Authors: James Hunt,Roger Hayden
“What can I help you gentlemen with?” the man asked to their side.
Jordan and Paul turned to the counter. An elderly man wearing a buttoned-up flannel and a camouflaged hat sat on a stool behind the cash register. He brandished a pump-action shotgun.
“Sorry we didn’t see you there,” Jordan said.
“That’s alright, we ain’t got much left, and I can only accept cash.”
“Do you have any gas?” Paul asked.
“Sorry, we’re all out. I’ve been telling people that all day.”
Paul tried to resist punching the wall in frustration. He looked at Jordan clearly upset.
“What the hell are we going to do now?”
Jordan rose up his hand to calm Paul down.
“We’ll think of something, don’t worry.”
Paul wanted to tell Jordan that they were doomed, that their trip and all of society was doomed, but he withheld on account of the old man’s presence.
“We have cash,” Jordan said approaching the counter.
The old man studied.
“How much?”
“That depends. Do you know anywhere we can get any diesel?”
“The hell with the diesel, ask him if he wants to sell that station wagon outside,” Paul said.
“To be honest with you boys, I’ve got some fuel cans in the back, sort of like my reserve stash in times of emergency. But there’s not a can of diesel in the bunch.”
Paul looked around the empty store and walked over to a newspaper and magazine rack. Jordan placed his arms on the register counter. “Sir, I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to make an assertion.”
The old man looked at Jordan curiously then moved one hand from his shotgun to adjust his hat. “Go ahead.”
“I’m thinking that you probably have plenty of better places to be than a gas station with no gas and empty shelves.”
“What’s your point?”
Jordan reached into his shoulder bag. “My point is that you must have something you want to sell other than fuel cans and old magazines.”
Paul examined the newspaper rack, finding only one paper remaining. It was a paper from the Friday before, the morning of the Wall Street bombing. He flipped through its thick newsprint, trying to find something of value, and then tossed it to the side. The magazine rack was just as useless. All the magazines were dated from the past week or older. He hungered for knowledge, something that would let him know that Samantha was still alive and if he had a country left. There had been no official report of casualties or the overall destruction beyond the anonymous sign they saw on the road. Paul walked back over to the counter where Jordan was haggling with the shop owner.
“Let’s just say we wanted to make a vehicle trade. Our Humvee for your station wagon,” Jordan said.
“Not interested. What the hell am I going to do with it? It only takes diesel.”
“Yes, but you probably have other vehicles at home, am I correct? And that Humvee can pull anything.”
“I could do without it, thanks,” the old man said.
Jordan pulled out a stack of cash from his shoulder bag.
“We’ll even throw in eight-hundred dollars.”
The old man showed interest. He scratched his scruffy chin and thought long and hard.
“Jordan, what are you doing?” Paul whispered.
Jordan waved Paul off and stared at the old man, waiting for a reaction.
“You got more than that?” the man asked.
Jordan had a total of three thousand dollars on him, cash that he took from the Military Criminal Investigation Command’s evidence room. In light of the day’s events, he knew that he would need cash, and managed to get the money after the building had cleared. However, he didn’t want to spend it all in one place. He would have to play the game.
Jordan thought hard for the right answer. “Fifteen hundred,” he said. The old man thought again, rubbing his chin. Jordan saw a glimmer in the man’s eye. Jordan waited.
The old man pointed to them and spoke slowly. “I’ll take two grand and the Humvee. Then we got a deal.”
“Jordan, are you out of your mind?” Paul asked.
Jordan quieted him. Perhaps Paul was playing along, making it seem like a foolish decision on Jordan’s part. Jordan turned to take the rest of the money out from his shoulder bag. He opened the Ziploc bag containing the money and counted two thousand dollars’ worth of cash.
Paul turned to the old man. “Do you have some type of transistor radio or something?”
“Yeah, I got one under the counter,” the man replied.
“How about you throw in one of those, plus some batteries?”
