The Populace

by Patterson, Aaron M.

  “Paydirt,” Gene said after entering the garage as I was on the far side. “Which one do you want?”

  “Whichever works!”

  That, as it turns out, was the biggest factor in finding our rides. Also, where were the keys? Most likely in the police station itself, but they could certainly be lost somehow. I entered the station through the walkway at the end of the garage, each step ensuring I was not getting closer to Gene. I found the box of keys in the receptionist’s desk at the front. Few were labeled, most of which with the numbers of the cruisers in the garage. The rest probably needed to be guessed at to find their rightful car ignitions.

  I chose the BMW, a black thing that was brand new in 2030 more than likely. It would be sturdy and reliable, but only if it ran. It only took three key selections before I found the right one. And as expected, the car wouldn’t start. Not even almost turn over. I was no mechanic, so I couldn’t fix it. Nor could Gene. This went on between us both with ten cars. Finally, after losing a plethora of hope, one turned over. The engine ran, although in a wildly sputtering manner.

  “Which one is that?” Gene said to me over cell as he continued to try his luck on the other side of the garage.

  “One of the cruisers. White, two-door, ugly as shit. Tires full of air. Half a tank of gas too!”

  Even more fortunate, the car was at the front of the garage, meaning I wouldn’t have to jam it through a collection of other cars to get it out. And the thing ran with beautiful impunity. I parked it before the garage and turned it off to wait for Gene’s success. Such a thing would not come for another two hours. But when he found a working vehicle, the Chevrolet Taos hatchback, we knew we were about ready to leave. Bonus, the Taos had a full tank of gas in it.

  He did have to ram a few other vehicles to get the Taos out in front of the garage, albeit about a hundred or so feet from mine. This was no time to bring out the devil known as the Ire.

  I talked to him through cell. “Ok Gene, here’s the plan. We need to try, and I say ‘try’ to stay on the roads.”

  “What do you think, I don’t know where cars are supposed to go? Come on, Wallace.”

  “It’s been a while is all. Anyway, we need to find a way to a road that was Interstate 29. That takes us to Sioux City, Omaha, hop onto another interstate to get to Lincoln, whatever from there. But the key is to find 29. It’s southwest of Tracy. Your car has a compass, right?”

  “Yup,” Gene said. “It says S right now.”

  “Good, it’s working. Try to keep it as SW as possible. From Tracy we’ll be going on road 38 I believe. I don’t know the town names or the road numbers from there, but I think we can wing it at that point.” Pretty bad mistake on my part. Hindsight. “Does your car have a cell cradle?”

  “It does.”

  “Use it so we can talk through the system. Also, it will charge your battery. Big stroke of luck there.”

  “I must say something, Wallace.”

  “What?”

  “This is going to be fun. We’ve had a rough few days, but this will be like our reward.”

  “Maybe.” It wasn’t going to be fun. I honestly anticipated far more problems on the roads than walking. Again, too many unknowns.

  We found some gas cans in the garage and managed to syphon gasoline from many of the cars inside. I hauled about thirty gallons in my trunk while Gene carried around twenty-eight, probably enough for each of us to reach Oklahoma. And the taste, it was bad. Also, we were unsure if twenty-year-old gasoline was good or bad on car engines. The latter seemed more likely.

  With that, we were gone. My cruiser sped with gallant gumption at 25 miles per hour. I lead, as I had a better sense as to our destination. And still yet, I wasn’t completely sure where I was going. The compass meant everything. I could only hope it didn’t malfunction.

  I made sure to keep Gene’s vehicle in view behind me, although on some of the curves I’d lost him briefly. Only ten miles in and we came across our first thunderstorm on the road. The rain pelted down on us with passion. The top of my car was somewhat rusted from age and leaked a tad in the passenger seat. No bother. At least the leak wasn’t over my head.

  Remarkably, the clocks in the dashes of both our cars worked with great accuracy. Darkness was settling in at around the 9 o’clock hour. Time to stop. We chose simply to stay on the side of the road in the very off chance that another person could drive through the area.

