“I guess,” Storm replied. “But I don't think there's any need. I bet they'll collapse on the beds as soon as they get in the door. You won't get a chance to flip a coin.”
“I was thinking,” Darren said. “Weren’t you and Penny were an item before all this started?”
There was an intensity on Darren's face that made Storm uneasy about the feller all over again. Darren's eyes had the fixed under-a-furrowed-brow kind of look a gamer begins to walk around with after being engrossed in too many all-night battles. Like an actor on stage about to recite a soliloquy from Macbeth, but it did not fit Darren week.
“Yeah?” Storm replied. “So—what about it?” “Are you two still together?”
Storm laughed drily. “Why are you asking?”
“Well—because if you're not. I would sure as hell be interested.”
Storm took a breath. “You've seen her, right? She's a mess! This is not the time.”
He opened the door.
Darren finished stuck the spoon into the can he had finally opened and sat down at the table.
“Yeah, I—I know. But I've been thinking—she's hot. And you and I have gotten to know each. I thought I'd be polite and ask you first—beforehand.”
“Before what?”
“Dude, she is hot! You know what I mean.”
Storm stared at the smirk on Darren's face and realized he was not joking.
“You fuckwit!” Storm snapped. He took stepped outside and was about to slam the door behind him, but instead, he stepped back into the kitchen.
“What the hell's wrong with you, anyway?”
“Just asking,” Darren replied, and he closed his mouth on a spoonful of beans.
Storm almost collided with Michael as he walked with Penny down the path to the kitchen door.
Penny was resting her head on her father's chest as they walked. Her arm around his waist and his arm wrapped in protective fashion around her shoulders.
Storm reached out a hand to touch her arm and was surprised to see her pull away from him.
At the door, she broke from her father and stared back for a few seconds.
Storm saw her face was like a blank sheet, and both beautiful and alien. He might as well have just caught the attention of a total stranger.
Darren was watching too, through the open kitchen door. When he saw Storm notice him staring at Penny, he shrugged and returned his attention to the tin of beans in his hand.
Behind the farmhouse and over the fields, the highway vanished into the dusty glowing reddish-brown horizon. Storm could still make out the moving black dot. He stood on the path, following the progress of the Bushmaster until it disappeared into the haze.
The living room was too much comfort all at once. Not one of them had energy left to speak. They did not even have the kind of thoughts required that words be spoken.
Penny was curled up on the sofa. Michael sat quietly beside her, his hand on her head. Stella was barely able to focus on her surroundings, and yet she could not close her eyes even though she was sitting in a large and soft velvet-covered chair. Summer sat on the floor with her head resting against her mother's leg.
Matthew helped Aunty onto one of the large soft chairs and placed a cushion under her head. When she waved him away, he pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down.
Storm had slumped across the tabletop. He was using his forearm for a pillow. He hadn't moved for a long while, floating in a state somewhere between consciousness and sleep.
“Did you find anything useful in the shed?” Matthew asked.
“There's a truck,” Storm mumbled without lifting his head. “It's a Ford Ute. Too bad I couldn't find the keys to the cab.”
“Here,” Matthew said. He took a key attached to a grime covered plastic tag from his pocket and slid it across the tabletop. It stopped before Storm's nose. “I found it on a hook behind the kitchen door.”
“Congratulations,” Storm replied, not moving to pick it up.
“We can go into town and do a little shopping,” Matthew suggested.
He rubbed his arms. His muscles ached something wicked from the long hours of shifting rock. He would be happy enough if he could stay right where he was for the rest of the night.
“Good idea,” Storm mumbled into his shirt sleeve. “Let's talk about it tomorrow.”
55
Nothing but Memories
Storm brought the pickup to a halt before they drove onto the bridge. He wondered if the odds were in their favor. He wasn't a gambling man, but if he were, he sure as hell would consider laying money on a plank giving out under one of the truck wheels.
Matthew balanced himself on the sill of the passenger door with one hand resting on the roof of the cab.
“We're good to go!” he shouted through the open window.
“Are you sure about this?” Storm asked.
Darren was feeling even less certain. Storm had not spoken a word to him all morning. They were going to have to talk soon otherwise they were going to end up in real trouble. The short route to the town was over the bridge in front of them. The quakes had left the structure a mess. It did not look safe at all.
Matthew peered at the worried faces inside. “I know it looks bad, but it's solid. Believe me.”
Storm stared at the bizarre S-bend in the deck of the bridge. In some places, the metal supports were showing clear through the broken asphalt. The cracks were huge. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
“What choice do we have?” Matthew asked him.
Storm nodded his head slowly. “None at all,” he agreed.
“How about we try to cross the river without driving over the bridge,” Darren said. It was the second time that morning he had made the suggestion. He knew no one was listening, but he thought he should say it one more time anyway. If they just used their eyes, they'd see the mess of mud and stones below could support the truck with little trouble. It was far safer than crossing the bridge. The worst that could happen was the truck getting stuck. Better than falling from a great height.
“If we had enough diesel in the tank, we might eventually find a place to cross,” Matthew told him.
