line.
“So how am I the ghost?” Jake asked slowly, not liking the tone this conversation was taking.
They stopped at the edge of the path. Jake could see the buildings on the outskirts of town. Freddie made a sweeping gesture. “You're looking at a Jericho that hasn't seen Jake Green in six years. Give or take.”
Jake stood still as Freddie walked forward. Freddie turned back, a grin on his face.
“Don't you want to see what it's like? What it would be like if you'd never come back to Jericho?”
The realization was dawning on Jake like a punch to the stomach. Suddenly, he was not in the mood for walking.
“Don't tell me I got you all the way here and you don't want to see.” Freddie made a grimace of mock-annoyance. “I get it. Something's telling you this won't be pretty. Well, you know you have to see for yourself.”
Jake looked darkly across the town. He knew this familiar voice was right. It was inevitable, but he couldn't help stalling.
“Come on, man. You started this. Now we see it through.”
Freddie's inviting smile, so much like far away, happier days, convinced him to begin stepping towards the road.
“That's good. Just keep walking.”
“Like I have a choice,” grumbled Jake, following his late friend.