Earth's Survivors Apocalypse

by Unknown

  Old Towne: Conner and Katie

  James leaned around the hood and looked through the windshield of the old Suburban. He nodded. “Try it, Jake.”

  The motor turned over a half dozen times, then suddenly fired and rumbled to life. Jake gave it a little more gas, pulled out the old fashioned choke. The motor smoothed out and began to run a little better.

  James backed away from the engine compartment, a large smile on his face. “Know what this means?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard above the noisy truck.

  Jake grinned and nodded back. “As long as they’re not electronically controlled, they’ll run. We should be able to find a few more.”

  James nodded in agreement.

  They had found the old Suburban in a lot out in back of one of the car dealerships on outer Washington Street. The lot itself was wrecked; the buildings not much better, but hundreds of new cars and trucks sat on the cracked pavement, or pointed their noses or tails at the sky where they were half buried. The Suburban had been set up with a plow, and they all agreed it was probably just used to plow the lot.

  Before they had even gone looking for a vehicle, Jake and James had gone hunting for a small gasoline powered engine. Lawn mower, leaf blower, it didn’t matter, just something small without an electronic ignition or brain. They’d come up with a heavy duty chain saw. Several tugs and a little choke had gotten it running. That had convinced them that it would be worth finding an older, full size truck.

  “We could convert one of these newer trucks. It would take some work but if we can find the right parts we could do it,” Jake said.

  “Maybe,” James agreed. “Trouble is finding a block that’s still the same. Heads, intake, it’s a lot to hope for. It would be easier to just fix the old stuff up. New tires, battery, we could even do the axles if we absolutely had to.”

  Jake nodded his head. “Hmm,” he grumbled. “Guess so.”

  James turned away. It was obvious to him that Jake didn’t like being disagreed with or second guessed. Yes, parts were parts, and if they were just parts, no problem. There were even kits to convert non-electronic ignition motors over to electronic ignition, but not the other way around. There were motors, built mostly for racing applications that were designed to use carburetors and simple distributors. There were things they could do, but it wasn’t simple black and white.

  He had been seeing more and more of this close minded attitude from Jake since they had moved into the factory. Jake had lost his place as leader. It didn’t matter that he had been nearly the only one who had seen himself that way. He had seen the situation that way, and now the situation had changed. He didn’t see himself as leader any longer, and he didn’t like it. Oh well, James thought. He’d get over it, or he wouldn’t. There was nothing for it except to watch it happen, whatever way it happened.

  Jake let the truck idle high for a few minutes then reset the choke dropping the idle down to normal.

  “We got wheels,” Lydia said happily. She, Conner, Katie and Jan had come walking back from further down the lot. Pulled by the sound of the truck starting from where they had been searching for other vehicles that would be good candidates for starting.

  “We found three others that seem as though they might work out,” Conner said. “One's an old crew cab state truck the other two are old pickups. All three are four wheel drives.” He grinned at James.

  James laughed. “Well let’s go get them,” he said. He turned and started away.

  “Hey,” Jake said, leaning against the door of the truck, “Wouldn’t you rather drive?”

  James laughed again. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Much rather.” Everybody piled into the Suburban. Jake pulled out of the back of the lot and headed back in the direction the others had come from.

  Route 104: Mike and Candace

  Early Morning

  The next morning they were on the road early. The going was still slow, but by noon they were on the outskirts of Alton, a small town about forty miles from Rochester. They were only thirty or so miles from Webster where they would turn off 104, and take route 250 into the small village of Fairport.

  A run-down general store, with two old gas pumps sitting on a chipped concrete island, was all that marked the small town. The low speeds and constant use of the four wheel drive, had taken a toll on the fuel tanks of all three vehicles, so when Mike had spotted the small store as they passed a sign for the township limits; they had pulled off into the dirt parking area. The other two Jeeps followed him in and lined up by the pumps.

  When Candace and Terry, along with Gina, had first picked up the jeeps, they had filled the tanks by siphoning gas from the dealership's underground tanks. It had been a fairly easy process as Terry had worked at a gas station before, and had been responsible for, among other things, checking the levels of the tanks and comparing them on a daily basis to the numbers on the pumps to make sure they matched up. He had known where to look for them. The tanks were fairly simple to access. A long piece of hose slipped down into the tank had been adequate to siphon the gas into cans and then fill the Jeeps.

  Terry had found a hand operated pump, mainly used to pump kerosene from cans into small heaters, at the department store back in Oswego, and, along with Dave, had adapted the crank operated pump to use it to pump gasoline. The adaptation had been simple. A long section of heavy hose had been slipped over the pumps short tube, and held in place with a small hose clamp.

  One by one the Jeeps were pulled over next to the underground tanks, and quickly filled. Candace had been impressed with the idea. It was a lot better than the mouthfuls of gas they had swallowed filling the Jeeps back in Watertown.

  After the Jeeps were gassed up they decided to take a short break and eat lunch. They were all getting sick of the canned meat, so they foraged through the small general store to see what was available. Once each had found what they wanted, they had carried it out onto the wide front deck to eat.

