Apollo Project

by Brittany E Brinegar

  Chapter 20 – General Store

  Tom

  “I would estimate an hour until sunrise,” Hibbert said.

  “Sounds right.” Out of habit, Tom checked his wrist. The watch, the same he wore in his Navy days, had not worked since the boat. “We should wait until sunlight before approaching.”

  The contingent waited at the bottom of a hill scrutinizing the outline of the store, backlit in the peculiar greenish hue. No lights burned inside. To the southwest, the remnants of the fire burning the treetops and Emerson’s old neighborhood lingered. The original group huddled. Davidson held Genevieve’s hand. Dixie paced. Barb held Gus by the shoulders. The kid fingered a stick and twirled Tom’s old fishing hat. Robin’s auburn-tinged hair danced in the breeze which kept the stifling heat at bay during the night. Her hand remained near the weapon on her hip. Emerson, the crazy old man with the half-century-old rifle, stood like Davy Crockett awaiting Santa Anna’s troops.

  With an hour to wait the group rested. Emerson, Tom, and Robin – the armed part of the group – stayed awake. Robin chewed on a piece of sausage from tinfoil. “I’m starving. The good news is my stomach stopped hurting. The bad news is this burn on my neck is now aching. Maybe it’s like the hit your toe with a hammer to make your head stop hurting trick.”

  “Any chance your partner went nuts?” Tom asked her.

  “No, Jon is by the book. I’m the nutty one. He’s always on mission. Me, I’m half the time worried about my mom and what pyramid scheme she’s falling for. Or my sister and her drug addict teenager or her new husband and the sick baby.”

  “No chance your partner is the one who fired on us?”

  “No chance.”

  “How about the convict?”

  “I’m operating under the theory, Tom. Until I see something else, I’ll assume he was the shooter. I’ll also assume he somehow ran us off the road, though I have no specific memory of it happening.”

  “Hey, you two,” Emerson whispered. “Hate to break up the ‘I love all government agents’ slumber party over there…”

  “What is it?” Tom asked.

  “I’ve been watching the store for about twenty minutes.” He twirled his rifle and held it against his body. “There’s some movement. Somebody, or something, was inside rustling around.”

  “It’s too dark,” Robin spat at him. The two didn’t get along. Emerson called her ‘Fed’ and she called him ‘the old nut’. “You didn’t see anything, other than some imagined government boogeyman.”

  “Answer me this, then Fed.”

  “What?”

  “What does my belief that the government is controlled by a group of wealthy men based in Switzerland have to do me seeing somebody exit the building?”

  “Not a damn thing,” Robin said. “It’s another brick in the foundation of your lunacy. You see things.”

  While the two of them bickered, Tom inspected the building. Emerson talked of a cabal of leaders behind experiments. Robin countered with fringe lunatics who claimed the moon landing was fake.

  After focusing for five minutes and with a sliver of sunrise, an uneasiness churned in Tom’s belly. “Guys, listen. I see movement up there too.”

  “They’re watching us.”

  Tom spun to Gus. “Who’s watching us, son?”

  Gus plastered the dopey expression and with wide eyes flapped his arms. “It’s Smokey the Bear and my mother. There’s one other person with them. The one who shot at us.”

  “What does he look like?” Robin asked.

  “Tall. Like the dude in the Guinness Book. Maybe nine or ten feet. His feet are the size of a doormat.”

  Emerson signaled cuckoo as he rotated his finger around his ear and pointed a thumb at the kid. “And she thinks I’m crazy.”

  “Find Barb,” Tom said to the kid. Considering a comment on how crazy the kid sounded, Tom caught sight of movement on the hill – a hallucination of Mandy wearing her black yoga pants and purple and gray Reebok hoody. She spun a Smokey the Bear hat onto her head, dancing like a Rockette as a beam of sunlight cast a spotlight. For a few moments, the green haze broke and actual sunlight filtered through. A smile formed, straight whites with a crooked eyetooth.

  Staggering, Tom leaned on a tree. He sipped from a water bottle and kept his eye trained until Mandy faded from his view.

  “You okay, Yank?” Emerson twisted the hair above his lip, curling it with nervous fingers.

