Land of Orange Skies

He woke too aware of the hardships of the coming day.

They were perhaps lost, if only slightly off course, yet he knew they were in the right vicinity. He had thought on the previous day that things had begun to look familiar. When they made camp, he admitted that the site was in the wrong draw, but he was confident he knew the way ahead.

They would follow the old drainage leading away from pond until it met the creek bed a couple miles below, then turn up the creek and follow it to its headwaters. From there they could hike the ridgeline east, following south, and drop east into the next bowl before going north again.

If they were lucky, they might catch a view of the surrounding ridges to give them an idea of their distance from the highway. Having it this close was unsettling, but he knew there were too many risks if they strayed too far and they were desperate to make time.

Time, he thought shaking his head, there’s a useless term anymore.

He nudged her awake.

“I’ll get started on breakfast if you want to start teardown. I can help pack things away while the water gets going.”

She groaned unwillingly and nodded before bursting into a stretching yawn.

They had been walking without interruption for three days so far. Their last resupply had fortunately garnered little attention from what they could tell. Unsurprising; many mountain town residents on the plateaus had cleared out after Phase 3 initiated, fearing that isolation and limited medical resources would be their downfall if things got much worse.

In the United States and across the globe, society was now a glimmer of its former self and the humans remaining fell largely into three categories: the sick, disabled, and dying; those who, like them, were passing through; and the ones who believed it was some kind of test of will or wrath of God.

The first, “the Forsaken”, were harmless at a distance and unlikely to have the strength to catch or overpower anyone. Humanity in the empathetic sense had largely deteriorated from abled survivors. Everyone understood that efforts to help others who could not help themselves would most likely end in the death of everyone involved or in heartbreak.

Transients were a mixed bag. The majority he had encountered were genial, excited to see they were not the only ones who had any hope left, though some were more to-the-point; cordial but guarded. He had heard stories from others of gangs, tribes, families, whatever they wanted to call themselves, who had devolved into cults of the wild. The tales ran the gamut of gruesome and went far beyond the expected intimidation, theft, and debauchery one might assume. Rather they tended to be more in line with outrageous murders, sacrificial torture, sex slavery, even cannibalism. They had spent the last 7 months moving steadily on foot from Fort Worth and thus far had only heard stories. Though erring on the side of caution, each of them reserved some skepticism.

The Nationalists and the Fundamentalists were the true threats, collectively known as “the Lost”. These two factions were by and large the same, the only difference being in the whys of killing outsiders.

At the beginning of the Great Collapse, the Nationalists, riddled with paranoia and propaganda-driven belief, stayed put where the roots of their family trees had decayed for generations. In the months leading into global catastrophe, they would have been the first to tell you that everyone else was paranoid and that the endless march of disasters and outrage were nothing more than media-spun misunderstandings and mischaracterizations. But as conditions worsened and societal problems became clearer, their information resources pivoted dangerously from denying the existence of impending doom to claiming that those who had been demanding action for so long had grown restless and were now perpetrating wanton destruction to bring about a New World Order. When the world telecom networks finally went dark, pockets of well-armed Nationalists took it upon themselves to rid their respective regions of anyone denying their worldview and fortified, doubling down and perceiving all outsiders to be antagonists hellbent on destroying them.

The Fundamentalists were tricky. In truth, they sympathized most with the Nationalists and in many cases coexisted, but they believed that the state of the world was punishment by God for the endless demonization of inequalities they believed to be His “natural order”. In their view, the only way to end the apocalypse was to accept the punishments of God where He had left you at the beginning of the Great Collapse and to beg for absolution through rigorous prayer and a “return to Christian values”. Their view was that it was their duty to seek vengeance upon Transients, “Abandoners” as they called them, for commuting their sentence against God’s will. The danger was that the Fundamentalists were not so brazen or bold as the Nationalists, rather they were deceptive and cunning and would often lure Transients in on good faith only to publicly execute them in merciless fashion.

While the threat of Transient bandits and their rumored practices came off as nothing more than the projections of a terrifying existence from hardened people, the threats of the Lost were very real. When they started off on their journey, he had salvaged a pair of HAM radios to keep tabs on their location, reach out, and to try to stay at the front of any new information that might arise. Since that time, they had stumbled across dozens of broadcasts by Transients warning of dangerous fortified towns, and once while crossing New Mexico had the misfortune of tuning in to a “Siren’s Call” broadcast by Fundamentalists. They used the radios more as a precaution now.

