Sol Survivors

by Ken Benton

  But before Merv could thread the first needle, a new obstacle appeared: people.

  Naked people.

  A flock of naked joggers, both male and female, flooded the road on the bridge, coming from the south end. They streaked by, in and around the traffic, causing further congestion.

  Some had images of the sun painted on their belly.

  Park Hill Nursing & Rehab Center, Knoxville, TN, 11:43am

  The faculty members all froze in place when the lights went out. Several residents let out horrified shrieks. One, of course, was from Emma, but she was due for one of her normal horrified shrieks anyway.

  Bad memories. Lilly had been a new staff member when the last power outage occurred, five years ago. The consequential deaths of two critical-care patients brought much condemnation upon the facility. Lilly almost quit. She was glad now she didn’t. The incident resulted in positive improvements, including the installation of a backup generator. The only question was whether it would really work when needed. The entire staff stopped what they were doing and held their breath in an eternal moment.

  A sound like a jet engine provoked another scream from Emma. And then, all the lights came on. Machines in the critical-care ward began beeping to announce their recoveries.

  Cheers and smiles from the staff turned contagious. Some of the wheelchair-bound residents in the hallway shouted with glee. Celebration time. Lilly decided to get Emma an extra cup of peaches.

  But a saboteur infiltrated her mission. As Lilly passed the critical-care ward, an unfamiliar male voice shouting could not be ignored.

  Inside the room, Lilly’s eyes moved from bed to bed until they came to the last one she expected the calls to be originating from. But that bed proved to be the source.

  “Mr. … Callaway?” she asked, cautiously approaching.

  His eyes took a moment to focus on her.

  “Did the lights go out?” he asked.

  “Yes they did, but—”

  “It’s time, then,” Mr. Callaway said. “Thank God. Nurse, I need you to remove these tubes from me as soon as possible, and help me get circulation back in my legs.”

  Lilly stared in amazement before responding.

  “Mr. Callaway, you’ve been in a coma for more than seven years.”

  Amish Community in Holmes County, OH, 11:43am

  “Darn it!” Aaron said pulling the reigns tighter. “We always hit that bump.”

  Levi turned to check the buggy bed. The ten-gallon metal milk containers jostled some, but remained upright, and the hay beneath was still dry.

  “No spills,” Levi said. “We’ve got them strapped tight.”

  “Good,” Aaron replied. “David says they’re getting behind in mozzarella production, and need every drop we can bring.”

  Levi stuck a hay straw in his mouth. “Cows can only give so much.”

  “What was that?” Aaron said, sounding startled.

  “What was what?”

  “I thought I saw a flash in the sky or something.”

  “I didn’t see anything.”

  “Eh. Probably my eyes getting old.”

  The cheese barn came into view as they kept trotting forward.

  Chapter Five

  Debra tried not to be a backseat driver. She knew Archer hated it, always taking it as an affront to his manhood for some stupid reason, and the current state of affairs was stressful enough without getting into a fight. But he was lagging behind Joel, and if other vehicles got between them it might be difficult to reconnect. Twice so far Joel flagrantly slowed to wait for them, almost to the point of exaggerating the movements of his sporty old red truck. She couldn’t blame him for his impatience.

  “So, you met the Vice President?” Archer asked.

  “Yes,” Debra replied. “He’s super nice. Asked me about instrument calibration.”

  “Hmm.” Archer’s voice had that disapproving tone.

  “What?” Debra failed to hide a growing aggravation in her own.

  “Nothing. But he already had all the instrumentation explained to him.”

  “Maybe he wanted to hear it from a female point of few.”

  “Yeah, I bet he did.”

  Jealousy. Now. Seriously? Debra bit her tongue and decided to change the subject.

  “Joel sure seemed to appreciate your Faraday garage.”

  “Yes.” Archer nodded. “He is more knowledgeable than most … uneducated men. That’s a bit of a relief, since we’re going to have to live with him a while.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “I didn’t say that. I agreed to go stay with them, didn’t I? I’m impressed with him, is all I’m trying to say.”

