by Mark Tufo
Darlene shrugged. “I think all of it is getting to me.” She glanced at the gas pump and pulled cash out of her pocket, meeting the gas station attendant halfway and handing him exact change.
He tipped his dirty ball cap. “You have a pleasant drive, ma’am. I hope you swing back this way on your return to Maine.”
Darlene was shocked. How did he know where she was from?
He grinned, obviously reading her face. “Your license plates, ma’am.”
She sighed and felt her face flush with embarrassment. “I’m really sorry. I’m just tired. And obviously not good around strangers. I need to go before I say something stupid and put my foot in my mouth.” She looked away and walked-ran to her car.
What an idiot, she thought. You’ve seen too many bad horror movies. Just because it’s a throwback gas station from the 1950s with a single attendant who is overly friendly, you imagine he has bodies strung up in the garage.
If he did, Darlene didn’t want to see them.
She had the windows down and the wind whipped her hair as she took off west. The farther away from Maine, the better.
She blinked and missed half the town (whatever the secret name of it was), and was on a semi-main road in minutes. It was yet another stretch of lonely highway, just like the songs said.
Darlene tried to find a radio station but got nothing but static. The next time she got to an actual city she’d buy a car charger for her iPod, which had been dead and useless the last couple of days. You can plan every trip down to the last detail and then get derailed by something as simple as an eight-dollar plug, she thought.
A few more miles down the road and the monotony of the landscape was getting to Darlene. She bounced in her seat and shook her head to scare away the cobwebs, but it was no use. She wouldn’t last another hour driving like this.
She swore she would stop and park at the next restaurant or hotel or gas station. She needed a power nap but didn’t want to pull over randomly on the side of a sparsely travelled road.
Pretty much any parking lot would suffice at this point.
Darlene kept driving, rocking and squirming to stay awake, knowing how stupid she was being. The gas station guy was harmless and had offered her a meal and a place to sleep.
If she turned around right now, she could be back in half an hour. It would be dark soon, and despite how pretty the sunset looked ahead of her, she didn’t want to drive through this desolate landscape without streetlights or civilization.
I’ll try ten more miles and then I’ll turn around, she swore to herself.
Darlene played with the radio for something to do so her mind wouldn’t shut off and kill her. She kept one eye on the road ahead, which was a straight, steaming blacktop for as far as she could see.
A highway to Hell, she thought.
When the radio finally tuned into something other than static, it was more talk radio. She sighed but turned it up. Maybe someone would say something stupid and she could argue with the radio for a while and stay awake. She used to love listening to Howard Stern as a kid, before he jumped to pay radio. No matter who his guest was, she was enthralled by his banter.
“…not a drill. I repeat, this is really happening. It looks like we are under attack from terrorists. The caldera has been blown up. We are under attack,” the panicked guy on the radio was saying.
Darlene thought at first it was the same load of crap she’d heard a while ago, before she’d stopped for gas. She’d barely listened and was about to flip the dial around again. Just more ‘end-of-the-world’ garbage someone was trying to go viral with for a laugh. But this was a different DJ on a different radio station. What were the chances of someone else doing the same hoax an hour or more later?
When she slowed the vehicle down and pulled over onto the side of the road, she explored the radio dial until she found a different station, reporting the same news.
America was under attack, and Yellowstone was the first strike. A nuclear weapon had detonated, creating a chain reaction of natural and unnatural magnitude.
“Please let this be a joke,” Darlene said. “There is no way this is really happening.”
She sat in silence for the next hour, listening to the updating newscasts as the sun moved lower on the horizon. She feared that if she kept driving, she’d lose the signal.
There were unconfirmed reports of rioting in major cities already, which she couldn’t understand. Why would L.A. and San Francisco go crazy only a few hours into this mess? Where was the National Guard? The military?
Darlene had turned the car off to save gas, but with only the windows open, she was a ball of sweat again. The sun was nearly gone; dusk was behind her but she decided to head back east and see if the gas station guy was still around and the offer still on the table.
San Francisco was no longer an option.
As soon as she started the car and turned around, the radio signal got weaker. Within five minutes it was gone, but Darlene had heard enough.
She drove as fast as she dared, topping one hundred miles an hour. She was wide awake with a rush of adrenaline at the bad news. It didn’t take her long to shoot into the gas station parking lot, tires screeching and dust billowing.
“You alright?” the guy said as he ran outside. “You scared me.”
Darlene jumped out of her car. “Have you been listening to the radio?”
“Nah. Nothing I want to hear comes in this far out. Why?”
“We’re under attack,” Darlene said.
“Who’s ‘we’?”
Darlene threw up her hands. “The country. America. The U.S. of A. The damn Koreans or Russians or someone has attacked Yellowstone National Park.”
He turned and looked into the distance. “That’s really far from this spot.” He turned back to Darlene. “Any secondary strikes or did it just happen?”
“I think it’s been a few hours. I don’t know. They are telling people to stay away from major cities like San Francisco,” Darlene said.
“Yes, very good idea. I need to call my wife, Pheebz, and tell her to monitor the news. I’m going to close up, too. Will you help me? I’m Herbert Brinker, by the way.”
