by D. Gideon
At the intersection of 410 and Kenilworth, things had been cleaned up a bit. Cars that had smacked into each other were pushed to the sides of the roads. The intersection was busy, enough so that there were two police officers standing by a car parked in the center, directing traffic. Massive metal poles carrying heavy electrical lines towered along one side, and each of the lines strung between them were drooping and sagging. Some had only bowed a foot or two, others were no more than ten feet off of the ground in the center.
A Shell station sat on the corner, doing a brisk business. There was a line of cars stretching down Kenilworth for at least a quarter-mile. A heavy-duty truck sat off to the side of the building, with a massive generator on the flatbed. Thick red, black, blue and white cords snaked from the generator to the rear of the building. Vinyl lettering on the side read:
G.O.A.T. RENTALS
Generator On A Truck
Construction - Remote Events - Disaster Recovery
“That’s the biggest friggin’ goat I’ve ever seen,” Mel said.
A security service car sat in the gas station’s parking lot. There was a large man at the station’s doors, clad in what looked to be a police uniform. A line had formed in front of the store’s large window, where people were passing money to the cashier through a slide-out drawer.
“I hope he’s armed,” Marco said. “Sooner or later, he’s going to need it. Let’s keep going.”
“What do you mean, keep going? We’ve finally hit civilization, and I need two things: a bathroom and a cup of coffee,” Mel said. “I’m going over there.”
“No,” Marco said. “Too many people. It could go bad at any time.”
“There’s a security guard there and cops in the intersection,” Mel said. “You’re being paranoid, Romeo.”
“She’s got a point,” I said. “Looks like they’re behaving, and if they don’t-“
“If they don’t, those cops can’t get across the intersection fast enough to stop you from being shot,” Marco said. “We need to keep walking.”
“Fine. Keep walking. I’ll catch up,” Mel said, shrugging. She turned to watch traffic for a break, but Marco grabbed her arm.
“Melanie, this is important,” he said. “Turn and look at me, please.“
She huffed and turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest.
“You guys too,” Marco said. “Turn around. Look at me, not the gas station.”
When we were all turned around, he bit his lip and took a breath.
“I’m trying to think of how to explain this,” he said. “Okay, look. First we determine what is normal. What’s the baseline activity? If we walked up to this gas station a week ago, two weeks ago, what would be going on?”
“People would be getting gas,” Mel said, her voice flat and annoyed.
Marco nodded. “What else?”
“What do you mean, what else? It’s a gas station-“ she started.
“Some of them would be going inside to get things,” Corey said. “Coffee, cigarettes, a jug of milk to take home.”
“Good,” Marco said. “What do they do with their cars when they do that?”
“Some people leave them at the pump, others pull over into a parking spot and then go inside,” I said.
“I still don’t have coffee in my hands,” Mel said.
“Another few minutes won’t kill you,” Marco said. “How are people normally acting? What’s the…atmosphere?”
“I don’t get what you’re saying,” Corey said. “They get gas, they leave.”
“They’d rather be doing something else, but this is something they have to do,” I said. “They might even be in a hurry, but they’re still friendly. Everyone’s stuck in the same situation and it’s a ‘what ya gonna do’ kind of thing. They’re…resigned to it.”
Marco pointed at me. “Women are naturally better at this part than men,” he told Corey. “They do this without realizing they’re doing it. We have to learn it.”
“So you’re wanting to know how they’re feeling? How the hell am I supposed to know that?” Corey said, making a face.
“Sometimes they’re annoyed, like I am right now,” Mel said.
“Okay,” Marco said. “So normally, people at gas stations are either annoyed or…resigned?” I nodded, and he continued. “But they’re generally friendly to each other. Right?”
“Right,” Mel and I said together.
“I guess so,” Corey said, shrugging.
“What are other people doing, around the gas station?” Marco asked.
It was my turn to shrug. “What do you mean? Walking by, driving by?”
