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The next morning, Mason was alone in his motel room. It wasn't the worst place to stay — Tess (the owner) kept the place tidy — but apart from the bare minimum of essentials there wasn't much to praise. Horror stories of rundown accommodations had flown through his mind in the lead up to booking his stay. In his head they remained, dismissed. A smattering of good luck, rare in recent times.

Lying in bed, his thoughts coalesced from scattered, fleeting snippets into a more sure and solid form. In his snooze he found time to ponder. What to do, what to do? There were a lot of unknowns. Where will he go? Where will he stay? Where will he work? Lots and lots of 'wheres'. Far too many for comfort. Nothing new to him — every time he left someplace he had to answer these questions; it was always a chore.

A loud banging interrupted Mason. Someone was shouting through the door. It was Trent. He stirred, annoyed at the intrusion. “Hey, you up?" he heard bellowed. The partially-dressed Mason rose from the bed, eyes closed, yawning. Rubbing the dirt away from the corners he forced himself awake. “Gagh," he sputtered as he righted himself, his body bent in the middle at a hard 90-degree angle, its stiffness not yet subsided. Swivelling in place, he moved his legs over the edge, dropping them. He heard his knees pop, and a wave of relief came over him, his sore joints becoming less so. He quickly dressed. Trent kept banging away, ruining the serene half-sleep Mason had been privy to.

I was having a nice rest, dickhead, what crawled up your ass and died?

He checked the clock. Oh shit.

He'd overslept. Must've been more tired than I though __t.

“Hey? You there?" Trent repeated. There was a pause in his knocking, which Mason made fast use of, declaring: “I'll be out in a minute! Gimme a break," in the gap between commotions. He made sure he hadn't missed an article of clothing, then he went to the mirror and sorted out his appearance; a splash of water and matting of hair gave him a presentable morning look. Gathering himself, he answered the door, right when Trent was about to resume his barrage.

“Whoa! Uhh...morning," Trent said, surprised.

“What's up?"

“You were, ahem, sleepin' in."

“Was pissed you were knocking and shouting, but I just caught the time. Now I can't complain."

“Sucks to wake ya, sure. But we did agree on a time..."

“We did."

Trent stood still for a moment. It had not passed noon, but they should've been up and about far earlier. “It's—"

“Didn't mean to sleep late."

“That...that's not everything."

“Hmm?" There was more? Now that he thought about it, Trent did look worried.

“We're both screwed!" Trent sighed. His arms and shoulders collapsed in defeat, the vivid emotion of despair written all over his face.

“Whu—? How?" Mason was now worried.

To answer, Trent lifted his phone into view, showing the screen to Mason. At first he wasn't sure what he was supposed to see, but as time passed it dawned on him. The news feed couldn't be clearer.

“They've closed how many more roads!?"

“I don't know the full amount, but...but it's a lot. Whole highways too."

“Jesus fuck! Why!?"

“They don't say. They, uh...the news aren't saying."

“Is there a way through? Aren't ya gettin' your car fixed today?"

“I—uh no. No to both."

Mason's face dropped. “Shit," was the only word he could manage.

Trent explained. He'd received an early-morning call from the auto company informing him that the tow planned for today would have to be postponed. A swathe of territory cutting through the entire state had been locked down. They were trapped on one side of this blockade, their destinations on the other. His car would have to wait two weeks for them to circumvent the closures by driving through the neighbouring states, or he could pay a premium to have another company handle the pickup and repairs. A hefty premium, since his insurance firm didn't have a presence outside of Barson State. Taxis weren't an option, unless he thought spending hundreds he didn't have — on top of the costs incurred by the breakdown — was viable. The bus stop in Kettersburg hadn't been operational in years, and their nearest alternative was (again) stuck on the wrong side of things.

This wouldn't be an issue if I didn't decide to take the ' scenic' route to Barson City, he chided himself, I just had to drive through miles and miles of nothing...and for what? To see some nice views?

“Fuck Middle Unimerica!" he declared. “Empty, empty, empty acres of dead farmland and forests run wild." He turned to Mason, who was amused by his little tirade. “I'm a native of this state, born and bred...and even I think this place is goin' nowhere fast!"

Mason approached him. “Save it," he said, “it'll only piss ya off again and again if ya let the situation get to you." He spoke from experience.

“Ahh...best case scenario is a week stranded. Minimum." He showed where the closures were affecting travel on his smartphone. The scale of the situation was weighing down on them. “Look. That's like half the state sealed off," he repeated, “we can't get around it without going way North or South."

“Overnight."

“What?"

“This all happened overnight. Whatever is goin' on I don't want to stick around for the end of it."

“This must be national news. Has to be."

“Any word?" Mason pointed at the phone.

“They're sayin' its temporary, but that still ruins our plans."

“Shit."

“Wanna go talk to Will, see what he thinks?"

Mason sighed. “It won't be nothin' we ain't heard already."

Trent idled, pacing. “I was lookin' over our route," he finally said, “an' thinking about the shortest way to get past this..."

“You're not suggesting—"

“We walk? Yeah I am."

“I'm in no mood for jokes, stranger."

“Just call me Trent, okay? None of this 'stranger' nonsense."

“I call it like it is. You're a stranger to me. We should be gone separate ways soon. Don't see the need in knowin' your life story."

“Well if you've been listening, stranger," he affected Mason's tone, “not soon enough."

