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earlier.  Some were broadcasting network news coverage of the terror attacks.  The more we heard, the clearer the scale of the event became, and the more worried we became.
    With communication sporadic, much of the news being reported was coming from social media posts.  Although we couldn’t see them, newscasters were describing posted images of localized disasters throughout the country.  Fires, flooding, demolition of infrastructure, and power outages were everywhere.  Resources were stretched thin.  In some areas, localities were having difficulty prioritizing their response due to the scale of the overwhelming need.  In the intensity and emotional reactions, it was like the 9/11 terror attacks taking place all over again, except occurring in more places.  Despite the scale of the attack, it didn’t appear that there was tremendous loss of life yet, although numbers were certainly in the thousands.  However, in terms of devastation, it might take years to get things back to where they were.  If they ever could.  I also knew that the death tolls would begin to rise rapidly as the disaster began to take a toll on the medically fragile and the unprepared.
    Some consultant interviewed by CNN said that the power grid could collapse entirely as small power plants still generating tried to keep up with demand.  They urged people to make preparations and conserve resources.
    “It’s like they hit every weak spot we had at the same time,” Gary said, thinking aloud.  We were on I-64 getting ready to exit to I-81 near Staunton and Gary was driving.  I was riding shotgun.
    Traffic coming out of Richmond had seemed almost normal.  Maybe a little lighter than normal, like Saturday morning downtown traffic in any city.  As the area we were traveling through had not been hit directly, we didn’t see many emergency vehicles responding to calls but we passed numerous convoys of military and police vehicles traveling in the opposite lane.  Perhaps they’d been called to eastern Virginia to respond to events there.  Or maybe they were on their way to DC.
    The other Impala with Alice and Lois pulled up alongside us and Lois gestured to the side of the road.  They cut ahead of us and pulled over onto the shoulder.  We fell in behind them.  Lois came walking back to my window, on the passenger side, to stay away from the passing traffic.  I rolled my window down.  We all looked at her expectantly.
    “I need to take a potty break,” she announced.
    We all continued to stare at her, saying nothing.  When no one responded, I pointed to the bushes alongside the road.
    “Go ahead,” I said.  “We’ll wait on you.”
    She looked aghast.  “I will not tinkle on the side of the road like some drunken redneck,” she hissed.  “Besides, I'm hungry.  I haven't had anything to eat since I got up.”
    Gary, fighting a smile, leaned over toward my window.  “There’s a travel plaza ahead, Lois.  We need gas anyway.  We’ll stop there.  I’m sure we can all use a break.”
    I already had my mouth open to comment when a voice came from the back. 
    “Don’t say it, Jim,” Randi said.  “She already thinks you’re a dick.”
    “Be nice, you guys,” Gary warned, fighting back his own smile.  “She's someone's mother.”
    “Yeah,” I mumbled.  “Satan’s.”
    We drove about ten more miles and took the exit for the Carson Travel Plaza.  It was the largest travel truck stop for a hundred miles and had a lot of gas pumps, good coffee, and clean bathrooms.  I'd stopped there many times while making this trip or going on vacation with my family.  As we approached it, though, I realized I'd never seen it this crowded.
    “What the hell?” I mumbled, seeing the line of cars stretching from the pumps back out into the road.
    “There's the problem,” Rebecca said, pointing to a large plywood sign propped up by the road: FUEL SALES LIMITED TO 5 GALLONS PER VEHICLE.
    “Five gallons?” I said.