Solar Plexus

by Victor Zugg

  Her mind wandered as she thought about her parents and how they were doing, to the life she left behind in Orlando, and to her two traveling companions. Sam and Chet seemed decent enough, unlike other men in her life. But it was probably too early to form that kind of conclusion. All the men in her life pretty much turned out to be assholes, eventually. Lately, she had started thinking maybe it was her. Maybe in each of her relationships, she did something to bring out their faults. All the men she had known started out nice, almost overly accommodating. But as soon as the relationship moved to the sexual stage, they changed. They became possessive, clingy, and had to know Tiff’s every move. When she resisted, things got ugly and then she left. Because the scenario had repeated so many times she decided to take a break. That’s where she had been for the last six months or so, on a break from men. That’s why lately she spent her nights alone. She didn’t have to worry about Sam and Chet in that regard. While they were both handsome enough, physically in good shape, and had many of the qualities Tiff admired, they were both too old. So far they had treated her with respect, as an equal, and had done nothing to make her think they were assholes in disguise. If they remained as they seemed, they could be friends, close friends, brothers in arms. She hoped they were as they appeared because she could use some close friends on this trip.

  It was still early evening when she first heard the voices, two male voices. They came from the street in front of the station. She could not understand what they were saying, but they were getting closer. Tiff got up, walked to the front, and cracked the door just a hair so she could hear better.

  “Anything is better than being out in this rain,” Tiff heard one voice say.

  The other man responded with a younger voice, “The gate is right over here.”

  Tiff was thinking late forties and maybe early twenties when she heard the rattle of the chain and the chain link gate.

  “This thing is not even locked,” the younger man said.

  Tiff heard the sound of chain sliding against metal and then heard the gate swing open. Being as quiet as possible she closed the front door and made her way toward Sam. She was able to find him in the dark by following the soft snoring coming from that side of the service bay. She gently poked his shoulder. Tiff heard the rustle of the sleeping bag as he moved. “There are two men outside,” she said, barely audible.

  “Where?” Sam whispered as he rolled to his hands and knees and then got to his feet.

  “They are through the gate probably heading for the front door.”

  Sam took two steps in that direction and froze at the sound of the door opening.

  “This place is wide open,” the younger man said.

  “There could be people in here,” the older man said in a lower voice.

  Tiff heard the distinctive sound made when a pistol leaves a Kydex holster followed by two pairs of footsteps heading in Sam and Tiff’s direction. She also heard the soft rustle of wet clothes. Tiff felt Sam’s fingers on her side and then on her shoulder. He gently pressed down as he crouched beside her. Tiff lowered to one knee beside him keeping one hand on her holstered pistol.

  “Can’t see shit in here,” the older man said.

  “At least it’s not wet,” the younger man responded.

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to sit in a puddle of grease.”

  “Good point, the parts room should be cleaner.”

  Tiff heard both men pivot and then footsteps moved away.

  “Freeze,” Sam yelled, as he stood up.

  Tiff leaped with a startle at the sudden noise, glad the pitch blackness hid her reaction. She sensed that Sam had quietly drawn his weapon and had it pointed at the sound of the men’s voices.

  Almost instantly the deafening roar of a round going off broke the silence. A bright orange flash in front of the two men lit them up for a split second. Just as Tiff thought, one of them was older and the other was younger.

  Not wanting to be where the two men last saw them with the flash, Tiff immediately jumped to her right. Tiff heard Sam do the same to his left.

  “Cease firing,” Sam yelled, “we’re in here to get out of the rain, just like you.”

  “We won’t fire if you don’t,” the older man said.

  “Deal,” Sam replied.

  At that moment a flame pierced the darkness and Tiff saw Chet with a lighter in one hand and his Glock in the other standing behind the men. He pointed the Glock at their backs. The older man glanced over his shoulder and then lowered his pistol, a small revolver. Sam rushed forward and took the man’s revolver from his hand while Tiff hung back with her XDs pointed in their direction.

  Sam shook the revolver in the older man’s face. “What the hell, man!”

