They got to Paeroa, the first town on the other side of the gorge, and Rob joined the queue at a Gull. He noticed that the tall electronic price sign was off so it was anyone’s guess what they were charging. They waited for fifteen minutes to get to a bowser, during which time several cars left without getting gas.
Getting out, Rob found a handwritten sign taped to the bowser.
CASH ONLY. PAY INSIDE. PUMPS LOCKED.
He binned the empty coffee cups and joined the next queue inside. There were two Indian guys behind the counter, processing sales. One was arguing with a punter who wanted to pay by card.
‘No EFTPOS,’ the attendant was saying, ‘cash only.’
‘Dude, I’ve got my gas here every week for four years and you’re turning me away?’ The motorist was getting red in the face and Rob could hear the stress in his voice.
‘Sorry sir, is cash only. Management rules.’
‘For fuck’s sake, this is bullshit! Is your EFTPOS system not working or something?’
‘Sorry sir, is cash only. Next please.’
‘Fuckin’ wanker.’ The motorist turned away and slapped a display of chocolate bars off the counter onto the floor.
‘Don’t do that sir, please,’ the attendant said, his monotone not even flickering. ‘Next please.’
‘Fuck you, ya curry-munching homo.’ The motorist kicked over a stand of cheap sunglasses on the way to the door. ‘I’ll be back.’
Rob kept an eye on him as he left. The guy was just an average looking white guy in his thirties, the sort you would pass in the street and not give a second glance. The behaviour he had just exhibited was far from normal, and Rob figured that, if this was how quickly things deteriorated when the pressure came on, he and Sandy wanted to be off the streets sharpish.
He reached the counter and got out his wallet, thankful that he had always been a believer in paying cash.
‘How much is your 91?’ he said.
‘Is on the sign, sir.’ Rather than answering the question, the attendant pointed to another handwritten sign on the counter, listing the fuel prices.
Rob felt his eyebrows shoot up to his fringe when he saw the prices. Somehow the price of unleaded gas had more than in the last couple of hours. He looked at the attendant.
‘Taking advantage of the current situation?’ he said.
The attendant looked at him flatly. ‘Is another gas station down the road, sir.’
Rob shook his head, feeling a twinge of sympathy for the angry man who’d just left. He counted out several notes.
‘I can’t just fill it then and pay after?’
‘No sir.’
‘Come on mate,’ said someone in the queue behind him. ‘I haven’t got all day.’
Rob ignored him. ‘I’ll take forty litres,’ he said.
He paid over the cash, checked his change and hurried out to the bowser. The forecourt was completely full and cars waited out on the road. He filled the ten-litre jerry can he kept as a spare and pumped the rest into the tank. He was almost finished when the pump stopped working. At the same time the lights on the forecourt and in the shop went out.
Checking out on the street he could see that the café across the road was also in darkness. Other motorists at the pumps were waving at the attendants in the shop, and someone yelled at them to turn the bowsers back on.
‘That ain’t gunna happen,’ Rob muttered to himself.
He hung up the pump and secured the jerry can in the storage locker under the cabin. He had the feeling things were about to turn to rat shit, but the only surprise was how quickly that happened.
By the time he’d climbed into the cab and was buckling up, angry motorists were berating the attendants. Rob spotted the guy who’d been turned away come trotting back across the forecourt with a tyre iron in his hand. He went straight to the night-pay window beside the counter and belted it, cracking it with his second strike.
‘Best we get moving, my girl,’ Rob said. He released the handbrake and slipped the motorhome into gear.
Someone else grabbed a car battery from a display at the shop doors and hurled it through the glass with an almighty crash.
Sandy let out a gasp of shock and Rob saw someone jump the counter inside and throw a punch at one of the attendants.
He goosed the accelerator and got the hell out of there. Pandemonium was really breaking out behind them as they hit the main drag and hung a right.
‘Should we call the Police?’ Sandy said, digging in her handbag for her phone.
‘If you want to,’ Rob said. ‘Doubt you’ll get through though, they’re probably overloaded already.’
‘No signal.’
‘Let’s just keep our heads down and get to the kids’ place.’ Rob locked the doors and focussed on the road ahead. The Lee Enfield was tucked in behind the front seat in case he needed it, but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.
They got through town with no further dramas and headed north on State Highway 2, the next stop being Ngatea, twenty minutes away.
Ten
The office had taken on a weird vibe, with people milling about and talking in hushed tones. Nobody really seemed to know what to do, and Gemma noticed that there was an absence of managers.
She went to her desk and sat down, her head starting to spin. It seemed surreal. It was like being a spectator to something big but not actually being involved. The reality was quickly sinking in and Gemma knew that Mark was right. She needed to get moving.
Home was a long way from the city, and traffic was bad enough at normal times. Decision made, she reached under the desk for her belongings. She put her handbag to one side and kicked off her work shoes. She was lacing up her Asics trainers when she sensed someone beside her.
It was her supervisor, Leoni, giving her a quizzical look. ‘What’re you doing?’ she said.
Gemma finished lacing and straightened up. ‘Getting my shoes on,’ she replied.
