by Bobby Akart
A clicking sound accompanied the electronic bolt lock freeing itself from the captivity of the door frame, allowing Jake and Ashby to enter. They dusted off their belongings and their feet before they entered the small guest reception room, where an elderly woman identified herself as Mrs. Esther Hathaway.
Ashby decided to take the lead on this one. “Hi, Mrs. Hathaway. My name is Dr. Ashby Donovan, and this is Jake Wheeler with the National Park Service. It’s my understanding that the nurse at the clinic called you already.”
“Yes, of course, young lady,” she replied with a raspy voice, which had deteriorated over the years from too many cigarettes. She broke into a coughing fit as if to drive home the point. Or she’d been outside without a mask. “The doctor asked me to make two rooms available for you and your companions.”
“Well, actually,” Ashby interrupted. “We’ll only need one for tonight. My student, the young man who was injured, will be staying overnight at the clinic. Hopefully, he’ll be released by Dr. Peterkin in the morning, and then we’ll need a room for him as well.”
“Dearie, it doesn’t matter if you want all the rooms. They’re empty and we closed the motel to travelers. I can’t get my girls to come in and clean. My husband said we don’t need the money, so we closed up until this storm blows over.”
“It’s not a—” Ashby began to correct the woman, but Jake stepped in.
“That certainly makes sense, Mrs. Hathaway, and we’re truly appreciative of you making an exception for us. We’ll be glad to pay for two rooms, and I promise we’ll make the beds when we leave, or strip the sheets, whichever you prefer.”
“You can strip them when you check out. Now, did the nurse tell you it’s cash only?”
Ashby hadn’t even thought about how to pay for the rooms. She turned to look at the backpack and wondered if her government-issued credit card was in her messenger bag.
“No, ma’am,” replied Jake. “She didn’t. I have my debit cards but no cash. Is there an ATM or bank nearby?”
Without responding, Mrs. Hathaway pointed to a nook down the hallway, which led to a door marked Private. A vending machine full of soda drinks and another with snacks flanked an ATM machine.
“Excuse me,” said Jake as he retrieved his wallet from the backpack and made his way to the ATM. After a few minutes, he returned with twelve hundred dollars and a few grumbles regarding the exorbitant fees the vendor charged to make the withdrawal.
He glanced outside at the conditions and forgot about the costs, opting instead to be glad the internet was still working to provide him access to his bank accounts. He wondered how long that would last and then quickly mused how long money would be worth anything other than the paper upon which it was printed.
Ashby filled out the guest registration provided by the innkeeper, and she allowed Jake to make the payment for one night.
“Each room consists of two queen-sized beds. There’s an ice maker at the end of the covered walkway as well as two more vending machines. Do you need two keys or one?”
Jake started to respond, “One, I sup—”
“Two, please,” interrupted Ashby. “In case we have to split up while we run our errands.”
Jake shrugged and accepted the two keys from Mrs. Hathaway.
Then Ashby asked, “Are there any markets or stores open in town?”
“I don’t rightly know, but the mini-market across the way was open. Cash only too, however.”
Ashby moved to her backpack and pulled out her messenger bag. “Excuse me while I make a cash withdrawal too.”
“That’s fine, folks. You can let yourself out when you’re ready. The door locks automatically. Good luck.”
After Ashby made her maximum withdrawal and voiced her complaint about the seven-dollar-and-ninety-five-cent fee, they gathered their things and made their way to room number one adjacent to the office.
“Home sweet home,” said Ashby with a sigh.
Jake laughed. “That’s the first thing Dusty said when he walked into my cabin the day we met. I think the second thing he said was got beer?”
“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Ashby added. “Speaking of which, as bad as I want to take a shower, it doesn’t make sense to before we try to find some food, some extra clothes, and some beer, of course. Plus, I could tell Trooper Hastings piqued your interest about a car. Should we start there?”
Jake reached into his pocket to make sure his credit cards were still there. “Yeah, although I don’t know how I’m gonna pay for it.”
Ashby fumbled through her pockets and handed Jake her credit card. “Ever seen one of these?”
He examined the credit card, which was covered in an image of the American flag and a jet taking off. At the top, the Government Services Administration, GSA, logo was present followed by the word SmartPay.
Jake laughed as he handed it back to her. “Does it have a limit?”
“For me, because I always have traveling companions, it’s ten thousand dollars a day.”
“Are you allowed to buy a car with it?”
Ashby shrugged and smiled. “Probably not, and I suppose I’ll have some explaining to do when I reconcile my travel voucher at the end of the month.”
“You’re kidding, right?” asked Jake as he let out a hearty laugh.
“Nope. Let’s buy a car that’ll take us west, young man. I’ll deal with the consequences later.”
With that, they put on their masks and went shopping.
Chapter 38
Challis, Idaho
Jake and Ashby walked past the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, whose parking lot was full of cars. Jake observed it wasn’t Sunday, and he was surprised to see so many vehicles parked there. Across the street was the Gateway Mini Market, which still appeared to be open although it was empty. They’d hit it on the way back. After another ten minutes, they made their way to the newly opened Salmon River Motors location in Challis.
