by D. Gideon
“I wish we had some ice,” I said, ducking into the bathroom and grabbing a clean towel. Nudging King out of the way and holding the towel at Marco’s chin, I tried to flush the cut out with water from the bottle.
“If we’re making wishes, I’d like scotch with my ice,” Marco said.
“You and me both. Why didn’t we see you come across the parking lot?” Mel said, crossing her arms and tilting her head at Marco.
“Sam and I decided to leave through the back rather than go through the crowd in front of the door,” Marco said, wincing as I dabbed at his face. “It looked like they were mugging people as they were leaving.”
“Sam?” Mel asked.
Marco nodded, earning himself a growl from me. I’d flushed the cut as well as I could and was trying to get antibiotic ointment into it. Hard to do with the target moving.
“A friend I made inside the store. Nice fellow, ex-military. We watched each other’s backs…well, except for this.” He pointed at the cut. “We went around the store and the crowd, and I came back through the trees by the highway.”
I pinched the cut closed as best I could and secured it with a small butterfly Band-Aid. Stepping away to close up my first aid kit, my toe caught on his, and I looked down. He was wearing duck boots.
“Uh, Romeo, those aren’t hiking boots,” I said, giving the ugly things a doubtful look.
“Best I could do for now,” Marco said. He bent over and dug through his pack. Sitting up, he tossed something to Mel.
“Keep that on you at all times,” he said. He placed a fisherman’s knife on the table. “I have one for myself, as well.”
“You expect me to be cooking fish?” Mel asked, ripping hers open.
“It’s the only fixed-blade knife with a sheath I could find in the Sporting Goods department…well, except for a machete,” Marco said. “I also have a few pocket knives.” He dug some more, and laid a handful of Swiss army knives on the table. “Take one if you need one.”
“Guess that means I can have my knife back,” I said, pointing at his waist and wiggling my fingers. Marco smiled and began unbuckling his belt.
“I also have news,” he said. “Sam and I spoke for a bit once we were out of the store. The Governor has declared a statewide emergency, with a dusk-to-dawn curfew.”
“We were wondering why we weren’t seeing any headlights from the highway,” Mel said. She slid the sheath of her fillet knife into her boot and secured it to the side with the belt clip.
“So we have to wait until morning to leave?” I sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, taking one of the little pocket knives with me and ripping it open.
“We’ll get there, Rip. If the fuel filter holds up, we might be there by afternoon tomorrow,” Corey said.
“The longer it takes the worse it will get,” I said. We’d already been through too many delays, but they couldn’t be helped. Well, we hadn’t been forced to wait for our friend Josh to leave the university, but it had been the right thing to do.
“Sam told me that something called the Bay Bridge Tunnel is closed to all traffic, but the Bay Bridge is open for foot and vehicle traffic,” Marco said. “I assume you know what he means?”
“The bridge we’re about to go across is the Bay Bridge,” Corey said. “The Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel is down south of our hometown, at the edge of the peninsula. It connects the Eastern Shore to Virginia Beach.”
“He drove down to the CBBT?” I asked. “And all the way back up here?”
Marco shook his head and tossed my bushcrafting knife onto the bed next to me. “He said he was in Ocean City this morning and a police officer told him it was closed. He had planned to go home that way. Now he has to go around.”
“He was in Ocean City and you didn’t bring him back so I could talk to him? He could’ve told us what it’s like-” I started, but Marco held up a hand.
“There was no way for you to know if I was being forced to bring him here. We never set up a code word,” he said. “And the less people who meet Melanie, the better.”
“True dat,” Mel said. She had opened one of the pocket knives and was unfolding all of the little blades and tools.
“A code word is a good idea,” Corey said. “If something’s wrong, we’ll say…pumpernickel?”
I made a face. “Yeah, because that’s a word we can just slip into conversation. How about ‘milk and bread’? Like, I stepped out to get the milk and bread and found a friend.”
“Or I couldn’t find the milk and bread,” Mel suggested.
“That might be too long,” Marco said. “Let’s just say either milk, bread, or both. Will that work?” We all nodded, and he continued. “We also have to set a time limit for how long we’ll wait for each other if something’s wrong. We have three maps now, and you two already know the roads.” He pointed to Corey and I. “So I suggest giving Mel one of your maps, and if we’re separated we can keep going.”
“Alone?” Mel said, her eyebrows going up.
“If need be,” Marco said. “You know how to read a map?”
“Of course I know how to read a map,” Mel said. “I wasn’t always rich and pampered.”
“Could’ve fooled us,” I said, and that earned me a punch on the arm.
“If we get separated, we go back to the last point we were together, and we wait for one hour from the time we last saw each other,” Marco said.
“What if it’s not safe?” I said, rubbing my arm. I pulled my backpack to the edge of the bed and opened the top flap. My slimmed-down ICOE—In Case Of Emergency—booklet was sitting right on top. I flopped it in Mel’s lap.
