by James Hunt
Julie quickly snapped out of her tired state. "Where are we going once we hit Denver?" she asked excitedly.
"Uh," Paul began with a stutter. "The thing is, Julie, we don't know exactly where your mother is. Denver is a big city, but if we search high and low, I'm sure we'll find her."
"Earth to Paul, I know that. We can't drive around shouting her name. There are like, thousands of people in Denver."
"Hundreds of thousands, to be exact," Paul interrupted.
"Thanks, professor," Julie quipped. "So where do we start?"
"I talked to her before I picked you up from school. She was at the convention center," Paul said with his eyes on the road.
Julie thought for a moment and turned to Paul. "I don't think she would have left Denver. Where would she go if she did?" she said.
"I told her we were coming to Colorado," Paul said.
"You did?" Julie asked.
"I don't know if she got the text or not. Cell phone towers only last so long without power."
"I feel so bad thinking of her sitting there worrying about us. What if she thinks we're dead?" Julie asked in an anguished tone.
Paul gave her sympathetic look. "She doesn't think that, I know it. Our best bet is that she's close," he said. "If not, we're going to have a lot of work to do. We know that she was with her co-workers when everything happened, so she may still be with a group. The only question is where would they go?"
"Maybe they're still at the convention center?" Julie asked.
"Maybe," Paul said, and before they knew it, they were across the Colorado border.
They drove through the night using a map Paul found in the glove compartment. They had roughly four hours until Denver. Paul was low on the gas, the fuel can reserves were nearly tapped out, and he had no idea of what condition Denver was in. Whether they faced refuge or danger remained to be seen. He was unsure of the resources available and if, like everywhere else they had been, there was no power. He wondered if a ransacked city awaited them, full of criminals and looters tearing the very fabric of a once civilized city apart at the seams. Then there was the fear of not even making it. If they didn't find gas somewhere soon, their journey would soon come to an abrupt and uncertain end.
There were few cars on the night road. The mountains in the distance were beautiful in their solace. Julie examined the map for upcoming exits. She looked up for a moment and examined their isolating surroundings.
"Are we safer in Colorado?" she asked.
Paul thought for a moment. "I honestly can't tell for sure. Nothing looks too out of the ordinary just yet. We just need to stay alert until we know for sure."
"I know," Julie said. She looked back down at the map, using a small flashlight to assist her. "Next exit in three miles," she said.
"Okay, thank you," Paul said, even though he saw the sign for exit a few miles back. "Let me put it this way," Paul continued, "we'll know just how safe Colorado is once we make our first gas stop."
Coincidentally, there was a rest stop before the exit. Paul took instant notice of several eighteen-wheelers parked in a single line.
"Think we should stop for a closer inspection?" he asked Julie.
"Why not?" Julie answered flippantly.
Paul thought they could use a bathroom break anyway. Part of him wanted to stall their gas station arrival, as so much of their trip was relying on it. He veered into the rest stop lane and parked outside a single building with two restrooms and four machines. Not surprisingly, there was no power in the building. Paul's headlights illuminated their quiet surroundings. Not a single person was in sight.
"Are you sure about this?" Julie asked.
Paul turned into the nearest parking space. Other than the semi-trucks, there were no other cars around.
"We'll be fine," he said, holding up his pistol, non-registered. It's former owner, Edwin was a murderer who had it in for Paul since Day One. AS a result of their struggle, Paul put a bullet in his head. Julie remembered this and scowled at its sight.
"Ugh. I hate guns," she said. "I wish we could destroy every single one of them."
"So do I, but until that day comes, we need it to survive," Paul remarked.
He parked the Malibu and shut off the engine.
"Don't forget your flashlight, and stay close," he said.
They exited the car and walked towards the restroom building. The silence of the highway was eerie enough, but the barren rest stop was even worse. Paul carefully moved alongside Julie as they walked. In between the bathrooms sat two vending and two soda machines. Paul shined his light into the area only to find that both vending machines had been vandalized and emptied. In the past few weeks they had seen enough crime and looting to last a lifetime. The vending machines were not a good sign.
