by Fred Alvrez
“Perfect. I’ll leave you alone to practice with the pistol, and I’ll keep an eye on the road in case someone comes.”
Kevin went back to the road, and Nathan picked up the pistol from the trunk of the Tesla. After feeling its weight, he put it into the holster.
“I feel so badass,” he said, smiling. It might be the end of the world, but all of a sudden he felt important.
Nathan got the pistol again, popped the magazine out, and loaded it the same as he had for the rifle. He put it back into the pistol, feeling its extra weight in his hand.
Having holstered it, he went back over to put the three cans back on top of the trash can. Looking back at Kevin sitting in the road, Nathan stopped what he was doing.
“There are almost no people, I’m armed and dangerous, and I have a talking dog. Last week I was fixing printers. This week I am a car thief with a stolen gun. Who knew?”
He walked back to his shooting spot, and took out his pistol. His pistol. He would not get over that thought in a hurry.
He lined up a can in the gun’s sights, taking into account what he’d learnt from the rifle. Pulling the trigger slowly, he noted it took more pressure to move than the rifle.
There was a click and then nothing.
“Nate, is the safety off?” Kevin called out.
“Smart-ass dog,” Nathan muttered.
“What was that? I missed what you said.”
“Nothing!”
Nathan flicked the safety off and lined up the can again. This time the gun did fire, but he missed the target, hitting an oak tree that was five yards to the left of the can instead.
“Shit.”
Again Nathan tried hitting the can, and again he missed. In ten shots, he hit the can once. He knew aiming a pistol was harder than a rifle but never believed it was this hard. It looked so easy on TV and was even easier in his games.
Kevin walked over to the makeshift shooting range. “What’s up? Problem?”
“I can’t hit the freaking can with the pistol. It looks perfect in the sights, but I miss almost every time. Not sure what I’m doing wrong.”
Kevin nodded. “I think I can help. The problem is that your finger is much stronger than the gun is in weight. You need to do some dry fire practicing so you aren’t wasting bullets and there’s no distraction with waiting for the gun to fire.”
Nathan stood and looked at Kevin. This dog had more firearms knowledge than him, and yet he had spent thousands of hours playing games where a pistol was sometimes your main weapon.
“So by dry fire practice you mean firing it with no bullets, right?”
“Yes. Trust me on this. I saw it on Discovery Channel, so pretty sure it’s true.”
With a slight eye roll, Nathan stood and looked at the target. He took the clip of bullets out of the pistol, emptied the chamber, then aimed and dry fired at the target.
“Too fast. Spend more time aiming. Remember, be the gun.”
“Be the gun, be the gun,” Nathan repeated. This time he took longer lining up the can in his sights. He gently pulled the trigger when he was ready, and was met with a click. He did this over and over, feeling more comfortable each time.
“Okay, Kev, I think I’m ready for bullets now.” As Kevin moved back to his safe spot, Nathan slipped the clip into the pistol, and repeated the same movements and focus as before.
He pulled the trigger as gently as possible. The gun fired—and the can went flying.
“Yes! More of the same coming up.” Nathan hit the next can after two bullets, and the third can after only one.
He moved back another twenty feet and tried again. Not as much success, but a whole lot better than before.
“Nate, I know you are having fun now you can hit the target, but I’m thinking we need to get moving. It’s getting darker.”
“Okay, good idea. Let’s go to Taupo.”
Nathan loaded up the car with their guns and ammo. The sledgehammer sat ominously in the trunk. He hoped they wouldn’t need it for anything other than opening doors.
Man and dog got in the car, with Kev closing his own door with his claw.
Nathan aimed the car toward the lakeside town Taupo.
“Nate, how many bullets have we got left?”
“A half box of each. Sorry, the practicing took more bullets than I thought it would. Look, here’s another JET coming up.”
Nathan pulled into the deserted gas station.
They wandered in through the automatic doors, but found no portal.
“Kev, it’s getting on dusk. I think we should camp out here for the night.”
“Yeah. I’m starting to get hungry, too.”
Nathan got the blankets and dog food from the car, making sure to lock it this time. He didn’t want to lose the rifles still stored in the trunk.
They set up camp in the gas station’s staff room—neither wanted to meet another person like the guy earlier by surprise.
As Nathan lifted his arms to fluff his blanket, a sudden and strong whiff of BO came over him. He stank. He walked to the shopping part of the gas station, hunting for deodorant in the dim light of the drinks fridges.
As he scanned the shelves, he called out to Kevin. “If there’s no portal tomorrow and you can’t talk, any requests? Anything you do or don’t want to do?”
Kevin walked out to where Nathan stood, and sat down. “Yes, find another portal. Life is a lot easier when I can talk to you.”
“Same here. We should try and set up some sort of signal system so I know what you are wanting, even if you can’t talk. Say even just one woof for yes and two woofs for no?”
“Done, good idea.”
He found the deodorant and rolled some on.
“Nate, you know how dogs have such a good sense of smell? You need a shower.”
“I know; even I can smell me. We can always stop in at a hotel tomorrow night.”
“Okay. I’m going to sleep now. Exhausted.”
