by Platt, Sean
They’re just making conversation about your mom and dad and the tabloids. And Sam Blackwell, whom they love to rub in Dad’s face. No big deal. Just having a chat. At night. In the middle of the street. Surrounding us in a circle, slack-jawed and vacant, like the people of the corn.
“We’re not together anymore,” Meyer said.
The woman nodded. She looked at the fat man. “See? Toldja.” She looked at Meyer. “I knew a couple got a divorce once.”
Meyer didn’t seem to know what to say to that. So he stepped away from the pump and put his hand on the door handle. “Well. We’ll just be on our way, then.”
“Why don’tcha stay a bit?” said the man. The others were silent, standing and waiting. One woman held a baby, but even the baby was still — or, Trevor thought darkly, dead. “No rush to head out.”
Meyer forced a new smile. “We have to be going.”
He opened the door.
The man moved forward again, causing the others to do the same. The circle tightened, now just twenty or fifteen paces out. He held up a hand.
“Now, hang on a bit. You just picked up them gas cans from the station, and I know the payments aren’t working inside. How were you planning on paying?”
“Oh, I … ”
“Maybe you can pay with your gas.”
“That’s what I was planning. But there’s no gas, so I can’t pay for the cans when I pay for the gas, so … ”
“Ayuh,” the man repeated. “Gas ran out last night. Whole huge caravan of people came through in a line from the west, but no refill truck. Whole pack of cars, one after another.”
“Out-of-towners,” said a new woman. “People like you.”
“Funny thing is,” green cap continued, “few of us wanted to head out to see family and whatnot, and few of us did, just this morning, early, before light. But you know what they did before they went, those people who headed away?”
Meyer looked around, assessing. Green cap stepped forward again.
“Took the gas right outta a lotta our cars. Overnight. Took hoses and sucked it out in the dark. Like thieves.”
Meyer gritted his teeth in a humorless grin. “That’s a shame.”
“Sure is,” said the woman who’d recognized him. “Seeing as this is the only station around.”
“So I was wondering,” said the man with the hat. “Maybe I can borrow your car to head up the road.”
Meyer looked at Piper. “Maybe I could run out for you.” Trevor wondered if his father was serious. Meyer Dempsey was many things, and sometimes generous really was one of them. But he didn’t think this was one of those times. They had to hurry. Everyone in the world had to hurry, and there wasn’t room or time enough for them all to have their way.
“Maybe I could do it,” said the man, now holding his hand out. “If’n you’ll just give me the keychain there.”
“I’d rather not.”
Mumbles of protest.
“Tell me,” said the man. “Why is it that all those people should be able to come through and suck our station dry and leave us stuck here, and you won’t help us?”
“Your problem is with the people who siphoned your tanks. Not with me.”
“We’re just as stranded, mister.” The man nodded toward the Land Cruiser. “And I’d bet you still have enough gas left in there to be worth taking, should a man be sufficiently motivated.”
“One of you must have a gas can. Something your people missed. There must be one gas can in a shed. Something for a tractor or a log splitter.”
“Tractors,” said the fat man. “Yep, we must know nothing but tractors, being poor country folk.”
“We don’t have any quarrel with you.” Meyer was now half in the car. Through the open door, Trevor saw him reaching into the cab, his hand searching without looking.
“Maybe we have a quarrel with you,” said the man.
“We’re going to go now.”
“And bring us back some gas, right?” said the man in the cap.
“He ain’t coming back,” said the woman.
“I’ll bring you gas.” Trevor could hear the lie in his father’s voice.
“Maybe,” said green hat, “we want the whole car, and whatever else you might got inside.”
Meyer found what he was looking for. He whipped his hand out and waved the pistol.
The man wasn’t a zombie after all, it seemed. His hands went up, and he fell a step back. But others were eyeing him, waiting at the flanks. They only slunk back after Meyer waved the gun at them, too.
“You’re making a mistake, friend,” said the man. “End times are coming, and you’re apt to be on the wrong side.”
Meyer tossed his head at Trevor and the others: the universal gesture for Get the fuck in the car right now, before we get butt-raped. Then he slid into the Cruiser’s front seat, now pointing the pistol through the open window.
“I’ll tell Jesus you said hi the second I can get cell reception,” he told the man.
Meyer fired the engine and sped away, not seeming to care if the people in the circle jumped out of the way or if he ran them into the dust.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Day Four, Evening
Western Iowa
“Where are we?” Piper asked.
Meyer’s eyes were on the road. He’d put fifty miles between them and the ransack circle, and still hadn’t returned the car to autodrive. They were burning an already low fuel tank and they’d driven off the edge of the last map. They seemed to be driving west, and from what seemed to be happening on the last map, he figured that as long as they didn’t start seeing Kansas City or Wichita to the south or cross I-80 to the north, they were roughly on target. They could course correct the minute they found somewhere with a map, and keep themselves from running dry the minute they found a gas station where they could once again try their luck, though Meyer felt gun-shy, and was pretty sure everyone else did, too.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Sure it matters. We’re … ”
“Doesn’t matter, Piper. We were south of Des Moines, and now we’re headed west. Vail is west, more or less.”
