Pavement Ends: The Exodus

by Kurt Gepner

  Hank nodded and asked, "What about his walk back?"

  "Yeah. About that," Dale said as he ran fingers through his dark, curly hair. "Every one of the gas stations he saw was burning. He didn’t see any cars running. Then when he got to the bridge…" His face tightened with anxiety. "Man… Everything’s so fucked up."

  Dale brought himself back under control and continued his news. "Anyways," he said. "When Ed got to the bridge, it was engulfed in flames. He said a tugboat and a couple of barges were jammed up underneath. The tug had a big pillar of fire spewing out of the tail end that was so hot and smoky, he had to run through it blind. I guess there won’t be too many people coming over that way for a while."

  Hank nodded grimly. "I imagine not. Did he tell you anything else?"

  "Not really." Dale shook his head. "He’s just worried about his family, like the rest of us."

  Hank handed the rifle back to his neighbor and gripped his shoulder. "Val is fine, Dale. You know she’s fine. She’ll be waiting at the house when we get back. You know she’s walking home, right now."

  Dale bit his bottom lip and nodded. "We gonna do this thing, or what?" Hank smiled sorrowfully and stepped out in front of the dogs. With a signal they were at his heels once again.

  Walgreen’s and True Value Hardware shared a single roof on the south side of Fourth Plain Boulevard, between Main Street to the west and Broadway to the east. Hank turned the dogs so they were on the Broadway side of the building, facing north, toward Fourth Plain. He situated the cart so its tail end was just clear of the side door to the store’s stockroom. Then he unhitched Reggie and gave him the command to guard the cart.

  Leaving the others by the door, he stepped around the corner and found a cluster of people milling beneath the awning that stretched eight feet out along the entire face of the building. Hank asked if both stores were locked up. They were. Someone asked him if he was going to break in. Hank pulled Whisper from its holster and rested the barrel against his shoulder, making sure it was completely visible and he smiled. "I’m going to hope you all stay on this side of the building."

  There were maybe fifty to sixty people crammed under the awning. They were people who got stranded, or who had come out of the rain to watch their homes burn down in the surrounding residential area. They may have been there filling a prescription, or buying a pack of smokes. They may have been on the other side of Main Street, buying a latte at Starbucks. Now they were stuck. They were terrified, because they didn’t know what had happened. They didn’t know why the authorities weren’t doing anything about it and they didn’t know what was to come.

  The people under the shelter of this aluminum awning, as a whole, shrank away from the big man with the big gun. Fear kept them silent and still, except for one little girl whose voice rose crisply and clearly from the crowd.

  "Mommy, is that man going to steal from the store?" asked the girl.

  "Shut up!" A woman’s voice hissed from the depths of the crowd. "Just shut up!"

  Hank turned his back to the people and walked around the corner. His teeth clenched behind his scowl. He felt confident in his decision to loot the pharmacy, but he hated to terrorize people. It had been his hope that strangers would just stay away, because his group was armed and looked scary. Now he had to threaten people directly, even children, and he hated it. Dale’s eyes grew wide when he saw his neighbor come around the corner and the two newest members of his party briskly took a step back, clearing the way for him to pass.

  "What’s wrong," Salvador asked.

  "Nothing," Hank rumbled. "There’s a bunch of people over there," he said, jerking his thumb toward the corner. "Dale, you’re going to have to stand at the corner and look menacing."

  Dale nodded. "If that’s all it takes to get this done, then call me a menace." He threw his rifle casually up to his shoulder, ready to yank it level, and stepped into view of the crowd. Hank shoved Whisper back into its holster and pulled a heavy leather apron from the cart. Then he brought out a pair of goggles with lenses that looked like polished onyx. When the gloves were on, Hank handed a flimsy pair of dark, green goggles to Salvador and then said to the other men, "Look away; it’s bad for the eyes." He pumped the gasoline tank and turned on the oxygen. Then he took the brass handle of the torch and twisted the knobs where the red and green hoses were attached.

