Pavement Ends: The Exodus

by Kurt Gepner

  Was the person heading up there right now? What if the Caravan got there only to discover a group of people already in residence? What if there were more of them and they had guns?

  They were nearing the Andreson exit when Hank had to abandon his dark thoughts. A barrage of gunfire erupted from the South, in the Dick Hannah Auto-Mall. Brody was already tearing back to the Caravan before Hank could shout for him. Andrea tumbled gymnastically from the roof of the U-haul and everyone took cover to the North side of the vehicles.

  "They’re not shooting at us," Brody said to Hank as he crouched with his back against the truck. "A bunch of people are firing from a building and seven or eight are shooting back, from behind cars."

  "Must be somethin’ in there worth fightin’ for," Silas observed.

  Hank nodded. "It’s probably batteries, or tools." He ground his teeth together and tugged hard on his beard. A stray bullet whizzed overhead and ricocheted off a street lamp. "We need to get out of here!" Turning to Silas he said, "Get everyone aboard. We’ve got to make a run." Without a blink to consider his instructions, Silas rolled to a crouch and hurriedly carried out his orders.

  "Brody," Hank said, "I want you to ride ahead of me and guide me through the wreckage. If the road is blocked, point to the spot where it will be easiest to push through." Hank stood and opened the driver’s door. Motioning for Camille to scoot over, he shouted urgently at the boy. "Go, Brody! Now!"

  The boy had been absorbing his instructions and was startled by Hank’s urgency. "Yah! I’mb, I’mb movingk!"

  Hank climbed into the truck beside his father-in-law. Over his shoulder he shouted at Brody, "Faster, Boy! Move faster!"

  A half-second later, Brody’s scooter was carrying him down the road. Hank didn’t wait to see if all his people were ready. The truck was still idling when he got in, so he dropped it into low and eased it forward. Slowly he gained momentum, until he had brought the Caravan up to twenty miles per hour. Sweat beaded across his forehead and his lips were pulled into a grimace. He dared not go any faster and feared going any slower.

  Ahead of the Caravan, Brody veered to the far left of the road and Hank guided the truck to that side, slowing somewhat. When he passed a scattering of debris, he regained his momentum. They were passing the Thurston Way exit when Brody stopped and point to an area in the road. Hank could see that several cars had burned into slag, while others had collided.

  Letting his foot off the gas, Hank sent up a prayer and aimed the truck where Brody had pointed. The boy sped off, but waited a little farther ahead to watch the impending impact. It appeared that Brody had chosen the best path: Two cars, angled toward each other like a funnel, were sitting with a gap of four feet between them. The Duck Truck was fitted with a brush guard that he had fabricated from bars of steel and two-inch iron piping. It was the only thing that protected the front end of the pick-up.

  "You won’t make it!" Camille shouted from the passenger’s seat.

  Hank pushed the pedal down and closed his eyes just as the front end struck the car on the left. It sounded as if someone was beating a galvanized garbage can with a baseball bat. Hank and Camille were jolted and then again, a half heartbeat later as they collided with the other car. Hank opened his eyes and felt another jolt when the wider U-haul crashed into the corner of one of the cars.

  The last jolt was too much for one of the heavy-duty chains that tethered the U-haul to the Duck Truck and it snapped. In his rear view mirror, Hank saw sparks leaping from the dancing steel links. But then he saw another thing, more terrifying than the gunmen that he was hoping to evade. Gasoline was spilling from the engine compartment of the U-haul. Thrusting out his fist to indicate a stop, Hank eased off the gas and pressed down on the brake. The Caravan slowed to a halt.

  As Hank inspected the damage, the car-pushers got directly to work. Andrea took her station on top of the U-haul, Donkers in hand. Bertel had somehow broken the pinky finger of her right hand and Theresa was tending to her. Val, Susanna Rae and Norah found themselves consoling frightened children, while Lexi and Phim Pham calmed the canines.

