This section is from Ivan's Perspective.
The night was an odd one. There I sat, nested in the shadows of the overpass, hugging my bags, the bike a very rickety barrier in front of me. My mind was a battleground, torn between the need for light and the fear of being seen. Every rustle, every distant echo sent my heart racing, my hand instinctively reaching for the glow stick in my pocket. I'd pull it out and let its faint light cut through the darkness, scanning my surroundings 1-2 meters for any signs of danger. But each time, finding nothing, the fear of being spotted would creep in. I'd hide the light back in my pocket, plunging myself back into the safety of the shadows.
This cycle repeated itself a few times until I saw it - a spectral figure moving in the distance. It was a chilling sight, one that made me realize the futility of my hide-and-seek with the glow stick. I watched as the ghostly figures, illuminated in hues of white, green, blue, and orange, wandered in the dark. They weren't bright. But they were obvious.
Just like me.
After that, I didn't dare to pull out the glow stick for the rest of the night. The fear of being seen, of attracting unwanted attention, outweighed the need for light. I sat there in the darkness, my eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of anything, my mind filled with a sense of unease that refused to fade.
I must've dozed off at some point, huddled in my hidey-hole under the overpass, shivering in the cold. Woke up when the sky started to lighten up a bit. The sun didn't exactly make a grand entrance; just sort of made things less dark through the smoky clouds.
As soon as I could see well enough, I decided to hit the road on my stolen bike.
Didn't get far, though. My muscles were stiff and sore, and the bike seat was a real pain in the ass, literally. I ended up getting off at the on-ramp and pushing the bike up. When I reached the top, it hit me - I could use my sweater as a cushion. So, I messed around with it a bit until I could sit on the seat without it jabbing me in the nether regions and pretending to be a proctologist.
Once I got going on the highway, things started to look up. It took me a few hills to figure out how to use the gearbox. Eventually, I was eligible for the Tour de France.
I was making good time, especially on the flat stretches and downhill. I think I must've covered about five or eight miles on foot yesterday, but today, I was cruising. Sure, my muscles were screaming at me, but after a while, it just became white noise. Like the rustling of leaves in the wind or birds chirping - you know it's there, but you don't really notice it.
My first goal was to get out of the ghetto. I figured I'd be safer where there were fewer people around. When I hit the industrial area, it was like I'd entered a ghost town. I saw a couple of people in the distance, but that was it. One of them started shouting and waving their arms, but I just kept my head down and kept pedaling.
Hear no evil, see no evil, don't be noticed by evil. I had my goal, and I was working towards it.
I kept pedaling until I hit the outskirts of the city, a couple of hours after I'd set off. There was a rest area with a park, and I decided to pull in. A few trucks were scattered around, their drivers huddled together in the picnic area. They must've broken down, too.
As I rode up, I called out, "Hello, did everyone break down?" The drivers looked up at me, their faces mixed with irritation and resignation. A chorus of "yes," "uh-huh," and a few less polite "fuck off" greeted me.
Ignoring the rude ones, I dismounted with a stumble, my legs shaky from the ride. "Me too," I replied, "Back in the city. Had to leave my truck where it was."
One of the drivers snorted, "Well, you sure as shit aren't gonna see it again. Sucks to be you. At least you got out of there, bud. Life over wheels, you know what I mean?"
I nodded my agreement and stumbled towards the tables. I found an empty spot and sat down, pulling out some food from my bag. It wasn't much, but it was breakfast. My legs and abs screamed in protest, but my stomach was doing somersaults of joy.
I sighed before taking a bite, looking around at the group before asking, "Does anyone know what happened?" Heads shook in unison, their expressions mirroring my own confusion. After another bite, I asked, "How far is everyone from home?" I asked next.
One by one, they rattled off their home states: Wisconsin, Missouri, Texas, Arizona, and Florida. One guy was even from Canada. To my surprise, it was the grumpy one who'd told me to 'fuck off' earlier.
Finishing up my meager breakfast, I announced, "I'm local. Gonna try to make it home. Hope all of you will be safe as well." Their responses ranged from "Good luck" and "Lucky!" to another less polite "Well, fuck off then!" from my new Canadian friend.
