Sol Survivors

by Benton, Ken

  But only for a second. These people scurrying about the lot he could sympathize with. Many had a scared look in their eyes. Scared of not knowing what the day will bring. Scared of not being able to get to loved ones, or even being able to communicate with them. Scared that the produce they clutched may be the last nutrition they would consume for who knows how long. Scared that the only way of life they’d ever known, and were completely dependent on, had suddenly vanished and left no instructions behind.

  The U-Haul gang, and those like them, drew a sharp contrast. When the general population panicked, they saw opportunity for profit. It was true that at some level Joel related to them, as he was also a trader of sorts. He couldn’t condemn anyone for hustling without condemning himself. But Joel paid for his inventory. These guys were hijackers. God knows what happened to the Sparkletts driver and the owner of the propane store they likely acquired their supplies from. Joel saw little difference between the U-Haul gang and the highway bandits rotting in the morning sun up on the mountain summit.

  The U-Haul gang now nourished an intense hatred of Joel. In this way they had come to differ from last night’s bandits, who were only conducting business and held nothing personal against their victims. Hatred made the U-Haul gang much more of a hazard, because they would go out of their way to target Joel’s party at the remotest opportunity. The pride game of displaying weapons to each other was over. The next time such an occasion arose, those weapons would be used. Hopefully, the hatred factor would sabotage their tactical reasoning and put them at a distinct disadvantage should it occur. Joel hoped he could avoid being ensnared by it himself.

  “What happened?” Archer asked Joel on his return. By the resulting quizzical looks on the girl’s faces, Joel surmised Archer hadn’t said anything to them about the cause of his delay. Or else he really hadn’t figured it out. Either way, good.

  “They are actually drawing out diesel fuel with the pump now,” Joel said.

  “Great. Are we getting any?”

  Joel shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not right away, anyway, and not without a considerable lobbying effort.”

  “You’re a salesman,” Archer said. “Can’t you work some golden-tongue magic?”

  “I’m afraid it will take more than smooth talking, and probably too many hours of it. And I don’t feel much like being a salesman today.”

  “Oh.” Archer blinked from the sunshine rapidly, acting abnormally disturbed by it. “How far do we have to go?”

  “Four hundred miles.”

  “Can we make it on what we have?”

  “Yeah,” Joel said. “We’ll make it. Barely.” He began looking around to make sure none of the U-Haul gang had found them. “But we need to get going.”

  “The girls want to drive my truck and follow,” Archer said. “So I’ll be your passenger for a while, if that’s all right.”

  Joel eyed Jessie. She stood stiff and didn’t hold her gaze at him long, glancing up at the sun as if she were annoyed with it as well. Debra smiled politely and raised her eyebrows awaiting instructions.

  “Debra’s driving?” Joel asked.

  “Yes. She’s a good driver.”

  “That I don’t doubt. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Mick and Jill came walking back much slower than everyone rushing past them. Mick carried a produce box, as did many of the others. Sammy could see something that looked like a head of cabbage above the rim of the box.

  Sammy had briefly entertained the notion of ditching them while they were away. If it wasn’t for the fact Jill was pregnant, sickly, and being dropped off at a nearby doctor’s office in town this morning…

  No, that was just one of those evil thoughts Sammy struggled with at times. He made a deal with Mick, and would honor it, of course. Mick was a standup guy, and decent company. Heck, he worked for the Supreme Court of the United States of America. Bailing on him after taking his gas would be criminal.

  Mick must have decided he could trust Sammy, too, although Sammy did detect a slight look of relief on his face upon seeing him still here when they returned. No doubt he realized Sammy wasn’t thrilled with the hitchhiker—especially with how chummy she’d quickly become with Mick, to the point of even cuddling with him in the passenger’s seat as they slept. Then again it wasn’t like they had room for any other arrangement, with the back seat of the double-cab being packed full of clothes and supplies.