  Overall, it had been an eventful day. According to the odometer, we had driven 140 miles from Tracy. The town around us, mightily small, was called James. Simple names for simple towns. It was apparently on the outskirts of Sioux City, which is where we would meet up with Interstate 29.

  I was surprised the drive went as well as it did. We were in cars undriven for two decades, using brains that hadn’t driven in two decades, and we were unaware of the geography or possible military presence of any parts of this land. We breezed by. Once more, in the age of the Ire, I’ve always expected the other shoe to drop. This yin had to have its yang. For that, I did not sleep well. Atop this notion was the one of Gene, the idea that I was truly growing to dislike him. But why? I loved the guy and understood him. Sensibility wasn’t all there. Nevertheless, trust in Gene was rapidly changing into antiquity.

  “Wallace?” he suddenly said over the cell as I was in twilight between awake and slumber. It was midnight.

  “What is it, Gene?”

  “What am I going to do when I get to Oklahoma?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What am I going to do, me, when I, me, get to Oklahoma.”

  “Are you serious with this, Gene? We’ve been over this. And we are getting to Oklahoma, not just you. I haven’t stuck my fucking neck out there for nothing.”

  “I’ve said it before and I’ll goddamn say it again. You didn’t have to come with me. I liked that you offered to come, but it was always your option. You could be back at the development right now watching reruns of Cheers if you wanted to.”

  “Cheers? Huh? I’ve seen that show once, Gene. And what?”

  “I don’t know what you used to watch, Wallace. Hell, I don’t even know if I really know you that well.”

  The stuff was finally coming out in the wash. Gene’s doubts surfaced, and at the worst time. I’d known him as a solid, steadfast man with a great sense of right and wrong. Now, in the height of our flight from Minnesota—we were in Iowa now, as it was—he was showing me that he was more a man lacking confidence and direction. Why did I befriend such a person? I couldn’t answer my own question. What was the point this late in the game?

  “I’m sorry,” Gene spat back. Original. “I’m not myself.”

  Well maybe it’s because you just found out you’re a willing cannibal! I wish I could have said that. It was the truth. He was a cannibal and he liked it. Flegtide, as it seemed, was turning into something much worse than what it was billed as. And with a person like Gene, whose mind was already feverishly unstable, it was simply dynamite. You’re eating people and absorbing their souls because you’ve lost yours.

  “Gene, you need to stop thinking so much.”

  “Of course I know that, Wallace. Do you want to know how it was?”

  “Eating people? Fuck no!”

  “Not that. The five minutes I had with those people. It was real. I haven’t had that in a long time.”

  “Does it matter, Gene? You killed them after that five minutes.”

  “It matters. Though they’re dead, they were alive and talked to me in person. The lady, that leader of the Blip Blip folks, she was so kind. I didn’t see her as a threat for five minutes. I said something like I enjoy speaking to you to her. It was nice. It felt peaceful. I liked it.”

  “Does it compare to the feeling you felt after that?”

  “Well, what do you mean, Wallace?”

  “The Ire took you over and you wanted to kill. While Ired, you actively searched for more kills, not just killing because you ran into them. That changed yo
u. You liked that. You told me this, Gene!”

  “Listen, I know you’re mad at me.”

  “Yup.”

  “I’m trying to win back your trust, Wallace! I should have never told you about killing those people. You don’t understand.”

  “I don’t, Gene. Nor do I want to. Let’s just get you to Oklahoma and reassess things after that. Goodnight.”

