Barry pushed the bus door open and yellow air swirled into the stairwell. Barry backed up the stairs, careful not to trip. He kept his eyes on the newcomer. He looked back at Doyle. Doyle’s anxiety was palpable. Doyle’s anxiety made Barry’s stomach knot. He steeled his resolve and turned back toward the door. His hand shook as he took ahold of the slide bolt. He took a deep breath and yanked the bolt clear. At that moment, Barry regretted his decision. Barry knew there was no going back. He didn’t care what was on the other side of the door. He had no concern for what danger waited outside the bus. The big man’s entire focus lasered in on making sure he didn’t let anything harm Doyle.

Before the door fully opened, the stranger’s head popped in. The face was covered by a hood, but it quickly swiveled upward to look at Barry. Whatever terrors Barry’s imagination conjured, the man before him was none of them.

The man slowly stepped onto the bottom step and thanked Barry for letting him in. He had a green rucksack slung across his back. He wore a pair of faded denim jeans and a camo jacket over a black hoodie. His greasy black hair hung down to his shoulders and his beard draped over his chest. The man had to be in his thirties, but his attire and weathered face made him seem older. He had too many wrinkles and a crooked nose. His right eyebrow was split, down the middle, by a deep scar. Despite his appearance, the man had an honest smile and friendly blue eyes. When the man reached the last stair, he held out his hand to shake Barry's.

"Name’s Jaxon, Jaxon Holmes."

Barry shook the man's hand and told him his name. He then gestured over his shoulder and introduced Doyle. Jaxon let go of Barry's hand and rushed around the staircase's partition. He saw Doyle standing there. He let his rucksack slide from his shoulders and raced toward Doyle. Jaxon dropped to his knees and stared at Doyle. Barry and Doyle shared a look of confusion.

"I saw the "Falcone Racing" on the bus, and it made my year. I told myself there was no way Doyle Falcone would be way out here. I told myself that even if he was, he was dead like everybody else. I just wanted to see the inside of your bus. I never believed I would find Doyle Falcone, alive and breathing."

Barry let out a slight chuckle. Jaxon turned and glowered at him.

"Do you know who this is? Doyle is the best driver since Dale!" he exclaimed.

Barry dropped his head and rubbed at his temples. "Great. Three people are alive in the world. One is Doyle Falcone, and another is a Doyle Falcone groupie." Barry joked.

"Get up, man. You're embarrassing me." Doyle pleaded.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Jaxon apologized. "I bet I look like a nut." he acknowledged. As he stood, he turned to face Barry. "I'm not a nut. Just a big fan."

"I was just being a smartass. It was a joke." Barry assured the man.

Jaxon picked up his rucksack and walked into the living area. He stepped over Jimmy’s body and plopped on the couch. His nonchalance about the bloody corpse didn't escape Barry's notice.

"Don't mind ole Jimmy there, he used to be Doyle's driver," Barry informed the newcomer. Jaxon looked down at the dead body and then looked up at Doyle.

"Sorry for your loss…want a soda?" he asked Doyle. "Got a few grape ones left."

"Um…uh…no thanks. I'm not thirsty." Doyle responded. Jaxon's indifference to the bloody body unnerved him. He quickly turned the exchange toward answers. "Any idea what is going on out there?"

"Oh yeah. Some sort of terrorist attack,” Jaxon cracked open a grape soda, took a long sip, and then continued. “I'm guessing they detonated E.M.P.s and used the blast to spread whatever the yellow shit is that is fogging up everything."

The strangeness of how carefree Jaxon spoke about what was happening felt wrong to Barry and Doyle. It seemed as if Jaxon was detached from the reality of the situation. Barry told himself that the man was probably in shock.

"This whole thing doesn't bother you?" Doyle asked the man, a tinge of anger and frustration apparent in his voice.

"Course it bothers me. Why would you think it doesn't?" I'm just used to death and stuff."

"How the hell do you get used to death." Doyle wondered, aloud.

Jaxon looked at Doyle, then shifted his gaze to Barry. “I was Special Forces. Seven years,” he explained.

That was enough explanation for the other two men.

