CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
We travel south, following the dried up riverbed of the Mississippi, riding without stopping. I know it only takes about eight hours from Memphis to Houston, and I’m desperate not to stop. But everyone’s weary, battered, and exhausted, and eventually, after traveling for two hours, even I have to concede that we need to rest.
The devastation here is absolute. Everything has been completely flattened, reduced to a desert. The bombs that caused craters as big as towns in the north have completely flattened cities in the south. What were once bustling metropolises have been completely eradicated. All around, as far as the eye can see, there is nothing. Which means nowhere to hide, nowhere to shelter, and nowhere to hunt.
Finally, we draw to a halt. I get off the bike and
