“Get back to your drinks! You think you guys have never seen anyone come off the road, for Christ's sake,” the bartender bellowed from behind the bar. “You two want a table?” Claire and I nodded in unison.
The bartender waved at a young girl talking to one of the patrons. “Laney! Move your ass, and show these two to a table.”
The waitress finished her conversation and showed us to a nice table in the back. I sat with my back to the wall, facing the door. Claire took a seat to my right. Sitting down felt good. I hadn't realized how tired I'd become.
“You want something to drink?” Laney asked. “We got alcohol. Made it ourselves in the back room. I think they use mouthwash or something to give it some flavor.”
The place reeked of the homemade hooch she had described. Most of the bar's customers were enjoying the evil brew, but I didn't relish the thought of joining them. “Maybe just some water, if you have any.”
“Yeah. Just water sounds good,” Claire said.
“Water. Suit yourself,” Laney said, as she walked away.
I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes for a second. I was a little bit weary. Claire stifled a yawn. Some of the mouthwash-booze-swilling men in the bar were still staring, and she shivered. I didn't know if it was out of being scared or because the bar was freezing. “So, should we start asking questions, or let the locals come to us?” Claire whispered.
I looked around at the rough characters gathered in the bar. “Don't see the welcome wagon. Maybe we should just sit here quietly for a while.” I said.” We shared a laugh, causing the barflies to look at us like we were road weary or loopy. After some heavy staring, they went back to their drinks.
Laney the waitress brought us two somewhat clean glasses and a pitcher of cloudy water. She poured us each a glass, then gave Claire a handwritten menu. “You guys want anything to eat? The kitchen is closing up soon. Gotta shut off the lights and jukebox to preserve a little power for the morning. I think we have some meat left.”
“What kind of meat?” asked Claire.
Laney made a face like her brain hurt. “Don't know. I think it might be deer or something.”
Claire handed back her menu. “Thanks. I'll pass.” I nodded in agreement. We knew better than to eat mystery meat while on the road. You never knew what you could be eating. It could be a former survivor, for instance.
Laney went back to the bar to continue her deep conversation with one of the customers. “When should we start looking for Lyle?” Claire asked.
I took a sip of the gray water. It had a slight metallic taste, but it was okay to drink. “Tomorrow. We'll rest here a while, and then see if we can get a room or a place to stay. I'll ask a few people in town, if they're friendly.”
“I hope he's here. Hate to think they dumped him on the road somewhere,” Claire said.
I took another sip of water, then put the glass aside. The taste was giving me a headache. “If he's here, we'll find him. Somehow.” I glanced at the customers at the tables all around us. Some were still staring, mostly at Claire. “Till then, we need to watch out.” Claire nodded, and placed her bat on the table.
A man in a dark coat and a floppy, sun-bleached hat walked up to the bar. The collar of his jacket was up against the cold, so it hid his face. I sat up in my chair to get a better look. The man looked a little familiar, but I couldn't place him.
He went in close to talk to the bartender for a while, then placed his hand in the air at about Claire's height. The barkeep looked over at us, and pointed. The mystery man nodded to the bartender, and started coming over to our table. His boots made menacing thumping noises on the old wooden floor.
“John...,” Claire said, grabbing her bat.
“I see him.” I sat back in my chair, and put my gun in sight. Maybe the stranger would get the point and move on to someone else.
The Mysterious Man in Black stopped at our table and stood there silently. His head was down, and his hands were in the pockets of the well-worn jacket he wore. In the darkened bar, I still couldn't make out his face. He just stood there, not saying anything. The rough, bearded men swilling drinks went silent. The whole bar seemed to be holding its breath at what was to happen next.
Whatever you're selling, friend. I'm not buying,” I said to the dark apparition before us.
The man in the black jacket took his hands out of his pocket, and removed his hat revealing a certain toothy grin, long gray hair, and a matching cheesy mustache. It was Lyle.
