by Ron Tufo
“Like it or not, Talbot, I am your Indian Guide. I wish I could leave you alone, but unless you find my long dead brother, wake him up, and get him to lift this curse, I am all yours!”
For some reason, now I felt bad for him again. I understood his “brother” remark. I gave Gary the Evil Eye.
“What? I’m just sitting here watching you talk to the backseat.”
I looked back up and Longwalker was gone.
“Dad, you really have to do something about these little episodes of yours. They were kinda funny when they first started but now they are downright scary.”
“Yeah, I’m working on it.” We had passed into Maine a few miles ago and it was fast getting to twilight. When the sun sets up here, it doesn’t fool around. One moment you are in twilight, the very next you are in moonlight–if there was any.
“Look, guys, we are all hungry and tired. It is getting dark quick. What say we scrounge around in the back of the car for any edibles that may be hiding there and then make a dash for home in the morning.”
We pulled over. Gary stood watch while Meredith and I rifled through the trunk for something to eat. It is a testimony to Lyn’s prowess in the Culinary Black Arts that as hungry as we were, no one even dared open one of her concoctions. Of course, in dad’s favorite hiding place right next to where the extra cable and siphon had been was a Ziploc bag of jerky.
“I am filling out the application as soon as we get home.”
“Application for what, dad?”
“Grampa’s application for sainthood, of course.” Even Gary laughed at that one. We all had a good chew that took the edge off our hunger enough to get some rest. Gary set about reinforcing the broken window while I pumped some air into the not quite filled spare, all the while praising Chevy for equipping this SUV with a full-size tire and rim and not the ones made by the Teeny Tiny Tire Co. that you can only drive for three hundred feet.
The first Maine tollbooth was only a bit up the road, but we saw no need to make it there. We had a nice quiet spot right where we were and none of us felt like moving any farther. We all settled in our traveling benchseat beds, and as a testament to how tired we were, everyone was peacefully asleep when the first car horn blew.
I suppose it is a bit of a telltale that we all woke up to the horn. None of us could afford even the unconscious luxury of deep sound sleep anymore. Everybody quickly sat up and looked for the source. Our eyes followed the glow that was coming from up the road. The horn beeps were getting more and more frantic and continuous. Gary could make out some people arguing with each other, but could not hear the words. Neither could Meredith, and as far as I was concerned, they could have been mimes. I did, however, hear the shot. Well, this was a new and exciting development. A few days ago we’d come through here without a hitch. Now it was Checkpoint Charlie.
In tried and true Talbot reactions, everyone went down below to eye level of their seat backs.
“Gary. I heard the shot, man, but I don’t have the slightest idea what is going on up there.”
“I only have a quick theory, Ron. Judging from the angle of its lights, looks like the car that has been beeping just came off the entrance ramp right at the tolls. I can only imagine they wanted to go through and were not allowed. Why there was any shooting is anyone’s guess? Maybe they didn’t have the exact change.”
“Why couldn’t they just drive through? What the hell are the tolls blocked with? The day of the rising and falling wooden arms are long gone up here.”
“That may be, brother man, but these are all blocked with cars and trucks. You would have to go deep into the ditch to get around them.”
“Okay, that alone tells us something. I don’t think we will be welcome here, either. We can turn around and get on the side streets or we can find a way through this mess.”
“Nu-uh! No more side streets, dad. Not doin’ it. Nope. No Way. Nada! I would rather deal with live bad people than a mess of zombies like last time we got on a narrow street.”
“I vote with Meredith, Ron. I would rather deal with the evil I know right here. Besides, I like shooting bad guys. Gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling.” Sometimes my brother reveals just how deeply disturbed he really is. But then again, I kinda got off on that one too.
“So, the road median is less deep here than it is up by the tollbooth. I say we cross it here and go around them rather than try to bash our way through. The Suburban has plenty of clearance for what is left of this snow, and with a running start, my guess would be that we would build up enough momentum to get all the way across.”
“Uh, dad, you are not exactly filling me with confidence here. You guess we might make it across? Really? That’s your motivational moment?”