“Thank you for your service,” Doyle offered Jaxon.

Barry, also, thanked Jaxon, as he took a seat on the couch. There was something about the way Jaxon grinned at Doyle. Barry reasoned the man was just another awestruck fanatic, but Jaxon’s gaze was laser-focused on Doyle. The way he kept his eyes locked on the other man; it almost seemed predatory. There was a long silence. Barry watched Doyle fidget with a couch pillow. Jaxon was making Doyle uncomfortable. Barry broke the silence, by asking Jaxon where he was from.

“All over, really. I go where I’m blown,” Jaxon answered, never relaxing his grin or looking away from Doyle. “Dang, man. I’m sorry, but I just can’t believe it’s you.”

“It’s me. I’m real!” There was a tinge of sarcasm in Doyle’s reply.

Barry moved to stand before Jaxon. He thought he would intimidate Jaxon. Barry was aware of how imposing his size could be, and there was no way Jaxon missed the implied threat. Nobody gets that close without a reason. “Gonna need more than that, man.” Jaxon showed no acknowledgment that Barry had moved or spoken. Barry towered over the seated man. Leaning close to Jaxon’s face, which was still pointed at Doyle and still hung that creepy grin.

Barry spoke, stern and slow. “What is your deal ma…”

Doyle watched Jaxon’s left arm knife out and clamp around Barry’s neck. The action was swift and unexpected. Barry’s reflexes were surprising. The big man’s hands sped to intercept the attack but were milliseconds late. As Jaxon’s hand closed around Barry’s throat, both of Barry’s hands locked around Jaxon’s wrist.

Jaxon didn’t appear to be tightening his grip. He sat, staring at Doyle, with an unwavering grin. Barry tried to wrench the hand from his throat, but this resulted in Jaxon squeezing harder.

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“I will break your fucking arm,” Barry threatened, while he moved one hand from Jaxon’s wrist and positioned it under the other man’s straightened elbow. Barry gave a short, but sharp, push on the elbow. This caused Jaxon to finally face Barry.

As Jaxon turned, from Doyle to Barry, his grin shifted to a cold emotionless glare. Barry reapplied pressure to Jaxon’s elbow, but if Jaxon felt any pain, he hid it well. Jaxon responded by digging his fingernails deep into Barry’s thick neck. Blood trickled as fingernails parted the skin.

“I don’t wanna do it, man,” Barry warned.

“I don’t like people in my bubble,” Jaxon explained. He squeezed harder after he spoke.

“fuuck thiiis,” Barry squeezed the words out, as his airway began to close.

Barry’s left hand released the elbow and struck out, grabbing the collar of Jaxon’s jacket. His right hand, unclamped, curled into a fist and jabbed into Jaxon’s armpit. Jaxon winced and gave a short moan, but his grip didn’t loosen much. Barry grabbed a second handful of Jaxon’s jacket and pulled the seated man off the couch. In a single motion, Barry curled his arms upward, straightened his back and legs, and hoisted Jaxon over his head.

Barry forced Jaxon to arm’s length. Barry strained to tear the hand from his throat, but the big man had shorter reach than Jaxon. Barry hated hurting anything, but his vision got fuzzy, and instinct took over. Barry thrust Jaxon against the roof, cracking the faux wood paneling. The moment Jaxon connected with the ceiling, Barry yanked downward.

Jaxon still clutched Barry’s neck when he hit the ceiling, but the sudden change in velocity and direction caused him to reflexively reach out. The floor sped toward him, and he only thought of one thing to do. Jaxon folded both arms in front of his face and turned his head to the side. He clenched his eyes. He heard Doyle yell for Barry to stop, but his mind was focused on the coming impact.

There was a loud grunt, as Barry jerked Jaxon’s body to a halt. The instant stop forced the air from Jaxon’s lungs, but his legs continued, downward. His left boot whipped down on Jimmy’s head with an audible crack.

“GODDAMMIT,” Doyle screamed. “THAT IS ENOUGH OF THAT SHIT.”