  How they ended up stopping at the crowded Pilot Flying J truck stop for the remainder of the night was an interesting escapade. But then, so was the entire day yesterday. Parts of it were highly regrettable. Other parts one could only be thankful for.

  The road was an absolute nightmare the whole way. It didn’t help that they’d gotten such a late start, going back to both Mick and Sammy’s homes first to pack after abandoning the car lot to its fate. Night fell before they even reached Interstate 81, and by that time they’d acquired the hitchhiker. Ultimately it was Sammy’s own fault, as the decision to let her in had been his. He partly said yes because of the debate with Mick, him being so hardnosed acting as if everything in life were an easy cut-and-dried decision. Sammy expected him to have a strict “no-riders” policy. But even Mick hesitated when a damsel in distress appealed for help in a genuinely sweet voice.

  She probably could have made it here almost as fast had she kept walking. Traffic didn’t ease until the last few miles, but promptly jammed again at the truck stop. By then it was pretty late. Other travelers were pulling into the parking lot for the night. Sammy was tired. The truck stop offered certain attractive amenities. The girl had a doctor’s appointment in town a few miles away in the morning, which was her sole purpose for being on the road. The reasons for joining the overnighters and getting some sleep stacked up in a hurry.

  Knowing they’d soon be rid of the girl was Sammy’s only pleasant thought this morning. Heck, if Mick was in love and wanted to stay with her that would be fine, too. But he probably wasn’t that big a fool.

  The real problem, for everyone, was gasoline. Heavy stop and go traffic is murder on the tank. Good thing Mick had two full gas cans to bring along, strapped in the bed and hidden under old blankets. They would need them now, along with better traffic conditions, to make it.

  Perhaps the best thing to do was simply camp out in this place until preferable road conditions appeared. It was safe, there were restrooms—dark but the plumbing worked—and, apparently, there was food.

  “Three trucks are giving away produce on the far side of the lot,” Mick said when they arrived. “So we grabbed some. And they rigged a contraption to start pumping fuel here.”

  “Unleaded?” Sammy asked.

  Mick shook his head. “I asked around. People say they are only doing diesel for now, and it is extremely slow going. You think we have enough gas to get to your boss’s place?”

  “If the highway is clear, yes.”

  “They say it is.” Mick pointed southward. “At least, before all these cars get back on the road.”

  Sammy looked around the lot. Jill hung on Mick’s free arm, the tips of her straight blonde hair dangling at his wrist, as if they were a consummated couple. Sammy involuntarily chuckled. They reminded him of those instant couples on the awful “dating in paradise” TV shows his stupid roommate liked to watch.

  “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Sammy said. “Doesn’t look like many are in a hurry to leave. And we are closer to the onramp than most if a mass exodus starts.”

  Mick checked his watch. “The doctor’s office doesn’t open for another 45 minutes, if you want to grab a shower, Sammy. I went in and cleaned myself up already.”

  “That actually sounds great.”

  A horn beeped behind Sammy’s mini-truck. He turned to see a man with a full beard standing halfway out of a car behind it.

  “This yours?” the man waved at Sammy.

  Sammy walked over to him.

  “Can you move it?” the man asked. “N
eed to get out.”

  Sammy moved his truck enough for that car to get by, but others in the jammed lot were definitely trapped in place until surrounding vehicles left. Sammy rummaged around the back seat to find a flashlight, some soap, and a towel while he was there.

  “Your mass exodus could spark any time,” Mick said after his reemergence. “You should probably leave me the keys while you shower, in case we need to move it for any others.”

  Sammy stared at him in response.

  Mick didn’t smile.

  Sammy took his keys out of his pocket, looked down at them, and then back up at Mick.

  Mick shuffled about impatiently, and eventually held out his hand.

  Sammy looked at his keys again, then at Mick’s outstretched hand. Slowly, he raised them until they dangled close to Mick’s grasp.

  With a slightly annoyed expression, Mick reached for them.

  Sammy pulled them back, threw the towel over his shoulder, and began walking off.

