ELEVEN
JANUARY 25, 2025
Walker awoke to voices outside the motel room. At first he didn’t know where he was. It was the room’s stale smell that brought it all back. He was so exhausted the night before that he hadn’t noticed how bad it was. He rolled over on his side and coughed into his hands, trying his best to stifle the noise. Then he took a minute to breathe through his mouth as he slowly sat up.
The voices outside were very close, just beyond the door.
Walker immediately went on full alert. He grabbed the kitchen knife, which he’d set on the nightstand next to the bed.
A man said, “Hurry up and get the blankets.”
Walker stood and went to the window. He carefully peered through the tattered drapes and saw a beat-up 1970s-era Chevy Nova parked a couple of rooms down from his own. A man of about forty was loading something in the trunk. After a moment, a teenage girl appeared with an armful of blankets and handed them over. The man threw them in the back seat. The girl went back inside the motel room, and pretty soon she returned with a boy a little older than she.
A woman’s voice called, “Billy, you left your socks.”
The man winced and said, sotto voce, “Betty, keep your voice down!”
They were a normal family who had done the exact same thing Walker had done—they broke into a motel room and spent the night. They probably didn’t realize he was there.
Walker threw the knife on the bed, pushed the dresser out of the way, and opened the door. The teenage girl shrieked. The man drew a pistol from nowhere.
“Whoa!” Walker said, holding up his hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you! It’s okay. I’m friendly. I’m a good guy.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “Come out with your hands up. Don’t try any funny moves. Becky, run inside. You too, Billy.”
The two kids shot into the motel room.
“Shut the door,” their father commanded. When that was done, he addressed Walker. “You alone?”
“Yes, sir. Really, you can lower the gun.”
“Close your door behind you. With one hand.”
Walker did so. “I’m alone. I promise. The only thing inside is my motorcycle.” Keeping his hands up, he nodded at the Chevy. “We must have had the same idea. I broke into the room last night. I didn’t even hear you guys arrive. I was really out.”
The man studied Walker’s appearance and finally decided there was no threat. “Okay, you can put down your hands.” He holstered the pistol.
“Thanks.” Walker tried some levity. “Some accommodations, huh?”
The man wasn’t having it. “Where you headed?”
“I’m not sure. I thought I’d check out Twentynine Palms. It’s not too far from here.” Walker held out his hand. “Ben Walker. I’m from LA.”
The man cautiously shook it. “Gary Franklin. We are, too.”
“Mexico.” Franklin turned toward the motel room. He waved at them to come on out. The door opened and they appeared, along with a woman in her late thirties. The Franklins were a handsome family, although it was apparent they were in the same condition as Walker—stressed, hungry, and frightened.
“This is Billy, Becky, and my wife, Wendy.”
Walker smiled and introduced himself. Franklin said to his wife, “Why don’t you finish getting our things together. I’d like to get out of here.”
She nodded and went back inside. The kids stood and studied Walker.
“Tough times,” Franklin said.
“Yeah. What do you know about Mexico? Is it safe down there?” Walker asked.
“I have no idea. I just figure it’s got to be better than here. I bet they never thought they’d get illegal immigrants going the other way.”
Walker nodded. “Have you heard anything about the old Marine base at Twentynine Palms? Is anything still there?”
“I couldn’t tell you. But I do know there are gangs on these highways. Dangerous, desperate men. They ride motorcycles and some have cars.”
“I know. I ran into some of them yesterday.”
Franklin looked him up and down. “And you’re still alive?”
“I was one of the lucky ones.”
“I see.” Franklin gestured east. “They may be on Route 62, Mr. Walker. I hear they stop anyone with a motor vehicle and kill them for it. Women are raped. It’s like they’ve decided it’s the end of the world so anything goes. I don’t know what’s happened to the police. I haven’t seen a cop since we left LA.”
“You have a weapon?”
“Not really.” Walker laughed wryly. “A kitchen knife.”
“Wish I could help you.” Franklin patted the pistol on his belt. “It’s all I’ve got.”
“I understand. What I really need is gas. Have you seen any black market guys selling any?”
“Nope. I think on this stretch of road, the outlaws would kill ’em for it.”
Walker rubbed his chin. “I’ve got about a quarter tank. I don’t know how far that’s gonna get me.”
Franklin turned his head and stared off in the distance for a moment. He rubbed his unshaven chin and then said, “I tell you what.” He moved to the back of his car and opened the trunk. “Come here.” He reached inside and pulled out a five-gallon gas can. “Here you go. It’s only half full.”
Walker’s jaw dropped. “Oh my gosh! How much you want for it?”
Franklin shook his head. “Take it. I have a bunch.”
Walker joined him at the back of the Chevy. The trunk was filled with five-gallon cans.
“I guess I’m one of those end-of-days fanatics,” Franklin said with a sheepish grin. “I always kept supplies for emergencies. I even had a bomb shelter back at our house. I’ve had these cans for over a year.”
“Mr. Franklin, I can’t take your—”
The man held up a hand. “Nah, nah. These days most people are likely to be mighty selfish. I believe it’s a time when we need to be neighborly.”
“Well, thank you. Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome. Ben, is it?”
“That’s right.”
“Call me Gary.” They shook hands again. “I don’t know how much farther those two extra gallons will get you, but it’s better than nothing.”
“I’ll say. Thanks again.”
“We’re gonna get going now. Good luck.”
“You, too.”
A low, harsh rumble in the distance caught their attention.
“What was that?” Walker asked.
It happened again, a little louder.
“That’s gunfire,” Franklin said. “Tanks. Big guns.”
“Oh my God.” They turned toward the noise. “Where do you think it is?”
“I don’t know. Not too far away. A few miles.”
Walker gasped and pointed. “Look.”
Planes. Flying toward them in formation.
“Where did those come from?” Franklin asked. “I think they’re ours!”
“I have some binoculars in my room.”
“Go get ’em!”
Walker retrieved the pair and brought them to Franklin. The man raised them to his eyes.
“Oh, Lord,” he said.
“What?”
“They’re ours, all right. U.S. Air Force transport carriers.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
Franklin lowered the binoculars. His eyes betrayed his fear. “They’ve got Korean insignias on them.”
“What? Let me see.” Walker grabbed the glasses and looked.
There were at least a dozen of them. The planes were flying low enough to the ground that he could make out details. As they passed directly overhead, Walker saw the red flags with blue top and bottom borders and a star inside a white circle. These were affixed over the U.S. Air Force emblems.
“How can that be?” Walker asked. “How do they have our planes?”
The carriers continued eastward until they disappeared in the clouds.
Franklin looked at him grimly. “Dear God, we’ve been invaded.”