  Evie quickly found her husband and harangued him about overreacting. Her nerves were frayed, and she had no subtlety left in her expression. For the most part, he absorbed her tongue-lashing without comment as he inspected the Caravan. It ended abruptly, however, when he discovered a bullet hole in the passenger door of the U-haul and pried the round from the inner driver’s door. It was impossible to know whether it was a stray or intentional, but it had clearly missed Norah, Salvador and their children by mere inches. Evie quietly, and with a red face, accepted the bullet as reasonable justification for Hank’s desperate flight from danger.

  The damage list was short, but inconvenient. Both headlights had shattered when the brush guard had folded into the fenders on each side. Otherwise the Duck Truck was unblemished. The left, front fender of the U-haul was crumpled, but did not interfere with steering. The gasoline had come from only one ruptured container. And finally the left-side, heavy-duty chain had snapped. Hank used a couple of bolts to reconnect the chain and shortened the right-side to match the lengths.

  In all they were stalled for about thirty minutes before launching the Caravan anew. A general shift in attitude had spread among the pilgrims, fueled mostly by word of the bullet that Hank had dug out of the door. Where confusion, resentment and doubt had reigned, there was now a certainty, determination and dread. As the sun touched the tops of distant trees, the women tended to the children, prepared food and scrounged the roadside for things of use. They even gathered cattails from the marshy soil of ditches to add to the soup pot. The men, in turn, labored to open a passage over the road.

  For all their motivation, however, their progress was severely hampered by what had been a funeral procession of cars. It had stalled on the I-205 bypass. The honored dead had obviously been popular in life, because there were more than forty vehicles in loose formation behind the hearse. The soil was too soft to take the Caravan off the road, so they were forced to tackle the obstruction. Most of them were easily pushed clear, but even that stroke of good fortune took a few minutes for each car. The men were all exhausted beyond measure.

  When they had cleared about half of their path, Andrea whistled a warning, which brought everyone into a huddle by the U-haul. A group of four people were hiking toward the Caravan following the swath of cleared vehicles. Hank, drenched with sweat and grease and grime, pulled Whisper from its holster and stepped out to meet the travelers.

  In a loud but clearly fatigued voice, Hank called out when the group was twenty paces away, "Hold up, right there!"

  The man in the lead, who was tall and wiry, looked as if he were going camping. He wore a huge pack on his back with a few extra bundles lashed on for good measure. In his left hand he carried a gnarled walking stick that stood to his shoulder. He raised his arms and hollered back. "We smelled the food. If you’ve got some to spare, we’ll clear the rest of those cars away."

  A wave of gratitude washed over Hank, but caution ruled his actions. "Hold up your weapons, so I can see what you’ve got!"

  The tall leader held up his walking stick and a multi-tool. The man to his left held up an aluminum baseball bat, while the two women held up their bare hands. Hank holstered Whisper and waved them forward. As the wiry man approached, he warmly thrust out his hand in greeting. Hank held up his hands to show how filthy they were, but the man flashed a lop-sided grin and said, "You’ll give me a head start."

  The two men shook and Hank made some quick introductions. The man vigorously pumped Hank’s arm and said, "Stewart. Stewart Rex Vangaard." The two men examined each other and Hank saw that Stewart was used to dealing with people.

  With a weary nod, Hank said, "Well, Stewart, we have enough food to share. If you get us on to the two-oh-five, I’ll see that you all have a full belly before you push on."

  Stewart nodded with an acquiescent posture and said, "It might be dark before we’re through. You
seem better outfitted and more organized than my little team. Would it be unreasonable to camp together?"

  Hank answered more quickly than he preferred. "Sure. Safety in numbers. Right?"

  Stewart tilted back his head and a light laugh drifted from his throat. "You’re right about that." A tight silence existed between the men for a moment before Stewart went on. "Well if you don’t mind us leaving our packs in your care, we’ll get started."

  Hank’s head lolled in a worn out nod. Stewart called a huddle, outlined a plan to his group and they got busy. A few short minutes later, fresh arms and backs were pushing and prying and lifting debris out of the way while the exhausted men lay down on the grass beside the road. There was very little conversation.

  Hank took advantage of the reprieve along with the others and laid his fatigued body down upon the soft grass. But as the tension and pain of his abused muscles began to leach away, he became aware of a distant repetitive clanking.