“They ignore it if they’re not going there,” Corey said. “They don’t even look at it.”
“See? That’s the difference,” Marco said. “Generally, men will see what a person is doing, and women will see what a person is feeling. You get a man and a woman to watch the same person. A man will say ‘that woman is stomping and slamming things around’. A woman will say ‘she’s upset about something’.”
“Well obviously she’s upset if she’s stomping around and slamming shit,” Corey said.
“Not necessarily,” Mel said. “She could be pissed off, instead.”
“Pissed off isn’t upset?” Corey said.
“No,” Mel and I said together.
Corey blinked at us as if we’d gone crazy, and Marco laughed.
“You’re getting the idea. Think of all your other senses. What do you hear, what do you smell, what do you taste?” He said.
“I don’t go around licking gas pumps,” Mel said. “This is some fru-fru shit right here. What do you taste? Really?”
“Sometimes the smell of gasoline is so strong I can taste it,” I said.
“Like when a woman walks by and it smells like she bathed in perfume,” Corey said. “You can taste that nasty crap on your tongue.”
“Fine,” Mel said. “Normally there’s radios playing. Maybe a radio station coming over the speakers. It smells like…” she closed her eyes. “It smells like gas. Coffee. Maybe burgers from a fast food place nearby. Car exhaust. Maybe oil, or stuff that leaks out of cars. Like a mechanic’s shop.”
“Good, good,” Marco said. “Think of it as 5G. Your five senses, and your gut.”
“5G. Now we’re freaking cellphones,” Mel said.
“It’s an easy way to remember it,” Marco said, shrugging. “Now, we’ve established our baseline. Turn around and tell me if you see anything different from that.”
“The power’s out and shit was on fire everywhere,” Corey said as we all turned. “Everything’s going to be different.”
But looking at it this way, with a picture of what was “normal” in our minds, what stood out was readily apparent. We all spoke at once, pointing things out. There were no radios playing, either from the cars or the station’s loudspeakers. No one was coming out of the station holding coffee; after a moment we could see that no one was even going inside—the security guard wasn’t allowing it. People didn’t look friendly; no one was smiling or chatting with each other. They were quiet and tense, moving hurriedly. There was still the smell of exhaust and a faint smell of gasoline, but no smell of burgers or hot nachos that was normally present around gas stations.
I turned and looked behind us at a shuttered and dark Boston Market restaurant. The windows were still intact and the parking lot was empty. On a normal day, we’d have been salivating from the smell coming out of their rooftop vents. I turned slowly back towards the station, scanning the intersection. People were watching the officers in the road, watching the other cars…but they would all turn and look at the gas station as they went by. There wasn’t any “ignoring it”, as Corey had said. Their attention was drawn to it, and it wasn’t curiosity on their faces. It was fear, nervousness, maybe even…anticipation?
Corey was talking, but I interrupted him.
“They’re all expecting something really bad to happen,” I blurted out. “Loo
k at them.”
“It’s like a mob right on the edge of stampeding,” Mel said, her voice low.
“Do you see any predators?” Marco asked from behind us. “Anyone watching who seems to be sizing things up, looking for a victim, or an opening they can take advantage of?”
“There,” Corey said, squinting and pointing across the intersection, caddy-corner to us. “That guy, under that tree.”
We all looked. A man with a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes was casually leaning against a tree, in its shade. His arms were crossed and his feet were spread apart. He wore a loose, baggy t-shirt and long cargo shorts. The bill of his cap didn’t move; he wasn’t looking around. He seemed to be focused intently on the gas station.
“The cops are too busy with the traffic,” Mel said. “They’re not looking at him. I don’t think they’ve even seen him.”
“No, but the security guy has,” Marco said. “He’s good.”
I tried to look at the security guard, but could only get glimpses of him as people shuffled forward in the line to pay for their gas.