Leoni frowned, obviously not sure how to proceed. She was a nice girl, but in Gemma’s opinion, she lacked bite. She had no issue with organising herself but was too flighty to be a good leader.
‘Where’s the boss?’ Gemma asked, sliding open her top desk drawer.
‘I don’t know.’ Leoni looked around, not seeing anyone higher up the food chain than herself. ‘I better find someone…’
Gemma let her go do that and took a few moments to grab some bits and pieces from her desk; car keys, phone charger, drink bottle and lunchbox. Looking around the office, she realised nobody else was moving. Most were still in the same huddle as when she’d walked in, and nobody was taking any notice of her.
She stood, crammed her bits and pieces into her handbag, and headed for the door. As she went through she could hear Leoni calling for everyone’s attention behind her. Gemma ignored the call and kept going, taking the stairs down.
As she passed each floor she could see all the other offices were in a similar disorganised state to her own. The odd person joined her on the stairs, all looking worried, but nobody spoke. There was a definite sense of urgency in the air.
She pushed through the fire door at the B1 level of the basement, pausing to hold the door when she heard feet hurrying down the stairs behind her.
‘Thanks.’ It was Alex Parker from IT, a thin young guy with floppy dark hair and a long nose.
‘Going home?’ Gemma said as she started towards her car.
‘Definitely.’ He nodded his head vigorously. ‘My Mum’ll freak out when she hears the news.’
Gemma nodded to herself, wondering momentarily how her own parents had taken the news. Her Dad was a tough old rooster but they were both elderly now, and her Mum had always been a softie. He was the one who would kick a ball around with Archie and she was the one who fussed over him when he hurt himself.
She pushed the thought aside, just hoping that they reached home safely. She knew that if they were with Mark they would be safe. If her Dad was a tough old rooster then Mark was his
younger self, maybe harder. Definitely hardnosed, to the point that it got him in trouble. But above all else he was super-protective of his family.
She bleeped the locks on the Galant as she approached. The paint was faded and it was nearly twenty years old, but it was serviced regularly and ran well. She popped the boot and lifted the lid. The boot was home to various bits of crap – reusable grocery bags, a soccer ball, an old cat cage she’d been meaning to drop off to the charity store.
And a black High Sierra day pack.
Gemma dropped her handbag on the floor of the boot and grabbed the black pack. Mark called it a Get Home Bag, and she knew it was tailored for her. It contained enough gear and supplies for 24 hours, the idea being that if she broke down or was otherwise stranded somewhere she should be able to get home within that time.
Somehow, she doubted that the AA would be of much use today.
She opened the bag up and checked inside. It looked untouched since Mark had gone through it with her several months ago. She secured it and closed the boot. The Galant started easily and she turned the volume down on the stereo, flicking it over from CD to the radio. Now was the time for news, not Pink.
The classic hits station was all static. Gemma reversed out of the slot and moved towards the exit ramp up to the street. She switched stations as she drove, getting nothing but static on another Top 40 frequency. She pulled up behind another car waiting to get out, a little green hatchback with an anti-mining sticker in the rear window. She recognised Alex’s profile as he leaned out the window to swipe his access card to open the roller gate.
Gemma waited impatiently while he fannied about, flicking to a talkback station she knew Mark sometimes listened to. The announcer’s voice came through clear enough.
‘…and to check on family and neighbours. The Civil Defence department has been mobilised and Civil Defence posts will be open to assist those that need help. Please do not make voice calls on your phone as this will overload the networks and they need to remain open for emergency services’ use. If you need to contact people you are advised to send a text…’
Alex was still mucking round with his access card and Gemma pulled on the handbrake before getting out of the car.
‘What’s wrong?’ she called out.
‘It’s not working.’
Gemma strode over and swiped her own card in front of the reader. Nothing. She noticed the red LED light was on but had only a dull glow.
‘The power must be out,’ Alex said, ‘or close to it.’
Gemma noticed for the first time that the overhead lights were barely glowing. Other cars were pulling up behind them and someone honked their horn. Gemma shot a look in that direction and swiped her card again. Still nothing.
She walked back towards her car. ‘The gate’s not opening,’ she called out to the driver behind her car, a woman she recognised from Marketing. ‘The power must be out.’
The woman cursed and slapped her steering wheel in frustration. A guy got out of a vehicle a couple back and strode forward, big arms swinging round a big belly. Gemma recognised him as Nick Somebody-or-other from Sales. He was loud and brash and referred to himself as Big Nick. Gemma knew that the nickname had been bastardised behind his back to Big Dick.
‘So it’s not working,’ he said, producing his own swipe card. He waded past her and thrust his card against the reader, as if he was about to prove the silly girl wrong and magically open the gate because he had a penis. Nothing. He tried tapping it, but still nothing.
Big Nick straightened up, giving a harrumph. Gemma arched an eyebrow at him.
‘Didn’t it work?’ she said.
Big Nick scowled and gestured for everyone to move back, waving his hands like an air traffic controller. ‘Everyone back up,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll bring the Battle Truck up.’
Gemma rolled her eyes. ‘What’re you going to do?’ she said.
‘I’m going to smash the fuckin’ thing down.’