"Use the bathroom, quick, I'll be out here waiting when I'm done," Paul said, and they went their separate ways.
The men's bathroom was dirty and unkempt, but unoccupied, much to Paul's relief. It occurred to him that he probably should have checked the girl's bathroom before Julie went in, though, at some point, she was going to have to learn to take care of herself. It was why he gave her a knife in the first place. She had shown her skills with it in the past. It was a strange feeling to walk into a darkened public restroom shinning a flashlight, but Paul managed. He set the flashlight down next to the sink and went to the nearest urinal, though he could have just as easily have gone outside. The more he thought about it the more he realized that to use the restroom was a determined effort to maintain normalcy despite the loss of power, scarcity of fuel, and the danger that lurked around every corner.
Paul met Julie outside the bathroom. "Everything okay?" he asked. Julie nodded along as if it was a dumb question to even ask. Paul was glad that he didn't try to accompany her into the bathroom, as he originally had planned. She wanted him to believe that she could take care of herself. He wanted her to believe that he believed that she could.
"Let's check out those semi-trucks and see if there's anyone we can talk to," Paul suggested. "Maybe they can tell us how Colorado is holding up," he added. Julie strolled anxiously along, gearing up for their first encounter with other people since their time at New Haven.
They walked to the back of the line of semi-trucks, there were five total. Paul considered the inherent risk of waking up a bunch of sleeping truckers and knew they would have to be careful. As they approached the last truck at the end of the line, they noticed that both doors on the trailer were opened. Paul raised his flashlight to examine, and saw that the trailer was empty. They went to the truck. Paul jumped up on the step and looked inside the window. No one was inside. They went to the next truck and saw the same thing: emptied cargo and no driver. By the time they came to the third truck, certain realizations came to light.
Not only was the back of the truck emptied, the front doors were open, revealing what looked like a crime scene. Streaks of blood covered the inside of the truck as if left behind after the filming of a Hollywood murder scene. Paul grabbed Julie's arm and dragged her to the first truck. They witnessed the same sight. Back doors propped open. Several empty pallets scattered about. Paul took a step back and examined the sides of each trailer. They were grocer trucks, every single one of them. Two of them had their windows smashed in. There was not a driver in sight. Paul took Julie's hand again in haste as it dawned on him that they were not any safer in Colorado.
"Let's go, Julie," he said.
"What? What is it?" she asked.
Paul pulled her along. "We have to go now," he said. They hurried to the Malibu and fled the rest stop without a trace.
They flew down the highway at top speed.
"Are we in trouble?" Julie asked under the roar of the Malibu's engine.
The dashboard lights gleamed in her worried eyes. Paul stared ahead, unresponsive. Paul slowed their speed once the rest stop was in distance. The faster he pushed the Malibu the more gas they consumed, and that was a risk they couldn't take.
/> "What about the gas station?" Julie asked, with the exit sign in range.
"I know, Julie," Paul responded. His eyes shifted to the rear-view mirror. There was no one behind them. It was now or never, or now or the moment when it would be too late.
As planned, they got off at the next exit, which promised food, gas, and lodging. As they turned off the highway, they were met with a deserted street and dead traffic lights. There was a Burger King and McDonalds, both closed without power. There was a Super 8 motel with the sign was off and the parking lot emptied. To their right was a Shell gas station. Its vacant appearance brought little comfort, though Paul still held out hope.
"They don't look like they're opened," Julie said in a disappointed tone.
"Let's not jump to any conclusions just yet," Paul replied, trying to sound optimistic.
"There's no one here, what other conclusion can I make?" Julie asked.