Jake opened the glass door for Ashby to enter the former gas station turned car lot. They were immediately greeted by a rotund man with a white cowboy hat.
“Howdy, pardners, I’m Brett,” said the proprietor as he began his I’m-a-good-old-boy-like-you shtick.
“Hi, Brett. My name is Jake Wheeler and we met Trooper Hastings at—”
“Of course, Elmore. Another satisfied customer. He purchased one of my special dee-luxe modified ash-mobiles.”
“A what?”
Brett ambled from around his desk and motioned for them to take a seat. Ashby, who was covered in white ash, looked at the dirty, grease-stained chairs and politely declined.
“I can take these older model vehicles and make a few adjustments to their air intake to keep the ash out. You can’t do that with the new cars because they have too many intakes into the motor. But there’s just one problem.”
“What’s that?” asked Jake.
“I sold the last one about an hour ago. I don’t have anything else on four wheels that’ll work.”
Jake sighed. “Thank you, then. Is there any other car dealer in town that’s—”
Brett put his hands up and interrupted Jake. “Well, now hold up, whippersnapper. Nobody leaves Salmon River Motors unsatisfied. Let me ask you folks a question. Where you headed, and how many of you’uns are there?”
“It’s just the two of us and all our gear,” Jake answered. “Plus, our friend in the hospital has a broken leg and arm, so he’ll need a big backseat to stretch out in as we travel to California.”
Brett pretended to think; then he rubbed his chin for a moment, and a scowl came over his face. If Jake didn’t know better, he would’ve thought good old boy Brett was constipated.
He smiled, squinted the eyes above his chubby red cheeks, and started pointing at them. “You know. Yes. You know, I might just have the perfect solution for you folks. Gimme just a moment while I speak to my certified mechanic.”
He exited through a side door into the enclosed garage.
&nb
sp; “Certifiable is the more appropriate word,” quipped Ashby. “He’s quite a character. Seriously, would you buy a used car from this guy?”
Jake put his arm around her and laughed. “I will if he accepts credit cards.”
Moments later, Brett returned from the garage with three brightly colored golf umbrellas. He handed one to each of them. “Now, I don’t know what your budget is, but my mechanic says he can make it happen if we can come to terms. Follow me.”
He held the door open for them to file out and they all popped open the umbrellas. Brett continued to talk, a common trait among car salesman.
“I’m one of the smart ones around here. I don’t go anywhere without one of these umbrellas coverin’ my head. You know, to keep the ash off so I don’t breathe it in. Some folks are comin’ down with a nasty cough. They should’ve followed old Brett’s lead.”
Ashby shook her head and followed old Brett around the back of the building and through several rows of used vehicles. He entered a clearing at the back of the lot surrounded by an eight-foot chain-link fence.
“Ain’t she a beaut’?” he asked in front of a behemoth. “This here is a thirty-two-foot Fleetwood Bounder motor home. It’s an ’88 model, one of the best years in their production. She’s got a diesel engine, a front lounge for your fellow travelers to gather in while you drive, and I can put you in her for the low price of fifty-nine-ninety-five, plus, you know, the customary taxes, title, dealer prep, etcetera, etcetera. Now, of course, there’ll be an additional charge for the air intake modifications and parts, etcetera, etcetera. Shall we take a look?”
“It’s so big,” observed Ashby. The light tan paint job also contained the signature orange and dark brown alternating stripes from front to back. Naturally, the cartoonish kangaroo caught Ashby’s eye. Setting all of that aside, she couldn’t help but comment on its size. “It’s a land yacht.”
“That it is, pretty young lady. Plenty of room to roam on the inside and several bed options to accommodate the three of you, and a couple more if you decide to give them a ride. Come on and let’s get out of this mess. I’d love to show you all of its features.”
“Brett,” began Jake, “did you say it’s a diesel?”
“Yessiree! It’ll give you the best fuel economy in its class. Did I tell you it has less than a hundred thousand, true certified miles on the odometer? And get this. These tires have less than twenty thousand miles on ’em.”
Brett led the way, and Jake nodded to Ashby as he stifled a laugh. The idea of buying a motor home had never crossed Jake’s mind, but in a way, it made sense. As a diesel, they could pump fuel into it from most local farms if the stations ran out.
The size concerned Jake for many reasons, but it was large enough to carry all their gear and would be much more comfortable for Dusty. Plus, they could pull over virtually anywhere to rest for the day. He only needed to be comfortable the Bounder could make the eight-hundred-mile trip to Arcata. And then, of course, there was the issue of payment.
The inside of the motor home showed signs of wear, but what thirty-plus-year-old vehicle didn’t. The musty smell concerned Jake, and he noticed there was evidence of water damage near the tinted glass roof vent. It had two air-conditioning units as well as an ONAN generator, which pulled from the diesel fuel cells.
Jake decided to play the game. “Brett, would you mind if me and the little woman take a few minutes to talk? It’s a big decision, you know. Plus, we just started looking. We might ought to look for other options before we pull the trigger. You know what I mean?”