Gemma shrugged to herself and got in her car. Despite his bravado, she had to admit he had a point. They needed to get out of the basement somehow.
Once the other cars had cleared a path, Big Nick moved forward in his Battle Truck. Gemma noticed that it wasn’t really a battle truck of any sort, but rather some kind of sporty family-style SUV with tinted windows and all the gadgets. She doubted it had ever even felt mud under its tyres; just another Remuera tractor.
He edged up to the roller and nudged it with the pristine bumper. The roller gate rattled and wobbled. He pushed harder, then backed up and leaped forward, hitting the roller with a loud crash. It bent and buckled.
Gemma watched as he took another run, flinching involuntarily as he smashed into it and ripped the roller away from one side. It half folded over the front of his Battle Truck and got stuck as he backed up for another shot at it. There was a loud screeching and tearing sound and the Battle Truck shuddered to a halt.
Big Nick jumped out, cursing and swearing as he tried to wrench the buckled gate from beneath his bumper. Somebody honked their horn and he sent a verbal burst their way too, before getting back behind the wheel, revving the engine and shooting backwards. He hit the front of Alex’s hatchback with a crunch and sent it backwards into the car behind him, which was the Marketing woman.
The Marketing woman – Amanda, maybe? – jumped out, shrieking at Big Nick and flapping her arms as she surveyed the damage to her shiny white Audi. Big Nick ignored her and gunned it forward again, tearing the roller gate away from its moorings with a piercing screech of tortured metal. For a moment it looked like he’d done it, then the Battle Truck ground to a halt again with the crushed roller wrapped around its wheels and axle.
‘Faaark!’ Big Nick alighted again, kicking furiously at the wrecked gate as other workers began to get out of their cars.
Sitting off to the side, Gemma could see that his truck was completely blocking the exit and was going nowhere. Her heart sank as she realised there was no way that any of them would be getting out of the basement in a hurry.
Alex was standing by his car, staring forlornly at the crumpled bonnet. The basement was becoming clogged with exhaust fumes and people were getting vocal and agitated.
Gemma turned the Galant off and got out. She checked her phone and saw it had no service, which wasn’t unusual down in the basement garage.
Big Nick was in a shouting match with Amanda from Marketing now, both of them going to town about the other’s stupidity. Another guy piped up and tried to settle them both down, and got a double serve of vitriol for his troubles. Someone else honked their horn and Big Nick turned on him, threatening to “yank that fuckin’ horn out and shove it up your fuckin’ arse, you fuckin’ pencil-neck fuck.”
Gemma ignored all the commotion around her, trying to focus on what she needed to do right now. She knew she couldn’t change the circumstances, but it was down to her how she reacted to it. Obviously the exit ramp was a no-go just now so she would have to backtrack upstairs and find an alternative form of transport. There was no way she was not getting out of here today.
Even if she had to walk the whole way, she would get home.
She knew that Teri parked out on the street, taking her chances with the parking wardens that plagued the area like locusts; maybe she could cadge a ride somewhere.
Sudden movement caught her eye and she saw that Big Nick and Pencil-Neck were now grappling with each other, staggering about like a pair of drunks on a dance floor. Alex had moved away from the fight and looked her way, obviously unsure what to do.
Seeing her colleagues descending so quickly to the point that they were fighting amongst themselves made Gemma’s decision so much easier. She ignored them and popped the boot again. The top priority right now was getting home where she could be safe with her family. She realised that it might not be a quick trip – in fact, it was almost guaranteed not to be – and she had to be prepared for that.
Be prepared. Archie knew it as the Scout motto, but for h
er and Mark it was more than that. It was a mindset that they had grown into over time, and it had served them well. It meant having a back-up emergency fund for when the car broke down or there was an unexpected bill, it meant gathering information and considering options before making a decision, and it meant planning ahead for as many eventualities as they could think of for whatever situation they were looking at.
Gemma grabbed out the Get Home Bag and put it on the concrete floor beside her. She pulled a couple of items from the boot closer while she tried to calm her racing brain. She folded the picnic blanket up and stuffed it into one of the reusable grocery bags. The blanket was a bright red checked one with a black nylon backing, ideal for picnicking when the grass was damp.
She also folded up the blue light-duty tarp that they used as a boot liner and added that to the bag, then the tow rope and the ugly brown and gold checked blanket from the back seat. It covered a large stain where Archie had spilled a drink years ago, and needed a good vacuum to get rid of the dog hair.
That done, Gemma grabbed the torch and packet of wet-wipes from the glovebox, added them to the bag and looked around her.
Big Nick and Pencil-Neck were still pushing and shoving and most of the others were standing around watching. At least, until Amanda tried to get between them and inadvertently got pushed over by Pencil-Neck. Big Nick went ballistic then and started throwing punches while his opponent backpedalled frantically. They went down on the floor behind a car and all Gemma could hear now was muffled cursing and grunting.
‘This is bloody terrible.’
She looked up sharply, realising Alex had come over. He was standing there looking lost, watching her.
‘What’re you doing?’ he said.
Early Warning (Book 1): Martial Law Page 4