Claire and I didn't have to look for him. He had somehow found us first.
Chapter 17: The Escape Attempt
“I'll be damned,” Claire said. She pulled out a chair so Lyle could join us. He calmly sat down, placing his old hat on the table. We all played it cool. No sense letting the entire population of the bar know that we were acquainted.
I leaned in, and said, “Good to see you.”
Shaking both of our hands at the same time, he said, “Good to see you guys, too. I hated to think what happened after we got separated.”
The events of the last few days, most notably the things that went down at Nate's house, played in my mind like a bad movie. My jaw tightened a bit with the stress. “We had a delay. What happened with the van?”
Lyle lowered his head. “After you told your story, you went to get Claire in the house. I got cold, so I went into the van to try and find another blanket. I sat down and closed my eyes for a second. Next thing I knew, it was being jacked and run out of the yard. Didn't have time to jump out. I locked the back doors and held on for dear life. Decided to stay with the van to see if I could get it back.” He looked at me with two sad, woeful eyes. “I'm sorry, John. I screwed up.”
Lyle had fallen asleep while watching our van. Happens to the best of us.
I tried to reassure him. “It's okay. Could have happened to any one of us. They never checked in the back?”
“No,” Lyle said. “They just drove like maniacs getting back here. Several times during the trip I thought the van was going to roll over, they were going so fast. Stealing cars and trucks off the road must be a quantity business. I guess they wanted to drop our van off and get back out.”
Claire leaned in so that the bar's patrons couldn't hear her easily. “So you know where our van is, don't you?”
A sly smile broke out on Lyle's face, like a kid with a secret. “It's down the road, toward the other side of the Fort. Down Main Street, I mean. The Junkmen left it down there, and when it got quiet I popped out.” He smoothed down the collar of his black jacket. “I traded for this coat and the hat to blend in a little and joined the residents. I waited for you guys, figuring you might come this way.”
“You did good.” I said. “Now all we have to do is get the van, and somehow get out of here.”
Laney returned to our table carrying a few steaming bowls. She placed them on the table, and said, “I found some vegetables and rice that looked okay. The rice came from storage, and the vegetables were grown outside behind the bar. You guys want it?”
The bowls were small, but full of hot food. It looked to be in good shape, cooked well in somewhat clean water. “Looks good,” I said taking a bowl off the tray. “Thanks.”
Laney smiled. “No problem. You and your sidekick looked hungry.” She nodded towards Claire.
“Sidekick?” Claire said, raising an eyebrow. Lyle and I couldn't help it and started laughing at poor Claire drawing a few strange looks from the other bar patrons. I guess people didn't laugh much at the Fort.
We ate with gusto. Claire and I were especially hungry. The vegetables were cooked to perfection, and no mystery meats or sauces were present. Just homegrown products of the earth. There was a lot of okra in the vegetable medley, and for good reason. Okra grew like a weed even in the tough clay soil in this part of the South.
I resisted the temptation to lick the last few morsels of rice off the rim of the bowl, and sat back in my chair. I felt the hot food filling my empty stomach and
warming my blood. Lyle and Claire did the same. “Pretty good food,” Claire said.
With the jukebox off and the lights beginning to dim, the inhabitants of the bar at the end of the world began to drift out. Some waved to the bartender as they left. Others helped their more inebriated companions to the door. Very soon, the bar would be empty. I leaned in to converse with Lyle and Claire.
“We'll wait a bit till the streets get a little more deserted. Then I think we can take a stroll to the other end of the Fort and find out what happened to our van.” I patted the inside pocket of my jacket. “I've still got the keys. Maybe there's a gate or something down there. We'll drive right out.”
Claire looked a little skeptical. “What do we do if the van has been stripped, and spread all over the ground?”
“We'll go down there and scout it out. If the van is torn up, I'll find something else with wheels. Got to be something we can steal,” I said.
“That's it, everybody. Closing time!” the bartender called out. The remaining customers began to stumble outside into the chilly night. The bartender stepped close to our table, and said, “You guys ready to settle up?”