Barry was struggling to stand upright. He was hunched with each hand on a thigh to support him. Doyle stomped over to Barry and roughly yanked him upright, before continuing over to Jaxon. Doyle reached the man just as he climbed up from his knees. Doyle shoved the man backward, onto the couch.

“You, stay there. Please.” It was more of a warning to Jaxon than a request from Doyle. Without turning from Jaxon, Doyle firmly asked Barry to stay put, as well.

“Yes sir, Mr. Falcone.” Jaxon grumbled, like a child put in timeout. “I’m sorry for fighting with your friend,” he added, without making eye contact with Doyle.

“I tried to warn him, man. I did.”

Doyle snapped his head toward Barry. So intense were Doyle’s eyes, Barry thought he might have to fight again.

“Warned him…shit,” Doyle stepped to the side and pointed at Jaxon. “He weighs a buck fifty. MAX! I’d think about getting the first strike in, too, if some big, biker-bar-bouncing mother fucker stepped up like that.”

“Biker what?” Barry asked as he inspected his blue jeans and red polo shirt.

“Just look at you,” Doyle gestured at Barry. “You look like a goddam refrigerator on legs.”

“I didn’t think he was going to start shit,” Barry explained.

“Barry, you don’t look like the kinda guy people stop to ask for directions. No offense, but we are in Oklahoma. Your head is shaved, and you got that mountain-man beard going on. I mean…if it weren’t for those EMPs, I wouldn’t have invited you in here. No offense.”

Barry mindlessly stroked his beard. He looked hurt.

“I’m just trying to help you see it from the other guy’s perspective,” Doyle assured him.

“No. You’re right, man,” Barry admitted before he slowly walked to Jaxon and offered him his hand.

“I apologize, man. Are you ok?” Barry sincerely meant the words.

Jaxon looked into Barry’s eyes and held his gaze. Jaxon’s face was blank; his eyes were not. Barry was not intimidated by the other man’s stare, but he was ready for another attack. The exchange was uncomfortable.

As moments passed, Barry began to shift his weight around. still waiting with his hand out. Impatience, and a swelling irritation at Jaxon’s childish stare-off, Barry started to drop his hand. Barry watched Jaxon’s eyes shift from cold and violent, to bright and happy. Before his hand could drop a quarter of an inch, Jaxon’s motionless face became pure glee. Jaxon’s hand shot out and intercepted the retreating hand. He shook it rapidly and his smile reached higher with each shake.

“No hard feelings. It is my fault, really.” Jaxon assured Barry

At that moment, Barry became aware that Jaxon had challenged him. It was another moment before Barry realized Jaxon had won. He was irritated to be part of the juvenile exchange, but what bothered Barry more was how much it pissed him off that Jaxon had stared him down and he had been the one to give up.

“Now listen. We need to figure out what is going on. We have to do what we can to survive,” Doyle spoke up. Jaxon, what did you see out there? Where did you come from, and where were you heading?”

Jaxon did not move. His eyes focused on nothing, as he started to answer their questions.

“I came from an old buddy’s place. Bout fifteen miles from here.” Jaxon walked over and peered out a window, before he continued. “I started walking about six, last night. The moon was high when I decided to camp. I was east of Centrahoma when the lights lit up the sky. I holed up inside a dry creek underpass. I climbed out to take a leak. That’s when I saw the bombs.”

Barry used Jaxon’s pause to take a seat on the couch. Doyle did the same.

“I knew, right away, what they were. There was one east of me…less than a mile. I ran back under the concrete culvert and braced myself.”

Jaxon turned from the window and looked at Doyle.

“The winds were dampened by the roadway, above me. It was still dark when I walked into Centrahoma. I already suspected an EMP, because my digital watch and phone stopped working. I saw the dark town, and knew it was. Centrahoma is a tiny town. The main street is about three blocks wide and about seven or eight blocks long. You could yell from one end and be heard on the other.

The whole town was torn up. The blast wave had taken everything that wasn’t steel or concrete. Even the brick homes had missing walls and roofs. Trees were combed over, in rows. Even vehicles had been pushed and shoved around. A few taller cars were flipped on their sides.”

Barry looked to Doyle, but the other man had his head back, gazing at the ceiling.