Mason squinted. The sun had barely crested the far hills but its light and heat already bore down on them, as per usual for the time of year. “That don't sound promising."

“No, it doesn't. But do you really want to spend the next week (or longer) in that motel? I mean...all complements to Tess, she does a fine job keepin' the place respectable and is probably the sweetest person I've met, but it's a motel. Two stars would be overly generous!"

“Those aren't great choices."

Good, Trent thought, he's seeing things my way.

“But I'll stick with the motel."

“C'mon man!"

“I'm serious. Deadly serious," he replied, a cold, stern look on his face. “There's only one option I'd consider pickin', and that's a bed under me."

“Look look look...we can actually make it across in less than a day. Five hours max! Honest! I can show you the route — it's all trails. People have walked these. People do walk these. We'll probably see people walkin' these alongside us. I'm not leadin' us into the damn jungle for Christ's sake!"

“Call me sceptical, Trent," he reluctantly addressed his companion on first-name terms, “you're gonna have to do better than that to convince me."

“Fine, here!" He highlighted the planned route. At a glance, he was right; it was far far shorter than what any open roads or highways could offer. And the time estimate the app was giving them lined up with Trent's argument. “We cut across country, we can be outta each other's hair by the end of the day." The pixellated line snaking its way through the veins of its digital maze reminded him that what Trent said was true; it was faster; it was shorter. We cut across country, the words echoed at the forefront of his mind. They bounced around, slowly building their case. Cut across country...

“That way we'll get to the bus depot in Morling. We arrive, I hop on the next one bound for Barson City, to hopefully resume my life after several days stuck in this crappy situation. Boom, I'm gone. You can sort yourself out however."

“And we can't through any other way?" Mason asked.

“No. The roads plain don't link up anymore."

He sucked in a large volume of air. Deep breath, deep breath...I'm gonna regret this at some point, aren't I?

So...we're goin' cross country.

It's just fields, we should be fine.

* * *

They took the time to return to the town centre, stocking up on supplies from places Will had informed them were still open (some of them at least). What they really needed were a packed lunch or two and some water bottles — neither Trent nor Mason were keen to sweat their behinds off under a sweltering sun for a second day running. Mason filled his rucksack, and Trent bought a small carry-bag of his own, suitably stocked. Will bade them farewell, they departed his station/diner alert with coffee and appreciating the satisfying fullness of a belated fried breakfast. Once finished, they met on the main street corner, and reviewed their plan.

“Ready to move out?"

“Yes."

They crossed at the lights, following the directions on Trent's phone. Five minutes later and they had made it to the outskirts of town. However, something was amiss. The ground rumbled, they both felt it. Vibrations buzzed at their feet, rattling their bones. It started faint, but grew fiercer and fiercer, threatening to shake their limbs with force. Mason searched for a cause. “What is that?" Trent asked, similarly bewildered.

He was answered promptly. A convoy of eighteen-wheelers thundered down the country road. Roaring tires issued forth a cacophony of deafening noise, screaming like a maniac in the ears of the two travellers. Shiny gloss gleamed off of the skin of the metal monsters, painted in a morbid black. The first truck of many shot straight past Trent and Mason, who'd taken refuge further away from the road; not even a honk of their horn to warn them off — the sound of beastly engines and the shaking Earth the sole warning they'd been given to step aside. Tinted windows on the cockpit flew past their field of view — then the vertical exhausts, pumping foul, choking fumes into the air. The enormous container trundled after, with a familiar name: Bovinex.

A dozen trucks had passed. They watched them surge onward, like a spear driven into the flesh of a defeated foe. They grew smaller, and the roar subsided. Soon all that was left of the terrifying drive-by was the glint of chrome in the distance. Nature returned to its peaceful state, the world no longer ringing in their ears.

Mason was not amused. “That's, uh, new."

“Bovinex...that's the company Will mentioned, right?"

“I know."

Trent craned his neck to watch the last truck disappear. “Things are accelerating," he announced, turning to Mason with concern.

“Whatever they're transporting. it's gettin' special privileges. That company's got a stranglehold on this state if they can have the roads all to themselves, for sure."

“We better get a move on."

“Those big-wheelers remind me how fast shit's changin'. Let's not lose a second more."

* * *

Evening hours came quickly, more quickly than they had anticipated. The walk had been nice; well, as nice as could be given the circumstances. And the weather had cooled. Three hours had passed of their expected journey time. Through fields of high grass they came, rustling the long strands with each step. Trent maintained his position as navigator, guiding Mason — who spent most of his time complaining.

“Hold up, hold up!" Trent stuck out his arm. Mason reached him, annoyed. “What's the big deal? We're goin' the right way, aren't we?" He was confused by Trent's vacant stare until he looked across at the object of his companion's fixation.

“What the fuck is this?"

A long fence ran the length of countryside, making any passage through impossible. They looked down upon it as the nearby hills sloped and flattened out into a wide plain. At points along it sat standing posts, for someone to perch upon and keep a lookout. A navy-clad figure walked beside it, definitely a security guard. He was trailed by two more, then another, making a total of four men visible from their vantage point.

“S'not on my map," Trent worriedly thumbed his phone. “Shouldn't be here."

“No shit that's not on your map!"

“..."

“Hey Trent," Mason snapped his fingers. His companion was miles away.

“Yeah?"

“How are we gonna get past?"