I took a mental inventory of what Claire, Lyle, and I had to trade, and it wasn't much. Looking at the large, imposing bartender with my best innocent face, I said, “Caught me short. I don't have much to trade. Sorry.” I stared down the large man to see what he would do.
“Figures,” he said, with an annoyed tone in his voice. “Nobody has nothing these days. I guess I'm running a charity.” The bartender turned around, and started back to the makeshift bar on the wall.
“Wait,” Claire said. She rummaged around in our survival bag, and produced the opened bottle of cheap liquor. There was still about half of it left. Claire waved it in front of the bartender. “Will this do?”
The barkeep took the bottle from Claire's hand, opened it, and took a whiff of the contents. He screwed the top back on, and swirled the contents around while looking inside the bottle. Then he rendered his verdict. “It's pretty damn cheap, and it would be better if it was unopened, but it'll do.”
Claire, Lyle, and I started for the door. The bartender stopped us for a quick chat. “Just wanted to warn you guys. Keep an eye on each other. People that come in from the road have a way of disappearing around here.”
“Disappear?” I said.
The bartender smiled. “Let's just say food, water, and liquor aren't the only things being traded inside the Fort. Good night, strangers.” He turned, and faded into the darkness of the bar. “And good luck,” the bartender added before turning off the remaining lamps in the bar.
We stood there for a second, the bartender's words sinking into our tired brains. “Don't like the sound of that.” Claire asked.
“Maybe all is not well at the Fort,” Lyle said.
We stepped outside into the street. While we were inside, the sun had gone down, and night was breaking across the Fort. Small streetlights, powered from some unknown source, began to wink on from poles and the sides of some of the buildings. They were a bit weak, and dropped yellow cones of light across the ground. Most of the residents were moving along seeking shelter from the frigid breeze. Other people stood around the trashcan fires trying to warm their bodies.
Me and my crew found an unoccupied fire near an alley between two buildings. This particular trashcan fire had been set with a heavy fuel that filled the air with dangerous chemical smells. I took a deep breath, and got an instant frontal-lobe headache. Lyle leaned in with some news.
“I overheard a few conversations from people who aren't too pleased with the current management. I think a mutiny is being planned. You know, one of them actually asked if I wanted to join,” said Lyle in a low tone.
Having no desire to be swept into a revolution so far from home, I said, “One thing at a time. Let's complete our mission first.”
The trashcan fires died down, and the winter breeze began to get stronger. My two companions and I stepped back into the shadows and waited. We waited until the warming fires went to embers, and the residents of the Fort left Main Street. The cold chased the rough looking, armed men and women inside, and soon, the streets were deserted. It was time to move.
“Okay. Let's go,” I said to my team.
We began our trek to the end of the Fort. Lyle led the way. Claire, her ankle still hurting, was in the middle so we could keep an eye on her. I brought up the rear. We moved silently like ninjas from one dark place to another. We had to rely on only our eyes and Lyle's sense of direction. No flashlights, or someone might see us moving around. We paused only to check our progress, or to avoid being discovered by the occasional resident on the street. So far, no one had seen or heard us. We walked this way for about twenty minutes or so. It seemed like forever in the inky blackness of the streets.
“Not long now. Just a couple of blocks more,“ Lyle whispered to Claire and I during one of our safety pauses.
“Good,” whispered Claire. “My ankle is screaming.”
We walked a little more, fumbling and sneaking around on Main Street. The cold chill of the air was beginning to soak into my skin and bones. I swore to myself that if I got home, I was going to get a blanket, invite Karen to join me, and wrap ourselves up until winter was over.
When I get back, not if. Even in my mind, I corrected my “if” to “when.”
Junk cars and trucks too damaged to venture outside the walls stood in piles ahead of us on the road. They had been placed, along with broken concrete barriers, wood, and other debris in criss-cross patterns on the street. It was a simple barricade.