In the vanishing dark of morning he followed the rope they had laid out the evening before. Judging by what he could make out of the surrounding muck, the Nalgenes had been undisturbed overnight. The silt above had dried out, likely before midnight, but they would have two full bottles to get them through. He dumped the silt from its bandana filters.

Not so bad, he considered, should get us into the next cirque.

She piled up their bedding, shaking it out and carefully folding it as she went. The routine was a boring science they both had longed to be passive about, but diligence had served them well and she didn’t have the energy to spend on wrestling items into their stuff sacks because they weren’t done right the first time. They still had a long and treacherous way to go and, if they reached their destination, they would be thankful for well-preserved gear when they arrived. If they had too many delays, they would be lucky to have anything left by then.

‘… if the destination isn’t overrun.’

Shut up, she thought sternly.

She opened her pack and grabbed the mask kit. She had hoped she would be able to last a little longer without it, but between the altitude, the smoke, and the voices already chiming in, she needed more air as much as she needed to stretch the last of her albuterol.

Years before, he had shown her photos of the areas they were now moving through. They were beautiful to imagine and, in the moment, she was thankful that her imagination was so vivid. Visibility was up to two miles in the mornings depending on where the winds blew, she could almost make out tree line on the lower end of the draw. Soon they would reach areas she knew better.

The water was steaming as he made his way over to help her pack.

“I’m going to go find a place to use the bathroom soon, do you want me to change your mask filter before I head out,” she said.

“Yea, that’s probably a good idea. I’m gonna grab the food pack after I finish putting everything else away. Tea?”

She thought about it for a second…

“I want to, but I think we should save it. We only have another week or two and then we’re going to be in no man’s land for a while. We might want the energy later.”

“Chamomile it is,” he smirked.

“Mmhmm, nice try,” she smiled, “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, don’t go too far.”

Breakfast was oatmeal, as per usual, but today it came tszujed up courtesy of their trail mix and some spices they had salvaged from an abandoned camp. From the looks of it, the man had been late middle-aged and had come out some time early on. Animals had been through the area but parts of him were scattered under the collapsed walls. However the man had passed it was doubtful that any humans had been through since; spices were an uncommonly found trade item, rarely salvaged and even less commonly passed over.

She came to join him by the stove, and he handed her mug to her.

“Cinnamon-almond oatmeal,” he said proudly.

“Nice.”

They ate swiftly and quietly, enjoying the small pleasure of flavorful food and keen to get moving. They had not heard a radio report in a week, but it was August and more than once they had heard rumblings in the distance to the North and West. They did not want to meander in valleys and canyons for too long.

The sun rose above them and the glow of the day took shape. The heat broke the thick bands of smoke into a widespread smog, dropping visibility to a quarter mile and enshrouding them in a yellowing green light. This place had burned a few years earlier after limited management resources gave way to a massive fire escaping the roadside canyons to the south. Over time the persistent ash had settled and choked waterways to the consistency of slow-moving mud. In place of the alpine meadows and pockets of firs and pines he remembered now stood only blackened trunks keeping solemn watch over molted fields of grey. It looked alien, but then again, everything had.

Hiking in the backcountry wasn’t her strong suit. In the past her anxieties had been triggered by the thoughts of wild animals and injury. There just wasn’t anything to worry about anymore. When the nation had went dark, the entirety of the country had panicked over food resources, among many things, and killed almost every big game animal in the country. Ultimately it was a waste, as many of the people who had harvested the animals soon realized that they had no means to preserve the meat once the electrical grids failed and were forced to trade off the meat or let it sour. Small game animals then took the brunt of the blow. Small game was still around every now and then; most died out from lack of water or shelter. She would be surprised if they saw anything bigger than a marmot, even in the wilds.

Amidst the panic was also a fear for personal security. They had been proactive on this front. In the leadup to the Collapse, he had insisted that they needed to get weapons just in case. She worried that it would be a waste of money should everything stabilize, but eventually it became clear that security was going to be a priority and she agreed. He carried a .22LR rifle and a .44 magnum, she carried a .357 mag. They had stocked up on a few boxes of ammo for each gun and fortunately they had not seen much reason to use it aside from killing the occasional varmint when food ran low on the trail. Munitions were scarce, all but impossible to find, and so were also valuable in desperate times or if one wanted to ensure a trade. With long stretches spent traversing the wilds between resupplies and the potential of running into the Lost, they aimed to save as much of their own supply as they could for as long as they could.

