Horror Revealed in the East
When the thaw revealed the road again, I stayed on Interstate 40 past Memphis, knowing that the years and the winters had probably been hard on side roads and I wanted to make it to the East Coast if I could. Still, I pulled into little towns along the way, honked my horn with a friendly tap and looked for signs of life--human life. I called out with the bullhorn in as friendly a voice as I could muster. It was a lot harder without Lisa and reminded me of her. I tried to put those remembrances of her on the bullhorn out of my mind. But couldn't.
Further on, before I got to Nashville, I saw ominous columns of smoke again, signaling several other reactors to the southeast, melting down. I wondered how long the process would take for all of the fuel in those plants to completely burn up. I didn't know and I couldn't even contemplate. Ten years? A hundred? Too long, I suspected.
On the interstates, the pavement was clear or I could drive around obstacles with the trailer. But I was in the mountains now. And, unlike the West, these mountains and the roads in them were older and often quite treacherous for an 18 wheeler even without obstacles and the occasional icing of spring. I had to be careful until the last vestiges of winter were gone. And then, there was no guarantee that I wouldn't run into landslides, bridges washed out, and even burned old trees that had fallen across the road making the going difficult without using a chainsaw to clear a path. For now, the local mountain highways, even US highways, were out. It was rough enough on those roads in the summertime back in Arkansas. I didn't have the patience to tackle that again while escaping.
I arrived in Nashville the next day and drove around the cluttered streets looking for signs of the music. The music was gone. Like every other city I encountered, Nashville was empty and hollow with many buildings either in disrepair or completely destroyed by fire or vandalism. The streets were particularly difficult to navigate because of all that had been dragged out on them and burned or to set up as barricades that I had to push out of my way with my bumper and diesel power.
I didn't linger, but drove toward Knoxville the next day. As I drove, I realized from the clouds of black smoke just east and southeast that I would be driving into a firestorm of nuclear meltdown. I checked my map and found at least six nuclear plants ahead and to the south. Even more if I would stay on Interstate 40 to the East Coast. I turned around and drove back a few miles, until I found US 231 north to connect with Interstate 65 at Bowling Green. A few miles up the road, I saw a huge cooling tower, but no smoke. Checking my information again, it was the never finished Four Lakes Nuclear Plant. I was so grateful that it was never finished, because the road went right by it.
I then attempted to reach Louisville, but got caught in another spring snowstorm and spent the night in an overlook turnout near the top of a range of mountains. It would have been beautiful if I could see beyond the snow, or beyond sorrow and sadness. Still, the animals needed exercise. So, the next morning, after the storm when it turned out cold but clear with a brilliant sun to melt the snow once again, I let the goats out to play and feed on the local brush while Charlie did his usual thing in the snow… Have fun and make snowballs to throw at me.
I saw a shadow approaching and looked up. It was a bald eagle coming in fast. But Charlie was quicker of sense than I, and immediately dove under the trailer as the eagle reached him and hit the trailer hard, crumbling to the ground. Charlie disappeared under it to a loud thump of feathers and muscle thwarted.
I watched as the stunned bird walked around in circles in the snow and tried to shake off the shock of having hit something so solid as the trailer trying to catch a nimble prey that wouldn't let him. I approached the bird carefully to see if it was hurt. Suddenly, the eagle lifted its huge wings and flew off, flying directly over me in its effort to escape. I was grateful for that because I didn't know if I could fix a broken bird as scarce as that one.
I reached for the 357 Magnum that was in the holster on my hip and fingered it. Made me wonder if I would be quick enough when a predator descended upon Charlie or the goats again. I wasn't sure that I would be fast enough. I had to expect that these friends, too, might be victims to the new order. From that point on I had to make sure they were safe at night and watch them during the day when they were out.
When the snow melted, I ventured on down the north slope of the range, ever careful of water on the road that might have been turned to ice by the lower overnight temperature. I was so glad to get out of the mountains on I-64 and on to Lexington. I saw the remains of black fences along the road but no thoroughbred horses like I remembered when passing by years before. I spent the night in a rest area inhabited by three derelict vehicles. Danny and Lannie climbed all over them before I put them to bed.
The next morning, I made Huntington and Charleston, West Virginia, two old cities that were older now that there was no one there to keep them going. Both on rivers, the Ohio and the Kanawha, showed evidence of flooding that had washed part of them away had made it difficult for me to get through town.
I pushed on through mountainous terrain and spent the next night near Beckley where there was a lot of evidence left of coal and strip mining. In some places, still burning. There was a strong smell of sulfur dioxide and heavy black smoke in the air. The mountain overlook I stopped at had a good breeze that night or I couldn't have stayed there.
The next day, I arrived at White Sulphur Springs. I pulled off the freeway and followed signs to the Greenbrier, a famous resort that was supposed to contain an underground bunker that would house the government in case of an emergency. Like everything else, the Greenbrier was burned and nothing but a ruin. I looked for an entrance in the debris to the underground bunker and couldn't find it. There was no evidence of human activity since the fire, so I don't think anyone from Washington DC ever came there. I read where the place had been decommissioned after the Cold War and had become a tourist attraction. I couldn't expect it to be used.
I crested the Appalachian Range near Covington and ran into ice. Using my lowest gears on the downslopes, I fought to keep my foot off the brake and losing control. The tension was finally relieved from my neck and shoulder muscles when I reached I-81 and turned north. Seeing a black cloud to the east, I continued north until I reached I-66, spending the night near Front Royal.