Brett coughed a little and then quickly recovered. “Of course, you folks take all the time you need. In the meantime, I’ll just mosey on back to the office and get the paperwork out of the safe. By the way, will you folks be paying cash, or would you prefer I finance? Everybody is approved at Salmon River Motors as long as you can show me valid identification and a credit card. Debit cards don’t count.”
Ashby looked to Jake and then she pulled out her government-issued SmartPay card. “Do you accept payment from the United States government?”
Brett took the card, turned it over to look at the back, and then beamed. “You betcha. Them boys from the Bureau of Mines use these here all the time when they need an oil change or a repair. It’s as good as gold, in my opinion, as long as Fort Knox is still standin’.”
He tried to hand it back to Ashby, but she stopped him. “Brett, you seem like an honest man. I think this will suit our needs perfectly. Keep the card and write it up, making the owner of the vehicle just as it reads on there.”
Brett looked at the card. “Dr. Ashby Donovan, National Aeronautics and Space Administration. Say, are you an astronaut or something?”
Ashby patted him on the hand and smiled. “Or something. When can you get her ready, Brett?”
“Not long on the Bounder because the motor is so easy to work with. I’ll send my man down to NAPA to pick up a few clamps and hoses to modify the intake.”
The large man turned sideways to exit the motor home when Jake shouted after him, “Hey, Brett! What kind of filtering material does your mechanic use to keep the ash from entering the intake?”
“Cheesecloth. You can’t beat it.”
“Great. Then do me a favor. When he’s at NAPA, ask him to buy three of every part he needs, extra cheesecloth, and air filters for the motor. You know, just in case.”
“I like your thinkin’, pardner. We’ll get right on it!”
With that, he popped open his umbrella and waddled off to the sales office. Jake turned to Ashby and hugged her, lifting her into the air for a couple of spins before placing her feet back on the floor.
“We’re in business, pardner,” he said, which caused them both to burst out in laughter. For the first time in days, things were looking up for the group.
Jake had been concerned about how they were going to make it to California with the amount of ash fallout stopping vehicles in their tracks. Plus, Dusty was in no position to walk or use alternative transportation. With the extra parts and a ride that included an engine that offered them the ability to use farm diesel, the stars were finally aligning.
Now it was time to find some food and clothes for the trip.
Chapter 39
Challis, Idaho
After signing the paperwork for the Bounder, Brett assured them the motor home would be ready to roll in the next hour or so. They decided to walk a quarter mile down the highway to the local grocery store—Village Foods. As they walked, they talked about their plans.
“First off, let me warn you,” started Ashby. “Dusty is gonna want to drive.”
Jake laughed. “With a broken leg and arm? Not gonna happen.”
“It’s his left leg. Plus, the Bounder is an automatic, right? So, he doesn’t need to use his right arm.”
“Yeah, but—” protested Jake. He was not likely to agree but he pacified Ashby nonetheless. “We’ll see.”
“No but or we’ll see. We’ll just let him drive, okay? It’s easier that way. Trust me.”
They walked in silence for a moment before Jake continued. “I have to be honest, I was concerned about staying longer than we have to. We’re too close to Yellowstone, and as you’ve said, there may be more eruptions to come. The Bounder makes the decision a little easier.”
“Are you thinking about leaving tomorrow when Dusty is released?”
“In a perfect world, he’d stay in the hospital for several days until we’re a hundred percent sure he’s okay. Staying at the motel a few hundred yards away is a decent alternative.”
Jake’s voice trailed off as they approached the parking lot of the supermarket. He kicked at the thick ash that had accumulated on the road. He continued to lay out his concerns about waiting too long.
“You know as well as I do that these conditions are not going to get any better. If it starts raining, then who knows what could happen to the roof of that seventy-year-old motel.”
Ashby tucked her ar
m through Jake’s as they approached the front door. “The Bounder does make the decision easier, as you said. Dusty can recover in the back, most likely under the influence of painkillers.”
“Exactly,” said Jake. “With a little luck, we’ll have a smooth trip to Arcata and he’ll sleep right through it.”
Ashby playfully slugged him. “You just don’t want him to drive.”
“Then there’s that.”
An eighteen-wheel rig bearing the Food Services of America logo on the side of the trailer was parked behind the store. FSA distributed grocery products to independent supermarkets in predominantly rural areas of Idaho.
Jake opened the door for Ashby and they walked into an anomaly. Unlike the deserted streets filled with dirty ash and devoid of traffic, Village Foods was clean and the shelves were remarkably well stocked. A catchy tune was playing over the store’s sound system, undoubtedly designed to encourage a more pleasant shopping experience. An older man was checking out a few customers while a couple of stock boys were straightening shelves.
Jake, puzzled by what he saw, glanced outside to make sure he hadn’t stepped into the twilight zone. He leaned over to Ashby and asked, “Where’s the carnage? The emptied shelves that look like they were hit by velociraptors?”
Ashby shrugged and pulled a shopping cart out of the rows. Jake took one as well.
“I don’t get it, Jake. I’m surprised they’re even open, and after what you observed in West Yellowstone a week or so ago, this place should be emptied.”