by Sean Platt
Meyer’s eyes were on the road. He’d driven fifty hard miles and still hadn’t returned the car to autodrive. They were burning an already low fuel tank and they’d driven off their last map’s edge. They seemed to be driving west, and he figured that as long as they didn’t start seeing Kansas City or Wichita to the south or cross I-80 to the north, they were roughly on target. They could course correct the minute they had a new map, and keep themselves from running dry the minute they found a gas station where they could again try their luck, though Meyer felt gun-shy, surely like everyone else.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Sure it matters. We’re …”
“Doesn’t matter, Piper. We were south of Des Moines, and now we’re headed west. Vail is west, more or less.”
Heather would have repeated his last words with heavy sarcasm, beating on him until he clarified just what the hell “more or less” meant. She might remind him that if the geeks’ estimates were right, tomorrow would be the last full day Earth would spend before meeting ET. It might be the last full day Earth and its inhabitants had to live, for all anyone knew. Heather wouldn’t take his pat answers or tolerate his bullying insistence on having his way while everyone fell in line.
But Piper wasn’t Heather. She was sweeter. More innocent and malleable. Younger than his ex by a decade. And much, much better for him than Heather, as much as he still loved them both.
Piper sat facing forward, small lines of anger on her pretty face. Even the lines were new. This trip was hardening her, just as the riot outside Chicago had hardened her. He’d told her not to hesitate in the future, and she was barely hesitating now, just a day and a half later.
“We’re almost out of gas,” she said, her arms crossed.
“Yes.”
That was the elephant in the Cruiser’s roomy interior — the one thing they all knew but seemed intent to ignore as if it might go away. Without a new map or GPS, they couldn’t be sure where they were. Without knowing their whereabouts, they couldn’t anticipate the small bergs ahead. Large towns might be overrun and panicky, having surrendered to the strange critical mass that happened when too many people were stupid in close proximity. Small towns might have only operator-run stations or might have lost power — something they’d already seen in entire rows of homes and businesses just these past fifty miles. They needed fuel, but this was a Goldilocks mission; they had to find something just right.
Until then, there was no way to tell where they should stop. They couldn’t find their starting point until they found their stopping point, and without that, where to begin was anyone’s guess.
It was an endless loop — a snake eating its tail.
They were tacitly lost. Definitely low on fuel.
They drove on as minutes stretched into hours.
The gas needle had edged below the thick red “E” line by the time they pulled into a gas station in a one-stoplight town somewhere in Iowa. Meyer had no idea where in Iowa. He only knew that they hadn’t passed I-80 to the north, and that probably meant they were still headed west. When the sun rose, he’d know for sure, but for now could only guess. Meyer also knew that unless he’d missed a sign, they hadn’t yet entered Nebraska. So Iowa it was. And good riddance it would be.
When the gas began to flow and no angry villagers arrived, Piper’s demeanor thawed. It was nearly eleven o’clock, and they were all exhausted, but no one had slept. Sleeping, said an unspoken agreement inside the Cruiser, was merely spinning wheels. Until they solved the fuel problem, they were only in abeyance, not at all settled. They were in driver’s purgatory, and only time would tell if they found combustible salvation or were left stranded, their only choice to hoof it until morning dawned — at which point, if they feared discovery, they could always sleep in rows of roadside corn.
Piper came around to the vehicle’s side while the kids milled. Neither Meyer nor Piper had told them to stay close (they were fifteen and seventeen, both beyond being told much), but after the encounter near Des Moines, nobody wanted to wander beyond the station’s lights. Or even enter the station unarmed — something Meyer had already done. He’d returned bearing extra gas cans to replace those they’d left on the concrete the last time. He’d discovered a Comstock Lode of supplies, nervous purely by how excited he was to find them. Water, candy bars, and potato chips. The kids looked almost happy.
“Hey,” Piper said.
“Almost done.” Meyer nodded at the pump.