“Darlene Bobich. Pleased to meet you again, I guess. I’m not sure what help I’m going to be closing up, though.”
“If what you’re saying is true, we don’t have much time. I need you to bag up all the food and drink you can and fill your car with it. Pack it in, and anything else you think we’ll need,” Herbert said.
“What are you going to do?”
“I have the old gas truck in the garage out back. I’m going to fill it. Then I’ll lock up and you can follow me back to my property. The couple that returned from San Francisco should be coming back this way in the middle of the night, unless they got wind of what’s happening. We told them about a cute hidden spot near the lake to the north. They were going to get away for a few hours.”
“Is all this necessary? Do you think the neighbors will rob you?” Darlene asked, looking around. There wasn’t another person in sight.
“I think once panic sets in, and especially if the news is telling people to get out of the cities, eventually we’ll have our main roads filled with desperate people with nowhere to go. And they won’t have the money, or won’t want to part with their money, and they’ll loot. I’ve seen it before. I go by the worst-case scenario, which says I can kiss my gas station goodbye. In any case, we’ll need these supplies for ourselves. We can talk more about this at the house. You look exhausted, anyway. I doubt you would’ve made it a few more miles,” Herbert said. “Go fill the bags. I need to call my wife and tell her to set another plate for dinner.”
Chapter Six
Day 1 - NYC - 8:25 am
“You all right?” Tynes had propped Mike up against a wall, clapping one hand on his shoulder to keep him from falling over.
“You fucking tased me, man.” Mike looked accusingly at the cop.
“Would you rather I shot you?
”
“Would have been able to escape; no way your sausage fingers fit through that trigger guard.”
“Give me your hands so I can cuff you.” Tynes said nothing as he looked at the scarred hands Mike thrust out in front of him. When he was done, he yanked on Mike, who was unable to stand.
“Give me a minute, man.”
“Fine, let’s do this your way.” Tynes wrapped a meaty hand under Mike’s shoulder and pulled him up effortlessly. Mike’s legs dragged uselessly behind him. He was, as of yet, unable to control them with any great degree of success.
“Come on, you’re going to drag me all the way back to your cruiser like this? Just put me down and get the car. I promise I’ll wait.”
“Yeah, like I believe you.”
“I’m cuffed, and my legs feel like they’re asleep. How far do you think I’m going to get?”
“I leave you alone in this condition, how long do you think it’ll take the jackals, especially in this neighborhood, to roll you?”
“Who’s being racist now?”
“Shut the fuck up, Mike. I had to chase your ass all over the damn city. Now I have to drag your ass back. I am not a happy man.”
“Is it because you can’t pump the blood high enough to oxygenate that giant melon of yours?”
Tynes shook Mike a couple of times just for effect.
“I had a pretty decent beat until your honky ass showed up. Sure, I had my troublemakers, but I don’t know, I guess they just weren’t as resilient as you. No matter how many times I try to uproot you, you keep coming back. Like a fucking weed on my prized lawn.”
“You’re a cop; you don’t have a lawn. Not in the city. Not unless you take a little on the side. Is that what this is all about? I’m not giving you your little piece of pie?”
“Yeah, I can’t even begin to decide what I would do with ten percent of your take. Shit, two dollars and twenty cents. I could get a half-cup of coffee.”
“Who said anything about ten percent? More like three. That’s the going rate for corrupt cops.”
Tynes smacked Mike in the back of the head hard enough that his teeth clacked together.
“Hey, someone pull out their fucking phone and film this shit, will you! A cop is beating me in broad daylight!”
People streamed by on their own way. Off to work, some to home, others to illicit affairs and wrongdoings. And like most New Yorkers, none made more than a cursory glance at the policeman and his prisoner.
“You’ve been here long enough to know that no one gives a shit, Mike.”
A street vendor was just opening up his stall on the corner of Forty-Second and Broadway. Lights blazed from forty-foot displays hawking everything from video games to soda.
“Hey man, want a drink? I’m dying of thirst. I’ll buy, it’s the least I can do. The money is in my front left pocket.”
Tynes hadn’t realized it until Mike said something, but right this very moment, his mouth felt like the Sahara desert during a sandstorm.
“This a trick?”
“Yeah, I have a mousetrap in my pocket. What the hell, man?”
“Any needles?”
“Weren’t you supposed to frisk me when you cheated and shot me?”
“I did while your teeth were still chattering and you were doing the worm, but I want to make sure.”
“No hard drugs here, man. I like the occasional joint and beer, but that’s it. Come on, grab the money and get us some drinks. I’ve got that taste in my mouth like I licked the prongs of a nine-volt battery and left it there.”
“Done that often?”
Mike shrugged.
Tynes grabbed the money. “This is a loan. I left my wallet in my car.”
“Sure, sure. I’ve said that on dates before. Works like a charm.”
“This isn’t a date.”
“Then why is your hand in my pants?”
Tynes quickly withdrew with a wadded up twenty. “I don’t like you very much.”
Mike looked down the street wondering if he could beat feet. The judge had told him if he graced the floor of his courtroom again, he would be spending some time as a guest of the city.