“How far out do you think we are from the nearest town,” she asked.

“As the bird flies, I would guess about 10 miles, give or take a few. I can’t see the town on any of our maps, but I can see the road that leads to it and I don’t think it was ever too far of a drive.”

“Do you think anyone would be this far out?”

“Not this deep into the range. It might not be far from town, but there’s no reason to come this way either. If there is any game out there, it’ll be east of town or southeast of us at the closest. Plus, most of the glacial lakes and springs are on the other side of the valley…”

He thought to add that he was worried about the eastern slopes of the next drainage they were headed to and decided against it. She had been doing well and even though he was concerned, he was doubtful they would see anyone if they made it through the marshes quietly. The drainage was only 5 miles long and they would follow ridgelines going deeper into the mountains after that.

They reached the creek without too much struggle. He had mentioned that this section had been mostly meadow before and that they would know they were close when the trail became gnarled by exposed roots. This area had more ash than what they had seen so far, but this late in the season and considering they were still in the middle of the country, it was to be expected. Still, the ash had ensured that their eyes would have difficulty finding roots before their feet could.

He stood silently at the crossing, watching the thick, grey muck of the stream dissipate in spoonfuls against the trickle of water meandering the creek bed.

“Think we should top off,” he asked.

“Nah. We’ve still got a full Nalgene between us and the water up higher will be cleaner. Are you thirsty?”

He wasn’t. In fact, his whole question had been nothing more than a ruse; an attempt to deflect from his moment with the creek. Two things he had always strived to provide her were laughter and hope, and now, in this post-apocalyptic nightmare of a world, he had his work cut out for him. There was a bitterness he felt towards life that he could not shake and a family history of pessimism and depression, and for his entire life he had pushed this part of himself away, hidden it from view for as many as he could manage. Instead he tried to share light with everyone and to help others who were struggling to make sense of it all by pointing out the silver linings to every setback or condition. Walking through familiar territory may have been nice on the navigator, but these days it was torture on optimism. She was perceptive and empathic, and he knew she would take notice of his reminiscing.

“I could have a couple sips if you wanna grab my bottle. I’ll grab anything of yours free of charge.”

She laughed and shook her head, “you’re an idiot.”

He took her laugh to heart and looked ahead.

“All uphill from here to the ridge. It’s not too bad until the last few hundred yards, then it’s basically straight up.”

“Oh boy,” she sighed through her mask as she uncapped her water bottle.

Better enjoy this water then.

‘And have that inhaler ready.’

She groaned.

She hated to acknowledge the voices, let alone admit that they were right. She had likely struggled with anxiety since middle school but didn’t become aware of it until she had reached her late teens. At first, she just thought that she was an overthinker. She had excelled in everything through school and eventually was so bored by the repetitiveness of the public education system that she left it altogether to pursue a self-guided GED and graduate sooner. Through all of that there was never a point where she feared for the outcome of her actions; she was self-reliant, proud, beautiful, and resourceful; she would take challenges as they came and she was prepared for anything.

She went to college and fell in love, they planned a life together, and they moved into a house. It wasn’t in the best neighborhood, but it was theirs and he was using his degree. He worked overtime so she wouldn’t have to work, they talked about getting married, and she became comfortable. Then the bills started coming with late notices. He would come home later, then later; always overtime. One day, he just didn’t come home. He stopped returning her calls and vanished.

Heartbroken and with no opportunity for closure, she could not stop asking herself just what had happened. Her brain went into overdrive and she found her time consumed by grief, anger, frustration, and confusion all while dealing with the fallout he had left her in his wake. She later learned from her physician that that period of her life was easily categorized as a traumatic event, and that she had developed an asthmatic condition as a result. Asthma, he had said, would most likely exacerbate her anxiety. Lack of oxygen to the brain coupled with an anxiety disorder could result in mild verbal hallucination if unchecked.

Her focus now was on maximizing her oxygen and minimizing the voices; overthinking was everyone’s burden in the new normal.

“Is my inhaler accessible?”

“Should be in the top of your pack,” he said, checking as they packed each other’s water away, “Yep, it’s in there.”

“Sweet, thank you.”

“I got you, babe,” he sang.

“One of these days my eyes are going to roll out of my head if you keep making comments like that.”

“How do you know that isn’t the goal?”

They grinned at each other, then turned upstream.