  Mike sipped at a cold beer while he sat in an old wooden chair eating a large bag of chips. Bob and John were talking quietly beside him.

  “Where do you think the best place to go is?” Bob asked of John. They had been discussing several places where people may have gathered. They were all hoping to find other people once they arrived in Rochester, but until now they had not discussed where to go once they arrived.

  John answered. “Well, the compass is open. I think it would be a good idea to stay away from the North side though. The whole area has been run down for years, and I'm not so sure we'd want to meet anyone who was still alive in there.”

  “That bad, huh?” Mike asked.

  “Actually, more than that bad,” he replied. “When I was still living there, and still on the City Council, I remember we had constant problems there. The city was always being accused of not caring much about the north side, and to be honest it was based in fact to a certain extent. The city and the council, me included I hate to admit, did let it run down pretty much. Trouble was, when we tried to retake the neighborhoods we couldn't.”

  “Why?” Bob asked. “Didn't you have support from the neighborhoods?”

  “Not really,” John said. “Don't get me wrong. There were still a lot of good people trying to live there, but by the time the city stepped in, drugs had pretty much taken over. It got so the police couldn't even go in there after dark. The drug dealers knew it and used it to their advantage. After a while... well, the good people who had tried to change things just left. The last time I was there, on Clifford Avenue, it was pretty bad. We, myself, and two other board members, decided to take a tour through some neighborhoods ourselves, to see just how bad it had gotten. We had to have a police escort, and even then we ended up seeing only a small part. Most of the neighborhoods were full of drug houses, prostitution, burned out buildings. I'll tell you, truthfully, it scared me. That was one of the reasons I didn't run again and ended up moving to Watertown.”

  “A lot of parts of Watertown were like that too,” M
ike said. “I got to the point where I really had begun to hate the place.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” John said. “Don't get me wrong. I'm not glad that this happened, but... who knows how much worse things would have gotten? At least now there's a chance to start over again, maybe.”

  “You know what really got to me?” Bob asked. Both men looked at him waiting for him to speak.

  “You know where Mobile Alabama is?” they both nodded. “Well, I was down there a few years back to see a buddy of mine I was in the Navy with. We were always telling each other we were going to get together and finally we did. So we were driving down Airport Boulevard, kind'a the main street so to speak, and I was, you know, sort of looking around out the window. Sightseeing, I guess you could say. Anyway, I see this young girl standing in the middle of the island that splits the lanes holding a sign. I figured it was one of those 'Will work for food' signs, but as we got closer I saw it wasn't. I could also see she was pregnant, couldn't have been more than sixteen or so. I asked my friend to slow down so I could read the sign. I couldn't believe it.”

  “Well, what did it say?” John asked.

  “Well, it was misspelled, you know, but it said, 'I'm pregnant and abandoned, please help me.' I couldn't believe it, so I asked my buddy to turn around and go back, but by the time he did she was gone. I couldn't believe that things had come to that.”

  “That's bad all right,” Mike said. “I've seen the other signs, the food signs, but I've never seen one like that.”

  “I haven't either,” John said, “but I can't say it surprises me a lot.”

  “Well,” Bob continued, “that wasn't the end of it, two days later I picked up the paper and there was an article about her in it. I guess I wasn't the only one who had seen her. The police had picked her up earlier, and told her not to stand there with that sign. That was in the morning, and it was afternoon when I went by, so she must have come back. Quite a few people had seen her back there in the afternoon, according to the paper. Well, the thing is that somebody did stop and pick her up, but not to help her. They found her body in the bay the next morning. If they hadn't picked her up the day before, they probably wouldn't have known who she was, but they did, I guess. The story said they had fingerprinted her, and taken pictures too. I guess they arrested her, ain't that a slap in the face? Anyhow, that's how they identified the body... I've always wondered about it. Who would just abandon her in the first place? I mean, being pregnant and homeless? I've always felt that I should have convinced my buddy to stop right there. Fuck the traffic, just stop and pick her up...”

  “...So, I've gotten pretty sick of the world myself. It never seemed to stop, and it seemed that people kept coming up with more ways to be cruel. To tell the truth, I'm glad it's mostly gone, I hated it that much.”

  When Bob finished they were all silent for a few minutes.

  Mike thought about the food signs. How many times had he seen them? Countless, he guessed, but he had never stopped. He had been, well, sort of afraid to.

  “I think we all made our share of mistakes,” Mike said. “I know I did. I wish I hadn't, but I did. I guess maybe things are better, in a way,” Mike finished his beer, got up, and retrieved three cold ones from the cooler in the Jeep. He handed one to each of the men before he sat back down in the chair.

  “So,” John said, easing back into the conversation of where to go once they arrived in Rochester. “North side is out I think, there's no way I'd want to go back in there, especially now. East side is mostly old mansions; East Avenue, Park Avenue. West is made up of mostly poor neighborhoods and shopping centers, and farther out small business. South side is a mix, some places are as bad as the North side, and others are as nice as the east side. Farther out though, it's all malls and big discount stores. I'd say downtown would be a good place to start looking.”

  “Why?” Bob asked.

  “Just a hunch, I guess,” he replied. “But where did you go after it happened?”