“I’m not asking you to hurry.”
They were in an odd apologetic standoff. She wanted to apologize for being cold, and he wanted to apologize for being dismissive and distant. They wanted it so badly that neither would actually say anything because it was so intensely implied.
“I know. But it’s still almost done.”
“You already filled the gas cans?”
“No. I figured I wanted to get it into the tank first, just in case we met more friendly locals.”
Piper reached into the Cruiser. She came out with the hunting rifle they’d taken from the man at the dealership. She held it up to her eye and pointed into the darkness. Despite being dim, the streets were obviously empty. If anyone came to challenge them, they’d have plenty of time to duck and run.
“I’ll take them out if they come,” she said, peering into the scope.
“You’re looking through that with the wrong eye.”
Instead of switching eyes, she turned them both to him. They were the same huge blue eyes they’d always been, but seemed ten years older. Apparently, his wives weren’t that disparate in maturity after all. It had merely taken the threat of armageddon to equalize them.
“Maybe I’m left-handed,” she said. “Or left-eyed, or whatever it would be.”
“You’re not.”
“Maybe I’m a better shot than you think I am, no matter which eye I use.”
“You look sexy with a gun,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah. All the guys tell me that.”
Trevor came around the Land Cruiser’s side, took one look at the rifle, then scanned the lot. Only after assuring himself that his stepmother was merely playing with firearms in clear defiance of everything everyone has ever been told by the NRA did he finally exhale.
“Almost done, Trev,” said Meyer. “Get your sister.”
“She’s being a bitch,” he replied.
“Get her anyway.”
Trevor did. They packed up and moved on.
Hours passed. Meyer surrendered the left seat to Piper in case manual driving was required, then tried to sleep.
He woke intermittently, always glancing at Piper before checking the clock. He found her reading two times out of three, her feet kicked up on the dashboard, her Vellum reader unfolded. It was good, seeing her doing something so normal. Piper read all the time at home. Once, he’d grown curious about what she always had her nose buried in — and, knowing it was a huge violation of her privacy, peeked through the Vellum’s directory while she was away. She read all sorts of genres, but erotica was the largest. The discovery had surprised him so much, they’d made love twice that night, Meyer immensely excited by the depth and breadth of his pretty wife’s secret sex life. He wouldn’t tell her what he knew, but it thrilled him to see her read now, wondering what fantasies may or may not be capering inside her mind and prickling between her legs.
Then he looked at the clock on the dashboard.
12:47.
2:13.
3:23.
He wasn’t sure if the hours passed between glances were even spent sleeping. He drifted in and out of a semihaze, sometimes seeming to dream in a way that was as real as anything. He walked with Heather. He watched the spheres arrive from above with a feeling of nonspecific knowing. He returned to Peru, this time without consulting his shaman. He even dreamed of the Land Cruiser itself, his brain turned off enough to filter his dreams through boring nighttime reality. The doubling was a dream of a dream — visions of himself asleep in the leather seat, his head lolle
d to the side.
4:14 a.m.
5:02.
Still, the roads stayed mostly empty. He’d have to ask Piper, but from what he’d seen (and the progress they were making; he was quite sure he’d been awake to see the Colorado welcome signs), the way had been smooth. Piper showed no signs of tiring. The children slept, Trevor snoring and drooling. Raj and Lila leaned together in a two-person huddle, Raj’s hand too close to Lila’s breast. But everyone had to take comfort where they could find it, and the game had changed. He could be an irate, overprotective father later.
It would almost be a relief to do something so normal.
“Meyer. Meyer, wake up.”
He shook his head, then blinked. He’d fallen asleep again.