  “You scared the shit out of me,” the man said. “The gun went off by accident.”

  Chet pushed both men forward with the barrel of his Glock, “Anybody ever teach you to keep your finger off the trigger.”

  “Yeah, but—” the man started.

  “But nothing,” Chet cut him off. Chet kept the lighter going so they could see.

  “Okay, okay, nobody was hurt,” Sam said, looking back toward Tiff, “Tiff, you okay?

  Tiff stepped closer to the group while keeping her 9mm pointed at the men. “I’m fine.”

  With the barrel of his Glock, Chet pushed the older man again. “Start talking.”

  The older man glanced back at Chet and then faced Sam and Tiff. “I’m Frank Simmons; this is my son, Tim. We live about three miles down the road.”

  Chet lowered his pistol. “So why are you here?”

  “The power was out this morning at the house and not even the cars would work. So we walked into town. That’s when we found out about the solar storm. The mayor had a meeting, and we stayed for that. We started walking back home a while ago when the rain stopped, but then it started again. So we ducked in here. This property is owned by Ed Jenkins, a friend of mine.”

  Tiff saw Sam look at Chet and nod. Chet holstered his Glock and stepped in front of the men and faced Sam. “Now what?”

  Tiff stepped up to the group. “Yeah, now what? It’s still raining.”

  Sam glanced out a window then faced Frank. “You guys are already wet. If you keep walking, you’ll be home in forty-five minutes.”

  Tim spoke up, “Sounds like a good idea Dad.”

  “I’ll need my gun back,” Frank said, looking at Sam.

  Sam released the revolver’s cylinder, dumped the six rounds in his hand, and handed the revolver, cylinder open, to Frank.

  Frank took the gun. “Ammo is going to be hard to come by around here.”

  Sam looked at the six rounds and then handed them to Frank.

  “Keep the gun unloaded until you’re down the road,” Chet said.

  Frank and Tim turned toward the door and took a step.

  In the dim light of the lighter, Sam pointed in the direction of town. “What’s it like in town, how are the people reacting?”

  Frank and Tim stopped and turned. “The mayor and Chief Michaels are trying to hold it together, but the people are worried, real worried. Micanopy is a small town, everybody knows everybody. For now, we’re working together, but I expect that to change when the food runs out.”

  Chet holstered his Glock. “Does anyone have a working vehicle?”

  Frank turned to face Chet. “The Chief has an old Ford pickup that still runs.”

  “Any word on what’s happening in Gainesville, especially on the west side out by the interstate?” Tiff asked.

  “That’s a good fifteen miles up,” Frank said, as he turned to Tiff, “nobody has come through from there.”

  Sam stuck out his hand and approached Frank. “Sorry for the rough greeting, but we have to be careful.”

  Frank shook his hand. “We all do; no harm done.”

  Sam shook Tim’s hand and then Frank and Tim walked out of the station with a final wave.

  As they passed through the gate and closed it behind t
hem, Sam turned to Tiff. “Nice heads up, thanks.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  Sam nodded to Chet, “Thought you were a heavy sleeper.”

  Chet clicked the lighter off. “Not when a cannon goes off.”

  Sam turned and headed toward his sleeping bag. “We might as well resume our positions.”

  Chet headed back to the parts room.

  Tiff stepped back into the customer area and returned to her spot against the counter. She was glad it wasn’t her turn to sleep. Adrenalin still pumped. She thought back to the sequence of events and realized things could have gone much differently. She liked the way Sam and Chet handled the situation. Most would have returned fire, simply blasted away in the dark. That would have resulted in at least two innocent deaths in this case. Tiff was all about surviving and defending one’s self, but, like Sam and Chet apparently, preferred to take the easy way out when possible. Sam and Chet were growing on her, and she was beginning to feel more and more comfortable in their presence.

  ***

  Tiff awoke at daybreak, heard shuffling, and slowly opened her eyes. She focused on Sam over by the buggy tying his backpack to the two-by-four top. He was dressed in the same clothes as the day before. She didn’t make a move to get up. “Did anyone bring coffee?”

