Ruins of the Fall (The Remants Trilogy #2) by Nicholas Erik

I get is empty white noise. The ash hanging in the atmosphere must block the reception. We’ve travelled for about five hours, and the sky has gotten progressively chalkier. Even three years later, the plains haven’t recovered.
    And we’ve only reached the border of what used to be Illinois. Or so a battered sign indicates, announcing that the people of Iowa welcome us with fields of opportunities. But the only fields I see are gray.
    It makes me snort, thinking that there are opportunities here. But that’s what I’m searching for, right? A silver bullet in an endless cosmic ocean of ash.
    I asked Evelyn to examine me before we left—maybe help with these hallucinations—but she brushed me off. No one likes me much these days. They just tolerate me as a necessary sort of evil.
    Being a hero is a thankless business.
    I jerk the wheel to avoid a ten-foot-deep hole, blaring on the horn to warn those behind us. Jana has insisted that we lead the procession, even if that leaves us open to attack. No one’s attacked us thus far, which might be disappointing her. After all, she’s gotta channel this anger somewhere.
    Preferably not at me.
    “Was it real?” she says after another hundred miles.
    “Was what real?” I say, startled that she’s speaking. If I’m being perfectly honest, the silence was preferable.
    “Or were you just trying to—that was my knife,” she says, putting the dots together without my help. She smiles bitterly and runs her hand through her punkish hair. “I’m a fucking moron.”
    “Next time, don’t change the plan.”
    The silence makes me wonder if I’ve made another enemy. I can’t really afford that, but it seems inevitable. I try to focus on sunnier things, like the failsafe Matt hid out in the Gifted Minds facility. But it’s hard to even imagine. Trying to get inside the mind of a genius is a fool’s errand. Even those close to him, close to HIVE, couldn’t account for all his plans.
    I swallow hard when I realize that Blackstone has a solid brain trust on his side—the remnants of the Gifted Minds program. Kid Vegas. Olivia Redmond. Who knows who else. Either I need to get smarter, or I need a better team.
    I bite my lip and push down on the accelerator.
    “Do I need to drive?”
    “No,” I say.
    “Then conserve gas,” Jana says. “We might have to push anyway.”
    “There something you want to say?”
    “I don’t know,” Jana says. “What can I say?”
    “You got what you wanted.”
    “I wanted my people to be safe.”
    “Some of them are,” I say. I catch her pained response in the rearview as she contemplates the Remnants who stayed behind in the Gunpowder Hills with Mirko. Fortifying, trying to dig in. Even members of the waystations rode in. The rift might’ve hurt Jana worse than her father’s death.
    All I see is a bunch of fools about to commit suicide, steamrolled by the inevitable march of the NAS’ collective forces.
    “We’re making the right play,” I say. Up ahead, I see a big dog in the road. He’s barking. “Shit.” I close my eyes and drive straight through. There’s no thud , because the dog isn’t real. “How far until we hit I-5?”
    “1,800 miles,” Jana says. “Should be fun.”
    I take a deep breath and gather myself. But deep inside, I’m screaming.
    Because I know I’m not gonna last that long.
     
    We finally stop for the night near the border of South Dakota. The vehicle brigade—about three hundred strong—forms a tight perimeter around a central camp. The Remnants waste little time setting up defenses, digging holes and making fires.
    I leave them alone. This is their area of expertise, and I’m liable to slow things down. I managed to drive the entire day—the better part of twelve hours—without devolving into madness. But who knows how long this interlude of sanity will last.
    From the way Atlas was talking, things will only get worse.
    I take the piece of paper he gave me from my back pocket. It’s