He didn’t remember doing it and hadn’t intended to. They’d watched the sun rise together through the back window, seeing it turn the sleeping children to silhouettes. The morning had been quiet, and Meyer had repressed his need to take a leak so that the others could get much-needed rest. He’d asked Piper if she wanted to sleep, but she’d been as bright and cheery as a pixie, as if she stayed up all night often. She didn’t even seem to need coffee, which was good because they wouldn’t be pulling into a Dunkin Donuts any time soon. They’d been living on Lays, Luna bars, and water. What he wouldn’t have given for a propane travel stove and some Folgers crystals, and damn the threat of asphyxiation, or the flammability and fumes wafting from the gas cans in the back. They’d been in Colorado by then, closing on Denver, and the tank still had plenty. They were going to make it just fine.
But sometime after sunrise, Meyer must have nodded off again. He looked back, trying to gauge the sun’s height. But it was too high, out of view. It was late morning.
“What time is it?” he asked, fighting cobwebs.
Piper didn’t point to the clock, and he didn’t even twitch his head to look for himself. He was too drawn by the look on her face.
“Shit,” he said.
She’d put the car in manual. Both hands were on the wheel, and her right foot was on the gas pedal. “What do I do?”
A semitrailer lay on its side up ahead, fully blocking the road. Vail had to be close; he could feel the altitude pressing against his eardrums. They were well above sea level, still on back roads plotted by Piper while he dozed. But in the mountains, cars could only travel to so many places, and around the touristy ski area, options were limited. Like now: they had no way around the trailer. To one side was a gully, to the other an escarpment. How the semi had ever managed its position was a mystery.
“We’ll have to go back,” he told her.
“Shit. Shit-shit-shit …”
“Piper, what? It’s no big deal. Just back up there and turn around and …”
But she’d been awake for more than Meyer’s thirty seconds. Maybe she’d seen signs but chose to ignore them. Maybe she’d already noticed that the semitrailer had no cab attached, begging the question of how it had ended up where it was without someone doing it deliberately. Or maybe she’d just felt the air change as she had back near Des Moines, when he should’ve listened but chose to ignore her.
Something struck the Land Cruiser from behind: a large Jeep, with bars welded across its absent windshield.
Men crawled over the sideways tractor trailer ahead, each holding a weapon.
Meyer reached for the Land Cruiser’s center console, but there was a knock on the window before he got there. He looked up to see a man tapping the glass with the barrel of a pistol. On the other side, beyond Piper, a second man was doing the same.
Meyer’s visitor motioned for him to roll down the window, which Piper did for him.
“Best not reach for your weapon, mate,” said the man. “Leave it where it is.”
Meyer’s hand retracted. The man reached across to open the console and fish out the handgun. Meyer tried to remember where Piper had set the rifle, but it hardly mattered. Their chances of turning a hunting rifle on assailants in close quarters were somewhere between slim and nil.
“Come on out now,” he said, his voice eminently polite.
Meyer was still thinking of the rifle, still looking around. The man watched him, then tipped his head at Meyer as if he could read his thoughts.
“Open the door, and let it go, mate,” he said. “Be a good sport, and you can keep your lives. But dead or alive, we’ll be taking your vehicle.”
DAY FIVE
CHAPTER 28
Day Five, Morning
Colorado
It was hard to call the people who stole the Land Cruiser bandits. They worked with an efficiency that Meyer couldn’t help but admire: no drama, no bloodshed, no unnecessary emotional entanglement aside from the obvious implied threat.
Their compliance wasn’t a question. There were at least as many of them as there had been hicks in Iowa, but this crew was entirely armed. They’d blockaded the road, boxed them in, then waltzed up to the window with weapons capable of killing them all. Maybe the Dempsey family could have fought, but they’d never have fled without a fatality, and Meyer wasn’t willing to spend one. Even Raj.
Once they stepped out of the car, one of the men climbed inside as dispassionately as a mechanic driving a car into the garage for service. The only difference was that instead of driving the Cruiser into a garage, the man drove it around the Jeep and back in the opposite direction.
Meyer shouldered his backpack and nodded silently at his party to do the same. The highwaymen said nothing. They didn’t want food and water. Only the car, and perhaps the fuel in its tank.