“What about survivors?” Barry interrupted. “Did you see anybody, else?”

“Oh…I saw lots of people. They were all dead or bleeding out. There were people and debris scattered all over. Those winds churned the place up.”

“Good God,” Doyle whispered.”

“It was pitch black. I only strayed from the road, once. I heard this sobbing. It was a powerful, sad, sobbing. It came from the side of this cinder block house. The roof was gone, and all four sides were torn apart. But the north and south walls were left a few feet tall. I followed the sound and turned the corner.

There was this lady there. She was in a white gown, and it was soaked in the blood of the little boy she held. She just sat against the wall holding him across her chest.

I asked her if she was ok, a few times, but her mind was someplace else.”

“Wait. How long did it take you to get to that town, from when the bombs hit?” Barry inquired.

Jaxon faced Barry and addressed him.

“Well, I waited in the culvert for a bit. It was dark and I wasn’t sure what to expect, out here…but would say deciding to leave, packing my things, and walking into town…” he stopped talking and appeared to be figuring something in his head. “Couple hours, tops.” Jaxon decided.

Barry twisted on the couch and looked out the window. Barry could see more of the town than before.

“The yellow shit, in the air, is thinning.” The big man announced.

The other two men turned to nearby windows and did their own inspection.

“Sure, as hell, is.” Doyle agreed.

Barry adjusted his position to see both men.

“Jaxon, what happened to the crying lady? Was she leaking blood, all over?”

“Well, Barry, I don’t know, ultimately. I leaned closer, to get her attention, but once I saw the boy, I knew it wasn’t the winds that got him. He looked about like your friend, here.” Jaxon pointed at Jimmy’s covered body on the floor. “I turned around and got out of there real fast. I didn’t leave the road, after that.”

“She the only one? Living, I mean.” Doyle asked.

“I heard signs of life, but only two times, besides the crying lady. They came from off the road, and it was too dark to see anything. I didn’t go off investigating, though. Best to not take any chances.”

Barry went back to looking out the window and asked Jaxon what this town looked like.

“I can say it was better than the first town. You guys were about five miles farther from the blast. Most of the structures are still standing, but the whole place is trashed. Literally. Debris all over the place.”

“Survivors?”

“Maybe, Doyle, but maybe not. I heard talking, coming from one house. Sounded like somebody digging through debris, a few blocks back, too. This place is clear of dead people. You all had structures to protect you. Unlike Centrahoma, where the wind forces leveled most of the town.”

“That’s a good thing,” Barry expressed.

Jaxon sat on the edge of the recliner and silently offered the men one of the sodas in his hands. Barry took one and thanked the man.

“I don’t think it made a difference, Barry. All the windows are missing, along with whatever curtains and blinds had covered them. I walked around this place for a couple of hours. Except for the one voice and the rummaging sounds, I haven’t seen any movement. I haven’t heard anything else,” Jaxon finished, but quickly added, “until I found you two.”

“HOLY SHIT.” Barry yelled. He sprang from the couch and sped toward the front of the bus.

“What?” Doyle yelled after him.

Barry rounded the stairwell and reached to unlatch the lock. He felt a tug on his shirt.

“What are you doing, Barry?”

“Let go of me, Doyle. There is a person out there.”

“A living person?” Jaxon’s head popped over the stairwell partition, after he spoke.

“Is it safe to go out there?” Doyle cautioned.

“Yes, a living person. They just turned the corner by that gas station. And I don’t know, Doyle, but Jimmy died within five minutes. This bus isn’t airtight, and Jaxon was out there for hours,” Barry pulled the slide bolt as he spoke.

The door released and Barry folded it open. The slightly amber air invaded the stairwell and swirled around as it mixed with the more diluted bus air. He hesitated, for a moment, before he turned back and asked if the other two men were coming.

Doyle froze. Apprehension prevented him from responding. Jaxon came around the corner and bowled passed Doyle, patting the still man as he went by. Doyle watched both men step from the bus. His fear of what was going on was no match for his fear of being alone. Like a child flipping the light off and leaping to the sanctuary of their bed, Doyle sprang after them.

“Wait for me!”