  Doubts filled Tom’s head as he debated the next move. “I’m fine. Let’s move out and climb the hill, face this and figure things out. I’m tired of things happening to us. Let’s go make something happen.”

  Tom and Robin led the way with Emerson guarding the rear. The bait and tackle overlooked the valley, where a winding stream meandered through a field, through some trees and dumped to a marsh. A black line traced along the stream in places. Tom saw for miles in each direction and made out the train station further to the north. To the south, an airfield and at least one plane parked outside of hangars. He spotted no cars or any movement at the airfield. He counted ten cars outside of the train station. At the store, which looked like Ike’s from The Waltons, a Chevy station wagon, a beat-up Chevy S-10 a few decades old, and a newer Chrysler sedan dotted the parking lot.

  “Let’s see if anybody’s home. Don’t shoot but have weapons ready,” Tom said.

  The large group filed in behind Tom and Robin. Inside, the strong metallic smell dominated. A brief search confirmed the place empty. A cooler in the back offered drinks somewhat chilled but the place did not have power. The group downed Dr Peppers, Cokes, and Mountain Dews and ate Milky Way bars, Reese’s Peanut Butter cups, Twix bars, and dug into chips.

  “Guess we’ve all missed junk food,” Barb said rattling M&Ms into her hand.

  Davidson chewed on a Snickers as he talked. “Hibbs, let’s take these keys and try those vehicles out front.” A pegboard behind the cash register held dangling car keys.

  “I’ll run out with you,” Tom said trailing them. Pivoting, he warned Robin and Emerson to keep their eyes open and to load supplies into sacks or backpacks. “Everyone should carry something useful.”

  The station wagon whinnied and rattled but would not start. As Davidson plowed toward the newer sedan, Tom popped the hood on the station wagon and found a burned mess inside. “It’s like something targeted all vehicles,” he mumbled. The S-10 made no sound, but when he popped the hood, he found nothing burned. “Might be a dead battery on this one.” He heaved the battery from the station wagon and wrestled it into place in the old truck. It tried to clatter to life but Tom lost the patient to a flatline.

  “The gas holder might be empty,” Hibbert said.

  “We can siphon gas from the station wagon.”

  Two sweaty hours later the S-10 had a new battery, gas, and a rewired starter. Hibbert did most of the work after studying the engines of all the vehicles. He sweated through his Henley and Barb brought him a tourist t-shirt from inside the store. Hibbert soon sweated through the LSU Tiger shirt, jettisoned it, and worked bare-chested. Tom found a USA red, white and blue hat inside the store and wore it to keep the sun off his head and face.

  With no luck starting the old truck, the rustling leaves of trees signaled trouble. The faux mechanics bolted inside when the massive winds whipped. Darker green clouds glowed with steady flashes of lightning. Snow resumed and crystallized ice formed outside of the store. Emerson debated with Robin. When she grew tired of the argument, he engaged Hibbert and Barb.

  Davidson leaned out the window searching into the distance. “The old coot needs to shut his trap before I do it for him.”

  “For once I agree with you,” Tom said. “He’s wearing on my last nerve with the constant chatter.”

  “Tell me something, Cassidy. Would it make sense for a couple of us, say you and me, to make time and venture to the airfield? The little puddle-jumper airport. I assume you can fly a crop duster?”

  “I can fly anything wi
th wings, Hoss, including a crop-duster. What I can’t do is fix engines. Even if I could, almost all of them have been fried. At least all we’ve checked on this little journey.”

  Chugging a Gatorade, Davidson huffed, “I’m going to the airfield. Are you in?”

  Chapter 21 – Recreational Vehicle

  Reagan

  Jasper smacked his hands as they escaped the hiking trail. A trailer park never looked so welcoming. “We’re just over the hill.”

  “In a ditch,” Junior said.

  “The storm was awfully frightening.” Olivia’s voice pitched two octaves higher. “It appeared from nowhere and my poor Jasper couldn’t see what he was driving into.”

  Reagan adjusted the strap of her rifle. “He couldn’t see because of the green haze?”

  Olivia cleared her throat and massaged her neck. “No, I believe it came later. But the flashes of lightning were so bright, it was blinding.”