“We must be close. I remember passing this junk on the way to town,” said Lyle. He scampered onto a large piece of concrete and looked down the street. “There it is,” he said pointing into the gloom. “It's the wall of the Fort.”
Claire and I looked to where he was pointing. Even in the dark, I could make out the huge presence of the wall, a few hundred feet away. I could also see some small lights here and there near the base on a few poles. And then there was the best sight of all: a few rows of vehicles in storage. They were parked all over the street, and in nearby parking lots and grassy yards. We had found the Junkmen's vehicle stash. Lyle jumped off his perch, and we approached the wall. An old magnolia tree, with branches spread along the ground like a wooden octopus, provided a good hiding place. I pulled out my binoculars to take a look.
I swept the glasses from the front rows of stored vehicles to a small storage shed that I assumed was a guard shack or an office. The front rows were lit by weak, sputtering lamps on weather-beaten poles scattered around the area. The poles got fewer and fewer toward the back of the storage area, until it faded into almost total scary darkness. The Junkmen did not discriminate. The yard contained a wide variety of vehicle types and sizes. Trucks and buses were the favorites. Light was coming from the small shed, but no guards walked the storage yard.
“Do you see the van?” said Claire.
“Not yet.” As if someone heard my silent prayers, the shiny black flanks of Monique the van slid into my binoculars. The van was parked between two other small trucks, almost out of sight. A quick look showed no external damage. “I can't believe it. There it is.” I pointed in the van's direction.
Lyle practically started to vibrate. “Looks like it's intact, at least from the outside. The Junkmen moved it since my escape. I got out near the shed.”
I handed the binoculars to Claire, and stood up. “Now we just have to figure out a way to drive out of here.”
“Not going to be easy. May have to shoot our way out,” Lyle said.
“John...look at the road.” Claire handed the binoculars back.
“What am I looking at?” I asked.
“The mud. Look at the tire tracks,” Claire said.
Scanning the road, I followed the twin tracks on the street. They went up to the edge of the wall, then disappeared underneath. Claire had discovered the back door of the Fort.
; “It's a gate,” I said. “Just like the other side.” I looked around for guards, but came up empty. They were probably inside getting out of the cold, or guarding the wall somewhere else. This might be our chance to escape. I gave the binoculars to Lyle so he could look.
“What are you thinking, John?” said Lyle, as he peered at our potential route to freedom.
“I'll check out the van. You and Claire go to the gate and get it open. There's got to be a latch or something. I'll drive around to pick you guys up, and get out of here.”
Claire and Lyle nodded in agreement. “If we do it nice and quiet, we might just pull it off,” said Claire.
“Yeah...quietly. If it goes bad, everybody find a hiding place,” I said.
We stepped out from behind the old magnolia, and jogged down the small hill towards the vehicles. None of us made a sound as we came to the front row. Lyle and Claire gave me a wave, then disappeared among the parked vehicles on their way to the gate. I listened for a few seconds for any guards. There was nothing but the wind blowing through the trees.
Using the darkness as much as I could, I headed for the van. I reached it without incident, and ran my hands down the dark flanks confirming no serious damage. I grabbed the plastic handle of the driver's door and gently pulled. The door unlatched, squeaking on dry hinges. When no Junkmen came running, I opened it fully and climbed inside. The inside smelled a little musty, and someone had used it to eat some lunch, but everything looked okay. Fishing the keys out of my jacket, I jammed them into the ignition, said a quick prayer, and turned.
Nothing happened. Our luck had run out.
We may have been too late to save our van. I exited, pulling the hood release on the way out. Even in the dark yard, I could see the Junkmen had worked our poor van over. The battery and most of the top-end parts of the engine had been removed. Wet fuel dripped from cut rubber lines and the filter area. Our van was done. The Junkmen had used it for spare parts for another vehicle. We would have to find another way out of the Fort.
Sometimes We Ran (Book 3): Rescue Page 17