“I see what you see, so don’t even bother.” Tynes roughly grabbed Mike’s shoulder and drove him into the front of the cart.
“Hey man, is this how you treat all your dates?”
“Shut up. Two waters, please.” The cop had turned to the cart attendant. The man, like most of the vendors throughout the city, was of Middle Eastern descent. Nothing new there, but Tynes got an uneasy feeling from how many times the man looked at his watch as the transaction happened.
“Waiting for something, buddy?” Tynes asked, fishing for answers.
“Go now,” the man said brusquely.
“Wow, he doesn’t like you either. You ever think about working on your disposition?”
“Shut up, Mike,” Tynes said as he pulled him away.
“Um…how about some water?”
“Something’s wrong here. Did you see that man? He was nervous, and he kept looking at his watch.”
“Officer Tynes, I hate to tell you this, but you’re a pretty intimidating looking guy.”
“It’s more than that. The only people afraid of cops are the guilty.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. That’s just your jaded view of the world. You guys think everyone is guilty, and you give off that vibe. Can you stop dragging me around and give me a drink?”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” he said, though the majority of his attention was still on the cart vendor, who was now on a cell phone, still checking his watch.
Mike looked to see what the cop was looking at. “Tell you what, just let me go, and then you can harass him in peace.”
“Fat chance.”
“Come on, Officer, I’m going to get time for this.”
“About time, too. Your shifty lawyer has been getting your ass off the hook far too often.”
“He’s court appointed, and I don’t think Jerry Flendon is what you’d call a top-notch defense attorney. Tough to trust a man who can’t even remember your name. Do you know one time he advised me to start drooling so I could get a plea of insanity for my “murder” charge? Shit! I was actually in there for selling hot phones. How the hell did I know the phones were hot?”
“Maybe a little time will do you right. And don’t give me that crap. Benny the Loon hands you a crate of iPhones and tells you to sell them for fifty bucks a pop and you don’t see a problem?”
“I saw an opportunity.”
“Well, now you get to see bars.”
“Come on man, I’m too pretty for jail.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you did all the stupid shit you did.”
Mike got serious. “I’m just trying to survive, man. Place to stay, something to eat. That’s all I’m trying to do. I don’t hurt no one. I sold those phones to folks who probably couldn’t afford them normally, and I take small bets. Wow, it’s a good thing you got me off the streets; the world’s a safer place.”
“I don’t make the laws, Mike. Personally, I don’t give a shit about the phones or the betting. Hell, I’ve done some myself. The law is the law. You seem smarter than your average criminal. Use the time in lockup, get some education, read a little. It won’t be hard time; Rikers has some quality programs if you get involved. Maybe get back in touch with your family. They miss you.”
“How the hell do you know what my folks think?”
“You’re on my case load. I’ve been keeping in touch with them to see if you’ve checked in or not. They’re concerned.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“Even my mother?”
There was a pregnant pause as Officer Tynes thought about it. “Well, perhaps most of the apprehension is on your father’s side, but she cares as well.”
“Weird. How much time am I looking at?”
“With your propensity for getting in trouble,
I’m thinking eighteen months.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Eighteen months? I’ll be twenty-six when I get out.”
“It’s not like your life is going to be over.”
“Says the cop who will still be walking around, eating cheeseburgers and french fries while I’m eating gruel.”
“This isn’t the 1700s and you’re not a London orphan. Now stop talking and I’ll pour some water into your mouth.”
Mike’s mouth, which had already been arid, was now a barren wasteland as he thought of his impending incarceration. He took great swallows as the cool water cascaded down his throat. “Hey, what the hell?” Mike asked, as the fluid began to pour down his chin and onto his chest while Officer Tynes turned and inadvertently moved his hand.
“Where’d the cart go?” he asked.
“Getting soaked here.”
“Oh yeah, sorry.” He tipped the bottle back up. “Did you see where he went?”
“Who gives a shit? Maybe it’s prayer time or there’s a better corner to work. One without cops dragging prisoners around. I’m sure we don’t do any wonders for his business.”
“There was something about him I didn’t like.”
“Shocker. A cop not liking somebody.”
“Come on, wise ass. I’ve got a fantastic cell for you. Got a view to die for. Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll make some new friends inside.”
“You have a sick sense of humor.”
Officer Tynes used his chest-mounted radio to let his station know that he’d apprehended the perp, that they were currently on foot heading back to the patrol car, and no, he did not need additional backup as everything was under control.
The sidewalk, which had been bustling with morning commuters and tourists alike, was beginning to thin, and quickly. Horns began to beep incessantly as a large, gathering crowd was blocking auto traffic all around Times Square.
“What the hell is going on?” Tynes said as he shouldered Mike along. Throngs of people were congregating, looking up at the large displays and LED ticker ribbons, which were showing what looked like aerial scenes from the summer’s newest disaster blockbuster.
At first, there were protests as Tynes pushed his way through the crowd, but those quickly subsided when the people realized he was a cop and, more importantly, a huge cop. Subtitles ran across the bottom of the displays.