Read Apophis for Free Online Page A

breathe when he noticed I wasn’t eating at all. “Eat that,” he gruffly ordered.
    I responded by using my fork to push the food around on my plate.
    “We have long days ahead of us, Sam,” he grunted, continuing to shovel more food into his mouth.  “You need to eat.”
    I sighed, probably more dramatically than was necessary, but I finally followed my father’s order.  My grandma was a good cook and an even better baker, but it was a chore to eat my breakfast without gagging.  I didn’t want to leave; this was the only place I’d ever called home.  I was frustrated with my dad’s decision to uproot us, but I knew I couldn’t stay behind.  This time I couldn’t just run away to the pole barn until my anger dissipated.  I’d have to grow up and adjust just as we’d all had to when the Frost first began.
    My grandma finished reading her newspaper for the umpteenth time.  She closed it up along its well-creased folds.  “So, what are we going to do?” she asked.
    “We’re going to finish breakfast and then we’re going to hit the road,” my father said.
    “And do we know where we’re going to?” questioned my grandmother.
    “West.”
    “Why west?” I spoke up.
    “Everyone’s already gone south,” my dad reasoned, “so resources will be strained between North Dakota and the southern states.  If we go west through Montana, Idaho, and maybe Wyoming, we should have better luck.”
    “But there’s nothing out there!” I challenged.  I had never been west of North Dakota before, but I imagined it a vast, barren wasteland.
    My dad nodded.  “Exactly.  Which is why bandits and everyone else will have left it alone.”  He finished his breakfast and wiped at his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.  “Finish up here and make sure you have everything you need,” he said curtly, rising from the table. “I want to be on the road in half an hour.”
     
    +++++
     
    Life slipped into a routine in those days after we left Williston.  We traveled during daylight hours and we camped, my father in one tent and my grandmother and me in another, when the sun set.  We spoke little, a mixture of mourning the loss of my mother and not wanting to attract nearby bandits with the sound of our voices.
    Between the three of us we had three sleeping bags, three sleeping pads, and two tents.  There had been an extra sleeping bag and pad in my mother’s unused pack, but it didn’t make sense to bring it along. Our survival kits were substantial, but they weren’t intended to last for very long.  We could manage to stretch the supplies out of fear of not finding a more permanent living situation, but also because the provisions had been meant to accommodate four people, not our party of three.
    Everyday we had three tasks to accomplish.  Eat.  Rest.  Move.  We sought the Holy Trinity wherever we went: shelter, food, and heat.  At least water was plentiful; it was frozen, all around us. It hadn’t actually snowed in months – it was too cold for snow to form – and the ground cover was old and crusted, but it still tasted as good and clean and pure as any water out of the tap.
    My father hadn’t told us if he had a plan beyond going “west,” but neither my grandmother nor I pressed him.  I think we were both scared that he’d admit to not actually having a plan.  At least this way, following him single-file for hours at a time through knee-high snow banks, we could pretend that there was a purpose behind our continued wandering.
    But even though this ignorance kept me in a mild bliss, I was starting to get annoyed.  Where exactly were we headed?  What were we going to do when the food in our backpacks ran out?  My dad was insistent that we keep away from the cities and highways to avoid another run-in with bandits. We could catch wild game with our small animal traps, but living off of squirrels and rabbits wouldn’t last us long. Why had we left the familiarity of my childhood home