“Hey, I m working on it, okay!? Gary, I am going to leave the headlights off so we don’t attract any attention, then we’ll back up some so we’ll have room to build up speed at the point I want to cross. Everyone locked and loaded? Mer, I want my pistol for this one and maybe my rifle a bit later. I really just want to blow by them and be gone before they know we were there. With any luck, they won’t bother chasing us.”
Let the record show that I must increase my offerings to Fortuna, the Roman Goddess of Luck.
The Chevy was a champ. Down and into the shallow median she went and out again like a rocket. Inertia is a wonderful thing! We roared up to the bad-manned tollbooths from the other side and I spotted my first tactical error even before Gary did. The other side of the road was completely blocked up also! Fuck! These jerks had been busy!
As soon as Gary saw the mess we were headed for, he also saw the only way around it. “Ron, we gotta go back into the median and stay in it until we get up to another place we can get out!” It was also filled vehicles, but it did look like there might be enough room for us to bang our way through.
“Yep, I got it. Going in now! Hang on everybody…this is gonna be a roller coaster ride.” We swerved back to the right and headed into the ditch. By now the guys at the tollbooth roadblock knew something was happening but had not radared onto us yet. That would change soon enough.
Heading down into the ditch at full speed, we were literally airborne for the first few seconds. I was pulling back on the steering wheel like I was flying a freakin’ jet and willing the nose of the car to stay high. When we hit, I could hear Meredith’s seatbelt mount give it up with a load snap. She was bouncing around in the back seat like a loose water bottle. The first shot came from inside the car as her trigger finger had been inside the housing and when she bounced she holed the roof of the SUV. I wanted to cry. Judging from the swears, the screaming, and the threats directed at her poor old dad, my daughter was not happy.
“Ron, can you keep up speed and swerve left and right a bit? They are drawing rifles on us.”
“Doing the best I can here. I’ll pull over if you wanna drive?”
We exchanged disgusted looks at each other as the next shot caromed off the front fender.
“The median is rising, we can get out up ahead. I’m going to make a try for it.” And then we were going to go like hell for the Rte. 295 exit. It has way less fucking tollbooths and bridges. “Hold on, Mer.”
If I was listening hard enough, I would have heard, “Yeah. Fuck you too.” Gary did hear her whisper and he was grinning like a chimp with a new banana. Sometimes it is good to be deaf.
I swerved some to start the Disney ride out of the ditch without losing too much speed. The Chevy seemed anxious for the end of that little bit of joyriding to be over too. We all exhaled as we got back onto the pavement and enjoyed a few seconds of relief–until Mer looked behind us.
“Shit, dad, they are coming and they have rifles on us.”
No sweat, honey. We got plenty of fuel and I’m betting this thing can outrun any of those erector sets they are driving. Besides, now that dawn is breaking I can actually see where we I am going.”
From my darling daughter: “When we get home, I swear I am going to hide under my be
d for a week and just shudder.”
Gary’s first shot went right through the middle of the windshield of the lead chase truck. I don’t think he got anyone, but the driver was so scared he just peeled off and slowed to a stop. That certainly told us we weren’t dealing with any hardened criminals here, just run of the mill pussballs. There was only one other truck in the running and he was catching up. I could get no more speed out of the Chevy. As fast and as powerful as it was, it was geared slightly more toward the power and traction sides of the transmission equation.
As the bad guys pulled up on our left, Gary yelled at me. “Cut into them and duck so I can get a shot off. My eyes told him the four things I thought he needed to know: Got it; I will; if you shoot me I’m so telling dad; and, I coming back to bite you.
I kicked left hard and sent them spinning into a not-so-controlled skid. Gary got his shot and took out their rifleman. And oh, by the way, I lived.
“Dude, I think I shot Teddy Tollbooth! Sure looked like him, anyway. Dweeby face, close cropped haircut, stupid smile. Had to be him. Now, that just makes my morning! Boy, I sure would like a cup of coffee.”
