The Highway Held a Second Fire

The driver cursed and yanked the wheel onto a feeder road that rose toward an overpass. Below them, traffic was already thick with evacuees. Every car had a tiny flag sticker on the bumper, a paper cup in the console, a kid waving a plastic star. The whole Fourth of July atmosphere that should have meant freedom now looked like a trap dressed as a family outing. “Look,” Mia whispered. On the bridge ahead sat a black panel van with its rear door open. Several men in work gear were unloading collapsible barriers. A police cruiser sat nearby, lights off, as if waiting to be told what to do. Elias narrowed his eyes. “That van doesn’t have city plates.” “Who are they?” Grace asked. “Fake traffic control.” He made the call in the same second.