Paul ignored her and circled the lot. There were eight pumps total, each one of them wearing a yellow bag around the nozzle, indicating no fuel. Paul slammed the brakes and hit steering wheel in frustration. Julie knew it was hopeless before they even pulled in, but she tried to keep the sentiment to herself. Paul didn't need any help getting angry.
"Great. What are we going to do now?" he shouted out.
To Julie, at that moment, he was like a different person. She had seen him overreact before, several times as of lately, but she just wished that for once, he would stay calm. She needed it. Paul parked next to the nearest pump out of defiance and jammed the car into park with a thrust of the gear shifter.
"We're getting gas and I don't care how. I'll drill into the ground myself and get every last drop if I have to."
Paul stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. As silence came over them, Julie noticed headlights from far down the road coming towards them.
"Look!" she said pointing. Paul took immediate notice. He opened his door and took a step outside.
"Stay in the car," he said as his boot hit the pavement. Julie did as she was told.
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"Just, hold on," Paul said with an arm outstretched in her direction.
His eyes were transfixed on the vehicle approaching them. As it grew closer, Paul could hear its engine rumbling. It was something large, a truck of some sort. Maybe a garbage truck? It was barreling down the road in high gear. It was the only car on the road, in fact, the only vehicle they had seen in nearly twenty miles. Paul walked from the gas pumps to the side of the road, hoping to flag the vehicle down. No matter what they had faced in the past, he felt it was worth the chance. They were desperate.
Julie waited in the car as the familiar feeling of uncertainty grew from within. Her attention went to the front of the gas station as she noticed a man walk outside. It was surreal. Was he a figment of her imagination, or was the short and stocky silhouette she saw before her actually walking towards Paul?
The truck was in sight. It was a large military cargo truck, similar to the one at New Haven, though twice its size. The headlights were blinding and the loud, startling roar of the engine was inescapable. Whoever was driving clearly showed no intention of slowly down.
It was Paul's moment to act. He stood carefully to the side of the road and waved his arms in the air. The short man from the gas took notice of the truck. His stubby legs hustled as he ran towards Paul like a miniature linebacker. Julie threw her door open to warn Paul, but her cries didn't reach him over the rattle of the unstoppable cargo truck moving down the road.
"Hey!" Paul shouted while waving his arms. "We need help!"
Paul felt that the truck was undoubtedly military.
"Help at last," he thought.
The truck was within inches when the short man launched himself at Paul, tackling him to the ground.
Julie was too late. She ran out of the car trying to help. Paul hit the ground in complete confusion. Once he realized that he was being held down by another man, his defense mechanisms kicked in with all the rage he could muster. He pushed back at the man, but felt only resistance in return.
"Stay down!" the short man commanded.
Paul looked up just as the truck flew by. The back of the truck wasn't covered and he could make out the cargo in a blur. People, from front to back, stood clinging to the side railing shoulder to shoulder. They were packed in the truck like cattle.
"Get the fuck off me!" Paul grunted.
With his free leg he kicked the short man in his side, sending him toppling off to the ground. Julie ran to the skirmish with her knife drawn. The man remained on the ground in a fetal position.
"Are you okay?" Julie asked.
Paul lifted himself up from the ground. "Stay back, Julie," he said as he went to her and clutched her arms. "Just take it easy, okay?" he reiterated.
"Ohhhh," the short man groaned from his vulnerable position.
Paul turned to examine the man, still incapacitated and in pain. Paul slowly took the knife from Julie's grip and walked over to him. Upon closer inspection, he could see that the man who tackled him was no hulking beast. He was no larger than a child. His ball cap sat on the ground next to him. His red speckled and shaggy hair grew just over his ears. His bangs swayed into his eyes as he attempted to lift himself up. Paul smelled gasoline on the man, which immediately intrigued him. The short man wasn't dressed as an attendant, his dirty jean jacket and corduroy pants looked like he'd been wearing them for a week.
"Who the hell are you?" Paul asked, standing over him.
The short man raised his arm in the air for Paul's assistance.
"Little help?" he asked.
