by Penn Gates
“You should talk."
When they're in sight of the area where the interstates converge, on and off ramps looping around each other, Cash slows down and pulls off the road. They sit staring at the huge truckers' complex, glinting in the sun like a twenty-first century oasis.
Looking down at a place built solely to service the transportation industry, Nix suddenly realizes how quiet the world has become. No roar from the interstates, no jets overhead crisscrossing the sky with contrails.
Cash jumps from the truck and walks back to the van. “Nix and I are goin' down to scope the place out,” he tells Jacob and the others. “If it's OK, I'll wave you in. In the meantime—stay frosty.”
The boys move the vehicles a little closer together, parking them out of sight behind some bushes. Nix and Cash circle around, coming at the acres of concrete from the opposite direction to get a 360-degree view.
There are a lot of semis parked in long rows. Are the drivers still inside, rotting away in the heat? Nix's stomach lurches. She tries to imagine what the first days of Geezer were like here, but she can't. Intellectually, she knows what must have happened, but she still has trouble wrapping her mind around a plague so swift it catches its victims in the midst of the daily business of their lives and takes them unaware.
“Well fuck me!” Cash says suddenly.
Nix's hand tightens on her gun. “What?” she asks in a tense voice.
Cash glances at her. “Sorry, didn't mean to spook you." He grins at her and points to the middle distance. “Look over there. Don't tell me there isn't a God, and that he don't love the hell out of us.”
There, in one of the rows of sixteen-wheelers, is a Home Depot truck. Nix laughs out loud, then frowns. “On second thought—He could be playing a practical joke on us,” she mutters. “It's probably full of toilets or carpeting or mulch.”
“Always such a pessimist,” Cash says, shaking his head. “There's gotta be somethin’ we can use. That thing's the size of a small warehouse.”
“Maybe, but I'd rather not get my hopes up.”
Cash lifts his field glasses. “No movement,” he says after a full minute. “Let’s take it row by row through the trucks—to make sure. Then we'll check out the buildin’.”
It takes them quite awhile to look into every truck cab. Nix knows it's going to be a long time before she forgets some of what she sees. Finally they're opposite the main entrance of the building, standing by the gas pumps for passenger vehicles.
“I'll go first,” Cash says, “And cover you.”
“Always got to be the hero,” Nix says, but she gives him a hard kiss. “Let's do it. Time's a-wastin'.”
They work their way through the sprawling building, which is mostly empty of corpses. Nix imagines the service workers walking off the job, hoping to make it home to loved ones while they still could. Probably why there were so many truckers in their rigs. They wanted to go home, too, before they died. A few unlucky souls had died an undignified death in the public restrooms.
“I'm gonna wave the guys in. Don't wander too far alone, OK?”
“I'll be right here looking for postcards—” Nix says. “—to put in our honeymoon scrapbook. Did I tell you I signed up for a workshop?”
“Can't wait to see that,” Cash says.
What Nix actually does is begin methodically looking for useful items. The hats and sunglasses are easy, but that's just tourist stuff, like anyone would buy on a vacation. She disregards Cash's warning and makes her way toward the back, finding the storage area she'd hoped for. There are cases of bottled water and canned goods. And Nix can almost hear Brittany's shrieks of delight when they bring home the cartons of travel size deodorant, shampoo, and conditioner.
But her heart isn't really into browsing. She remembers maps and goes back to the front. She picks one of each, which about covers the entire eastern United States, and then takes an extra Ohio and Pennsylvania for George. And suddenly, she doesn't care what's in the Home Depot truck or anything else. She wants to be at the farm, with everything exactly as it was before that son-of-a-bitch in a camper poisoned their lives.
Cash comes back inside once he's sure the guys have gotten his signal and are on the way in. “Done enough shoppin’?” he teases, then catches sight of her expression.
“Try not to think about it right now,” he says. “Enjoy what you can.”
“Come on outside,” he adds. “The air is putrid in here.”
They sit on the edge of a concrete planter, which contains a dead plant and dozens of cigarette butts.