  “That’s good, I guess. What about Jessie? Are you impressed with her? She’s even less … educated.”

  “Oh, I like her. She and I chatted while you were sucking up to politicians. People like her restore my faith in humanity.”

  “People like Jessie restore your faith in humanity?” Debra laughed. “And how, pray tell, does she do that?”

  “Oh, you know.” Archer slowed even more as he suddenly gained on Joel. “Just the way everyone was singing with the band. We were both moved by it. She told me even Joel was singing along. People united. No panic, no fear, just camaraderie. A lot of love was in the air. You could feel it.”

  “Until the power surge, you mean. Then you could feel the fear in the air. A couple of the musicians were hurt. One badly. I wouldn’t describe the manner in which everyone exited the observatory as completely panic-free, either. We’re lucky we weren’t hit walking that tiny shoulder back to your house.”

  “Yeah,” Archer conceded in a sad tone as he came to a near stop behind Joel.

  Debra was almost glad for the sudden line of traffic, as it kept the two vehicles together. But they hadn’t gotten very far yet—perhaps 25 miles on Highway 3. Joel decided to take a roundabout route using the farmland roads to reach Interstate 81 in order to avoid driving through Richmond, which he was concerned may be clogged with a large populace of stranded vehicles and desperate would-be motorists. He may well have been correct, but it was a trade-off. Country roads presented their own set of problems. That’s why it was best for the two-car caravan to stay tight.

  It wasn’t going to be fast traveling. Stalled vehicles of all types garnished the landscape, depositing an inordinate number of pedestrians on the road. As Joel predicted, it would probably only get worse. The sooner they made it to I-81 the better. Those walking along the roadside typically carried worrisome expressions. They looked you in the eye as you passed them the way a disciplined dog looks up at a dining room table, without much hope of being offered a scrap of meat. Some held small children.

  The line of traffic slowed further as they came to the town of Culpeper. A large truck three cars ahead of Joel blocked visibility. Joel moved to the opposing lane a couple of times, but always came right back. Traffic in the opposite direction was lighter—about a third of that heading southwest.

  A gas station appeared on the right and slowly moved into full view. Cars ominously claimed spaces next to and around all the pumps, with lines of additional vehicles stretched in creative patterns behind. No one pumped gas. One young man fooled with a nozzle as if thinking he could invent a way to make it start flowing. People stood talking in small groups, some near the closed door to the darkened mini-mart. No doubt a whole lot of people hoped the power outage would only be temporary, as they were used to.

  Debra knew better. And she didn’t like the near-future prospects of the mini-mart, especially if any products could still be seen on the shelves through the windows.

  Joel’s honking drew their attention. He frantically waved in a forward motion out his window, apparently seeing a chance to use the opposing lane.

  “Follow him!” Debra said.

  The opportunity turned out to be short-lived, and hazardous for someone refusing to stay tight on the leader. Joel swerved onto the opposing shoulder as traffic came at
them, and then off the road completely. Archer higgledy-piggledy followed, receiving an angry honk in the process. Debra managed to keep her mouth shut, though she put a death grip on the inside door handle. Archer stopped to Joel’s left on a well-worn patch of dirt adjacent to a crossroads.

  Debra rolled her window down. Joel poked his head outside to speak, loud enough for Archer to hear.

  “This is Highway 15. I want to get over to the 29. I think we can skirt this traffic by taking side roads across to it, a couple miles south of here.”

  “Lead the way!” Archer shouted back.

  Joel looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t. Jessie sat in a bored position, with her head on her hand and elbow on the windowsill, but got off a wave to Debra before Joel pulled away to make a left on Highway 15.

  It did prove to be easier going. They shortly left the highway for farm roads that alternated going through heavy woods and open fields. Only an occasional abandoned car lined the road here, with no pedestrians in sight.

  “I don’t know how he knows to take this route without a GPS,” Archer said as they went deep into a wooded section.