  “I see your point,” Bob said. Downtown, Bob thought, was the first place he had thought of going. It made sense to him that it should be the first place to at least check.

  “We'll have to walk, at least I'm pretty sure we will,” John said.

  “I believe you,” Mike agreed. “A city that size has a lot of traffic I suppose.”

  “Unbelievable,” John said. “An awful lot of it ends up on the Can-of-Worms, but its heavy downtown too. There are still a lot of small companies down there, so I'm fairly certain we'll have to walk down. We should be able to get within a block or two of the War Memorial though, and that's dead downtown. City Hall is across from that, and if there are people, that's where they should be. Of course the only real way to find out is to get there and see.”

  The small caravan pulled back out onto the highway and continued on a few minutes later. Long before they reached Webster the stalled traffic began to back up, and they lost a great deal of time winding their way through it, or where that was not possible, pulling into the center traffic divider to get around it.

  Even the center divider, a narrow, sloped grassy area double the width of the two lane highway, began to fill up with stalled vehicles, and several times they were forced to get around some other way. Fortunately the areas along the highway were crowded with small restaurants, shopping malls, and gas stations; the closer they got to Rochester. And they all had feeder roads. Roads that were mostly empty now.

  The parking lots were fairly empty, and they managed to get around the stalled traffic that way.

  When they reached Webster it was nearly 6:00 PM, and a light rain had begun to fall. The exit and entrance ramps were packed solid with cars, and impassable: As a consequence they were forced to drive the Jeeps down the side of the steep escarpment to the road below. Some cars appeared to have either been trying to enter or exit using the wrong ramps, and the results had been catastrophic.

  Most of the cars were crushed and blackened shells. A large gasoline tanker sat amid the wreckage. The tanker had apparently tried to exit the entrance ramp and had crashed and burned.

  It looked as though gas, from the ruptured tanker, had spread the flames under the entire bridge, and everything had caught. Mike supposed that several of the cars gas tanks had probably exploded too, helping to fuel the inferno.

  Once they had negotiated the steep and muddy embankment and driven out of Webster the stalled traffic eased up.

  “Most likely everyone stuck to the main routes,” John said. “I'd hate to see what the Thruway looks like though, it's probably packed tighter than a drum.” The others nodded agreement.

  Even though the stalled traffic had lessened, they were still forced to detour off the road several times to avoid accidents or vehicles that seemed to have been abandoned in the middle of the road. It was well after 8:00 PM when they reached the four corners in the small village of Fairport, and the sky was beginning to darken. The rain was coming down harder.

  Mike angled the Jeep into a deserted gas station and they all ran toward the door which had been left propped open, thankful they were out of the rain.

  They were no sooner inside, when the rain began to pelt the tarmac outside in great sheets. The sky darkened rapidly, and a stiff wind kicked up, blowing the trash that littered the streets through the air.

  Mike was staring out the wide glass window when suddenly the street lights began to glow. Within a few minutes they were all glowing brightly, illuminating the wind driven sheets of rain. Candace walked over and flicked on a switch next to the door, and bright fluorescent lights buzzed to life overhead. She clicked on several of the other switches next to the first one, and the outside sign, along with the pump islands lit up.

  “Looks like you were right, Bob,” Mike said. Bob, grinning, blew lightly on his finger tips and rubbed them on his shirt. “Elementary, my dear Watson,” he said, still grinning.

  He was still grinning a few seconds later, when Lilly began to point out the window and screame
d excitedly.

  “Look!” she exclaimed, “a truck, people!”

  Everyone quickly crowded toward the windows to look out.

  An older Chevy sat at the curb idling, its wipers throwing great sheets of water from the windshield. The darkened side windows gleamed, reflecting back the bright glare of the station lights. Lilly, and several of the others were waving through the glass in an attempt to get the drivers' attention.

  “Looks like a Suburban... Where did it come from?” Mike asked, puzzled.

  “I don't know,” she replied. “I turned around and there it was. Aren't they going to come in?”

  “Maybe they're afraid,” Candace said, shrugging her shoulders. “They must see us.”

  Everyone stood silently for a few seconds staring out at the Suburban. It still sat at the curb, and it appeared to Candace that the person or people inside it were not going to come in. Just as she had the thought though, the car reversed, and began to slowly back up towards the entrance to the station.

  When it reached the station entrance, it pulled slowly onto the edge of the pavement and stopped.

  “What are they doing,” Terry asked, sounding slightly afraid.

  Everyone else turned towards Mike expecting that he might be able to answer the question.

  “I don't know,” Mike said. “Could be they're afraid, like Candace said.”

  “Might be better to flick off the inside lights,” Bob said, in a low tone of voice. “It doesn’t look as though they intend to say hello.” He peered out at the truck.

  Candace reached over and flicked off the inside lights.

  Almost immediately the Suburban's headlights came on and it pulled ahead slightly, angling the beams into the station interior. The lights flicked up to high beams, flooding the interior in harsh bright light. Almost as soon as the lights had flicked up, the two front doors opened and two shadowed figures stepped out into the rain. The headlights were blinding.