“Now you compare the situation with your goal, and weigh the risks,” Marco said. “You wanted coffee and a bathroom. It looks like you can’t even go inside and get coffee, so that’s out. Is it worth going over there just to use the bathroom? Where you’ll be vulnerable, with your pants down and unable to react quickly?”
Mel considered it for another few moments, looking back and forth between the man standing at the tree and the crowd.
“Nah,” she said finally. “That place looks like a powder keg ready to blow, and that guy standing over there just might be a lighter.”
“Exactly. Good job,” Marco said. “You’ll need to do this all the time from here on out. And if you’re not sure, you’ve got an ace in the hole that will tell you if something’s off.”
“Don’t break your arm patting yourself on the back, Romeo,” Mel said.
Marco chuckled. “I wasn’t talking about myself. I was talking about King. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of that man by the tree since we stopped walking.”
We all looked down at the big dog, sitting quietly next to my legs. King was staring at the man Corey had pointed out. He’d scan the intersection and the crowd at the station quickly, and then his attention would return to that man.
“Animals are your best early warning system,” Marco said. “Always look to see what they’re paying attention to.” He dug into his pocket and produced two halves of a broken doggy treat. Squatting down, he offered the treat to King and smiled as the big dog took the pieces from his hand in one lick.
“Good boy,” Marco said, and stroked King’s shoulder. King tensed for a second, then leaned away.
“Take it slower,” I said. Marco frowned, but nodded, and stood up.
“When you said you were going to let him go, I didn’t think you meant bring him with us,” he said.
“I did let him go. You saw me take him out. He’s just decided to follow us,” I said. “If you don’t-“
Marco held up a hand. “It’s good that he’s with us. He’ll be useful…as long as you can keep him fed.”
I frowned. That might be a problem. I hadn’t brought any dog food along, and didn’t relish the idea of carrying the extra weight even if I could find some.
“Anyway. Let’s get moving,” Marco said. “The further away we are when Mel’s powder keg goes up, the better.”
As we left, I looked back over my shoulder. The man under the tree had finally turned his head to watch something different—us. He didn’t move, though. I turned back and started walking faster.
Marco casually put an arm out in front of me, forcing me to slow down.
“Walk normally,” he said. “Remember what I said? Anything that runs is prey.” He glanced back over his shoulder, then looked me in the eye.
“Never tell a predator that you’re prey, Ripley. They’ll believe you.”
CHAPTER 28
M onday, September 3rd
Bowie, Maryland
“I feel like an idiot watching all these cars drive by,” Mel grumped. “Maybe we should’ve broken into that U-Haul place after we got off of 410.”
We were sitting on a guard rail overlooking a large shopping plaza named “Bowie Gateway Center” at the intersection of Route 50 and Crain Highway. Marco was using Corey’s binoculars to look the place over. Corey had his ICOE map out and was trying to read our notes on what was there through the one cracked lens of his glasses.
I frowned at Mel. “Steal a truck? You’re to that point already? We’ve only walked about, what…12 miles or so?”
“And it’s taken us all damn day,” Mel said, adjusting the makeshift parasol she’d rigged up with a Y-shaped branch and one of her light scarves. “My feet hurt. My back is killing me. I’ve pissed in so many bushes I’ve probably got poison ivy, and we’ve got another hundred miles of this shit?”
“Over a hundred,” Corey said, flipping a page over and tracing a line down the list of notes. “And I’d be more worried about ticks than poison ivy.”
“You are not helping,” I said, elbowing him in the side.
“And meanwhile people are driving by us in cars,” Mel said.
“Not all of them,” I said. “There’s a lot more people walking now than there was this morning.” I motioned my head towards the highway, where there were three different groups of people walking down Route 50. One was a young couple, and the other two looked like small families. They were headed west, towards DC.