  And I goddamn meant goodnight. He had found my last nerve and it took everything in me to not pack up and drive off that very moment. I hated Gene del Gregory with immense fervor. The wrath building in me sent me to sleep.

  ~~~~

  Chapter 12

  Roadblocks and Moon Rocks

  We started early the next day, the sun barely up before we set off in our vehicles. I’d not brought up the issue to Gene that my food supplies were truly wearing thin; I was hungry. This problem, however, was a scratch compared to the overrunning display of despair occurring around the world at this time, as we would soon discover through news on our cells.

  Recall my previous statement about the release of Flegtide to the public as potentially detrimental or positive. Detrimental won, and then some. Indeed, disciplined use of the drug detailed both in packets with the shipments and on the bottles themselves were almost completely thrown aside. People just wanted to speak to people and deal with the consequences later. Unfortunately, the consequences were brought on far too fast and far too often.

  Development after development across the globe somewhat collapsed within two days of full-scale release of the drug. Officials of any development, through polling of their opting survivors, had the option to deny Flegtide’s entry into the developments. Not surprisingly, these developments, which were in the minority, were left untouched by the disaster. The handful that somehow were affected by it but remained standing contained a resistance movement within their borders against the drug. In summary, Flegtide bad, no Flegtide good. On the fortunate side, these collapses appeared to be limited in time and severity, as we the surviving public had grown astute about not letting the world destroy itself yet again.

  Well over half of the 4,000+ developments around the world were affected. Chaos, twenty years after our official apocalypse, happened all over again. Yet, on this day in late August, Gene and I had no idea of the madness happening around the globe. We were focused on reaching Oklahoma and ending our own mania.

  There are many ways to get lost—losing directions, choosing the wrong of two similar paths, weather, the list goes on. We got lost on this day, and it was not for one of these reasons. The real reason was completely unearthly, or at least it felt that way.

  We left the town of James and made our way the very short drive to Sioux City. It would be easy to follow the signs to I-29 South, our destination. I led, of course. But upon entering the city, we noticed all of the signs were either badly corroded or just missing, decades of neglect aiding the purpose. I had only my compass to tell me the direction.

  My understanding through glancing briefly at the map earlier was that Interstate 29 headed into Nebraska while in fact it stayed on the east side of the Mississippi River. C’est la vie, as I just wasn’t aware of this. So my mission was to get across the river in Sioux City as soon as possible. The land was flat and all buildings in the city were badly dilapidated. No landmarks. And to make things worse, my compass began acting up, flying from NW to ESE to N, all over the place.

  I found the river. And as is with my luck most of the time, the bridge before me was out. Gone. Completely destroyed by weather. I drove the car about a half-mile away to the next bridge and it, as well, was removed from existence. This same frustrating story played out for the next eleven miles. I lost count after probably the sixth broken bridge. So I kept driving, Gene following shortly behind me.

  Mile twelve brought about a true-to-life crossing of the river. However, this was a railroad trestle, and a shoddy one at best.

  “What is that?” Gene asked me from a further distance.

  “Railroad bridge, Gene. We have no choice.”

  “Will it hold?”

  Logic told me this bridge just may not hold. We could very likely plunge fifty feet to our demise, with wood and steel rails fighting the water as the takers of our lives. “It might. We’re crossing anyway.” My agitation at Gene had obviously not waned, causing me to bark my orders without much care of his feelings.

  The pace was ultra-slow. This was a very narrow rail bridge, our cars barely fitting on them with our wheels skirting the outsides of the rails at all times. Every few seconds came another large bump. We were jolted erratically, regardless of the slow speed. If I hadn’t already bitten my nails to the quick, they would have received such a treatment at this moment. But after a paralyzing and grueling twenty minutes, we were both across the jagged monstrosity. I hesitate to say that after I’d crossed, I watched on and somewhat hoped Gene would fall victim to the bridge’s corrosion.