Paul ignored the man's request.
"Why did you attack me?"
The short man laughed and used both his arms to lift himself off the ground. As he stood, he patted the dirt and gravel from his clothes.
"I didn't attack you, ya' damn ingrate, I was trying to help ya'."
Paul stared at the man with utter contempt.
"That truck was military. Thanks to you my daughter and I are stranded out here now with no fuel--"
The short man shot Paul an accusatory finger as anger grew in his voice. "Ya' should be on your hands and knees thanking me. Did ya' see that truck? Well, did ya'? People packed in there like sardines on their way to a government camp. It's happened, don't ya' see? Everyone's all but given up. They got nowhere else to go so the government comes, picks them up, and takes them somewhere. That's that."
His words sounded nonsensical. He was a paranoid weirdo, though Paul took comfort that the man was so short that he physically posed little threat.
"Do you work here?" Paul asked, signaling to the gas station.
"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. What's it to ya'?" the man asked defiantly.
"We need gas. That's what it is to me. Can you help us or not?" Paul asked pulling some cash out from his wallet.
The man looked at the money and laughed. "What am I supposed to do with that, buy me some dirt cakes? Cos that's all that's around here."
"Enough bullshit," Paul interjected. "We're trying to get to Denver, if there's any way you can help us out, I'll give you whatever I can within reason."
"Well, I guess I do owe you an apology after all, mister," the man said as his eyes shifted looking at the ground.
"What are you talking about?" Paul asked.
"That truck that passed you was bound for Denver; guess you missed your ticket."
"You son-of-a-bitch, why the hell did you--"
"Listen to me! You don't want to get on that truck. I seen 'em come and I seen 'em go. The whole damn town. We got no resources left; the trucks come up and get everyone, but then what?"
"They're probably trying to provide emergency aid and assistance. You know, like a government is supposed to do," Paul said.
"Tell yourself that all you want. Everyone who left town, I don't hear from again. They're packing them in the convention center. Ask yourself, how long can you keep th
at many people--"
Paul's eyes widened. He ran to the short man and jerked him by the collar. "That's where we're trying to go. My wife is at that convention center! You had no right to prevent us from going there."
Julie ran to Paul and pulled on his jacket. "Paul, stop!" she shouted. Perhaps the man’s size made her feel sorry for him. Paul looked like a bully swinging him around like he was.
"Stay out of this, Julie," he snapped.
The man calmly placed his hands on Paul's arm for resistance.
“Okay, sir. Just--just calm down now. Everyone, and I mean everyone, has left, even my family. Military comes around, a man wonders if he even has a choice in the matter. I'm just telling you what I know."
Paul loosened his grip on the man, lowering him to the ground. "And what do you know?" he asked.
"I don't trust 'em. It just ain't right. I've been hiding, watching the trucks. Things aren't like they used to be. Peoples are desperate. You couldn't pay me enough to be taken to that convention center. I'll take my chances out here."
"What's your name?" Paul asked, removing his hands from the man.
"Andy," the man answered.
"Andy, do you have any fuel we can get?" Paul asked in his most calm voice.
"Been looking for fuel myself. I found the key to the gas pumps. Whole store is cleaned out but I found the key. We unlock them pumps and we get the gas out however we can. You give me some food and supplies, we'll call it even," Andy said. "I hope there's no hard feelings about missing your boat."
Paul had to admit that he felt somewhat ashamed, behaving like an ogre, as he attempted to make amends with Andy. "I'm sorry for the uh..."
"I understand, guess I would be mad too if it were my wife. You better find her before the shit really hits the fan."
Chapter Three
Denver
They tapped what they could out of the old-fashioned pumps. Perhaps the bags were a diversion, either way Andy knew what he was talking about. Paul gave him a few days supplies--food and water--in exchange for his help. They were back on the road with close to a full tank of gas. It was a miracle, Paul felt, their first real miracle he could recall, though they had been very lucky in the past.