“If it’s not safe, just keep moving,” Marco said. He had buckled his belt and clipped the fisherman’s knife onto it with a little snap.
Corey pointed at the knife. “Got one of those in your bag for me?”
“There were only two,” Marco said. “The selection of weapons there was…disappointing. They don’t even carry real baseball bats.” He tossed one of the pocket knives to Corey.
“You’re not getting mine,” Mel said. “No one wants to drag you off and rape you.”
“And if they do, you’ve got worse problems,” I said, grinning. “It would have to be Hodor’s mother or something.”
“What? You think a woman would have to be a giant to find all this sexy?” Corey asked, holding out his hands. “A lot of women like tall men.”
“Ew,” Mel said, waving her hand in front of her face as if she’d smelled something foul. “Don’t use that word when you’re talking about yourself. Nasty mental images. Nasty.”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Corey said, and Mel threw a pillow at him.
“How long do we wait?” Marco said, trying to get us to focus.
“One hour,” we droned. I caught Mel rolling her eyes.
“So we get up early, put the oil in the truck, and we’re on the road at first light,” Corey said, tossing the pillow back onto the bed.
“Why not just put it in now? Save time in the morning?” Mel said.
“In case someone knows how to hotwire it,” Corey said. “Why give them a truck full of fuel? It’ll only take a minute or two.”
Mel held up the ICOE book I’d given her. “I’ve been to y’all’s house a couple times, but I wasn’t paying attention. I remember the bridge but that’s about it. I plan on sticking to your asses like white on rice, but just in case…show me how we’re getting there.”
“It’s pretty simple,” I said. I took the booklet and opened it to the maps, then laid it down on the bed. Mel adjusted herself so she was laying across the bed on her stomach, and I traced out the route with my finger while she watched.
“Have you checked the snack machines on this floor?” Marco asked.
Corey nodded. “I checked all the floors. They’ve already been raided,” he said. “We can eat some pastries in the morning, but after that we’ll either need to get food or start on the emergency rations.”
&
nbsp; “It’s not like we have to have lunch,” I said. “We can just eat dinner when we get home. I just wish I’d been able to get some food for King. In all that mess, I completely forgot about it.”
“That’s what I was trying to say when you got body-slammed by those pill guys,” Mel said.
Marco looked at me sharply. “Body-slammed?”
“I’m fine,” I said, waving a hand. Then I thought about it. I’d probably be even sorer in the morning than when I woke up this evening. “But I am going to take some of that ibuprofen you got. Thank you for that, by the way.”
“Since we’re waiting until morning, I’m going to go work on the drink machine on this floor. It didn’t look like anyone’s been able to get into any of them,” Corey said. “Anyone coming?”
“I will,” Marco said. “I’m out of water.”
“I gave the rest of mine to King,” I said. Mel just raised her eyebrows and shook her head. She was out, too.
“Then we all are,” Corey said. “That bottle she used on your face was my last one.”
“Whether or not you guys get into it, our first stop in the morning needs to be a fast food place,” I said. “We’ll use the silcock keys and refill our water.”
“Since we’ve got the truck, once we put the canola oil in the tank we should fill those jugs too,” Corey said. ”We can rinse the oil out with pool water before we leave.” He pointed to the five-gallon bucket we’d been lugging around, now sitting inside the doorway to the bathroom full of chlorinated water from the hotel pool. We’d been using it to flush the toilet, wash our hands, and splash water on our faces to cool down.
“Let’s go do this,” Marco said, standing. “Then I need to wash up and get some sleep. What are the code words?”
When we answered, we sounded like bored children saying good morning to a teacher.
“Milk and bread,” we droned. He chuckled and followed Corey out.
Chapter 4
Tuesday, September 4th
Annapolis, Maryland
Traffic on Route 50 heading east came to a dead stop in the middle of the Severn River Bridge, about five miles out from the Bay Bridge. We’d left the shopping center’s parking lot as the very first rays of sunlight broke up the red night sky, after refilling our water from the outdoor spigot on the side of McDonald’s. I’d driven by Petsmart in the hope that I could sneak in and find some dog food, but both it and Staples looked untouched. I wasn’t willing to risk breaking the glass doors and getting caught in the daylight, so I’d just moved on with the thought that I’d be home by this evening.
I was driving, with Marco sitting in the passenger seat. Mel, Corey, and King were in the back, with the big roll-up door tied open partway up. We’d opened the back and been surprised to find two rolling dollies strapped to the walls, and an old, stained-up mattress and box set. Part of Haverty’s “delivery, setup, and removal” that hadn’t been disposed of yet.
I’d been elected to drive because I could produce a driver’s license that proved I lived on the Eastern Shore, and between Corey and I, anyone in a position of power would feel less threatened by me than by him. Marco had made the point that finding a foreigner who could be mistaken for middle-eastern “hiding” in the back of a box truck during a national emergency would be a bad thing, so he got the passenger seat. Mel had slipped a ring onto my left ring finger, giving me a wink before shutting the driver door and heading for her spot in the back. The diamond kept catching the light and distracting me as I drove, and I was sure I’d never even owned anything my entire life as expensive as what it must have cost.