  My compass continued to malfunction. At one point I think I heard it chuckle in my direction, mocking me. The skies were fully clouded over, a storm again approaching from seemingly all parts of the world. I had absolutely no sense of direction now, and the road basically continued straight ahead after the bridge. This was by no means an interstate highway, but rather a single-lane road with an over-abundance of greenery growing on it.

  “Okay, Gene,” I said. “Stop a minute if you need to clean out your pants.”

  “I’m fine,” he angrily responded.

  “Then we venture on. This road will take us somewhere.”

  “But is it south, Wallace? Oklahoma is south of here.”

  “I know it is. And yes, it’s south.” A bold lie.

  “I’ll follow.” His short words told me he wasn’t all too pleased with me either. He was stuck with me just as I was stuck with him.

  We headed along that road for what seemed like a hundred miles. Every turnoff was to a dirt or gravel road, most evidently off the beaten path and to nowhere. Also, no signs. The land was a mystery. Twenty years of a land with no care, buildings with no upkeep, and roads with lawns on them created a barren environment seemingly never inhabited by humans. The only population would have to be ghosts.

  With nightfall on the doorstep, my decision to stop for the day wasn’t questioned by my traveling partner. He, too, was exhausted and in need of a refresh.

  “Do you see me?” he asked me, flashing his headlights about a quarter mile behind my parked car.

  “Got you, Gene. What’s your fuel level?”

  “Just over three-quarters of a tank. Long way to go before more needs added. You?”

  “Just under half a tank. Maybe refill in the next two days or so.”

  It was our first conversation in a while not overheated with the subtext of our derision toward each other. Nice, but mostly meaningless. I didn’t care. I really did want to sleep. The road was brutal and we were lost, the part of the conversation I was determined to keep from Gene. If he knew, he would take the road into his own hands and flee without me. While that would solve my irritation problem with him, I still needed him.

  This facet was what I kept ignoring inside. Gene pissed me off, broke my trust, and ruined his image to me, yet even after all these things I still wanted to have him around. I couldn’t imagine life without Gene del Gregory in it. Perhaps I’d put all my friend eggs into his basket and I did not want that basket to fall, for it took everything in me to accept his friendship. In other words, it took too much time and energy to build what I had with him and I couldn’t lose it. It would likely take much, much more than eating people for him to completely lose me.

  My growling stomach should have been the thing to keep me awake that night. I approached the starving level. However, something else woke me in the darkness of the morning. It was the very loud sound of rocks hitting my car. Over and over, they were endless. I panicked, thinking some stranger lurked nearby and the Ire would come along. I put the driver’s seat upright and quickly scanned the
area. It was Gene far off in the distance. I looked over at my cell to see I had turned it off, perhaps as a subconscious ‘up yours’ to Gene himself. I opened the door and stepped out.

  “What the hell is your problem, Gene?” I loudly bellowed, my non-morning person demeanor blazing through.

  “Your cell is off, Wallace! Turn that thing on, damn it!”

  “Christ!”

  I stepped back in the car, slammed the door, and switched the cell back on. The image on the screen was a telling one. Half of his face was blanketed in blood, some wet and some dried. His white shirt was also awash in the red fluid of life. His eyes wandered madly. And he kept jolting or rubbing his nose, much like a coke addict.

  “Oh no,” I said. “Gene, what did you do?”

  “I drove.” He went silent.

  “And?”

  “I just drove, Wallace. And I think I was being driven. Pulled. I felt something out there. I swear, I swear, I fucking swear I smelled it too. More of them. People. I was being enticed.”

  “Wait. Were you being called by someone like back in Tracy?”

  He went quiet again.

  “Gene!”

  “Something’s wrong with me, Wallace. I couldn’t control it. It’s changing me. I’m not the same guy.” Quite an understatement. “I killed tonight.”

  The blood and his speech led me to that conclusion before his admission. Still, it was more unnerving to know that he’d actively gone out searching for people to kill and, maybe, eat? It was out of the blue, adding to the sedition.

  “How many?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Goddamn it, how many, Gene?”

  “I think three. A chance it was four or five.”

  I was friends with a psychotic serial killer. I did not know how to deal with it. I’d killed, would kill again in my life, yet being in his company was a torture session of fear and regret. Furthermore, I now began to fear for my own life. Thanks to Flegtide, he was getting these insurmountable urges to seek out living human bodies and kill and possibly devour them. I was the closest to him in proximity. What would stop that urge from being directed at me? Again, I could not handle it.