Don said, “I think about you. Your face. Your eyes. Your mind. I’m still so in love with you.”
“I know,” Rodney said.
They took their time, stopping to get pictures of deer in the woods, of long, lonely windswept fields, knowing that no one would ever see them. But it felt… normal. Habitual. They stood under a tall tree and looked up, marveling at how high it seemed to go. Rodney found a patch of irises growing along a dirt road and touched their petals with his callused hands. Little things that might have meant nothing the day before had taken on new meaning. Those first few days, they ate outside, sitting at a park table or in lawn chairs they’d brought with them. Looking up at the sun, the moon, the clouds, the stars.
They found others like them. Others who had packed up their entire lives, though few of them had a destination in mind. Families in cars. People in RVs like theirs. People in RVs much nicer than theirs. People who had quit their jobs, pulled their kids out of school, all in the name of finding some sort of meaning, an explanation.
“It’s like cancer,” one man told them both. “You look fine on the outside, but it’s a lie, one that’ll catch up to you sooner than you think.”
His partner—a young lady with frizzy hair—said, “I think we’re the cancer, and this is a way to course-correct.”
The man snorted but did not speak.
She ignored him. “Think about it. What happens when the body senses an invading force? It does everything it can to stop it. Maybe this is just the universe’s way of deciding we’re an infection that needs to be stopped.” She smiled a terrible smile. “It’s almost the same, really. All that radiation we’ll feel.”
She began to cry. The man apologized, and led her away back to their own camp.
Don said, “I used to think about it more.”
“What?” Rodney asked, staring off into the encroaching darkness.
“Dying. I used to think about it all the time. Now, not so much. Isn’t that funny?”
Rodney looked at him.
Don stared back.
When they laughed, it was a quiet thing.
It was in Vermont that they met the family.
Driving along a two-lane highway, Patsy Cline on the radio, the sky outside thick with clouds. Don was dozing slightly, head against the window. Then the RV began to rattle around them, and Rodney cursed. Don shot up, mind hazy, his first clear thought that the end had come sooner than anyone had expected.
The steering wheel jerked left, then right, and they came to a stop at an angle, the RV groaning around them.
“What happened?” Don asked, heart thudding in his chest.
“Flat tire,” Rodney said, slapping the steering wheel. “Of all the—You all right?”
“Startled me, is all. You?”
Rodney laughed, a mixture of relief and annoyance. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He flexed his hands against the steering wheel. “Always something, isn’t it?”
“Well, get off the road. Don’t want to be blocking it when more people come.”
He did as he was told. Carefully, he pulled the limping RV off to the side onto a little dirt pullout. After switching the RV off, Rodney clambered out, muttering under his breath. Don followed and found Rodney glaring at the left rear tire.
“Picked up a nail,” he said. “See it?”
Don did. Near the top, in the middle. The tire itself wasn’t in too bad condition—some tread left—but the nail was firmly embedded, air hissing out around it. “The spare?”
“Checked it before I bought it. Not a donut, so we should be fine. Jack is brand new.”
“I’ll help.”
“I know you will. Come on. Let’s get it done. Already losing daylight.”
It took them the better part of an hour. Only a few cars drove by, no one stopping to offer assistance, not that Rodney would have accepted it. He was a proud man, for better or worse. Always wanting to do things his own way. Don loved that about him, for the most part; there were times when he’d had to put his foot down, and Rodney usually listened. He was, after all, the voice of reason. Rodney had told him that many times over the years.