The old man nodded. Jordan handed him the cash.
“Now let’s go inspect that station wagon of yours,” he said.
Chapter Four
Making Friends and Enemies
So now we have a different car. Well a different vehicle, whatever. I was sleeping when Paul woke me up and told me we were leaving the Humvee and taking the station wagon. I guess they bought it from this old man who worked at the gas station. The car is old, just like him. They spent an hour inspecting it or whatever they were doing to it. We loaded it up and then we were on the road. I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this only to say that it’s weird. Don’t get me wrong, the station wagon is a lot more comfortable than that Humvee, but everything has changed now.
I asked Paul why we can’t just fly to Colorado to get my mom, he told me that there aren’t any flights. I asked him how he knew. He said that all I had to do was look into the sky and see. But when I look into the sky, all I see is gray. Looks like clouds, but they’re not. Jordan says it’s nuclear ash. I’ve never heard anything so stupid in my life.
I was so out of it when we switched vehicles. I had this dream that I was at my old house, not the one in Beech Creek, but the one I grew up in, and my mom was there. It was Saturday morning and she was making me breakfast, pancakes, I think. Then she left the room for a minute and never came back. She disappeared. I called for her again and again. Then I searched the house for my dad, my real dad, not Paul, and he was gone too. Then I went ahead and called for Paul, but he was gone to. Then I noticed that it was really bright outside. Like I couldn’t even see out the window it was so bright. Then I opened the front door and everything outside had been destroyed. All the buildings and homes were lying in pieces. It was like a bomb had been dropped on everything. I screamed and I screamed but no one was around. Then Paul woke me up.
Jessica, I wish you were in my dream. If you were in that dream then that would mean that you’re probably still alive. I don’t think I’ve ever dreamed about a dead person. We’re in Kansas City now. Jordan is trying to find his family. It’s a big city, there’s traffic everywhere. We’re stuck in traffic right now. Paul keeps going on about finding a TV so we can find out what’s going on. The station wagon is so old that it doesn’t even have a place to charge cell phones. But I lost my phone anyway, so it doesn’t even matter. I just want to scream! I asked Paul why he doesn’t just ask the million people around us what’s going on. He says that no one knows. I hope Jordan finds his family soon so we can find my mom and then go back home. If that’s even possible.
The ’76 Buick Curbside Classic was in decent condition, given its age. Curiously enough, it had only 223,000 miles on it, not much for a car so old. The old man at the gas station said that many of the parts had been replaced over the years, including the engine. When asked why he held on to the car as long as he did, the old man replied that he had planned to give the car to his grandson as a hand-me-down. He had promised his grandson that the car would be his when he got back from Afghanistan. It had been five years, and even though his grandson had been killed in action, the old man maintained the car in hopes that the boy would be coming home to get it.
Paul had reservations about taking a car of such sentimental value, but in an age where the fate of everyone’s loved ones was in question, they had to do what they could to stay on the road and keep moving. The old man even threw in a few five-gallon fuel jugs, which they placed in the back of the wagon.
“The fumes are making me dizzy,” Julie protested from her back seat.
Paul agreed to change seats with her, but the fumes were inescapable, even with the windows down.
“I don’t know how much longer we can ride around with this gas back here,” Paul said rubbing his head.
“We’re going to have to get used to it,” Jordan replied. “You want to ride or you want to walk?”
It had been a while since they had eaten. Julie could feel the hunger pains in her stomach. The MRE cases in the back were of no comfort. She had pieced together enough meals from several different packages and didn’t want to think about another MRE again. They pulled into a suburban neighborhood where Jordan’s family lived.
“Are we finally there?” Julie asked.
“Yes, we are,” Jordan answered. Julie jumped in her seat, excited as she could be.
“So we can sleep there? Take showers? Cook some meals?”
Questions spit out of her like the rapid fire of a machine gun. Jordan nodded along. Paul was excited at the prospect of some hint of normalcy where Internet and television possibly awaited.