  Kelly fell into stride with Reagan. “I counted four RVs. Each has one glaring thing in common.” Kelly yanked on her hat string. “No people.”

  As the summer temperature dropped to autumn-like, Reagan tucked her hands in her jacket pockets. “Let’s not speculate for the time being.”

  Jasper jogged downhill to meet his shiny, extravagant RV. “The Winnebago Sunstar LX 30T,” he said with pride. “Wood flooring, tan leather seats, a spacious living area, and dinette. Everything one could ask for on the open road.”

  “Except GPS,” Junior said. “Pops didn’t fall for the upsell.”

  Jasper either chose to ignore his son or didn’t hear him. “I figure I can get behind the wheel while the rest of you push. Together we should be able to get it out of the ditch.”

  “First things first,” Meredith coughed. “I'm getting my cigarettes.” He streamed to the RV and flung the door.

  “Why don’t y’all put on warmer clothes,” Reagan said to Olivia and Dawn.

  “There’ll be time later.” Jasper combed hands through his curly hair. “Let’s get this puppy on the road and away from this.”

  Junior headed for the catawampus door. “I think we could use the break, Pops.”

  A vein in Jasper’s forehead twitched. “If I had a dime for every break you needed.”

  Junior held the door open. “We have a case of water in here somewhere.”

  Annabeth volunteered. “I’ll help fill the backpacks.”

  Reagan motioned to Travis Wayne. “Can you check the engine before we go any further?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Travis Wayne removed his backpack and handed it to Kelly.

  “Jon could you…” Reagan began.

  “I need to rest for a while,” Jon moaned. “My neck is on fire and the pain is searing.”

  “Do you want an energy bar?” Kelly offered a Quaker Granola Bar.

  “I want a minute alone.” Jon staggered to a picnic table and sprawled across the top. The shotgun never left his side.

  “Mr. Tucker, give me a hand with the engine?” Travis Wayne asked.

  “Certainly,” he said twirling his cane.

  Jasper shook his head. “No, no, no. First, we need to get it out of the ditch.”

  “Before we expend energy, I’d like Travis Wayne to take a look,” Reagan said.

  “There’s not much daylight left,” Jasper huffed. “We need to get the RV unstuck before anything else.”

  Scotty tossed a tennis ball to Mickey. “If the engine’s shot, it won’t matter if it’s in a ditch.”

  Jasper waved a hand at them and marched to the door. “Let me know when you’re ready to listen to reason.”

  Scotty made a face reminiscent of Jim Halpert on The Office. “I think he has that backward.”

  “I don’t want to be the one to suggest this.” Kelly tucked a piece of golden hair behind her ears. “But what happens if the RV doesn’t work?”

  Reagan sipped on her metallic tasting water and offered the rest to Kelly. “I guess we could try the other four RVs.”

  “We all know what the result is gonna be.” Scotty crossed his arms. “Something, maybe the lightning, knocked out everything with a motor or circuit board.”

  “Reagan and I have been chatting about a potential military experiment,” Kelly said. “An EMP could explain the busted electronics. It would take out anything with a circuit board within a certain range.”

  “Including newer model cars,” Reagan said.

  Scotty kneeled to rub Mickey’s belly. “What about the weather?”

  “Granddad had a theory.

  “He watches way too many hours of the weather channel,” Kelly said.

  “He said the green haze could be some kind of gas seal hovering right below the atmosphere.” Reagan tilted her head. “It could cause some kind of chemical reaction producing flashes of light.”

  “And locks in the cold temperature we are experiencing,” Kelly expanded.

  “Guess that’s as good an explanation as anything.” Scotty opened his pack and poured dog food into a collapsible bowl. Mickey chowed like a dog in a Purina commercial. “Are we going to ignore the lack of people at this campsite?”

  “It’s normally a tourist trap,” Kelly said. “I’ve never seen it this deserted in the summer.”

  “We should fan out.” Reagan scanned the park. A burning, metallic odor hung in the air. “It’s possible everyone left on foot after the storm.”

  Scotty removed his Ranger’s cap. “True. It’s been two days, and these people didn’t have a mountain to navigate.”

  Kelly hesitated. “Would it be wrong of us to scavenge for supplies?”