“I saw somethin’ I didn't catch before,” Cash tells Nix. When she doesn't respond, he asks, “Wanna play Twenty Questions, or what?”
She arches an eyebrow. “Don't keep me in suspense. Tell me.”
“A fuel tanker. Must have been here to fill the underground tanks, and the poor bastard died before he could make his last delivery.”
“I hope it was his first,” Nix says. “That way the tanker will be full.”
“I get your drift,” Cash says. “But I meant the last delivery he was ever gonna make.”
“Is this your idea of cheering me up?” Nix asks. “I suppose there's another corpse inside.”
“As a matter a fact, the cab's empty. Can't swear nothin's back in the sleep compartment, though.”
“Thank God for small favors,” Nix says. “I don't think I can take any more corpses today." She smiles at him. “Now you guess what I found. Oh never mind—here.” She hands him a cigarette. “Better smoke it before we go play with the fuel tanker.”
“Are we sharin’?”
“I got me one, too,” she says and pulls out her Zippo.
“I'll bet there's cartons in there,” Cash says, taking a deep drag.
“Yeah, but we're not gonna Frank it, are we?” Nix asks. “Loading up on our favorite vices instead of useful stuff?”
“Point taken,” Cash says. “These things catch up with you, anyway.”
“Can you get it started?” Nix asks. “The tanker?”
“Never thought about hot wirin’ a truck this big—but, hell yeah." Cash grins at her. “How can you doubt it?”
The pickup arrives just after they've stubbed out their cigarettes in the giant ashtray they're sitting on.
“Where's the van?” Cash asks immediately.
Bob jumps out first. “Jacob stopped over there,” he says pointing to the middle distance. “George said Racer needed some exercise and he's gonna let him crop some grass to save the supply of oats for the trip.”
“Jacob’s got his rifle with him,” Eric adds. “He’ll will bring the van over in a little while.”
“What's the hold up? I wanted to start loading supplies,” Nix complains.
“We need to shovel out the back," Eric says and wrinkles his nose. “Racer didn't wait for a rest stop." He squints through the plate glass windows. “You think there's cleaning supplies in there?”
“I know there are. Head straight back down that hall and then turn right. You'll be in the storage area. There's a lot of canned goods, too. And aspirin. All sorts of good stuff. We'll fill the van.”
“Is there Pepsi?” Eric asks hopefully.
Nix gives him a look. “Remember Frank,” she says. “Only stuff we need.” Eric looks crestfallen, so she adds, “Hey, a few bottles of chemically flavored sugar water can’t make that much difference.”
“Let's mosey over to the tanker,” Cash says to Nix. “Do you remember where we put the bolt cutters?”
“Here in the pick up,” Mitch says helpfully.
“When you guys are finished cleanin’ up the horse shit, come on over to that tanker on the other side of the pumps. I don't want us spread all over the place for too long a stretch.”
“Is this gas or diesel?” Nix asks, looking up at the huge tank.
“Not sure yet,” Cash says, “But we can use it either way. Probably paperwork in there will tell us.”
Cash climbs up into the driver's
compartment and sticks his head under the wheel to study the steering column. In a couple of minutes the engine turns over.
“This sucker is almost full,” Cash calls before he cuts the engine. “We have enough fuel for a year." He’s wearing a big grin when he emerges. “That’s my bargain for the day. Now let's see what Home Depot has on sale.”
“You want to do the honors, Nix?” Cash asks and hands her the bolt cutters when they're standing behind the truck from the giant do-it-yourself chain.
As the doors swing open, she says, “Holy crap!”
The truck is stacked with rolls of fiberglass insulation.
“You still wafflin’ about divine intervention?” Cash asks her.
She turns and throws her arms around his neck. “Say hallelujah—I’m a believer!”
◆◆◆
It's still dark when Nix crawls out from under the Home Depot truck and accepts a cup of coffee from Jacob. She has a cold dread in the pit of her stomach and the hot liquid does nothing to dissolve it. Today is the day George climbs on his horse and rides over a cliff.