Jordan couldn’t believe they had made it. His home was only a few blocks away. The neighborhood looked the same as it did a year ago when he left it to move to Pennsylvania. Most importantly, Jordan was relieved to see that the neighborhood was still there. It was an unlikely target for an attack, but he could have said the same thing about Beech Creek.
“Where is everyone?” Julie asked, while looking outside the window.
True, the homes were intact, but there was an eerie quietness similar to what they had seen at the deserted gas stations. Home after home looked vacant, their lawns overgrown and in need of maintenance. Most of the driveways were empty. The oddest thing they noticed was the startling absence of other people. Only moments ago they were in the middle of bumper-to-bumper traffic on the interstate, now they were in a ghost town. Paul tried the car radio repeatedly, but couldn’t get any signal over the FM/AM tuner. The transistor radio wasn't much help either.
Paul was going to say that he didn’t have a good feeling about their situation, but stopped. What was the point of being negative? How would he have felt if Jordan downplayed finding Samantha? Jordan said nothing as they approached the empty driveway of his quaint and traditional two-story house. The garage door was closed along with the blinds, as if the family was on vacation.
It was late afternoon, almost evening, but the streetlights weren’t on, nor the light post in the front yard. Jordan put the car in park and turned off the ignition. His heart was racing with anxiety. He wanted to believe that his wife and two sons were waiting inside for him. Maybe they were scared and, as a result, made it seem like no one was home. There were so many possibilities, though Jordan desired only one outcome and it frightened him to think of his family not at home. Paul noticed Jordan’s hesitance to get out of the car.
“Let’s just check it out. If they’re not there, maybe they left a note,” he said.
Jordan stared ahead without response, examining the house for any movement. Julie opened her door and stepped out.
“I have to pee, can we go in?” she asked.
“Yeah, no problem,” Jordan said as he opened his door slowly.
Julie ran up the steps of the house as they stretched in the driveway.
“Feels good to breathe again,” Paul said while taking a deep breath. Though he was free from the potent fumes of gasoline, Paul noticed something else in the air.
“Smells like a fire somewhere,” he told Jordan.
They both looked around and saw a thick billow of black smoke rising into the air miles away, past the neighborhood.
“It’s like we’re back in Beech Creek,” Paul said.
“Don’t say that,” Jordan responded.
“Come on guys,” Julie said as she jumped up and down near the front door of the house.
Paul and Jordan walked to the house. Jordan searched his pockets in a panic.
“Shit,” he said to himself. “Where’s the front door key?”
He dug around in his pockets and pulled out a key chain. There were several keys around the ring, but he wasn’t sure if any of them were to the house. He hadn’t been to the house in over a year, and may have given the key back to Rachel, his wife. Jordan stopped in front of the door and fingered through each key on his ring.
“Why don’t you just knock on the door?” Julie asked.
“Julie, stop,” Paul said pulling her away from the door.
“This is not our home. Don’t forget your manners,” he continued.
Julie felt embarrassed, as if Paul had just called her out, but took his words in stride. Things were bad enough already. There was no sense in arguing with him. Jordan tried nearly every key on the ring and hadn’t any luck. The door was locked and no one was answering.
“Sure we got the right house?” Julie asked.
“Julie!” Paul said.
Jordan tried the last key and it worked, the deadbolt turned and unlocked. Julie cheered and jumped up again. Jordan slowly opened the door. The house was pretty much like he remembered; only this time it was weird to not be greeted by their dog Rosco, a Chow and German shepherd mix. Rosco wasn’t there and neither were Rachel and their two boys, Brian and Danny. Jordan walked across the foyer, his shoes clicked along the wood-paneled floor. He stopped by the staircase at the end of the foyer. Julie followed behind and stopped to examine the living room and adjacent dining room. The house was dark on account of having no electricity. It was tidy and well furnished, but lacking the warmth of family. Its appearance brought Jordan relief, as it looked as if Rachel and the kids had been there not long ago.