Reverse Trail: The Remedy Run

The mud of the Platte River valley clings to the wagon wheels like thick, grey grease. Behind us, the smoke of the last fort drifts into the overcast sky, a faint reminder of the world we left to burn. Inside the modified crate, the ice is beginning to weep, the temperature slowly climbing despite the heavy woolen blankets and the cool morning air. The medic eyes the mercury gauge with a grim tightness in his jaw, knowing the serum cannot survive another day of this erratic heat. Ahead, the track splits. To the left, the main trail winds through the low basin, offering faster passage but exposing the oxen to the biting wind that kills their energy. To the right, a overgrown track climbs toward the foothills. It is protected from the worst of the elements and might keep the internal temperature of the crate stable for longer, but the incline is brutal and the ground is treacherous for our heavily laden wagon wheels. The blacksmith wipes his brow, leaning against the lead ox. He warns that the axles are already groaning under the weight of the ice chest. If we push too hard on the high road, we risk a snapped axle that would strand us in the wilderness. If we stay low, we might outr…