Nightworld

THE NEW JERSEY TURNPIKE

Clear sailing on the open blacktop. Hardly any other cars. Hank had most of the six southbound lanes to himself.

He wondered why more people weren't on the move, then realized that gas was probably in short supply—all the service areas he'd passed so far had been deserted. And where was there to go? According to the news reports, hell was everywhere. It might be a horror show where you were, but you could be fleeing into something far worse. And what if dark fell before you made it to where you were going? Better to stay where you were, hunker down, and try to hold on to what you had.

As he drove he couldn't help thinking about Carol. Strange it had taken a crisis of these apocalyptic proportions to make him realize how little they had in common, how shallow their relationship was. He should have seen it long ago.

He wasn't deserting her, though. He was nothing if not loyal. He'd come back for her when he'd found a place for them down the Shore. But he'd make sure she didn't know where they were going until they got there. That way she couldn't yap about it to anyone.

He saw the sign for Exit 11—Garden State Parkway. That was his. The Parkway would take him down the coast to Seaside Heights. Just past that sign was another for the Thomas A. Edison Service Area. Under that, sitting on the curb, was a sheet of plywood, hand painted: