They were moving quickly along 124 and heading toward the intersection with 73 and then onto Route 10 taking them toward Houston. The plan was to bypass it on the south, although that meant going through Baytown. Bella wasn't sure they'd be able to resist checking on their family home, though she suspected it would be nothing more than a fire-blackened ruin.
"Slow down a bit, congestion ahead," Al said.
Bella huffed as she put her foot on the brake. Her father made for an aggravating passenger though, in truth, she'd been lost in thought and hadn't noticed that the number of abandoned cars on the road was increasing as they approached the junction with 73.
She slowed the car to walking pace as she steered it through the gaps that had been made between vehicles. She thought she could see people moving among the wreckage, but the way became suddenly clear and she put her foot down.
With a double bang, the car rocked, then jumped about as if she was driving off road.
"Blowout!" called Al.
Bella brought the car to a halt and jumped out. As she spun around, she looked directly into the barrel of a shotgun.
"Well hello," said a drawling voice. "You seem to be having a problem with your car. Perhaps we can help."
She looked up into a smiling face and then at the spike strip that ran across the road.
Bella watched as Al, Jake and Maddie were hauled out of the car and held at gunpoint by the side of the road.
"Careful, he's ill!" she called as Jake hobbled into place, sagging against the side of a vehicle.
"This here's a toll road," the man who'd spoken first said. "So, how are you goin' to pay?"
"Why didn't you just ask?" Bella snapped, her anger burning through her fear. "Why did you have to shred our tires?"
"Well, little lady, we've found that folks ain't entirely inclined to be cooperative if they can just drive away. Know what I mean?" He was a tall man in his thirties with a filthy yellow beard and a tattoo of a skull on his cheek.
He grabbed Bella by the arm and marched her around to the back of the car. The trunk was open, and another bandit was rifling through their possessions.
"What's this here?" he said.
"My dad made it for siphoning fuel," Bella said.
Skulls lifted it up. "Old man, did you make this?" he called, nodding to the thug who was holding him.
Al was brought around to stand beside Bella. "I did," he said.
"How does it work?"
"I'd be happy to show you, if you'd tell us what you intend to do with us."
Skulls regarded the old man thoughtfully. "Well, see here mister, we ain't murderers, if that's what you're thinkin'. We're traders and if you've got something to sell, we're inclined to buy."
"We haven't got anything other than what's in that trunk," Al said.
"You know what they say, knowledge is power. Are you an engineer, by any chance?"
Al shrugged. "I dabble. I fixed up a wind turbine. That's how we found out about the new government."
Skulls laughed. "New government? There ain't no law out here, old man. No law but us and these." He waved his shotgun.
"Seems to me you boys are behind the times and that might just get you into trouble before long."
The shotgun swung around so that it was inches from Al's nose.
"I thought you said you weren't murderers," Al said.
"Dad!" Bella hissed.
For a moment, the gun remained still but then, quite suddenly, it whipped away. "Well, you got spunk, I'll give you that," Skulls said, laughing again. "Say, d'you reckon you could fix up some power for us. There's a turbine the other side of the car shop."
"Maybe I could," Al said. "We've got a job to do, seeing to my grandson. Once we've done that, we'll swing by and I'll give you boys a hand."
"I don't reckon so. How about you get that turbine goin' and then we let you go on your way? Seems like a fair trade."
Al shook his head. "No can do. The boy needs urgent medical care."
"And where are you gonna get that? All the hospitals are shut down, old man!"
"Lackland Air Force Base," Al said simply. "There's a military hospital there that's open for business."
Skulls processed this for a few moments. "I don't reckon you're a liar, old man."
"The name's Al."
"But I ain't heard of that base, so it can't be around here."
"San Antonio."
"No way! We let you go, and we'll never see you again. No, you can stay—you'd just better work fast."
Al looked across to Bella. She could see him processing. Despite all the laughter and assurances, Skulls was dangerous, but there was no way they could agree to stay here. They had a few days of antibiotics—barely enough to get them to the base before the infection took hold again. To stay would be to condemn Jake.
"Let them go in a new car, with all their stuff," Al said, looking directly into Skulls's eyes. "And I'll stay."
"No!" Bella shrieked.
But Skulls smiled, spat in his hand and held it out. "You got yourself a deal old man. You got yourself a deal."
Chapter 9
Snow began to fall as they crawled northwest on the Dwight D. Eisenhower Highway. To Solly's eyes, little had changed since he'd last been on the roads except that the vehicles had begun to blend into the landscape as the greens and browns of dirt and algae accumulated. He didn't look at the decaying remnants of the people inside—the only good thing about the snow falling was that it offered the prospect of hiding the contents of the cars and trucks.
Their first target was Breezewood, PA, which would give them access to the Interstate 76 and 70 to take them westward. It was only sixty miles or so away, but Solly was under no illusion that they'd be able to cover that quickly.
Neil was snoozing in the seat next to him and Ross was between them, his head in a book. Solly steered the pickup slowly around a car on its side, blackened paintwork testimony to a violent end. To make a path, he was forced to push the end of the ruined car and the shunt woke Neil up.
"Where are we?"
"I just saw a sign for Indian Springs," Solly said.
"So, how far have we gotten?"
Solly shrugged. "Not far."
Neil grunted in frustration.
"Look, if you want an accurate fix, why don't you ask Google?" Solly said.
"Very funny. It's like going back to the Stone Age." He pulled the map sheet out of the glove box and squinted at it. "Could do with going to an eye doctor. I reckon I need a new reading prescription. Maybe fifteen miles. How long has that taken?"
Solly shrugged. "Does it matter? I guess a couple of hours. It's been slow going. We're lucky we haven't had to go off road yet."
"Breezewood, 36 miles," Ross said, pointing at the green sign as they rounded the latest stricken vehicle. "Will we get there before dark?"
"Look, I'm going as fast as I can—we can't risk getting stuck or damaging the truck," Solly said.
Ross settled back and resumed his reading. "I was only asking."
Solly sighed. "What's the book?"
"The Fellowship of the Ring. You said we were traveling farther than Frodo, but I've been reading for ages and he hasn't gone anywhere yet. Just this inn in the neighboring village."
"I know how he feels," Solly responded as they crawled along the highway at barely more than walking pace.
They'd chosen Breezewood as their first stop off point because it had more than one gas station, so it offered the best chance of filling up the fuel cans in the bed of the truck.
The sky was darkening, and they'd been driving without lights, so they wouldn't be spotted, but it was now so gloomy they couldn't see far enough ahead. "Hey, what's that?" Solly asked.
A single lane had been cleared in the road, the lanes to either side were nose to tail with wreckage. At the end of the lane stood three men wrapped up against the cold who raised their weapons as the car was funneled toward them.
Solly wrapped his hand around his Ruger
as his heart raced.
Neil brought the truck to a halt and wound down the window.
A face wrapped in a scarf against the cold looked inside. "Where are you folks headed?"
"We were hoping to get some fuel," Neil said, "There's a Shell station somewhere here, isn't there?"
The scarf was pulled down to reveal the face of a man of Asian descent with a stubbly beard. "The fuel belongs to the people of Breezewood, friend, so unless you've got something to trade for it, you better head off along the interstate. We're well enough armed to protect ourselves."
Solly's eyes drifted involuntarily toward the weapon pointing at them. It was an old hunting rifle. "We've got an assault rifle you could have," he said. "In exchange for some diesel."
The man glanced around the inside of the van.
"It's hidden," Solly said. "If you'll agree to let us fill up our cans, we'll hand it over."
The guard disappeared and Solly watched as he sauntered off to where a fire burned in an old oil drum. Two others stood there and, as they talked, each of them looked across at the truck.
"Amateurs," Neil said. "Just a group of residents trying to protect the only resource this place has got. They're lucky they didn't run into the previous owners of this pickup."
The man came back to the window. "We're gonna let you in, and then we'll take a look at that rifle you're offering and see if we can do a deal. Park in Sheetz," he said, pointing over his shoulder. "And no funny business. D'you hear me?"
It was like being threatened by a puppy. A puppy with a loaded weapon. Neil thanked the man and watched as he lifted the makeshift barrier before driving slowly through it.
A welcoming committee awaited them as they got out of the truck, weaponless hands held high. The sky was now almost dark, but two construction lamps illuminated the parking lot. So, they had power.
Around a dozen people awaited them. Half had weapons pointed at the newcomers, and a black woman was the first to come forward. "We welcome you in peace," she said, holding out a hand. "My name is Hanna."
"A funny kind of peace that involves pointing guns at us," Solly responded, returning the handshake and giving his name.
She smiled and gestured around the forecourt. "We are peaceful, but not entirely naïve, Mr. Masters. We would not have survived these past weeks had we been so. George believes you are good folk, so we have admitted you. We mean you no harm, but if you wish us to share our fuel with you, then you must give us something we need in return."
Solly introduced the others and, while they were shaking hands went around to the back of the truck and rolled back the cover, taking care to move slowly and deliberately, aware that he was in the sights of several shooters.
He came out holding one of the weapons they'd taken from the former owners of the pickup.
"Here, this is what we have to offer," he said, removing the magazine and stepping forward.
"Carl, what d'you say?" Hanna said.
A nondescript man wearing a trimmed mustache lowered his weapon and stood beside her. He took the weapon from Solly and examined it.
"M16, standard issue. Good condition, bit of an antique. Military's been using carbines for years."
"Will it improve our ability to defend ourselves?" Hanna asked.
Carl nodded with thinly veiled enthusiasm. "Oh yeah, it sure will. As long as these fellas've got some rounds to go with it."
"Worth a dip in our pond?"
He looked from her to Solly and the others, weighing them up.
"Carl, we're doing a trade here, that is all—do you understand?" Hanna said, turning to face him. "It's a matter of deal or no deal, those are the only two options on the table."
His eyes swung back to Hanna and, for a moment, he seemed prepared to defy her, then he looked back at Solly and nodded. "Deal."