Meredith, who always secretly believed there was an adult-defective gene sequence in the entire Talbot bloodline, was now firmly convinced. Gary’s shot may have gotten all the way to the driver, too. They started to back off the chase almost right away and then slide over to the breakdown lane. We drove on into Portland until we were sure there were no other followers.
We stopped in the middle of 295 to catch our breaths, calm our hearts, and assess the damages. Supplies, none. Provisions, none. Spare parts, none. Fuel, maybe enough. Holes in the SUV–too many. Guns, still working. Ammo, plenty. The most urgent question became: could the Suburban make it all they way home before doing a Blues Brothers Dodge imitation and falling off its frame? My poor, brave Chevy. If it made it to the end of the journey, I vowed to bury it with honors right next to its distant cousin, my Gatling Gun blown F-450.
We were within view of the Portland Seacoast; serene and beautiful. If it wasn’t for the gigantic natural gas storage tanks, it would be an awesome view. We sat there for a while taking in the brisk morning air.
There was the tiniest of moving dots out in the ocean. I figured it to be some sort of boat and mentioned it to Gary and Mer. Very cool! Mer suggested we make the short trip into the Portland Marina and see who, assuming it wasn’t a derelict, was onboard.
Gary turned to me and asked, “Ron, you do a good job at judging distance. How far do you think that vessel is from shore?”
I did my best to remember some very old school geometry and since I couldn’t make out the size of the ship or any details, I figured it had to be at least five or six nautical miles away. “Shit. I get your…drift,” I punned. I turned to Mer, “Sweetheart, that is a very large ship. At the distance she is from us, we would not even be able to see a smaller boat. She will be awhile before she gets close enough for us to make out any particulars, even with binoculars. Let’s just sit here and see what develops.”
I try not to pass up the opportunities to do something nice for myself. I took a nap! I have no idea what my brother and daughter were up to. Didn’t care.
The next thing I knew, Gary was shaking my shoulder and saying something like, “Wakey, Wakey! You are not going to believe what is happening on that cruise liner.
As she has gotten closer I have been able make out quite a bit. There are runnels of blood and butchery on every deck. That ship is a zombie’s wet dream. They have people on it that can’t escape. More than likely, that ship is out of any human control.”
I rubbed the grit out of my eyes and looked where he pointed. “Damn, that thing is freaking huge. Hey, isn’t it going a little fast to be coming into harbor under its own power?”
“That’s just it, bro. I believe she is under power, but no one is left on the bridge. No ship horn to announce her arrival. No steerage movement that I can detect at all. She is certainly a cruise ship. Her name is Caribbean Breeze. There are a lot of bodies standing out on the decks, but they are not waving the way tourists usually do when they get into port.”
Gary put the binos back up. “From what I can see, they are milling around with an occasional tight gathering happening. My guess, they are herding any zombies or humans that are too weak to fight them off, then the crowd closes in for the afternoon buffet.”
Meredith took the binoculars from Gary to confirm one other discovery she hoped she really hadn’t witnessed. “Dad, I thought I saw someone jump off the ship. There goes another one! Dad?” She started to sob as she watched people jump from the derelict cruiser in a vain, desperate attempt to make it to shore alive. She was frozen in place as she saw one gruesome death leap after another. One poor soul had fought off a zombie and then slipped as she went over the rail. Never made it to the water. She was caroming off the side of the ship as she was falling like a rock climber who had lost her grip on the mountain. You could almost hear the bones snapping and flesh being turned into a zombie’s idea of lightly seasoned gumbo.
She is not slowing at all. The only thing that is going to stop her is the land she is aiming toward, and that is all jammed with natural gas tanks.”
“Mer, sweetie, coax the dog to get back in the SUV now. I would love to stay and welcome our soon-to-be-really-dead tourists, but I am afraid they are not going to be here long. We need to go now.
Gary and I exchanged no witty remarks. We were both cognizant of the fact that it took a lot to blow up a natural gas tank. They are just chock full of safety measures, most of which are designed directly into their construction, as well as numerous fire suppression mechanisms. However, they are not designed to take a direct hit from a cruise ship weighing in at two hundred thousand tons.