  Reagan pondered the question. “First, we should see if Fonzie’s made any progress on the RV.”

  “Fonzie?” Scotty asked trying to determine the connection.

  “Arthur Fonzarelli, from Happy Days,” Reagan said. “He was a mechanic.”

  “AAAAAAAY!” Scotty said with two thumbs-up. “Good one.”

  They rounded the corner and Granddad’s booming voice drifted toward them. “All you gotta do is wrap a little foil around it.” Granddad pointed his cane at something under the hood. “It’ll be good as new.”

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Tucker.” Travis Wayne’s sunglasses dangled from the string around his neck. “Same as our cars. The battery is fried. Spark plugs are shot. This engine belongs in a rust bucket, not a new-fangled RV.”

  “Is it your official diagnosis?” Scotty asked.

  Travis Wayne wiped his hands on a rag. “It ain’t gonna work.”

  Granddad cleared his sore throat. “We need to find us an older car. One without all those electronic components. Probably a pre-1980s American made truck or SUV.”

  “I can take a look around,” Scotty offered.

  “We should probably tell Jasper the bad news,” Reagan said.

  Granddad patted her hand. “I think you’re the best candidate, girly.”

  “I nominate Jasper’s man Scotty,” Reagan said turning on him.

  “No way.” Scotty waved his hands. “That guy scares me.”

  “Bunch of chickens.” Reagan rolled her eyes.

  She knocked on the RV door and Jasper stumbled out. “Come on you guys. We’re gonna start moving the RV,” he called inside.

  Annabeth tossed a bottle of water to Reagan and Granddad. “We have twenty-two bottles but it has to last.”

  “I nominate you for water sheriff, Bess.” Reagan swallowed and passed the bottle to Travis Wayne.

  “Tastes metallic,” he said.

  Kelly guzzled half a bottle and smacked with a refreshing ahh. “Tastes fine to me.”

  Reagan shared a look with Travis Wayne and Granddad. Did the burn mark cause the ever-present metallic taste and smell?

  Meredith stomped down the steps. What little hair remained on his head stood on end. “You did it on purpose. I bet you hid my cigarettes. You’ve been trying to get me to quit for years.”

  “I didn’t touch them.” Dawn rose her head into the air. “But
I can’t say I'm disappointed.” She changed from her sundress and wore stretchy black pants, a long denim shirt, and snow-white Keds. She also ran a brush through her coarse gray hair.

  Meredith staged a dramatic arm motion. He changed to a near-identical Hawaiian shirt and added a heather gray sweatshirt underneath. “Let’s get this thing on the road.”

  “My suggestion for the last hour.” Jasper kept the jean shorts but snagged a lined windbreaker. “Is everyone ready?”

  “I have some bad news,” Reagan began, “the engine is fried. Your RV won’t get us anywhere.”

  “You’re nuts.” Jasper protruded his beer belly. “Once we get it out of the ditch, it’ll work fine.”

  “The two issues aren’t related,” Reagan said. “It appears something, possibly an EMP, wiped out everything with a circuit board. Our best chance is to find a pre-1980s car.”

  “What are you people trying to pull?” Jasper shrieked.

  “See for yourself.” Travis Wayne pointed to the hood.

  “Hey, you folks look a little lost,” said a deep friendly voice.

  Reagan whirled to a man in uniform coming their way. The flat round hat was unmistakable – the missing park ranger.

  Chapter 22 – The Hunter

  Tom

  After carb-loading and packing water, Davidson, Hibbert, and Tom embarked on the airfield trek. Despite the cane – an actual one with a deer antler handle – Davidson navigated at an impressive speed. His impatience spurred him onward. Winding along the spiral road to the south, the snow blanketed the ground enhancing the cooling effect.

  “How does a rational man like you explain the fact you’ve seen a ghost?” Davidson asked as the trio circled the next corner.

  “Your wife saw her,” Tom said.

  “Yeah, but she also thinks Elvis is alive and a massive CIA conspiracy involving Cubans, LBJ and Russians killed Kennedy.” Davidson huffed and puffed with heavy breathing but did not slow his pace. “Hibbs knows she’s nuts. He’s known her for way more years than me.”