"Good, now you have four jerry cans to fill? So that's about twenty gallons. Well, the rifle and a full magazine buys you ten gallons, the other ten depends on how much more ammunition you have to sell, or anything else you want to trade. Now, it's too late to dispense the fuel tonight, so why don't you make yourselves at home? There's a Day's Inn right next door. The ground floor has been cleared, so feel free to settle in. You can sleep safely tonight."
They found a room that looked out onto the hotel parking lot and left the truck right outside the window.
Solly hoisted his pack onto the bed and sat down with a sigh. It had taken an entire day to cover the fifty miles to Breezewood. At this rate, it would take the best part of a year to get to Arbroath.
"Do you trust them?" Ross asked as he dropped his backpack on the floor and looked out the window. Flecks of snow appeared in the light of the candle set on the sill, but the only other movement came from the shadows walking across the communal fire at the roadblock.
"Hanna seems okay," Solly said, "but we can't take any chances, so one of us will have to keep an eye on the truck."
Neil was busying himself setting up the camping stove. "I wonder how she keeps everyone in line. That man who took the weapon—what was his name?"
"Carl," Ross said.
"Yeah, Carl. He's a troublemaker or I've never met one, but even he put up and shut up when she spoke."
The room filled with the aroma of baked beans and he busied himself chopping up some hot dog sausages before stirring them in.
"Here," he said as he handed a bowl to Solly. "Not exactly Gordon Ramsay, but it'll keep us full for the night."
They lit candles and Solly sank into the armchair while Ross and Neil sat on the pull-out couch. One of the silver linings to this cloud—insignificant though it might seem—was that he appreciated food far more than he'd ever done before. It had transformed from being either a necessary evil that interrupted work or an excuse for overindulgence into a basic requirement, the fuel that would get his body and mind through another day.
"You know what this needs?" he said as he spooned in another mouthful. "Some grated cheese. What I'd give right now for a block of parmesan."
"Sorry, Sol," Ross said, "I don't think the restaurant can stretch to that. Maybe we should look out for some on our travels."
They ate together in a silence only broken by the sounds men make when vigorously consuming food with no women around. The beans had been replaced on top of the stove by coffee grounds and Neil poured the dark liquid into each mug before handing it to them.
"You know what," Solly said. "If there's one thing I've learned from this nightmare, it's to appreciate brief moments of happiness. And I'm enjoying this. Here's to you both."
They touched mugs and slurped down their coffee.
"Can we have a story?" Ross said. "You know, a fireside tale? Something creepy."
Neil stifled a grim chuckle.
"What? Have you got a good one?"
"No, I was just thinking that we're living in a pretty creepy story right now," he replied, before pausing for a moment. "Well, I suppose I could tell you the tale of Annabel Lee."
"It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know,
By the name of Annabel Lee," Solly chanted.
"Edgar Allan Poe?" Neil said.
"The Stevie Nicks version."
"Well, sadly the real life Annabel Lee wasn't quite the angelic love bird of the poem, though she certainly took her name from it. Tell me, Ross, what do you know of her?"
Ross shrugged, though delighted to be asked. "I guess I know what everyone does. She was the genius who created the Bones implants. Saved millions of lives."
"Her face was on the cover of Time magazine more times than anyone in history," Solly said. "She was like Steve Jobs times ten. Most people saw her as a savior, others as a wolf in sheep's clothing—not everyone liked the idea of the implants."
Neil nodded. "I think she began with the best of intentions. She was born in India, you know. Her mother was Chinese and her father English, but she was educated
in the US as well as the UK, so she had a very global viewpoint. She was born Annabel Jones, but she took her mother's surname when her parents divorced as she blamed her father's infidelity for the break up. And it meant she had the same name as that Poe character—I think that influenced her more than most people imagine."
"Well, this is all fascinating, but where's the creepy story?" Ross asked.
Neil smiled, took a bottle from his pack and poured a little liquor into each mug before saluting them again. "Well, I won't bore you with the details of how she used her time in India to focus her innate genius on solving health problems. She met her future husband when she was studying for her doctorate at MIT."
"Scott Lee was brilliant in his own right," Solly said as Neil drew breath. "He's credited with developing some of the most advanced algorithms in the world. I've worked on projects that used them. Amazing."
Neil nodded. "Indeed, an underrated genius. But Annabel became the mast he tied himself to, so he poured his expertise into helping her realize her dream of self-diagnosing implants that could save lives both as emergency resuscitation devices and by providing early warning of diseases and conditions. Brilliant concept. And then the medical insurers got wind of what she was doing, and they became mandatory almost overnight."
"Don't I know it," Solly said. "When I started working at IncaTech the job offer was conditional on getting the implants—and on my wife and children having it. Paid for by the insurers, but I wasn't happy. Lots of people held out to begin with, but the premiums were so much lower, pretty much everyone got onboard in the end. And then, when I went to work at Taylor and Ritchie, we had to have this new upgraded Chinese model fitted."
Neil leaned in, as if the walls might have ears. "So, if you'd gone through all that, how would you feel if you got a disease that the Bones didn't pick up until it was too late? A disease that's typical of the poorer countries of the world where there's no commercial case for early diagnosis?"
"I'd be pretty cheesed off," Solly said.
Scattered: Book 2 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival series: (The Long Night - Book 2) Page 7