  “Sorry, Mick. You’re a nice guy, with good credentials and all, but I have known you less than 24 hours.”

  “Now you’re finally being decisive,” Mick called after him.

  Showering by flashlight at a truck stop didn’t take long. Within half an hour the three of them were out on the highway where they found refreshingly light traffic the short distance into Harrisonburg. Jill gave directions to the doctor’s office from a note on pink and blue paper. They arrived to find it was indeed open, with the lights on inside.

  Sammy was curious to see what kind of goodbye would take place between the lovebirds. But Jill didn’t linger after Sammy stopped in front of the building. A simple, “Thanks guys,” followed by a jump out the door undoubtedly surprised Mick as well. He appeared poised to call after her, but the speed of her departure and the fact she never even turned to wave before entering the facility left him speechless.

  “You know what they say about summer romances,” Sammy said with joyful jesting as he put the truck back in gear.

  “No, I don’t.” Mick’s tone betrayed confusion. “And it’s not summer.”

  “Close enough, as warm as the sun feels this morning.”

  “I think it was really bothering her,” Mick said, “to be honest. She kept hanging on me and pushing her head into my chest. At first I took it for craving affection, but then I realized she was trying to stay out of the sunlight. May have been making her nauseous.”

  As Sammy left the parking lot, he read the sign with the name of the medical building out loud. Something about it struck a chord. He repeated it, louder and slower.

  “Yeah?” Mick said. “So what?”

  “I’m fairly certain this is an abortion clinic.”

  * * *

  Clyde watched the atypical wide strides of Roller’s return and knew he’d found his quarry. Usually, it took prodding with a hot poker to get any of his jokers to move faster than molasses.

  Well, except for Red. Red would move when he was told to, until the damn dog bite at least. His hand injury was beginning to hinder the operation. For one thing, it made him too easily identifiable. Might have been what caused the whole problem today. So, Clyde finally let him go search for some kind of first aid help while Roller went to find the asshole.

  The episode was getting a little weird, though. And the asshole was armed. Probably knew how to shoot, too, like all the white collar types who go to the ranges to play out their urban fantasies. Clyde wouldn’t mind killing him, to be sure—but not if the risk was too high, as it was here, and not unless a substantial reward stood to be had. Getting him on a backroad or in a mountain pass, yesterday’s plan, was much more doable. Now that they’d reached the Shenandoah Valley, the asshole would surely escape on the interstate in one direction or the other, and there weren’t going to be many opportunities on I-81 that were worth the risk.

  Clyde also knew Roller wouldn’t care about the risk. Roller was a good asset, despite his short fuse and obsessive personality. He proved himself especially useful for product acquisition, being fearless and lucky. That was a good combo. Clyde would rather lose either of the other two than him. But he also knew where he could get more guys for his crew if need be, not too far from here. Another bike wouldn’t be hard to pick up, either.

  “You found them?” Clyde asked while Roller was yet ten yards away.

  “Damn right I did. They’re still together, both trucks, still loaded to the gills, and both chicks still on board.”

  At that moment Clyde realized Roller wanted to stay with the gang. Otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered mentioning the chicks, whom Roller knew were more of an interest to Clyde than anyone else.

  But Roller had his own priorities.

  “They just left,” Roller said pointing. “Headed south. So help me unload the bike.”

  “South is good,” Clyde replied. He followed Roller up the ramp.

  Inside the U-Haul, they moved produce boxes, water bottles, and the few remaining propane tanks out of the way. Within a few minutes, the bike stood on the concrete.

  “Roller, listen,” Clyde said. “We topped your tank up with some of the gas we traded for. You have a 150-mile range on this, more or less, which means you can’t get much farther than Roanoke and be able to come back for any distance. If you are going to try to take him out on the road, you should do it before he gets too far south of Roanoke. The valley narrows there as you get away from the city, so it’s a good spot.”

  “I’ll take him anywhere I see him,” Roller growled.

  Clyde frowned. “There’s a lot of army on this stretch of interstate. And he has that rifle he likes to show off, remember.”