  With an effort of will, he pushed himself upright and looked around. Jessie had already zeroed in on the source. "Hey," she quietly said, over her shoulder. "It’s coming from the back of that northbound semi."

  Tiredly Hank observed, "That semi is bound for nowhere." Battling a great wave of lethargy, he climbed to his feet. "Come on," he waved to Jessie, "let’s check it out."

  The other men had succumbed to their exhaustion and were sleeping along the roadside. Brody, however, still gripped by his anguish, was at Hank’s heels.

  "Stay here, Brody," Hank ordered. "This could be dangerous."

  "So," Brody said with more sarcasm than he’d meant. "I’m your scout. You send me ahead, all alone. How is this any more dangerous?"

  Jessie looked sidelong at Hank. "He’s got a point," she said.

  "I’ll do whateber you say, Hank…," then his eyes slid across the grass until they locked on Dale’s mass. "Jus’ don’t leabe me here, wif himb." Brody could definitely take a hit and he had even once lost a fight, but he’d never been beaten the way Dale had beat him. He knew he was athletically gifted, but the strength of a full-grown man bearing down on him with all that hatred…. Those knuckles plowing into him, again and again…. Brody was afraid.

  Seeing the desperate set to Brody’s posture was what changed Hank’s mind. "Fine, Brody, but you know the score. I don’t want you to even hesitate when I tell you to do something."

  "You got it!" Brody assured with an absolute confidence that he could fulfill Hank’s requirements.

  As they passed the group of workers who were diligently clearing a path for the Caravan, Stewart stood and asked, "Are you going to check out that banging sound?" Hank nodded, but didn’t stop. Turning back to his group, Stewart said, "Keep going, gang, I’m going to tag along with these guys."

  Looking away from the newcomer, Hank pressed his lips into a line of displeasure. He did not like that Stewart had invited himself into the group. Hank strode on, however, and kept his irritation to himself.

  Winding their way past the deceased beasts of transport, they were soon parallel with the big rig. The driver had managed to pull it over to the shoulder of the highway before abandoning his vehicle. Hank’s group stood on the opposite shoulder with six lanes of pavement and a concrete barrier between them and the truck. Slowly, along the grassy edge, they eased forward, until they could see the back of the trailer.

  Two men were using a large rock to hammer at a lock on the back of the trailer. When one man got tired he traded the rock for a pistol that was being held by the other man. Hank and his men watched the pair for several minutes, without being noticed.

  The man who had just received the pistol finally caught sight of the four and waved his firearm threateningly. Throwing his arms up in supplication, Hank slowly walked to the concrete median. Jessie called after him, but to no avail.

  "Get the hell out of here!" The man with the gun shouted in a squeaky voice. His wire-framed glasses glinted in the sunlight. He was young and seemed frail although his baggy clothing masked his physique.

  Hank put his arms down to lean casually against the Jersey barrier that divided the two directions of highway. "We’ll go, if you want, but I can probably help," he called out.

  "This is ours!" The man shouted back while waving his pistol with menace. "We don’t need your help!" The other man, who was much older and very chubby, leaned his round face toward the slender man and whispered something. "Wait!" The bespectacled man shouted. "What kind of help?"

  "Can I come over there," Hank hollered back, "so we can talk?"

  The chubby man leaned toward his friend again. The smaller man called out. "No! Send the kid."

  "Forget it!" Hank threw his hands up with a shout and turned around. "Come on guys," he said to his team.

  With a twinge of panic that Hank could hear from thirty yards away, the small man called out, "Wait!" Hank kept walking. "Wait!" The little man yelled again. After an exaggerated pause, Hank turned back, but said nothing. "Okay, you can come over."

  Without saying a word, Hank returned. "I’m not going to play games with you," he said loudly, but without shouting. "Me and my friends all come over, or we’re done talking about it."

  The duo bickered for a moment, then the larger man nodded. The two group maintained a fifteen-foot barrier, neither trusting the other. Hank nodded toward the trailer. "So… What have we got here?"