“But we haven't,” Storm said matter-of-factly.
“Creep us over nice and steady and we'll be fine,” Matthew told him. “I'll let you know when it's about to collapse.”
Storm glanced up and saw the wide grin on his friend's face. “You are a funny bastard,” he muttered. He steeled himself.
“Hey, Darren. You should walk behind,” Matthew advised, looking through the window at the unhappy third member of their party.
“Just in case, you mean?” Darren muttered. He gave Matthew a look of scorn.
“You can walk in front if you want,” Storm said with undisguised sarcasm.
“Okay, so let me out, dude,” Darren said to Matthew.
Matthew jumped to the ground. He had caught the tension between the two, but he had no idea what was about. And, it was better that way. Better to let whatever had happened between them blow over.
“Ready?” Storm called out.
Matthew leaped back on the sill and rapped the cab roof to give him the go-ahead.
Storm shifted through the gears and inched the truck forward.
The structure creaked and groaned. Loose bits of bridge splashed into the river, but by the time they reached the middle, all four wheels of the truck still had contact with the deck. The bridge was holding together.
They pulled into the first petrol station they saw. As Darren noted, no one would begrudge them a little gas. After all, exceptional circumstances called for advantageous tactics.
Darren's quip made Storm smile, although he wasn't sure why. He let go of the hostility he was holding on to and felt better for having done so.
They used a wheel brace to shatter the door of the kiosk, but it was wasted energy. The place had no electricity. They considered manually working the pump. But they had no idea how to do that. There
was nothing to do, but stand beside the useless bowser and crunch the potato chips and chug the energy drinks they stole from the vending machine.
“There'll be plenty of interstate trucks parked outside the motels, the other end of town,” Darren told them. “We can siphon fuel from the tanks.” The sugar in his bloodstream had given him such a rush it seemed the ideas flowed once more. He was on top of things.
“We oughta take any jerry cans we can find back to the farm,” he continued, keenly aware they were, at last, paying attention to what he had to say.
“Good idea,” Matthew said. “And we should look for a generator while we're here.”
“I saw one in the workshop,” Darren told him. “We'll find more before we leave town.”
“We only need two,” Storm told him.
“You never can tell when you might need a third,” Darren said punctuating his statement with a loud burp. “We need one as a functioning backup, and we need another for parts. They don't run forever.”
“I want to go to the airport,” Storm declared.
“Say again?” Matthew stared at him in surprise.
“I want to visit the airport,” Storm repeated.
“What for?” Matthew asked in surprise.
“To out a plane in the hangar,” Storm answered. “We will need a plane. There's a lot more to see when you are above the ground.”
“A plane needs special fuel doesn't it?” Matthew grumbled.
He knew they were going to the airport. He had known Storm only a short time, but he recognized the type of man. It would be impossible to change Storm’s mind once he had decided on a course of action.
“We had better get this over with quickly,” Darren told them. “We have a long list of supplies to hunt down and we got to do it before others get to them.”
“We haven't seen a sign of anyone else since we saw that burned-out truck,” Storm reminded him.
“If we survived, there are going to be others,” Darren said. “Stands to reason.”
From the outside, the only visible damage to the hangar they could see was a shattered window high on the corrugated iron wall. Nevertheless, Storm was disappointed when he saw the heavy padlock and chain securing the doors.
Darren was greatly cheered when he saw the building was locked tight. “That's it! Let's head back to town.”
Matthew tapped Storm on the shoulder and pointed to the Ute. “We have a nine-thousand-five-hundred-pound winch on the front of the truck.”
“Awl, yeah!” Storm exclaimed. “Why didn't I think of that?”
“Because you have me here to do that for you,” Matthew said grinning at Storm.
Darren immediately fell despondent. He had overlooked the winch. “The chain is strong,” he said. “But, the padlock isn't.”
He turned around for them to affirm his keen observation. But, Storm and Matthew were already standing by the truck. He watched as they fed out the steel cable and lay the chain inside the heavy metal hook.
It all worked as Matthew said it would. The winch cable snapped tight, and the padlock flew apart with a loud metallic crack.
Matthew pulled open the large metal doors. “Woo-hoo!” But then, he took a step back and waved his hand in front of his face. “Whew, that's a nasty smell!”
The acrid stench bit into Storm's throat and nostrils the moment he entered the hangar.
“The generators are at the back,” Storm called out, coughing into his shirtsleeve.
Light streamed through two large holes in the ceiling, illuminating the remains of a large tank that lay on its side. A thick yellow residue had sprayed up the wall and over the concrete. On the side of the exploded drum, they read the stenciled warning: Weed Killer!
Storm pulled the other door wide open. He waited for the noxious fumes to clear from inside the hangar before he examined the single-engine plane. He didn't need to go over the old Cessna Cardinal too closely. At a glance, he knew the aircraft needed the kind of attention it would now never receive. Three shafts of daylight from the three holes in the iron roof above their heads and the small blackened pockmarks in the concrete directly beneath the wing told Storm all he needed to know. He strolled around the machine, letting the tips of his fingers glide over the shiny painted surface. What a pity! The craft would have been serviceable if not for one massively damaged wing.