The two retired to the staff room. As Nathan lay and waited for sleep, he considered today’s events.
Saw some army trucks and an ominous black SUV drive past them—almost certainly a military vehicle or Secret Service. Almost got beaten up, but won. Broke into a police station and stole guns. Fired a rifle and a pistol.
He hoped for a less dramatic day tomorrow. Life on the road was already taking it out of him.
Nathan awoke abruptly to a paw over his mouth.
Kevin whispered, “There’s someone in the gas station.”
Chapter Eleven
Casey sat in her truck, engine idling, with her mouth open. A man was standing in the middle of the main highway, waving his arms around at her.
An actual person.
Against her own instincts, she made a snap decision - she would help if she could.
She turned off her truck and climbed out. Casey checked the guy out. In his late twenties, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, a bit unkempt—but that was understandable with all the shit that’d gone down in the last few days. At least he was smiling. She started walking toward him, and he did the same.
“Hi. I’m Flynn. Thanks for stopping. A guy carjacked me and stole my car, so I’ve been walking for miles.”
“I’m Casey. Wow—carjacked? That’s incredible. So there’s you and at least one other person? Have you seen anyone else?”
The two continued to close the gap toward each other.
“No, no one else. I woke up a few days ago and everyone had gone. Same for you?”
She nodded. “Yep, no one around. I went to my mum’s place in Whanganui and another relative’s in Marton, but both towns are deserted. I’ve come from Levin—dead there, too. Where did you leave to get here?”
The pair met halfway in the center of the road and stopped walking.
“I live in National Park. I’ve been down in Wellington and was making my way home when I got carjacked. Hey, any chance you could give me a ride? I’ve been ringing my wife, but there’s no answ
er. I really want to get home.”
Casey looked longingly past Flynn to State Highway 1. The most direct route to where she needed to be. “I guess so…I was staying on State Highway 1 to get to the Far North, but I suppose I could detour off to the side for you.”
“That’d be great. Thanks, Casey! You can head north from National Park without having to come back to the main highway anyway. After all the drama of today, I just want to get home to my wife. She’ll be worried sick.”
“Flynn, don’t get your hopes up. She may not be…there.”
She saw Flynn flinch a little. “True. Well, I live in hope. Have you seen anyone else?”
“I got a Facebook message from a friend in Melbourne, but she’s not seen anyone else yet.”
Flynn looked around her at her truck. “Hey, nice ride! Did you steal that, Casey? Looks sharp and brand new.”
“No, not stolen or carjacked.” Casey cracked a smile. “It’s my own truck. I only picked it up last week. Shall we go? I’ve had lots of holdups and want to get moving.”
“Sure, let’s hit the road. Hopefully, with two of us, there’s less chance of seeing that carjacker again.”
The pair climbed into her truck, and headed north.
Casey had so many questions, but where to start? “Flynn, do you have any idea what’s happened? What caused this?”
“Nope, no idea. Same as you—woke up, people gone. No idea what’s going to happen next.”
“And have you been to any JET gas stations at all?”
She saw Flynn frown. “No. Why would you ask that? Weird question.”
“Oh, nothing really, just that I saw something strange in one. Forget it.”
The pair drove through the countryside, passing luscious green fields where sheep would normally be grazing, which eventually changed to a huge forest of pine trees.
The turnoff to National Park appeared, and Casey—whose father had taught her well—used her indicator before turning, then realized that was a bit pointless.
“I’m not exactly in National Park. I’m more off toward the bush. But it’s easy to find. Just a bit remote.”
An uneasy feeling came over Casey, but her gut was telling her Flynn was trustworthy. She hadn’t heard him say anything that gave her cause to doubt his honesty. She could afford a bit more time to drop him off, although it was already getting later in the day.
The miles went on as Flynn kept chatting.
After what felt like forever, the endless turns down tree-lined country roads came to a dead end, with Flynn’s driveway straight ahead. She turned up the driveway and wound around more corners and hills as they approached his house.
“Wow, you sure live in a remote place, Flynn. Why do you like it so far away from everything and everyone?”
“It suits me. I like to stay away from people.”
“And your wife? Does she like it, too?”
“Sure, she doesn’t mind it at all.”
They stopped outside his house, and Casey killed the engine.
“Casey, at least let me cook you some dinner. I could hear your stomach rumbling from over here.”
“That’d be great. Thanks, Flynn. I am pretty hungry. A quick bite then I’ll hit the road.”
“Deal. Come on and let’s see if she’s home.”
As they exited the truck, Casey checked out the surroundings. In the light of dusk, it was a beautiful location, with lots of tall native trees on the property. She followed Flynn to the front door.
Flynn and his wife’s house was done out log-cabin style, and looked stunning in the surroundings of the native trees.
Flynn opened the stained-glass front door, and called, “Honey, I’m home!”
No answer.
He walked into the house, calling over and over.
Casey waited inside the front door, feeling like an intruder. She felt for Flynn—there was no doubt his wife had disappeared as well. She saw the lounge and moved into it, taking a seat on the sofa.
Flynn returned to the lounge. “I can’t find her.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Flynn. I’m not sure what to say, but I’ve been through the emotion of this already. It’s not easy.”