  This time the larger man spoke. "According to the paperwork in the truck, it’s a load of Bush’s Black Beans," he lisped. Shifting his weight nervously, he reached out a hand. "My name is Tad and this is Dillon." The two groups shook hands and after introductions were finished the tension eased some.

  Jessie spoke up. "The locks they use on a semi trailer is pretty heavy duty. Most of them are some kind of vanadium alloy. Good luck trying to smash it off with a rock."

  Hank stepped over to the latch and inspected the lock. The two men skittered out of his way, but the smaller man kept his pistol uncertainly raised. He was not pointing it at anyone in particular, but he was clearly shaking nervously. It was an effort for Hank to ignoring the two paranoids, but he focused on the lock that held the doors closed. They had managed to beat it into a jagged, gnarly chunk of metal, but it still held the door securely shut.

  "Brody," Hank said, while still examining the lock.

  "Yeah?" The teenage boy replied crisply.

  "Run back and ask Evie for the bolt cutters," he instructed.

  "You got it, Hank." Brody was dashing away before he finished his sentence.

  "You’ve got bolt cutters?" asked Dillon as he pushed up the sleeves of his oversized sweatshirt. His voice was similar in texture to a teenaged girl, and was both excited and dubious.

  Half smiling, Hank looked up at the two and said, "I like heavy-duty things. I have a heavy duty lock, myself." The two men shared a look between themselves and Hank added, "They’re great, that is, unless you’re the one trying to smash it open. Or…," he glanced back at the lock then looked up at them, over the rim of his glasses. "Trying to shoot it open with a gun?"

  "Uh…" stammered Dillon.

  With a look of wonder, Hank spoke patronizingly. "You know you're lucky you didn’t shoot yourself with the ricochet. This isn’t the movies. My shotgun probably couldn’t blast it open."

  "So you’re just going to cut this open for us?" asked Tad. He slapped both hands on his crown, exposing dark stains under his arms.

  "Yes," Hank confirmed. "Right after we agree on a price."

  Dillon’s body convulsed with agitation. "I knew you’d try and screw us!"

  Hank folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. "I’m not trying to screw you, at all. I’m doing business with you."

  "You want some of these beans in exchange for opening the lock," Tad observed.

  Pointing a finger at him with a forced smile, Hank said, "Exactly!"

  Dillon whined. "No! You don’t offer help to somebody and then say it comes with a price."

  Hank gave him a noncha
lant shrug and said, "Fine. I withdraw the offer to help." Dillon gasped and squeaked unintelligently. "We can talk about it," Tad said as he shot a look at his friend.

  "Good," Hank said. "Now, let’s start from scratch. You’ve got a problem and I’ve got a solution. If you want to take advantage of my solution… Great! If not…," he shrugged again. "You can get back to pounding on that lock with your rock."

  At that moment Brody ran up, huffing and spitting blood on the ground. Hank took the massive yellow bolt cutters that the boy held out. Hank painted the smile back on his lips and said, "You’ve got a truckload of food, but no way to get at it. I’ve got a way to get at it and a lot of mouths to feed. Now let’s make a deal."

  "What do you want?" Tad asked.

  "No…" Dillon whined to his companion. "You don’t ask him what he wants…. You make an offer." He turned to Hank and said, "We’ll give you a case of beans, if you get this thing open."

  Hank’s mouth pressed into a frown. He took a deep breath and gave some careful attention to the pavement under his feet. Then looking the frail man in the eye, he said, "Before we go on, let me lodge something in your brain. I didn’t expect this truck load of beans and really, I can get by without it. If you insult me one more time, you can have fun with your rock and lock, because I’m not going to deal with you."

  Both men went pale and Dillon squeaked. Tad shot another warning look at his companion, which effectively sealed his mouth. Then he turned to Hank and asked, "What do you want?"

  After another deep breath, Hank relaxed and gave his terms of service. "Fifty cases."

  Dillon croaked, but said nothing after another warning from his hefty friend. Then Tad nodded and stuck out his hand. "Done!"

  Taking the proffered hand in his, Hank shook it and said. "Good. Now let’s quit wasting time and get this over with."