Once we’d gotten on the highway, we’d been finding a lot more abandoned cars, too. All but one had been locked up tight. The unlocked one didn’t have the keys in it, so Marco couldn’t get into the trunk, and there hadn’t been anything useful in the passenger compartment other than a baseball cap. Marco was wearing that now, pulled down low to shade his eyes. I hadn’t anticipated how brutal the sun was going to be, reflecting up from the roadway. Every time I closed my eyes for a moment I saw spots, and my head was splitting. It was getting worse, too; like being snow-blind.
“This is interesting,” Marco said. “The stores are obviously closed—there’s no one going in or out of them—but there are people starting to park in the lot in front of Target.” He handed the binoculars to Corey.
“Probably just planning on sleeping in the car,” I said.
“I don’t think so, Rip,” Corey said after a minute. “There’s a few of them that are gathering together, and I don’t see any kids.” He handed me the binoculars. “Looks like people getting ready to bust in and loot, to be honest.”
“In broad daylight? Bull,” I said, spinning around to face the plaza and putting the binoculars up to my eyes. I panned around until I found one of the groups he was talking about. It was a mixture of men and women of all colors; the only similar thing about them was how poorly they were dressed. As I watched, a young white couple pulled up in a large pickup truck, to the cheers and applause of the rest of the group. The woman opened the door and slid out, her very pregnant belly leading the way. Another female member of the group dropped the tailgate on the truck and hopped onto it. After a bit of work, the pregnant woman got herself up there also, and lit a cigarette. A few more women came over, and soon the group was split. The women clustered around the back of the truck, talking and laughing, while the men leaned against their cars, talking amongst themselves and scanning the parking lot.
A few dozen feet away, another group had formed. The two groups seemed to be ignoring each other at first, but then a woman in the second group raised her hands and waved a massive cluster of reusable shopping bags. The women from the first group made whooping noises and applauded. The two groups might not know each other, but they’d found unity in a common goal.
I panned further away, seeing the pattern now that Corey had drawn my attention to it. Cars were parked in front of nearly every store in the plaza. There were even a number of pickup trucks—some with trailers—sitting in front of the Ha
verty’s furniture store. The atmosphere seemed jovial, almost like a huge tailgate party before a big football game. And in spite of all of these groups of people gathering, there wasn’t a cop in sight.
“The one thing I didn’t want was competition,” Marco muttered.
I handed the binoculars to Mel and gave Marco a sharp look. “Competition?”
“The Target should have bikes,” Marco said. “We can move a lot faster on bikes. And I need better shoes.” He lifted a foot and flapped the sole of his expensive loafer at me. It had started coming loose just a few miles into our walk. I’d patched it up with gorilla tape, but that had worn through.
“Looters always go after shoes,” Corey said. “But usually the big-name sneakers. If you head straight to the shoe department, you can probably score a pair of boots while they’re fighting over kicks.”
“Maybe, but that still leaves us without bikes…and I don’t want to get anywhere near a fighting mob,” Marco said.
I drew in a deep breath and sighed, which brought King over to see if I was okay. He put his big, scarred head in my lap and I rubbed the spot between his eyes.
“I really hadn’t pictured us doing anything like this on our first day out,” I said.
“You had planned on having the Bug,” Corey said. “Just be thankful we’re not dealing with hurricane conditions, or even post-hurricane conditions.”
“There’s a Petsmart there, Ripley,” Marco said, gesturing to King. I nodded and frowned. I’d been feeding torn pieces of peanut butter sandwiches to the big lug whenever we stopped to rest, and we had stopped often. Todd had been right—we were tearing through our food. We’d even been munching on fruit as we walked down the road. I’d used the excuse that we needed the sugar and the juice, but honestly giving Mel an apple meant she’d been too busy chewing to complain, and I think the guys ate them because they were bored. King needed his own food so I could stop giving him ours, and I was too worn out to look at the map and see how far it was before we’d come across another pet store. I really wanted to get him a leash and a collar too, both so he wouldn’t look like a stray and so I could control him if I needed to. I had $85 in my pocket, and I considered leaving cash and a note tucked under the cash register. That was assuming I could even get into the place, which was probably a long shot.