  “Maybe he consulted a good old fashion map,” Debra replied, hearing an unintended jesting tone in her own voice.

  Archer must have caught it, because he responded by making a clicking sound with his tongue. “Do you think this is going to be fun, like an ‘old fashioned’ camping trip?”

  “Fun?” She thought for a second. “No. Old fashioned? Yes. I just hope Interstate 81 is moving. The way things are going, it’ll be dark before we reach the state line. That must be Highway 29 ahead.”

  Joel’s truck slowed as their two vehicles cleared the last section of woods and drew close to the highway, which did not look busy. A farm stretched out for miles on their left, with pretty-painted houses and barns accentuating the fields. Staying somewhere like that might truly be fun. Debra didn’t hold much hope for Joel’s place to be anything more than a basic hunting cabin.

  Joel suddenly swerved as if to avoid debris in the road.

  Archer hit the brakes. The debris turned out to be tire treads, but a broken strip of wood with metal spikes protruding lay sideways among the blown treads. That was a darn good thing to avoid running over. Something about it gave Debra chills.

  The narrow stretch of field on their right led to a small gulley before the highway intersection. In that gulley, mostly hidden from Highway 29 by tall brush, the vehicle that lost its treads had come to a rest.

  “That’s a Sparkletts water truck!” Debra said. “Joel is pulling over—to take a closer look, I guess?”

  “Why the heck is he doing that?” Archer mumbled.

  They stopped behind Joel. Debra opened her door and stepped down onto the faded asphalt. Joel was already out, picking his steps carefully off the roadside towards the Sparkletts truck. Debra hurried to catch him, watching her footing. Additional pieces of tire and spiked wood formed a trail to the green behemoth.

  The Sparkletts truck appeared recently-demised. No rubber remained on the front right wheel, and the side cargo doors had all been rolled up.

  “Anyone here?” Joel shouted as she caught up to him.

  No answer, other than a few small birds scattering from the grass.

  “I don’t see any water bottles still on board,” Debra said.

  Joel smiled at her. “The water at my cabin is supplied by a deep well.”

  “With an electric pump?” she asked.

  “Excellent question. Yes, but I also have a manual.” Joel motioned towards Highway 29, not 500 yards beyond them. “Assuming we ever get there.”

  “Yeah.” Debra lowered her head. “I’m sorry we kept you.” Then she looked up. “But I’m grateful you waited.”

  Joel only nodded, but his brown eyes widened in an appreciative pose that communicated more than words. At that moment Debra realized he didn’t blame her or Archer. In fact, she became certain he actually preferred having more company for the journey. She wouldn’t bring the subject up again.

  They stepped their way back to the road. The two old trucks next to each other formed a natural duo to Debra’s view, with their nicely complimenting colors of red and black. Archer and Jessie stood casually chatting between them, and were the last ones back in their seats after Joel and Debra walked back to clear the road from the more hazardous pieces of debris.

  Joel drove slower once on the southbound 29. He must have given up on coaxing Archer to go faster than his natural pace. So the two of them stayed tighter now, like a real team. An irrational sense of peace settled on Debra. She decided to do a crossword puzzle. Fewer pedestrians hiked between the abandoned cars on this stretch, but they were bolder. Some tried to hitchhike. They could see there was no real room in either truck, though, when they passed.

  A crowd similar to the one at the gas station in Culpeper had gathered in the McDonalds parking lot in the town of Madison. A mile or so beyond, a group of opportunistic campers pitched tents and appeared to be making a campsite in a field next to a winery.

  “Great choice of location,” Debra said.

  “No grapes on the vines this time of year,” Archer replied.

  The next few miles were mostly barren.

  “What’s a six-letter word for a naval maneuver?” Debra asked.

  “Logjam,” Archer said. “Dang.”