  “Won’t do him any good while he’s driving. Neither will his handgun. They’ll both be ours soon enough.”

  “All right, Roller. All right. So this is what you do. There are more truck stops between here and the state line than fleas on a bobcat. We’ll stop at all of them as we head south, for trading and such. Wherever you finish the job, stash whatever you can nearby and then just go back to the closest truck stop and wait there for us. We’ll be along sooner or later.”

  Roller bumped knuckles before kick-starting the bike.

  “Wait one second!” Clyde shouted, and ran back into the truck. Amazingly, Roller stayed put while Clyde brought out his helmet.

  “Wear this. They ain’t gonna be enforcing the helmet law or any such minor crap today, but it may keep him from recognizing you, since you didn’t wear it yesterday.”

  Roller complied, acting more annoyed at the time delay in putting it on than the hassle of wearing it.

  As soon as he sped away, Red came back.

  “Any luck?” Clyde asked him.

  “I talked to an army medic,” Red replied. “He says it’s infected and I need a course of antibiotics, or at least a shot of penicillin. He couldn’t give me any. Need to … stop at an emergency room.”

  Clyde cursed. “I don’t know if we have time for that.” He looked up. “Let’s get out of the sun.”

  “That’s another thing,” Red said. “The medic says a lot of people are complaining that the sun is making them feel sick this morning.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Joel picked up the walkie-talkie. “How are the girls doing?”

  “Girls good,” Debra’s voice came back. “But Jessie isn’t feeling great, so she’s trying to nap. How are the boys?”

  “Pretty much the same report here. Archer is listless, too. Guess it’s a good thing we’re driving.”

  “Hey,” Debra said. “Jessie’s cell phone isn’t in her purse. She wants to know if Archer can look for it.”

  Archer responded with a frown and began picking at the items around the seat.

  “Will do,” Joel replied. “Am I driving too fast for you?”

  “Impossible,” her voice said.

  Joel laughed and glanced at Archer. Yeah, good thing Debra was driving today. They needed to make time while they could.

  They’
d been on the road over an hour now. The scenery alternated between quiet small cities and delightful Shenandoah Valley farm plots. Stalled cars still dotted the landscape, but none blocked traffic.

  Travelers today were mostly content to hang out in packs. Joel managed to carve out a nice place to cruise between two of the packs. An occasional fast car, army vehicle, or motorcycle would pass by doing ninety. Some of the motorcycle riders wore fatigues and were probably reservists hurrying to report for duty under the declared state of emergency. The multiple military properties located along this stretch of highway included an army base and army reserve center. Knowing they were there helped one succumb to a feeling of relative safety. Joel felt his optimism rise as he put distance between his two-vehicle caravan and the overnight stop.

  The absence of big rigs on the road was also noticeable. At several additional truck stops Joel passed, all the commercial trucks appeared to be gathered in impromptu communities. Joel wondered if the same type of scene was playing out at these as at the Flying J in Harrisonburg.

  Probably. They were located close enough to each other for news to travel from stop to stop. If fuel was being pumped at one, they’d all soon know about it, and learn exactly how it was being done. Plenty of farms and off-grid homes in this area from which to secure hand-operated pumps. If worse came to worse, a traveler could decide to camp at a truck stop until they could get gas. They weren’t going to starve there, with all the food in all those big trailers, and plumbing was still working—at least for the time being.

  Joel suspected water would stop flowing from taps relying on public water works at some point in an extended blackout. He’d read discussions of it on survival forums. People claiming to work for county water districts posted explanations. At certain junctions in the underground water conduit systems, according to them, electric pumps were needed to keep it all moving from one basin to another. It would only be a matter of time before the gravity and pressure-fed local supplies in most city locations would be hit with air pockets, and then, no more tap water. Rigging a manual contraption to replace underground pumps of that size and capacity, to restore millions of gallons of running water, would simply not be an option. Electric power would need to come back in order to get plumbing back.