The next morning, I made the Washington DC Beltway by noon. Once again, the traffic stalled on the Beltway was nearly too much to deal with, but I managed to push my way through and use the median to get by, only to find that a nuclear bomb had destroyed the Capitol. Left it flooded by the Potomac and looking like the worst war movie I had ever seen. The Pentagon was still partly standing but completely destroyed and made me wonder who was behind the bombs. Retaliation? First strike? My thoughts were not answered. I would never know.
I thought about Camp David and wondered if anyone had, perhaps, survived there. But I didn't know exactly where it was and didn't have any maps to show me. Once again, I thought about the underground bunker at the Greenbrier. Was it used? I thought about going back and doing a more thorough search, but that would have to wait. My curiosity drove me to go on to Philadelphia and New York City to see what had happened to them. I prepared for the worst.
In the meantime, for animals and birds, it was springtime and everywhere I saw flights of migrating birds and many animals large and small on the road that I either dodged, or sometimes hit, for a fresh roadkill dinner that evening. I let Charlie and the goats out often but kept a close eye on them. They seemed to enjoy both the ride and the stops we made. So many wild animals seemed to have lost their fear of humans. Charlie delighted in playing with possums and raccoons, squirrels and the occasional bird that would stick around long enough to observe his antics.
Baltimore came quickly. It had escaped bombing, but was partially flooded and generally destroyed like all the other cities. I skirted Philadelphia and saw the same. There was no liberty in the birthplace of liberty as I pondered what had happened to our experimental attempt at government that survived well as long as bad was offset by good. I'm not sure that any government could withstand what happened when we humans outstripped our resources by excessive population growth and greed.
As I drove up the New Jersey Turnpike looking for America, I ran a gauntlet of nuclear meltdowns, both to my west where several were in Pennsylvania and three to my right in New Jersey. I didn't dare stop or even open the windows or turn on the fresh air in the cab. There was no stopping to stretch my legs or give Charlie or the goats any exercise.
As I finally left all that smoke and fallout behind and approached New York, I began to notice that the skyline of Manhattan was no longer there, growing in the distance. New York City was the third city that I had seen that was nuked. This was a much larger bomb than the one that completely destroyed Washington DC. The island of Manhattan was completely obliterated. When I finally got to an overlook on the Palisades, I saw no structure over two stories still standing. What was left of the island wasn't worth $22 worth of beads any more. I fought back tears, knowing that many other cities like this around the world, once great cities, probably were, no more.
I was able to drive north on the I-87 on the west side of the Hudson River with some difficulty. Much of the debris on the road was not derelict traffic but had been thrown there by the blast miles away. An hour up ahead, I saw the familiar cooling towers of three nuclear reactors. According to my information, this was a place called Indian Point. The information also said that it was shut down. Thankfully for me, because I would've been driving right through a very hot zone right next to the river. Far off to the southeast, I did see two columns of smoke from two reactors melting down. I was glad I didn't go that way.
I continued north until I-84 where I crossed over the Hudson turned eastward to Hartford and Boston. New England's beauty was unrecognizable. So many historic and old buildings destroyed and neglected. I continued my attempts to find anyone alive and they were met with silence. Fortunately, I had Charlie along for company. He was a constant source of entertainment with his antics. I stopped often to give both him and Lannie and Danny a break. They always enjoyed these breaks and whatever forage and other animals happened to be around where I stopped. If I threw out some grain, birds would come from all directions and eat with the goats. Charlie would test each seed and decide whether he liked it or not, spitting the bad ones out and tasting the good ones.
Hoping to find a place where the trees were spared the fires, I drove further north all the way to Portland, Maine. Passing through New Hampshire briefly on my way to Portland, I saw the cooling tower of what was left of the shutdown Yankee Nuclear Power Plant, thankful for small favors.
I was looking for evidence of tall trees and saw some on offshore, uninhabited islands that were spared fire. But the mainland was similar to Wisconsin, all of the forest burned to the ground except for charred poles that once had been tree trunks. There were sprouts in this north country about 2 to 4 feet tall already. I did see things I hadn't seen before. More black bear and moose by the lakes and rivers that I drove by. Actually more food for them as the brush throughout these lakes grew back rapidly… More rapidly than the trees and some higher than 6 feet of brambles and various bushes like blackberry and poison ivy.
After Bangor, I changed directions and headed west. The only highways were two-lane through what had been mostly forested country of lakes and rivers with a few small towns along the way. Trees now grew in the shoulders right up to the pavement making the highways look very narrow compared to the interstate. Fortunately, there were few derelict vehicles along these long, lonely stretches and when there were any, the trees were already trying to grow up through them by the side of the road. I could only imagine what these roads would be like in 20 years when the trees were half grown. I probably wouldn't travel this way again. One thing that was obvious was the rabbits. As the road ahead continued on through Vermont and New Hampshire, rabbits populated the roadside in vast numbers in the mornings and evenings. I also saw foxes and coyotes in abundance. With plenty of food, both prey and predator were multiplying.
A few times, I ventured off onto paved roads in the mountains looking to see if there were any enclaves of preppers or survivalists. While these side trips yielded some fantastic views of the new growth of trees almost as though they were planted like some huge tree farm from vantage points on the sides of mountains, I purposely avoided going deep into the backcountry for fear I would get to a spot where I couldn't turn around with the trailer. While I did find some fabulous hideaways by the rich, all that was left in most cases were the concrete foundations and basements indicating that buildings had been there before the fire. If there were underground and cave hideaways, I didn't see any or find any indication of human activity.
I spent a night in Burlington and then followed the Hudson River south to a crossing and I was once again in New York State.