“Where is he?” she asks Cash when he materializes from the shadows.
“Out at the edge of the field. I wanted to talk to him one more time, but he’s—" He stops. “Fuck it,” he says. “I've seen guys act this way before. They decide their number's up, and they get real far away—like they've already crossed over.”
Nix tosses her cup and is out of the circle of firelight before Cash catches up with her. “You're not gonna change his mind, Nix. You gotta let it go.”
“No! That stupid shit is not gonna kill himself on my watch!" She stands in the shadows so Cash can't see her face. “I know, I know,” she gulps. It's not gonna do any good, but I’ve got to try.”
Dawn is beginning to seep up from the horizon and she can see enough to keep from breaking her neck. Nix has her gun out as she crosses the open space, but she doesn't really expect any trouble. If there were bad guys out there, they'd have tried something during the night.
Jacob comes toward Nix, his rifle over his shoulder. “I'm getting a cup of coffee,” he says. “I just realized how stupid it is to stand guard over somebody who's goin’ off alone without a gun." He shakes his head as he walks away. “I sure hope nobody eats him,” he adds, then apparently realizes how that sounds and calls over his shoulder, “The horse, I mean.”
George stands still as a statue, gazing toward the eastern horizon as if the rising sun is a beacon that will lead him to the Promised Land. Racer crops the wild grass placidly, untroubled by thoughts of future danger.
“Hey George,” Nix says. “I brought you some more stuff.”
George doesn't answer.
“Really?” Nix says, throwing the knapsack at his feet. “We've carted you and your horse thirty miles east to give you a head start, and you're still pissed because we think it’s a mistake?”
It belatedly occurs to her that George might be praying, and for some reason that scares her. Cash is right. There's an other-worldly quality about George right now, like a true believer about to make the ultimate sacrifice.
More angry words are on the tip of her tongue, but she stops dead. She'd had a dream about her old partner sometime during the night and he'd seemed so alive—like when they worked together, not the living skeleton she'd visited in the hospital. Strangely, in her dream he'd held out the Zippo he'd given her that night, saying exactly the same words. “I'm passing the flame."
Pass the flame, she thinks. She takes the Zippo from her pocket now and lights it, then snaps the cover shut. If Deke wants George to have this, she'll give it her best shot.
Nix flicks the Zippo again to get herself going. “My first partner after I made detective was a guy named Deke—short for deacon." She makes a face. “But he was not a religious guy. He ate for free in every diner, took bribes for petty stuff, drank on the job. And when something went wrong he blamed it on whoever was handy—mostly me.”
She walks over and runs her hand along Racer's flank. The horse lifts his head so she can scratch him between the eyes. “Then Deke disappeared for two weeks and when he came back, he wasn't drinking any more.”
Nix stoops and picks a wild buttercup. In her mind she hears George ask—What was the name of your calf you won a blue ribbon for?
She twirls the flower absently as she finds the thread of her story. “He confessed all the bad things he'd done—and for his honesty, the brass busted him back to a uniform and stuck him in the evidence locker in the basement."
She stares up at George. “I thought he was sacrificing himself to atone for his sins. But Deke just laughed and said he had to face what he'd done in order to fix what he could.”
Nix sits down on the grass, which is wet with dew. Now the sun is crowning over the dark line of the horizon. “Hell, George—you’re just human like the rest of us,” she continues doggedly. “Make up for wanting that monster dead by spreading love and understanding. Sacrificing yourself in the wilderness doesn’t change anything.”
She remembers one more thing Deke had told her. “When we stop believing we know what God wants and ask for direction instead—that’s when He grants a miracle.”
Nix sighs. “I dreamed about Deke last night, and he told me to give this to you." She presses the lighter into George’s hand. “I put more lighter fluid in with the other stuff. At least you can always start a fire when you need to.”
She wants to scream at him for some reaction, but instead she says, “You may never have thought of us as family, but all of us feel like you're part of the one we're making. I know I'm going to miss you something awful.”