I tried to force my legs to stand, but they were having none of it. So, I sat back, allowing myself to enjoy the gloomy atmosphere and the slightly less smoky air. It was a strange kind of peace, but I took it. I guessed it was before noon, so I still had plenty of time to see how far I could make it. Limited only by the endurance of my legs. And heart.
Once I regained feeling in my legs, I pushed myself to my feet. I adjusted my makeshift seat, swung my leg over the bike, and started pedaling again.
The further I got from the city, the fewer cars abandoned on the road. Sure, there weren't many in the city to begin with, but out here, it was maybe one every mile or two. Each one was empty, some with notes left on the windshield, similar to what I had done. It was an eerie sight.
Despite the lonely, eerie quiet, I did encounter a few people - farmers, to be precise. They were out on horseback, trotting up to their property lines as I approached. They'd ask what I was doing, whether my electronics worked, and other such questions. I'd answer as I kept pedaling, throwing back the same questions at them. So far, no one had any kind of power. Only the oldest tractors, the ones without any electronics, seemed to start at all. But they were of little use for now.
I kept pedaling, ignoring the pain in my legs and the sweat trickling down my face and back. I only stopped every now and then to take a swig of water before pushing on.
The rhythmic mantra of "left foot, right foot" that had been my soundtrack of life was abruptly interrupted by the loud growl of my stomach. I had reached the crest of a hill, and with the road ahead either flat or sloping downwards, I decided it was an excellent place to stop for a break.
Stumbling off the bike, I dropped my sweater onto the grassy verge at the side of the road and sat down, my legs stretched out in front of me. I was down to my last bottle of water and a single bottle of sports drink. I hadn't discarded the empty bottles, as there hadn't been any trash cans along the way. But this was starting to get desperate.
I rummaged through my bag and pulled out a packet of chips and some jerky. Leaning back against my second bag, I closed my eyes and slowly began to chew on the tough meat, enjoying the brief break. I could still feel my body pulsating and moving as if I was still pedaling the bike.
My moment of peace was shattered when a cheerful voice exclaimed, "Well, hello there!" The snort of a horse followed the greeting, causing my heart to leap into my throat and the piece of jerky I was chewing to go down the wrong way.
I choked, my hand instinctively pounding on my chest as I spat out the piece of jerky. Blinking through watery eyes, I looked up to see a man on a horse, a gun holstered at his side. My muscles tensed, and a shiver of fear ran up my spine.
"Hi," I managed to croak out, my voice hoarse.
The man let out a gruff laugh. "Sorry, friend. Didn't mean to scare you. Saw you pedaling along and thought I'd say hi."
I nodded, my body slowly relaxing. "Thank you. Sorry if I'm intruding."
He waved a hand dismissively. "No intrusion. It's just that the phones are down, and you're the first person I've seen today who I don't live with. I was wondering if you had a phone that worked."
I shook my head. "Sorry. My phone's dead, too. Seems to be the same for everyone I've come across today."
"That's too bad," he replied, a note of disappointment in his voice.
I returned to my meal, the horse joining with a nibble at the grass at its feet, engaging in casual conversation with the man. He turned out to be a dairy farmer, struggling with the task of milking his cows without the usual equipment. Nothing was working, and he couldn't call for help. He was concerned about the cows becoming engorged if they weren't milked soon.
With the last morsels of my food washed down by half a bottle of my sports drink, I thanked the man for the company. Groaning, I pushed myself to my feet, earning a chuckle from the man and a snort from his horse. Glancing at his watch, he said it was around five in the afternoon. He suggested I find a place to rest in the town just a few more miles up the road. There were cougars and bears in the area. It be best not to camp out.
I nodded in agreement, thanking him for the advice. I kept to myself that I had the same idea. With a final wave, I mounted my bike and set off again.
Pedaling was becoming a Herculean task. My muscles screamed in protest with each rotation, but thankfully, the road ahead was flat. I was able to maintain a slow but steady pace, just enough to keep me upright and moving forward.
I returned to my mantra, "left foot, right foot," taking comfort in the rhythmic chant. Seeing the town's water tower in the distance filled me with a sense of relief. I was getting closer. Unlike the teasing truck stop sign from yesterday, the water tower didn't seem to be playing tricks on me. Despite my slow pace, I was making decent progress.
As I neared the town, I noticed a group of people standing across the road. As I got closer, my heart froze for a second. They were pointing guns at me.