  Sam glanced over at Tiff. “Not me, I don’t drink the stuff. Chet might have brought some.”

  Chet suddenly appeared in the service bay doorway. “Sorry, I didn’t want to take up space with non-essentials,” he quipped.

  Tiff grumbled as she rolled to her feet still dressed in her shorts, sports top, and button-down shirt from the day before, including boots. “Fine, no coffee then,” she said, as she headed for the station front door, “I’ll be in the trees out back for a bit, don’t leave without me.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it,” Chet said.

  “I have breakfast bars and water when you return; we should probably head out as soon as possible,” Sam said, as he moved around to the back of the buggy.

  Tiff walked out of the station, around back, and into the tree line. She found a bush that provided adequate concealment, unbuttoned her shorts, pulled them down, and squatted. She shook her head as she thought about where she was. No bathroom, no shower, no warm bed, no real cooking, and none of the organic food she preferred. To make matters worse, the world in the best of times had plenty of shitheads, but now, in this apocalypse, even otherwise normal people had an opportunity, an excuse, to act out their true nature. She contemplated how a simple cruise up the interstate with maybe a night in a nice hotel had become a battle for survival every inch of the way. She thought about whether she could have actually hiked all the way to Ohio dodging the dregs of society every step. And she thought about how life works in mysterious ways, how Sam and Chet happened by at the right time for her. Too late to save the deputy and the man in the Mustang back in Ocala, but just in time to save her from a terrible ordeal. Tiff glanced at the cloudless sky. She thought about what this day would bring.

  CHAPTER 5

  Chet stood outside by the open service bay overhead door as Sam backed the buggy through the opening with Tiff sitting in the back.

  Sam stopped the buggy about five feet back and looked down at the dash gauges. Gas topped off, good night’s sleep, for the most part, nice dinner—they’re prepared, Sam thought. With any luck, they’ll be in Tennessee in short order. At the moment, Sam had the most control possible over his little world, a world that included two other people. Sam was a what-if kind of guy. He constantly ran scenarios through his mind and came up with solutions to problems yet to surface—that might never surface. This little exercise of his was likely the consequences of a lifetime of dealing with security issues. The what ifs of every situation. What if the buggy gets a flat tire? What if someone is able to take the buggy? What if one of them gets seriously hurt? What if Tiff turns out to be a serial killer? The scenarios ran the gamut from plausible to ridiculous. Sam’s mind, which never really stopped until he fell asleep, tried to consider all the possibilities. Unless he was focused on a particular task, it was a game he played with himself. Consider the possibilities. That’s what he was doing when the overhead bay door slammed shut with a bang jolting him back to the there and then.

  Chet walked past the buggy and back to the gate. He opened it wide and waited for Sam to back out.

  Sam backed the buggy through the gate and onto the paved road. He shifted gears and waited for Chet.

  Chet closed the gate, reposition the chain and lock, and then jumped in the passenger seat.

  Sam let out on the clutch, accelerated through the underpass, and turned left onto the northbound ramp. Sam maneuvered around the one stalled car on the ramp and then sped up onto the interstate. Cars stalled in the middle of the highway were sparse; most were pulled over to the side. Sam kept the speedometer on fifty and cruised.

  “Once we get through Gainesville, it should be smooth sailing up to Lake City and then on to Valdosta,” Sam said.

  Tiff slid forward on her seat and placed her arms on the back of Sam and Chet’s seats. “Do you think people are starting to wake up to reality?”

  “If not today then certainly by tomorrow,” Chet replied. “The store shelves should be empty by today and some people will be without food and water.”

  Sam glanced back at Tiff. “There’s probably been looting already, existing gangs are getting organized, and new gangs are forming. People alone won’t have much of a chance for long.”

  Chet glanced back. “Yeah, and unfortunately we have to get through Atlanta right when people will be starting to realize the seriousness of their situation. This buggy will be considered prime real estate, more by the police than by the people.”