From the back of the hangar, Matthew hollered he had found a generator. He told them it wasn't going anywhere it was too big to move, and anyway, the fumes back there were overwhelming.
Storm ran his hands over the edge of a propeller blade. He watched Darren rummage through the equipment stacked along one wall.
Darren had lifted the corner of a long blue tarpaulin that covered a row of bulky objects. He let out a whistle of appreciation and bent down for a closer inspection. Then he glanced back at Storm. “What do you know about these?”
“Parasails,” Storm told him.
“Well, check them out!” Darren said. Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed a corner of the cover and pulled it across the concrete floor to reveal a row of shiny machines beneath. “These are full rigs. Engines and props and sails. We have the whole lot here.”
Storm was inside the cockpit of the plane, unable to resist one last time sitting behind the controls.
“Hey, Storm!” Darren called out. “Did you hear what I said? These aren't parasails. They are paramotors!”
After seeing the wrecked Cessna, all Storm wanted to do now was to head back into town. They could load up the truck with whatever supplies they found and set off back to the farm. He leaped down from the cockpit, and jamming his hands into his jean pockets, walked over to see what Darren had discovered.
“They flew them in the hills,” Storm told him. “There was a doctor from the hospital and the new dentist. I never got to know any of them. Ask Penny if she...”
“I will,” Darren replied. “You know what? We just have to take them all back with us.”
“All of them?” Storm asked in surprise. “Where do we put the supplies we need from the supermarket?”
“We've got to make room,” Darren replied as he looked over the equipment.
“Can you even fly one?” Storm asked.
“It's fairly basic,” Darren replied.
Storm snorted. “Bullshit!” “Seriously!” Darren said, squaring up to Storm.
“Even if you found a plane that flew—you need a safe place to land. That could be a problem with the quakes and meteorites. But with these, you can take off and land anywhere! You don't need a flat airstrip. These things are awesome, dude!”
Storm peered down at the chrome cage that housed the propeller. “I wouldn't like to be caught in a crosswind with that weight on my back,” he said.
“If you can pilot a plane, you can strap yourself into a paramotor and fly it. I've seen them do it on YouTube.”
Storm laughed. “You've never actually flown one, have you?”
“No, not yet,” Darren admitted. “But I'm willing to give it a try.” He wasn't going to let Storm dismiss the significance of his discovery. “Like you said—you can check out a lot more of the ground from up there.”
Storm shook his head. “I don't know...”
“Never look a gift horse in the mouth,” Darren said gazing up with a determined expression.
Storm got to his feet. The fumes inside the hangar made him nauseous. “Let's get them on the truck then.”
The supermarket had already been ransacked. The shelves once filled with plastic-wrapped blocks of plastic water bottles were empty. The long-life milk had been taken and most of the tinned goods were gone. They collected what provisions remained, cramming them onto the deck. Then, they set off to see how the rest of Coona had fared, stopping along the way to siphon diesel from any truck they saw.
“Let's check to see if your old man is home,” Matthew suggested to Storm.
Pete's street was on the outskirts of the town. It ran off what many called the ri
ng road. Storm did not linger inside the house once he realized the house was empty.
“Bloody fumes in that hangar were bad,” he mumbled rubbing his eyes when he climbed back into the cab. A return visit to the house had not been the best idea. But, at least he knew for sure Pete had never returned home. All Storm had brought back with him was a book. “A friend left it on the kitchen table for Dad.”
“Can I see?” Darren asked, and he lifted the book from Storm's open hands before Storm answered. He read the blurb on the back and turned it over.
“The Russian Revolution and the Unfinished 20th Century,” he read from the cover.
He was about to start telling Storm about that period in history when he saw that someone had written inside the front cover.
“Is your friend's name Alistair?”
“Yeah. Alistair—that's right.”
Darren stared at the message scribbled in thick blue ink. “Well—that's different. Look!”
Storm had turned around for one last look at the front of Pete's house as Matthew turned the truck. He had the silly thought that he might catch sight of Pete walking up the street.
He saw the soccer ball was still right where Summer had booted it. Wedged tight between the legs of the chair on the porch. Pete never did bother too much about keeping the front of the place tidy. The bent metal screen was always going to hang from its frame at the back door until the weeds enveloped it. Then he realized that would never happen. There wouldn't be time.
“Hey, Storm!” Darren called again.
“What?” Storm said, turning away from the window.
“This is odd.”
“What is?”
Darren had his finger below the scribble next to Alistair's name.
“A phone number,” Storm said, when he down at the open book in Darren's hands. “It's useless now, isn't it?”
“That's too short for a phone number, don't you think?”
“Are you asking or telling me?” Storm snapped. Darren was beginning to irritate the hell out of him all over again.
“Well, it can't be a phone number, can it? There are both letters and numbers. And anyway, there aren't enough numbers in it.”
Jubilee Year Page 28