  Air wheezed from the tip and Hank scraped the igniter, showering the invisible column with sparks. A gout of orange flame erupted from the nozzle. With a quick adjustment, it tapered into a beam of blue light. "Watch this," he said to Salvador. Then he pressed the torch fire into the seam between the door and frame, about an inch above the knob. With a deliberate and steady pace, he slowly drew the tip down. In less than twenty seconds, the door popped loose and opened a fraction. Hank pulled it the rest of the way open and extinguished the torch. When they took off their goggles, the heavy-duty bolt that fit into the reinforced steel frame was still glowing. Salvador whistled appreciatively.

  Hank lifted the metal tote that held the oxygen and gasoline tanks from the cart. "Okay guys," he said to the three men before him. "Here’s what I want you to do: First, move fast. Grab those bags and flashlights and come with me." They did as instructed with Salvador taking one light, Eddy taking the other and Chance trailing with the bags.

  Hank started lugging his tanks in the door when Eddy said, "Dude. Your flashlight is dead."

  Salvador shook his and said, "This one, too."

  Hank grunted, "Didn’t think of that. An E.M. pulse will wreak havoc on electrical stuff. Drain batteries, blow circuits and stuff like that."

  "A what?" asked Chance, with a baffled expression.

  "Never mind," Hank said. He stepped out of the way and said, "Go ahead of me and get to the front of the store. There’ll be batteries by the checkout. They should be fine." The men stepped past him and disappeared into the gloom. Hank followed, noisily lugging his torch kit down a short flight of stairs.

  With only a hint of light filtering into the stock room from the open door, the aisles of stored goods seemed oppressively narrow. A heady, acrid odor of ozone overwhelmed the deep, lung biting stink of burnt plastic that seemed to dominate the outdoor air.

  Emerging from a swing door along the grocery section of the store proper, Hank headed toward the pharmacy counter in the back corner. Along the way he knocked a few vitamin bottles off the shelves, creating a large racket that caused Salvador to yelp. Hank hollered up to the others, "Hey guys, once you get the flashlights working, come back here." Moments later, a shaft of brightness spilled over him as the other men came jogging back. Eddy was still fumbling with the batteries when they joined up.

  "All right guys, here’s how we have to work it," Hank said. Eddy tightened the head of the Maglite and a beam of light bloomed into his eyes, causing him to jerk his head back in surprise. Hank reached his hand out as he spoke and Eddy reluctantly surrendered his light. "Salvador, I want you to shine the light on the shelves and hold the bags as they fill up. Find the backpacks in the school supplies and fill them too. Eddy, I want you to hold each bag open, so Chance can dump supplies into them."

  Pointing the light down the aisle nearest them, Hank continued rapid-firing instructions at the men. "Start with the general medical supplies. Get those manual blood-pressure kits and the mercury thermometers. Rubbing alcohol, peroxide, bandages, gauze, anti-biotic ointment and those gloves." He highlighted everything as he called them out. "Grab all of the cod-liver oil, but not fish pills and all of the vitamin-B, C and E you can find. Also Advil and Tylenol. Get all of the toothbrushes and floss. Then go down that way and get all of the bleach. Nothing scented, just plain bleach.

  "I think there’s a bunch of rolled up blankets over there. Get those too. After that, head over that way and pull all of the canned food and energy bars. No candy or chips, just cans. Grab dried goods like rice, pasta, nuts and beans, if you find ‘em. Now go!"

  Hank tucked the flashlight under his arm and
ignited his oxy-gasoline torch. The three men hustled off to follow his instructions. Salvador rambled a steady stream of instructions, "That and that. No not that. Over there." He spotlighted everything as he directed their actions. "Get this. Right there. Not that. Get those." Hank pulled his goggles down and cut his way through the locked room that protected all of the pharmaceuticals. When the door was open, he quickly lugged the torch and tanks back to the cart. He looked at Dale and gave him a grim thumbs-up. Dale nodded his chin in return. Hank pulled the suitcases from the cart and dashed back to the pharmacy.

  From his shirt pocket Hank pulled out the list that Theresa had given him. She had scribbled about three-dozen medicines on the paper and verbally instructed him to get all of the really strong painkillers and all of the antibiotics he could find. His light beam whipped across the shelves and bins and back to the creased legal paper. Albuterol, advar, oxycontin, oxycodone, valium, codeine, insulin, syringes, anything ending in ‘cillin’ and ‘mycin’ and ‘cycline’, synthroid, demerol, percocet, metoprolol, lisinopril, the list went on.