The storage tanks were close enough to shore to give carriers an easy and quick offload of their LNG. The Caribbean Breeze would have no trouble breeching one if she was to hit it.
How far away from this pending disaster would be far enough? If one tank went, all the rest were sure to follow. There was no doubt in my mind half of Portland would just disappear. The concussion and shock wave would be borderline nuclear.
“I figure we have about five minutes, Ron. Try to get us behind some hills to lessen the impact.”
In my head: Chevy, if you ever started up on the first key turn, now would be a good time.
Once again, my favorite, if hurting, SUV answered the bell. Probably had a survival instinct all her own after being on this trip. I prayed there were no more Teddy Tollbooths between us and this soon to be disaster. We took off like the proverbial bats out of hell and made all possible speed north.
There was, of course, a chance that the ocean liner would not hit a tank and you can bet on that if you want to; I will even give you odds. Me, I’m dealing myself out this hand. My luck has not been so good as of late.
“I figure we need to be around five miles outside the blast zone to have much of a chance. Sound about right to you, Gary? This old queen of the highway has been averaging about eighty. The front end is rattling so much I think if go any faster we won’t have to worry about the concussion–we will have already bought the farm. How much more time do we have before we seek cover?”
“Give or take a minute, and five miles is still cutting it close. Could be happening any second. There is a group of high hills and some woods around the curve. Get into that and we’ll get down into the ditch to put some more obstructions between us and the blast. That’ll be the best we can manage. No matter what, we do not want to be out in the open.”
I stopped the Chevy in what looked to be the best spot. We all jumped out and dove into the roadside ditch and got as low as we could. And waited. And waited. And waited some more.
We all knew to keep our mouths open but jaws were beginning to get sore. Expectedly, Meredith was the first to ask, “Can we get up now?” She had been trying to hold on to the dog, who was getting more than a little fidgety. I gave her the
sign for five more minutes and pointed to my open mouth. I rather enjoyed the irony of telling my usually very outspoken daughter to open her mouth as opposed to closing it!
BAAAAWWWOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM! No 4th of July fireworks finale even came close to this monstrous rolling devastation. Trees swayed with desperation and many went down like bowling pins. I surely felt that the explosion and following concussion wave was going to blow us right up out of the ditch and carry us all the way to Searsport via the natural gas express. I would face a hundred zombies with a jackknife before I would choose to be within a blast circle of that magnitude again. The dog had stopped fidgeting and was burying himself under Mer’s jacket. Smart dog.
The noise and the resulting wave subsided as quickly as they had come upon us. The shock did not. We must have lain there for another half hour just grateful to be alive. I know my daughter was mouthing words at me and acting like she thought I should be able to hear her. I laughed. Even on a good day, my hearing was a crap shoot. After this heavy metal concert she had no chance at communication.
Well, one good thing, anyway…I didn’t think there would be too many zombies left in Portland. Of course, there wasn’t too much left of Portland for anything to be in it.
We climbed out of the ditch. The world around us had changed and not for the better. The photographers who had taken pictures of post-nuclear bomb sites would be dumbfounded to know that a natural gas explosion can cause a quite decent imitation, only without the same high level of radioactivity.
Something else was different too. “Where the fuck is the Suburban?” We walked a little ways in both directions and looked in the ditches. Nope. Not to be found. I guessed something that could take out an oak tree would have no problem sending an SUV on its way too.
Can’t go toward Portland. We sure as hell weren’t going to find anything by heading toward the blast. Only direction we could possibly go was north. Well, at least it was the right way. What the hell, it’s winter, we were hungry, thirsty, and cold and now had a dog to feed too. We had no weapons, no food, no water, no extra clothes and we were alone on a deserted stretch of highway. It just kept getting better. Of the three of us, though, Gary was the most pissed off. His MP3 was still in the car and now he had no playlist to listen to. The good news? Well, we were only about a hundred twenty miles from home.