“I guess we’re supposed to be engaged?” I had said to Marco, holding up the ring.
He had looked at it and frowned. “I’d be ashamed to give you something that small for our engagement. It’s a clever way for Mel to get a dig at me. Surely she has something bigger.”
“Small? It’s got to be a full carat,” I had said, holding up the slim silver band. It made me wonder who had ever proposed to Mel, and why she still had his ring. She usually changed all of her jewelry out daily, and I’d long ago stopped paying attention to all of her shiny, glittery things.
“Like I said, small,” Marco had said with disdain. “If given the choice, yours would be at least two carats, with brilliant blue sapphires on either side. But you wouldn’t wear that, so it would sit in the jewelry box for special occasions. There’d be a simple white gold band with small diamonds and sapphires set flush into it that you could wear while working with your animals.”
Apparently he had given this some thought.
That had shut me up.
We had worked our way through the backup, eventually squeezing down into the left lane, until we were just a few hundred feet from the last exit before the Bay Bridge. For most of the past mile, the shoulder had been littered with abandoned cars; having probably run out of gas while sitting in the backup. All of them had clearly been broken into; windows were busted, trunks were open, and belongings were strewn onto the road next to them. One was even missing a tire. Now we were idling next to a shopping plaza, and if I hadn’t been wanting every mile possible out of our blended fuel, I’d have rolled up the windows and turned on the A/C just to discourage people from coming up to the truck. As it was, Marco rolled his window until it was nearly closed, and made sure his door was locked.
The parking lot was packed. The side road that gave access to the stores from the highway was lined on both sides with parked cars and trucks. People sat on their vehicles, fanning themselves in the hot sun, while others stood along the highway, thumbs held out. They’d approach vehicles sitting in the backup, knocking on windows and trying to convince drivers to give them a ride across the bridge. All of the stores sported busted windows and shattered doors, and people walked freely in and out of them, looking for anything of value. In my side mirrors, I saw one of the men on the side of the road walk towards the back of the truck, and after a moment I heard King explode in a fit of vicious, loud barking that sent the man running full-tilt back to the shoulder. I heard the rolling door move, but I couldn’t tell if Corey was closing it to keep people away, or opening it wider so they could get a good look at who they’d have to deal with if they tried to slip into the back.
“That’s my boy,” I said. “What do I feed my dog? Stowaways.”
“We need to get him more treats,” Marco said, looking into the side mirror with a smirk.
Groups of people were walking on both sides of the road. Heading west, they were walking along the guard rail in the median, as if they’d been herded there and were afraid to cross to the shoulder. On our side, they walked in the closed-off right lane, headed towards the bridge. There were families, couples, groups of teenagers, and people walking alone. It looked like the number of people walking had increased more than tenfold since yesterday. The lack of gas was taking its toll.
A female officer was walking along the line of cars, stopping at each driver’s window. Slightly behind her in the right lane, another officer rolled along on a police motorcycle, keeping watch. After talking to the driver in front of me for a minute, she waved to the officer on the motorcycle. He put down the kickstand on his bike and started moving traffic cones next to the car and waving at the walkers to stop.
The female officer came up to my door but kept her distance, looking the truck over.
“Mornin’, ma’am. My name’s Officer Decker. Would you mind opening the door so I can see inside?” she said.
“You’re searching vehicles?” I asked, not taking my hands from the steering wheel.
“Not here, ma’am. I’d just like to see that there aren’t any weapons pointed at me, since I can’t see into the vehicle from here.”
The bottom of the window was about even with the brim of her hat, so I could give her that. I opened the door, and she quickly glanced inside and nodded. In front of us, the car she’d just left pulled into the right lane and started driving past the backup. Walkers hugged the shoulder
to get out of its way. The motorcycle officer replaced the cones and let the people who had gathered next to us continue walking.
“Ma’am, you’re approaching a security checkpoint. In an effort to alleviate traffic and wait time, I’d like to ask your permission to look at your fuel gauge,” Officer Decker said.
I blinked. “Why?”
“We’re only allowing vehicles to cross the bridge if they have enough fuel to get across,” she said, adjusting her hat and scanning the line behind us. “If you don’t have enough fuel, there’s no use in you proceeding to the security checkpoint.”
“And if we say no?” Marco said.
“If you deny me permission, I’ll have to ask you to leave this line by moving into the right lane and continuing to the next exit, where you will be re-routed back along this access road,” she pointed towards the plaza. “Once there, you can continue on your way via another route.”
The car that had been in front of me was out of sight now, having driven around a bend in the highway. I suspected I’d see it in a few minutes, creeping down the side road, navigating through the people. I didn’t want to be in that position, and being that this was the only way to get across the Bay unless I drove up around Baltimore, I really didn’t have any choice. I had nothing to hide, but it was the point of the thing.