  Sweeping through the bins of pills, Hank filled paper bag after paper bag, carefully but quickly labeling each with a marker after he stapled them shut. Quickly Hank’s suitcases were bulging and there was still more to grab. "Don’t be greedy, Hank," he advised himself. "It’s time to take what you’ve got and get out."

  He zipped shut all his suitcases and grabbed them up. As he made his way out, Hank shouted into the store, "Time to go. Wrap it up and move out, now!" Outside, the cart was piled with food and blankets and other goods. A clear vinyl shower curtain was draped over the heap of supplies. Several bulging bags were scattered around the door. Dale still stood at the corner, but he was holding the rifle in both hands, down by his waist. Hank pushed on the load and plunged his hand into the cart. When he pulled it free, it held the crowbar. The other men came out. Hank quickly hooked up Reggie again. "I’ll be right back."

  "What you forget?" Salvador asked.

  "Trade goods," Hank said as he ran back into the building with the crowbar. He ran up to the front of the store, grabbing a white sweatshirt that had the letters WSU printed across the front. With a ram of the crowbar he wedged the end behind the Plexiglas doors that locked away the cigarettes. When he’d popped two of them open, Hank set his crowbar on the counter and deftly tied a knot at the ends of the sweatshirt sleeves. Then he packed the shirt with cartons of Marlboro and Camel cigarettes, as fast as he could.

  Just as he crammed the last carton into his makeshift sack, he heard the sudden, ferocious barking of the dogs. Hank hastily grabbed up his bundle and sprinted to the back of the store and out the door. A small mob of men had appeared across the street on the opposite corner of Fourth Plain and Broadway. They were carrying sticks and pipes and other improvised weapons. Hank pulled Whisper from its holster and scanned his surroundings as he signaled the dogs to silence. Salvador was pointing his pistol at the mob from the other side of the cart. Dale had the Winchester at his shoulder, sighting down the barrel at the mob. Both Chance and Eddy where nearly toppling over with their heavily loaded bags and there were still three large bags on the ground.

  The mob was holding its ground in the gravel parking lot next to what had once been a tattoo parlor. A hundred feet and one small, red Honda Civic lay between the two groups. Eddy chanted, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" as his feet stamped a complex dance of terror. Dale said, "Let’s go." Hank crouched down and scooped up two of the bags with his left hand and heaved them, with his sweatshirt bundle, over his shoulder.

  "Salvador, get the last bag," Hank commanded. Salvador didn’t move. "Salvador! Come on!" His son-in-law slowly backed his way to the last bag. Hank could see his hand trembling, his knuckles white on the grip of the pistol. "Salvador. Dale and I have ‘em covered. Put the gun away and hold this load." Salvador didn’t move. "Salvador! Do what I say!" His son-in-law remained motionless. Hank saw a few members of the mob disappear behind a nearby building, obviously intending to circle around. Hank leaned toward his son-in-law. "Salvador!" He shouted with enough force to move the hairs on the back of Salvador’s neck.

  Thunder filled their ears and the pistol ripped out of Salvador’s hand. Hank watched it clatter against the wall of the store. The startled dogs jerked the cart and the top third of the load rolled to the ground. Looking back, Hank saw the mob scattering in every direction. One man was holding his arm and a basketball-sized ring of red freshly decorated the tattoo parlor wall.

  "Dale," Hank shouted. "Grab the pistol, quick." Dale dipped down and plucked up the weapon, tucking it in the waist of his pants.

  Eddy’s chant abruptly ended and Chance took up a new verse. "Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!"

  "Salvador!" Hank growled. "Look at me!"

  Salvador spun to face his father-in-law. "This wouldn’t have happened if we’d just left when you said!" he spat venomously at Hank.

  "You’re right," Hank agreed. "Now throw all that shit onto the shower curtain and bunch up the ends so you can carry it like a sack."

  "Fuck you!" Salvador spat.

  Hank leveled Whisper’s barrel at Salvador’s forehead. "I’m not in the mood for your bullshit. Now do it!" Salvador’s eye split wide and he stood paralyzed.

  "Hank. Get off him!" Dale was shouting. "We have got to go. Leave that shit, if he won’t pick it up. We’ve got to go!"