Heather would have repeated his last words with heavy sarcasm, beating on him until he clarified just what the hell “more or less” meant. She might remind him that if the geeks’ estimates were right, tomorrow would be the last full day Earth would spend before meeting ET. It might be the last full day Earth and its inhabitants had to live, for all anyone knew. Heather wouldn’t just take his pat answers or tolerate his bullying insistence on having his way while everyone else fell in line.
But Piper wasn’t Heather. She was sweeter. More innocent and malleable. Younger than his ex by a decade. And much, much better for him than Heather, as much as he still loved them both.
Piper sat facing forward, small lines of anger on her pretty face. Even the lines were new. This trip was hardening her, just as the riot outside Chicago had hardened her. He’d told her not to hesitate in the future, and she was barely hesitating now, just a day and a half later.
“We’re almost out of gas,” she said, her arms crossed.
“Yes.”
That was the elephant in the Cruiser’s roomy interior — the one thing they all knew but seemed intent to ignore as if it might go away. Without a new map or GPS, they couldn’t be sure where they were. Without knowing their whereabouts, they couldn’t anticipate the small bergs ahead. Large towns might be overrun and panicky, having surrendered to the strange critical mass that happened when too many people were stupid in close proximity. Small towns might have only operator-run stations or might have lost power — something they’d already seen in entire rows of homes and businesses just these past fifty miles. They needed fuel, but this was a Goldilocks mission; they had to find something just right.
Until then, there was no way to tell where they should stop. They couldn’t find their starting point until they found their stopping point, and without that stopping point, where
to begin was anyone’s guess.
It was an endless loop — a snake eating its tail.
They were tacitly lost. Definitely low on fuel.
They drove on as minutes stretched into hours.
The gas needle had edged below the thick red “E” line by the time they pulled into a gas station in a one-stoplight town somewhere in Iowa. Meyer had no idea where in Iowa. He only knew that they hadn’t passed I-80 to the north, and that probably meant they were still headed west. When the sun rose, he’d know for sure, but for now could only guess. Meyer also knew that unless he’d missed a sign, they hadn’t yet entered Nebraska. So Iowa it was. And good riddance it would be.
When the gas began to flow and no angry villagers arrived, Piper’s demeanor thawed. It was nearly eleven o’clock, and they were all exhausted, but nobody had slept. Sleeping, said an unspoken agreement inside the Cruiser, was merely spinning wheels. Until they solved the fuel problem, they were only in abeyance, not at all settled. They were in driver’s purgatory, and only time would tell if they found combustible salvation or were left stranded, their only choice to hoof it until morning dawned — at which point, if they feared discovery, they could always sleep in the rows of roadside corn.
Piper came around to the vehicle’s side while the kids milled. Neither Meyer nor Piper had told them to stay close (they were fifteen and seventeen, both beyond being told much), but after the encounter near Des Moines, nobody wanted to wander beyond the station’s lights. Or even enter the station unarmed — something Meyer had already done. He’d returned bearing extra gas cans to replace those they’d left on the concrete the last time. He’d discovered a Comstock Lode of supplies, nervous purely by how excited he was to find them. Water, candy bars, and potato chips. The kids looked almost happy.
“Hey,” Piper said.
“Almost done.” Meyer nodded at the pump.
“I’m not asking you to hurry.”
They were in an odd apologetic standoff. She wanted to apologize for being cold, and he wanted to apologize for being dismissive and distant. They wanted it so badly that neither would actually say anything because it was so intensely implied.
“I know. But it’s still almost done.”
“You already filled the gas cans?”
“No. I figured I wanted to get it into the tank first, just in case we met more friendly locals.”
Piper reached into the Cruiser. She came out with the hunting rifle they’d taken from the man at the dealership. She held it up to her eye and pointed into the darkness. Despite being dim, the streets were obviously empty. If anyone came to challenge them, they’d have plenty of time to duck and run.
“I’ll take them out if they come,” she said, peering into the scope.
“You’re looking through that with the wrong eye.”
Instead of switching eyes, she turned them both to him. They were the same huge blue eyes they’d always been, but seemed ten years older. Apparently, his wives weren’t that disparate in maturity after all. It had merely taken the threat of armageddon to equalize them.
“Maybe I’m left-handed,” she said. “Or left-eyed, or whatever it would be.”
“You’re not.”
“Maybe I’m a better shot than you think I am, no matter which eye I use.”
“You look sexy with a gun,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah. All the guys tell me that.”
Trevor came around the Land Cruiser’s side, took one look at the rifle, then scanned the lot. Only after assuring himself that his stepmother was merely playing with firearms in clear defiance of everything everyone has ever been told by the NRA did he exhale.
“Almost done, Trev,” said Meyer. “Get your sister.”
“She’s being a bitch,” he replied.
“Get her anyway.”
Trevor did. They packed up and moved on.
Hours passed. Meyer surrendered the left seat to Piper in case manual driving was required, then tried to sleep.