  Tiff looked at Sam. “Roadblocks?”

  “If I were the police chief of any of these towns, that’s what I would do,” Sam replied. “They know older vehicles will still run, they’ll want them, need them.”

  Tiff repositioned the rifle leaning against her leg and the seat. “We’ll need to find a less urban route around Atlanta for sure.”

  “That’s a fact jack,” Chet cracked, as he winked at Tiff.

  ***

  Just past a rest area and a sign that read Gainesville next five exits, Sam slowed and pointed. “Speaking of roadblocks.”

  Chet and Tiff jerked their heads forward.

  About a mile or so down the road, at the top of an overpass with concrete guard rails, stood five men behind stalled vehicles that had been lined up to block the roadway. The same was true of the southbound side. There were ten men in total. Unfortunately, the crossroad did not have an exit or entrance onto the interstate.

  “Shit,” Chet spat, “can we go around?”

  Sam stepped on the gas and jerked the wheel to the right. “We sure as hell are not going through them,” he yelled.

  The buggy crossed the shoulder at high speed and continued into the grassy verge running alongside the interstate. Within seconds the buggy crashed through the chain link fence with ease and entered the tree line about fifty yards from the road. Sam immediately stomped the brake pedal, and the buggy slid to an almost complete stop. Sam glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Tiff grab the roll bar as the gear in the bed shifted hard. It was a miracle nothing spilled out. Sam stepped on the gas and whipped the wheel from side to side as he navigated around trees and palmetto bushes. Sam checked the mirror again. Tiff had both hands on the roll bar, her eyes wide, and her teeth clenched.

  Chet had one hand on his rifle and one on the roll bar. “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “Nope, but I plan to get there as fast as possible.”

  After only a few seconds in the brush, the buggy bolted from the trees and roared up an embankment onto a two-lane tree-lined road that paralleled the interstate. Sam whipped the wheel to the left and punched the gas. The tires screeched as they caught traction on the asphalt. Luckily there were no stalled vehicles on this road and Sam was able to ac
celerate to full speed. The buggy shot down the road passing a large parking lot and the Florida Farm Bureau building on the left. The intersection of the road leading to the overpass came up quickly. Sam glanced to his left, through a gas station on the corner, and saw five men, one wearing a uniform, running toward the intersection with rifles leveled at the buggy. Sam zigged around two stalled cars in the intersection as shots rang out. Sam heard the loud ping of a bullet hitting the roll bar next to his head. Another bullet buzzed invisibly through the cockpit in front of Sam and Chet. Sam stomped the gas pedal to the floor and steered the buggy straight through the intersection. The single lane became three lanes after the intersection. A sign read 121 North.

  Sam looked side-to-side trying to get his bearings. “Anyone know where this road goes?”

  Chet looked back at the sun. “I think we’re headed due north which would be veering away from the interstate and straight into west Gainesville.”

  Tiff slid to the edge of her seat and stuck her head between Sam and Chet. “Not good, gentlemen, not good.” Her voice was even but tense.

  Sam checked his rearview mirror. “Jalopy coming up fast.”

  Tiff and Chet looked back to see an old Chevy about two blocks back but closing.

  Chet brought his rifle up from the floor, swiveled in his seat, and pointed the barrel toward the Chevy.

  Tiff pushed the barrel up with two fingers until it pointed at the two-by-four roof. “In the interest of preserving my hearing, let me take care of this.”

  Tiff brought her rifle up, swiveled in her seat, and took aim at the approaching car.

  In the mirror, Sam could see the man in the Chevy’s passenger seat leaning out of the window and pointing a rifle.

  “Anytime!” Chet said.

  Tiff squeezed off five rounds in rapid succession. Sam had one eye on the mirror and one on the road ahead. Two of Tiff’s rounds hit in the middle of the Chevy’s windshield. The car kept coming. The passenger, still hanging out of the window, fired multiple rounds as fast as he could pull the trigger. None hit the buggy. Tiff fired three more shots.