  Realization of his actions swept over Hank. A desperate regret filled his heart. Holstering Whisper he said, "Salvador. I’m sorry."

  Salvador clamped his mouth shut. A tear glistened in the corner of his eye. "Fuck you," he said as he bent to gather all of the fallen goods into the curtain. Hank leaned down and put his hand on Salvador’s shoulder. Violently shaking off Hank’s offending hand, Salvador yelled, "Fuck off!" and taking up its ends, he threw the loaded curtain over his shoulder.

  Stricken dumb, Hank looked back at Dale. His neighbor shook his head unfathomably and said, "Let’s go."

  Hank walked ahead of the dogs and called them to heel. Looking back, he saw Dale trying to talk to his son-in-law, but Salvador ignored him as he plodded after the rest of the men. Dale gave up and trotted ahead of the younger man. He took one bag each from Eddy and Chance, then caught up with Hank.

  "You shouldn’t have leveled on him," Dale said.

  "I know," Hank said without looking at his long-time neighbor.

  "He’s going hate you for life," Dale said.

  "Probably," Hank agreed.

  "How are you going to make it right?" asked Dale.

  Still staring straight ahead, Hank said, "I have no idea."

  Dale shook his head and said, "This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t gone back in there."

  "I know," Hank said with a touch of ire in his voice.

  Sensing Hank’s agitation, Dale backed off a little. "What did you get, anyway?" he asked.

  "Cigarettes," Hank distantly answered.

  With furrowed brow, Dale stated, "You don’t smoke."

  "Nope," Hank said.

  "Why’d you go back for cigarettes?" asked Dale.

  Hank frowned deeply, but still stared straight ahead as he replied. "Because, it seemed like the thing to do."

  "Hank, you can’t be doing crazy shit like that." Dale stepped in front of his neighbor and stopped the man’s progress. He looked him in the eye and said, "We all agreed to do this, because you made sense. Going back like that and leveling on the kid don’t make sense."

  "I know," Hank said as if from a distant place.

  "Well, shit, Man! I know you know, but what are you going to do about it?" demanded Dale.

  Hank locked eyes with his neighbor for a moment. "I’m going to do the best I can, Dale. That’s all. Just the very best." Then he stepped past Dale and trudged as a solitary figure up the vacant road named Broadway.

  When they got to the Dairy Queen, Hank stopped and waited for Salvador. His son-in-law approached and looked at him with the deepest level of wrath.

  "Sal
vador," said Hank. "I can’t take back what I did, so I’m not going to try." As Hank spoke, Salvador’s brow furrowed. "My mistake put us in a tense situation, I’ll admit. But we had guns and they didn’t. If you had listened to me, all of that shit wouldn’t have happened." Hank could hear Salvador’s teeth grinding. And as he spoke, Hank became less contrite, and grew more angry with his son-in-law’s defiant attitude.

  "The life and times that you expected to find here this morning are all gone," Hank spat. He was as frustrated with the turn of events as he was with having to explain himself. Right or wrong, Salvador should have listened to me, he thought. "Everything has changed. You need to pull your head out of your ass and act like a man. That crap you pulled back there was childish and now I know why you lost your job. It’s because you won’t follow orders."

  Salvador dropped his load and thrust his hands out, shoving Hank back a step. "Come on, you mother-fucker!" In the time it took to blink, Hank lifted his foot between Salvador’s legs. The younger man dropped to his knees and rolled to his side, letting out a gut-deep wail of pain.

  Hank stood silently over the groaning man for a long moment. Then he leaned over him and said, "Salvador. We’re going to stand here and protect you while you recover." Hank spoke loudly, as if he were speaking to somebody at the bottom of a deep pit. "You’re wasting our time. You’re wasting my time. Get your shit together and get up. And when you get up, you’d better really have your shit together. From now on, you do as you’re told, the first time you’re told."

  "Go to Hell," Salvador moaned.

  Hank squatted down next to his son-in-law and in a low voice said, "Quit playing games, Salvador. I should kick the shit out of you for putting on all this machismo," Hank said, angrily. "All you’re doing is telling me that I can’t rely on you." Hank put a knee down and leaned close, speaking softly, dangerously. "Right now, there’s only two ways that I can treat you. You’re either a man in my family, or you are a boy. You choose which it is and I’ll treat you accordingly."