He woke intermittently, always glancing at Piper before checking the clock. He found her reading two times out of three, her feet kicked up on the dashboard, her Vellum reader unfolded. It was good, seeing her doing something so normal. Piper read all the time at home. Once, he’d grown curious about what she always had her nose buried in — and, knowing it was a huge violation of her privacy, peeked through the Vellum’s directory while she was away. She read all sorts of genres, but erotica was the largest. The discovery had surprised him so much, they’d made love twice that night, Meyer immensely excited by the depth and breadth of his pretty wife’s secret sex life. He wouldn’t tell her what he knew, but it thrilled him to see her read now, wondering what fantasies may or may not be capering inside her mind and prickling between her legs.
Then he looked at the clock on the dashboard.
12:47.
2:13.
3:23.
He wasn’t sure if the hours passed between glances were even spent sleeping. He drifted in and out of a semihaze, sometimes seeming to dream in a way that was as real as anything. He walked with Heather. He watched the spheres arrive from above with a feeling of nonspecific knowing. He returned to Peru, this time without consulting his shaman. He even dreamed of the Land Cruiser itself, his brain turned off enough to filter his dreams through boring nighttime reality. The doubling was a dream of a dream — visions of himself asleep in the leather seat, his head lolled to the side.
4:14 a.m.
5:02.
Still, the roads stayed mostly empty. He’d have to ask Piper, but from what he’d seen (and the progress they were making; he was quite sure he’d been awake to see the Colorado welcome signs), the way had been smooth. Piper showed no signs of tiring. The children slept, Trevor snoring and drooling. Raj and Lila leaned together in a two-person huddle, Raj’s hand too close to Lila’s breast. But everyone had to take comfort where they could find it, and the game had changed. He could be an irate, overprotective father later.
It would almost be a relief to do something so normal.
“Meyer. Meyer, wake up.”
He shook his head, then blinked. He’d fallen asleep again.
He didn’t remember doing it and hadn’t intended to. They’d watched the sun rise together through the back window, seeing it turn the sleeping children to silhouettes. The morning had been quiet, and Meyer had repressed his need to take a leak so that the others could get much-needed rest. He’d asked Piper if she wanted to sleep, but she’d been as bright and cheery as a pixie, as if she stayed up all night often. She didn’t even seem to need coffee, which was good because they wouldn’t be pulling into a Dunkin Donuts any time soon. They’d been living on Lays and Luna bars and water. What he wouldn’t have given for a propane travel stove and some Folgers crystals, and damn the threat of asphyxiation, or the flammability and fumes wafting from the gas cans in the back. Gas cans, by the way, that it seemed they wouldn’t even need. They’d been in Colorado by then, slowly closing on Denver, and the tank still had plenty. They were going to make it just fine.
But sometime after sunrise, Meyer must have nodded off again. He looked back, trying to gauge the sun’s height. But it was too high, out of view. It was late morning.
“What time is it?” he asked, fighting cobwebs.
Piper didn’t point to the clock, and he didn’t even twitch his head to look for himself. He was too drawn by the look on her face.
“Shit,” he said.
She’d put the car in manual. Both hands were on the wheel, and her right foot was on the gas pedal. “What do I do?”
A semitrailer lay on its side up ahead, fully blocking the road. They had to be nearly to Vail; he could feel the altitude pressing against his eardrums. They were well above sea level, still on back roads plotted by Piper while he dozed. But in the mountains, there were only so many places cars could travel, and around the touristy ski area, their options were limited. As were their options now: there was no way around the trailer. To one side was a g
ully, to the other an escarpment. How the semi had ever managed its position was a mystery.
“We’ll have to go back,” he told her.
“Shit. Shit-shit-shit … ”
“Piper, what? It’s no big deal. Just back up there and turn around and … ”
But she’d been awake for more than Meyer’s thirty seconds. Maybe she’d seen signs but chose to ignore them. Maybe she’d already noticed that the semitrailer had no cab attached, begging the question of how it had ended up where it was without someone doing it deliberately. Or maybe she’d just felt the air change as she had back near Des Moines, when he should’ve listened but chose to ignore her.
Something struck the Land Cruiser from behind: a large Jeep, with bars welded across its absent windshield.
Men crawled over the sideways tractor trailer ahead, each holding a weapon.
Meyer reached for the Land Cruiser’s center console, but there was a knock on the window before he got there. He looked up to see a man tapping the glass with the barrel of a pistol. On the other side, beyond Piper, a second man was doing the same.
Meyer’s visitor motioned for him to roll down the window, which Piper did for him.
“Best not reach for your weapon, mate,” said the man. “Leave it where it is.”
Meyer’s hand retracted. The man reached across to open the console and fish out the handgun. Meyer tried to remember where Piper had set the rifle, but it hardly mattered. Their chances of turning a hunting rifle on assailants in close quarters were somewhere between slim and nil.
“Come on out now,” he said, his voice eminently polite.
Meyer was still thinking of the rifle, still looking around. The man watched him, then tipped his head at Meyer as if he could read his thoughts.
“Open the door, and let it go, mate,” he said. “Be a good sport, and you can keep your lives. But dead or alive, we’ll be taking your vehicle.”