Chapter 132: Chapter 132 - Back on the Road
The convoy slowed without warning.
Brake lights flared ahead of them one by one until the entire line of vehicles rolled into a gradual stop along the cracked stretch of highway where rusted barricades and a bullet scarred sign marked the edge of Route territory.
Malcolm eased the Land Cruiser to a halt, engine humming low.
In the back seat, Cyborg leaned forward between them, resting his forearm along the top of Malcolm’s seat before placing his hand firmly on Malcolm’s shoulder.
"Well," he said, eyes scanning the empty road beyond the barricade, "this is our border. From here on, you’re on your own."
Malcolm’s gaze met his in the rearview mirror. A single nod.
"If you get tired out there," Cyborg added, voice casual but quieter underneath, "you can come back to the Route."
Another nod.
Then he shifted his focus to the passenger seat.
"Iyisha."
She froze.
It caught her off guard because he never used her name. To him she was always Malcolm’s girl, said with that half amused tone like she came with a label attached. Hearing her actual name in his voice made her turn fully around to look at him.
He noticed.
"Take care of my man," he said, the teasing edge returning just enough to soften the moment.
She rolled her eyes automatically, but there was less force behind it now. "He’s not your man."
Cyborg smirked faintly.
When she held his gaze, though, her expression shifted. The humor faded.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For everything."
He studied her for a long second, then nodded once, satisfied.
From the seat beside him, he grabbed a folded map and leaned forward again to hand it between the seats. The paper was worn thin at the creases, edges soft from use.
She unfolded it carefully.
A red line had been traced across the map, weaving through narrow country roads and bending wide around highways and city clusters.
"That’s the safest route," Cyborg said. "Stick to the country roads. Avoid interstates unless you have no choice. There’ve been military sweeps near the major exits."
Iyisha traced the red line slowly, committing it to memory.
Malcolm’s voice was steady. "Motherhold?"
"Still holding, last we heard," Cyborg replied. "But things shift fast."
Outside, one of the Route trucks began turning around, gravel crunching beneath its tires. The others followed, engines rumbling as they repositioned to head back the way they came.
Cyborg withdrew his hand from Malcolm’s shoulder and leaned back into his seat.
"Don’t get killed," he muttered.
Malcolm shifted the Land Cruiser into gear.
Iyisha looked back once more as the Route convoy peeled away in the opposite direction, shrinking against the flat stretch of road and dry fields beyond.
Then Malcolm pressed the gas.
The Land Cruiser rolled forward past the rusted barricade and into open countryside, leaving the Route behind them.
Iyisha kept the map open on her lap, and her finger moved along the red line as if she could feel the road through the paper.
"It’s near Cambridge City," she said, and she tapped the mark. Most of the cities around have yellow X over it.
The area stayed too clean, and Indiana felt too clean, because even the bigger cities were marked orange instead of red like the other states they had crossed.
Maybe it was because Motherhold was here or they had more safe zones than anywhere else.
"Maybe we can get there fast," she murmured, and looked around as she rolled her window down a little more. The bars cut her view into strips but she felt safer with them there.
The wind was still chilly, so she unbuckled, and she crawled carefully into the back, and she lifted the panel under the built in bed where their storage was packed. Two leather jackets were folded inside, and they looked almost new, and she paused before pulling out the smaller one and slipping it on.
When she slid back into the passenger seat, she adjusted the collar and glanced at Malcolm. "Cyborg gave this?"
Malcolm glanced at her for a second, and then his eyes went back to the road. "Aaron," he muttered.
Iyisha smiled, and she rubbed her thumb over the leather because the cowhide felt thick and solid, and the stitching was clean. Aaron’s work always held, and even her gloves from him had survived everything so far.
For a moment she missed Heart Community, and Mary and Esther came to mind so clearly it made her chest tighten.
They drove past country houses set far apart, and as they got farther from the Route she began to see undead scattered in the fields and near distant fences, but it was not a worrying number, and none of them were clustered close to the road or close to the towns.
She was almost starting to believe the map.
Then the road narrowed into a country turn, and she saw it.
A checkpoint.
Not a city barrier, not a swarm, but a controlled choke point set right on the road, with vehicles positioned to force a slow approach, and with people standing in place like they belonged there.
Iyisha’s throat went tight, and she looked at Malcolm, expecting him to back off and turn around, but Malcolm did the opposite.
He slowed, and he kept the Land Cruiser straight, and he let it roll forward just enough to show he had seen them, and then he stopped at a safe distance without killing the engine.
He checked the mirror once to confirm Waldo was still behind them, and then he faced forward again and waited, calm and controlled, until someone stepped away from the checkpoint and started walking toward them.
"Malcolm." She whispered, nervous.
Iyisha stiffened as Malcolm’s right hand went to the automated gun controller, and his left hand lowered the window just enough to pass a piece of paper through the bars.
What was it?
An entry pass, a Route tag, a clearance slip, or something simple that kept people from asking questions.
The man walking toward them kept his pace steady, and Iyisha tracked him through the bars while her stomach tightened.
When he reached the window, Malcolm lifted the paper to the narrow opening and held it there, silent.
The man peeked inside and Iyisha’s heart thudded as their eyes met.
Iyisha stayed still, but her gaze kept jumping between the man’s hands and that folded paper, waiting to see which one he reached for first.
"The Route’s good?" the man asked, and his eyes locked on Malcolm like he expected a different answer than yes.
Malcolm nodded once.
The man’s gaze slid to Iyisha in the passenger seat, then he leaned closer as if he was speaking to the only person in the car who might actually respond.
"Your man nervous or scared?" he asked her directly.
Iyisha blinked, and she felt the words catch in her throat for a second. "No," she stammered, then tried again, "he’s like that usually, and he doesn’t talk much."
The man pulled a face like he did not buy it, and then he looked back down at the paper.
He read it slower this time, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "This Fran’s work?" he asked, and he angled his chin toward the vehicle like he was taking in the bars, the setup, the condition of it.
Iyisha nodded. "Yeah."
Behind him, one of the guards shifted his rifle slightly, not aiming, just adjusting the strap on his shoulder.
Another man farther back walked toward Waldo’s car, and Iyisha noticed him circling it slowly, checking the windows, checking inside.
He handed the paper back through the opening, and Malcolm took it without a word.
The man stepped back a half pace, and his mouth curved as he looked over the Land Cruiser again, then he let out a low whistle. "Damn," he muttered, still looking at the ride like he respected it.
Then his expression shifted, and his voice did too.
"Be careful," he said, and he flicked his eyes down the road. "There are rumours of some kind of terrorist group near the border."
Iyisha nodded quickly. "Thank you," she murmured.
He nodded once, then he glanced over his shoulder and signaled his men.
The line loosened.
Shoulders dropped.
One of them dragged the debris aside enough to open a clean lane.
The man gave them a brief smile. "Good luck."
Then he whistled sharply at his people as Malcolm pressed the gas, and the Land Cruiser and Waldo’s car rolled forward and through.