After being relieved of their vehicle, the outlaw waved them around the semitrailer and suggested they start walking. Meyer looked back a minute down the road; no one was following. The trailer seemed to be deserted and maybe it was: a one-time carjacking, and then everyone retired. It was a mystery Meyer didn’t suppose he’d ever solve, but it hardly mattered. Yet again, they had no car. Ten minutes later, he insisted on circling back alone to ambush the bandits, intent on recovering their vehicle (or any other), but found them all gone. Only the trailer remained.
They were alone in the mountains. The surrounding resorts all seemed deserted, waiting for a winter ski season that would never come.
The going was tough, and their lungs were unaccustomed to the thin air. After a half hour of walking, Lila sat on a rock by the roadside and stared up at her father, refusing to move like a stubborn dog.
“Come on, Lila.”
“What, Dad? We don’t have a car. It’s not like we can hitch a ride.”
Meyer looked around. They’d left what passed for a main road a while back, beginning the long and winding trek to the compound. He’d picked the spot because it was isolated, hours away on tiny roads, so hidden that even Meyer sometimes got lost trying to reach it when checking construction.
“We can walk.”
“How far is it?”
Meyer shrugged. He thought he knew exactly how far it was, but telling Lila wouldn’t do anyone any good. If anything, it would make the others refuse to budge.
“How far, Dad?” she repeated.
“Considering how far we’ve come? We’re almost there.”
“How about if you don’t consider how far we’ve come? Then how far is it? You know, in real-person miles. The way someone normal would measure it.”
“I’m not sure. But it’s that way.” He pointed.
Lila stared at him. He had a strange urge to grab her arm and drag.
“It’s outside Vail. This is basically Vail.”
“How far outside?”
“Lila, get up.”
Instead of Lila standing, Raj sat. Trevor followed a second behind. Piper, standing across from him, looked very much like she wanted to do the same, but this seemed to be a show of support. She could collapse later. Right now she had to stand with her obsessive husband against the will of her reasonable stepchildren who were, despite their father’s wishes, talking sense.
“We only have a day.”
Meyer looked up. It had to be 9 a.m. or later. He looked over at Piper. “Right? Just a day still?”
“Why are you asking me?”
“Did you listen to the radio last night, while I was asleep?”
“A bit. As much as I could stand, anyway.”
“And?”
“And what, Meyer?”
“Well, what are they saying?”
“Riots, looting, people doing stupid shit like stealing cars.” She looked back toward the ambush. “Although I’m not sure if the stupid shit is them taking the car, or us taking it a few days earlier.”
Lila was smiling broadly behind the hand clapped to her mouth. Piper never swore unless she was being playful in bed. To Lila, right now, at this hideous moment, hearing Piper break her usual unspoken rule to say “shit” (twice) was a bizarre kind of Christmas.
“What about the ships?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Meyer. It’s hard to tell the real reports from the crazy ones. Remember what your dad was saying about 9/11? How it got all ‘foggy’ and nobody knew what terrible things were actually happening and what wasn’t true? That’s the whole world, right now.”
Meyer decided not to push. He’d made his living negotiating one thing or another, and a forgotten key to success was knowing when not to play the game. He wouldn’t make Piper say what he wanted, but she hadn’t denied it. They had a day, maybe thirty-six hours. They could walk it in that time if they’d toughen up.
“Look,” he said. “It’s stupid to give up now. I know you’re tired. I’m tired too. But we have to do it. We can rest at the house.”
Raj lay back on the gravel. “Let’s rest here.”
Lila lay back beside him. “I agree.”
“Get up, Lila.”
Piper perched on the guardrail. Why not? Nobody would be traveling these roads anytime soon. They could sleep in the middle of the road if they wanted to.
“Get up, Lila,” he repeated.
“I’m tired, Dad. And I feel like I’m going to throw up again. Maybe you should show some mercy, considering …”