Heading back toward the trucks, she meets Cash.
“I said what I had to, and he didn't say one word,” Nix says. “I don't think I can stand to watch him ride off.”
“He got me so riled, I clean forgot to give him the maps I plotted for him." He holds them up. “Gotta get these to him before he leaves.” Cash gives her a quick hug. “He'll have a chance, Nix, if he stays clear of the cities.”
She nods, unable to speak for a moment. “If God serves up a truck full of insulation just because He can, maybe He'll pull out all the stops for George.”
◆◆◆
Nix knows the only reason she's not picturing George attacked by a gang of murderers is that she needs to concentrate on driving this big-ass truck.
“You think you can do it, Nix?” Cash had asked her. “Nobody handles a vehicle any better than you, but this thing has eight gears.”
“Don't worry about it,” she'd answered. “Once you can drive stick, it's just more shifting."
Famous last words. She's had to prove herself as tough as any guy for so many years, it's second nature to her. Anyway, there's no one else to do it. Cash is taking the lead position with the tanker and the other vehicles are following behind Nix. Whoever isn’t driving is riding shotgun.
Once they're out on the open road, she quickly relaxes—about the driving, at least. If you don't have to stop, you don't have to downshift, she thinks, as the convoy barrels along at high speed. She distracts herself by trying to figure out what all the different gauges and switches are for. She turns a knob that seems separate from the more important looking stuff and jumps when the crackle of static suddenly fills the cab.
She twiddles more dials on the CB scanner and the scratchy static softens into white noise, a whooshing sound that breaks up the silence. The monotony of the road rushing toward her, combined with the sound, has a hypnotic effect. Nix wills herself to keep her eyes open and concentrate her attention on what’s ahead.
There’s a sudden squawk and a tinny voice says, “I’m tellin’ ya, it was god-damn aliens poisoned us. Over.”
“I got it on good authority it was terrorists spread Geezer with crop dusters. Over.”
“You’re both fulla shit! There’s big trouble all over. The military’s got their hands full—folks coming down from Canada, Mexicans tryin’ to get north. European Union
is in pieces. And our boys in that fuckin’ Middle East sand trap are under siege.” Silence, then, “Over and out.”
Nix reaches over and switches the scanner off. “Teenagers with nuclear bombs," she says aloud. “Super! World War III!”
Chapter 25
Life returns to what passes for normal these days—which means a lot of work this time of year. The garden is full of vegetables that need to be picked, and shortly the fields will need to be harvested. Cash wants to get the wasted space on the first floor of the new wing converted into a communal dining hall before that happens.
Removing the accumulated junk is the easy part, but before he even gets to the walls, he decides the floor must go. It’s still solid but its surface tells the tale of how little this area had meant to several generations of St Clairs.
“Lots of splinters there,” Nix says studying the rough boards, which remind her of old, weathered barn siding. “Too bad Home Depot didn’t stash some floor tile under the insulation.”
“Wonder what's holdin' this floor up,” Cash mumbles, thinking out loud. He turns to Nix. “Any idea of how to get to the crawl space underneath?”
“There's a small access door under the porch steps. Tight fit for an adult.”
“But not when you were a kid, huh?" He grins. “You hid there to get out of chores,” Cash guesses.
“I tried it once when Momma Moonbeam came back for me,” Nix says. “Unfortunately, I forgot she was raised on this farm, too.”
After squirming into the crawl space and inspecting each floor beam, Cash comes out covered in dirt, but smiling with satisfaction. “What I hoped. Those are 12 x 12's holding this thing up. It’ll take the weight.”
“Of the wood stove?”
“Of the bricks.”
“What the hell are you talking about?" Nix reaches out and pulls a dead leaf from his hair. “How did leaves get under there?”
“You know that big pile of bricks way out back?”
“Gramps dragged those home before I was even born. He was going to make a patio my grandmother saw in a Better Homes and Gardens magazine.”