Flynn dropped onto a seat on the sofa.
“Well, you were right, Casey, but I was pretty hopeful, you know? Anyway, I guess I already knew but was in denial. It is what it is, as they say. I bet you’re still hungry. Feel free to roam about the house, and I’ll make us some dinner.”
Obviously Flynn didn’t take his wife being missing as hard as she had taken losing her mum.
“I’d like to use your bathroom. Where is it?”
“Down the hall, second on the left. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Flynn rose, pointing toward the hallway.
As Casey walked down the hall, she still felt like something wasn’t right. She started looking at the pictures on the walls as she made her way to the toilet.
Something niggled at her. But what?
She used the toilet, and then looked at the photos again as she made her way to the kitchen.
She looked at photos of Flynn at a beach, or at the nearby mountain, skiing. Some showed him in plays on small-town theater stages.
It dawned on her: There were no photos of Flynn’s wife. No wedding photos, no photos of kids, not a single photo of Flynn and his wife. She tried to recall if he had even used her name while talking, but couldn’t remember if he had.
In the corner of her eyes, she saw him approaching her. “You okay, Casey? You look really pale.”
Fear and shock hit her and she stood like a possum in headlights as he got closer to her.
“Casey—what’s happened?”
Flynn lifted his hand and touched her shoulder, and it hit her.
She was transported into his mind, and could see flicking images. One of a young girl tied up on a bed. Another of a dog—a border collie?—with its teeth bared, looking at him, with a guy standing over Flynn. Then more images of what she thought was his immediate past, flicking past quickly.
In a flash, her mind showed what she thought was the immediate future: Casey naked and tied to a bed, being tortured—and worse.
“Casey! Come back to me! What’s happened?”
As Flynn removed his hand from her shoulder, her mind came back to the present.
Casey realized Flynn hadn’t been avoiding the carjacker.
Flynn was the carjacker.
“Uh, sorry, a bit overemotional. Time of the month and all that. Sorry, I—I faded out there for a minute.”
“You had me worried. There was this glazed look in your eyes like you weren’t even here. Freaked me out.”
She rubbed her eyes with her fingers of one hand. “Sorry again. Hey, I’ll go and grab my bag from my truck. Maybe I could stay the night here to save driving at nighttime?”
“Sure! I’d like that. I’m sure my wife would be okay with it, too, wherever she is. Hey, you stay here, though, and rest. I’ll grab your bag and keep going with dinner.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll go get it.”
“I insist. I wouldn’t be a good host if I made you get your own bag after that seizure or whatever it was you had.”
Flynn almost ran to get her bag as Casey walked to the sofa and slumped into it. Her plan to get away unnoticed had failed. She looked outside again. Darkness would come soon. More uneasiness came over her.
She was in the lion’s den.
While she had no doubt about Flynn’s acting skills—he had no wife, she was convinced of that—she wasn’t so sure of what the future had in store for her. She thought she had seen it, and it wasn’t pretty.
Then again, who knew if it was true? She had seen images in her mind, but was it anything like the MLK experience she had had? It wasn’t, but her gut told her that what she had seen was for real.
Mind you, she thought, this was the same gut feeling that had told her Flynn was trustworthy.
Indecision tore at Casey. Should she grab som
ething heavy and smack him over the head and run for it? But what if he wasn’t the bad guy?
“Here you go.” Flynn dropped her bag at her feet.
“Arggh!”
“Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you. Were you having another moment?”
“No, not at all. I didn’t hear you come back in.”
“Ah, okay. I’ll keep going on dinner, then.”
Flynn returned to the kitchen. Casey rose and followed him at a distance. Only one way to see if what she’d seen was an actual event or her mind playing tricks on her. Maybe he was completely trustworthy and this was all in her imagination.
She looked around the kitchen. It was finished in beautiful native timbers, like something out of a magazine.
Too perfect.
Casey sat on a chrome and leather barstool in the kitchen, giving herself enough room for a quick getaway—she hoped. She had a direct line of sight to run out to her truck, if needed. But she didn’t know if he was armed or had quick access to a gun. Guys like this—if he was a baddie—were unpredictable at best.
Flynn added something to a pot and stirred it. The smells made Casey’s stomach rumble again.
“Hey, tell your stomach I’m going as fast as I can.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean for that to happen.”
Flynn laughed. “I’m only joking, Casey. Don’t worry about it. Dinner is about fifteen minutes away. Do you want a drink?”
There was no way she’d be having any alcohol tonight. She needed her wits at full strength. “Yes, that’d be great, thanks. Juice?”
“Sure! Coming right up.”
Flynn turned to the fridge and got some juice out. He then moved to the bench opposite her, with his back to her, to pour the juice out. It seemed to take too long.
“Here you go. Drink up. It might settle your stomach.”
“Thanks.”
Casey took the glass closer to her, but didn’t drink it. Warning bells rang loudly in her head.
Flynn returned to the gas stove, and stirred the pot.
She looked at him, Mr. Hospitality over there cooking her dinner. Was he really bad? Time to test the waters. “So tell me about this carjacker guy. What was he like?”
