Our group, accompanied by the entirety of Margaret's community, was now on the road heading toward Atlantic City—and this time, we were all traveling together as one unified convoy.
We were leading the expedition in our camping van, which had become something of a mobile command center and symbol of our group's presence. Behind us stretched a long trail of vehicles—cars, trucks, vans, even a few motorcycles—all filled with members of Margaret's community and whatever possessions they'd managed to salvage from their previous life. The convoy must have looked quite striking from an outside perspective, or from an aerial point of view if anyone had been watching from above. A serpentine line of vehicles winding through abandoned streets and overgrown highways, a caravan of survivors moving together.