  “No, it needs an ‘e’ near the end.” Debra looked up when she felt the brakes applied and saw he was referring to a traffic jam. Both lanes of both sides of the highway were blocked by a clog of vacant vehicles which included a toppled big rig that spanned the center median. Thick woods came right up against the northbound side of the highway here.

  The only possible way around was to the right. The driver of a white car in front of Joel must have come to the same conclusion, as he now drove off the highway onto a thin stretch of field, following fresh tire tracks of other vehicles which had obviously done the same.

  Joel waved outside his window and followed the adventurous white car. Archer grunted and did the same.

  Debra’s sense of peace left her. The three cars eventually went through a narrow opening between the trees ahead, and emerged to a clearing where a U-Haul truck, parked sideways in the dirt, seemed to block the way forward.

  Three men stood outside the U-Haul. On the ground next to them a multitude of cylindrical objects sat as if on display. One of the men held up a hand for the short line of cars to stop. He had wild red hair and bandages wrapped around his other hand, some of which dangled. All three men looked rough and hardened.

  “Are your firearms easily accessible?” Debra asked.

  “You can’t be serious,” Archer replied.

  “I’m very serious.” Debra turned to locate the rifle case on the floor of the extra cab.

  “See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Archer said.

  “What?”

  “Assuming the worst about people. And to take it so far as to arm yourself against everyone you meet. This is what’s wrong with the world. It’s what we need to stop doing if we’re going to help each other during a crisis.”

  “I don’t think these guys were singing along with the band, Archer.”

  * * *

  Joel opened his center console, carefully took out his Glock 9mm, and slid it under his thigh.

  “Joel!” Jessie said. “A gun? Seriously? Put that thing away.”

  Joel shot her a glance much sterner than he ever had before. It produced the intended startling effect, but failed to shut her up. At least she now talked in a low tone, mostly muttering to herself.

  “Honestly, guns. Acting as if everyone you come across is a criminal. People can’t live like that. It’s downright hostile.”

  The one with the big red hair spoke through the window to the driver of the white car in front. Another man approached Joel’s. This guy was considerably larger and tougher-looking, wearing a denim vest with the sleeves cut off and a Pittsburg Pirates baseball c
ap. The hair outside his cap was shaved so short you couldn’t tell the color.

  Joel rolled his window down.

  “You’ve come to trade?” the man spoke in a voice so rough he had to clear his throat.

  “Um, no,” Joel replied.

  “Well, you’re stopped at my trading post.”

  The driver of the white car ahead got out of his vehicle. Short and wearing glasses, he acted jittery as he walked with the redhead to the mass of cylinders on the ground. Joel noticed the ones in front were painted white, but those behind looked to be clear plastic.

  “Just trying to drive through,” Joel said.

  “You mean south?” The big man shook his head. “Ain’t gonna happen, friend. Not on this highway, anyway. It’s blocked, and clogged for miles. Charlottesville’s a mess, too, from what I hear.” He then leaned down to see Jessie.

  Joel turned to her also, as his brain began working on solutions.

  Jessie waved at the big man, smiled, and said, “Hi.”

  The driver of the car in front appeared to be haggling now. He took out his wallet, but just as fast put it back in his pants. In the end it looked to Joel that he gave his watch to the redhead, who then carried a 5-gallon water bottle to the driver’s car for him, wincing in pain when he had to steady it with his bandaged hand.

  “What are you selling?” Joel asked.

  “Now you’re talking my lingo.” The big man straightened. “Propane and five-gallon water bottles. Both of which shortly promise to become highly valuable commodities. We also have cigarettes, but you folks don’t look like you smoke.”

  “Sparkletts water?” Joel asked.

  His brow furrowed. “Yes, as a matter of fact. We have some of those. How many you need?”

  Joel thought fast and shook his head. “I hate Sparkletts. Tastes metallic to me. How much for a propane tank?”

  “We’re not terribly interested in cash.” The man leaned down again. “What have you got to trade? Looks like you are pretty well outfitted here…”

  Joel instinctively slid his thigh off his pistol handle slightly, making it easier to grab.