Free The World as We Know It by Curtis Krusie

complications of a mail service that would be used by hundreds of millions of people over millions of square miles—and that was just in our part of the world that used to be called the United States. Ultimately, a global mail service would be necessary.
    I made a commitment to send letters from each place once I had deemed the company safe and to update Eden Valley on my wellbeing and progress.
    “At least do that for me,” Maria asked as we lay quietly by the fire after dinner one night, “so I know you’re OK.” Her eyes glistened and she pressed her lips together. In less than a week, I would depart, and every time we spoke of it, that was the face I saw. She never ran dry of tears.
    “I’ll be fine,” I said. “Think of it as a long vacation. And when I get home, it’ll be like I never left.”
    “I hope that’s not true,” she whispered. I didn’t reply. “Take that book of Abraham’s,” she said. “The one with all the plants that tells you what to eat and what you can’t.”
    “Of course.”
    “You’re not used to cooking for yourself. The last thing you need is to make yourself sick out there. I won’t be around to take care of you. And wear your hat so you don’t get sunburned.”
    “I will.”
    “Are you all packed?”
    “Not yet.”
    “You can’t procrastinate, Joe. You’ll forget something. Are you sure I can’t go with you?”
    “You’ll be safer here, and I’ll be faster alone.”
    “Will you dream of me?” she asked sweetly, hopefully, looking into my eyes. Her beauty made me weak, and for a moment I bared enough humanity for a glimpse of the man she had loved.
    “Of course I will,” I said. “Night and day. I’ll never stop dreaming of you.”
    She smiled, put her arms around me, and rested her head on my bare chest.
    “I love you,” she said. She didn’t complain when I replied with silence.

5
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    HEADING SOUTH
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    O n the day in early April when I was to leave, I awoke anxious. Maria made a wholesome breakfast for me, covering the table in plates of eggs, fruit, and bread. She had begun preparing the meal before I had risen that morning to occupy the time that should have been spent sleeping if she could have. I was awake the whole time, but I didn’t let her know it. It was better to avoid the awkward silence that was sure to overcast the morning. I could hear her crying as she cooked. When I finally did rise, I savored my breakfast slowly and pensively like the civilized person I had once been. It was, as far as I knew, the last time I would enjoy such a meal for quite a while. Maria didn’t eat much that morning.
    After breakfast, we met Paul under the communal canopy to go over the final details of my trip. We gathered my gear and reviewed the route, reiterating the needto avoid going directly into the old cities, at least until I had determined that they were safe. God only knew the manner of people left lurking in them. It would be wise to stick to the outskirts, where I would be more likely to come across civilized people—places with land and trees, open spaces and forests. I didn’t expect much difficulty in finding what I was looking for. Population centers had adjusted and spread out, surely, but the population itself, I hoped, hadn’t changed in number.
    Noah joined us with my horse, who was already saddled, and tied him up so that we could load my gear. He was a beautiful red stallion strikingly marked by a jet-black mane and tail, chosen for his power and stamina that was unsurpassed by any of the others. I was told he had been a daunting challenge to tame. I liked that about him. In the weeks we had been riding, I believe he had begun to develop a reverence for me that matched my own for him. It was as if he recognized the journey as his calling and me more as his companion than his master. I preferred it that way. His spirit was free with a persistent desire to see the world, a characteristic that gave him his name—Nomad.
    Good-byes were