When his boots hit the ground, he continued to eye the tank covers. He knew that he didn’t have a way to siphon gas from that deep and he didn’t have a pump.
One of his minions had a hand crank pump that would have done the job but they all turned traitor on him.
He cursed and turned toward the station. His alcohol soaked mind wondered if there might be something inside that would allow him to pull the fuel from the tanks without drinking half of it.
He had just stepped into the shadow of the overhang when he heard an engine revving in the distance. He froze and cocked his head to listen better.
He could hear tires squealing and the sounds of crunching metal as the driver tortured whatever he was behind the wheel of.
Simon heard the engine sounds grow louder and he walked back to his lifted truck. He glanced through the cab and saw what appeared to be a church van careen across a yard and into the street less than a block away.
“What the hell?” He pulled his pistol out and hunkered beside the oversized tire of the truck. He didn’t have to lean too far to see the van quickly approach the intersection then turn and head toward the highway.
Simon stood and stared at the retreating vehicle, his mind trying to connect the dots. He scratched at the side of his head with the barrel of the pistol. He could have sworn he saw people wearing black hoods in the back seat of that damned thing.
“Could that be Squirrel’s new crew?” He chuckled to himself and climbed back into the cab of the truck. “Time to go hunting.”
11
Hatcher paced the warehouse, his mind racing. “I should have gone with him. I don’t trust that convict- looking dude.”
Candy held her hands out to stop his pacing. “You’re going to wear out your boots and drive me nuts if you don’t stop.” She huffed then took a deep breath. “Roger is a big boy. I’m sure he’s arrested guys bigger than that in his sleep. And he’s got Hank and Wally with him.”
Hatcher gave her a knowing look and she shook her head. “Any time there’s something to do ‘out there’ they both volunteer. I think they keep hoping they’ll find more survivors. Either way, it’s an extra set of eyes.”
Hatcher took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m sure they’ll be okay. I just…I have a bad feeling about all of this. Ever since Simon escaped…” he trailed off, his mind going to dark places.
“We’ll deal with him when we have to. Meanwhile, I’ve talked with most of the refugees.” Hatcher gave her a curious look and she shrugged. “I couldn’t bring myself to call these people ‘marauders’. With all of the women and children, it just didn’t seem to fit.”
Hatcher had to agree. “What did you find out?”
“A lot of these people have pretty useful skills.” She turned and started walking slowly back toward the bunk areas of the warehouse. “Unfortunately, Simon didn’t trust any of them to actually do what they were trained for so they’ve just been trying to survive.”
“What kind of skills are we talking about?”
“One lady is a teacher. I think it might be good to find some textbooks and let her start teaching our future generation.”
Hatcher nodded. “Agreed. What else?”
“We have a couple of ex-military. They could help us cycle our sentries so that nobody is overtaxed.”
“As long as you trust them, I’m all for it.”
“We have a civil engineer. He thinks he can increase our energy output. He said we should seriously consider supplementing the solar panels with wind power.”
Hatcher shook his head. “Too much noise and too much motion. I don’t want anything to attract attention, especially with Simon out there.”
“That’s what I said but then he mentioned something called a ‘squirrel cage’ generator?” She shrugged. “He might can explain it to you, but I didn’t really understand what he was saying.”
Hatcher nodded. “I’ll talk to him about it later. Anybody else?”
She smiled. “One woman ran a restaurant, another was a chef.” She waggled her brows at him. “I think the cooks could stand a bit of help.”
Hatcher grinned. “Make it so.”
“Also, we have a few other trade workers. A mechanic, a welder…I think one said he was a plumber.” She scratched at her chin as she tried to remember. Her eyes suddenly widened. “But one was going to school to be a botanist. Now, she worked primarily in a flower nursery, but she said that it wouldn’t be too hard to apply her knowledge to fruits and vegetables.”
Hatcher nodded slowly. “If I knew for a fact that we were staying here, I’d say scrounge up the stuff to create a greenhouse.” He glanced toward the staging area. “Here lately, a big part of me is telling me that we need to find someplace a bit more…permanent.”
Candy narrowed her gaze at him. “What are you saying?”
Hatcher motioned her toward the door. “Right out there is an entire town that is pretty much sitting empty.” He looked deeper into the warehouse and shook his head. “We have enough people here to create a community. A real…fresh start.”
“But where would we go?”
“Pick a spot. Surely, we could find another place that was easy to secure. Maybe somewhere that people could have their own place.” He shrugged. “A place that we could start rebuilding. Where we could defend from the Zulus. Where…people could start living again rather than just surviving.”
She raised her brows at him and studied his face. “You’re serious.”
Hatcher nodded. “We have to start somewhere.” He sighed. “I just thought…if we found a place where the homes are primarily on private wells? Maybe have this engineer figure out a way to power them.” He shot her a smile. “Could you imagine having ice in your drink again?”
Her eyes seemed to glaze over. “Ice…that would be nice.”
“Hot showers.” His voice sounded almost sultry as he teased her. “Refrigerators.”
“Oh, to cook my own home-made meals again. My very own microwave oven.”
Hatcher did a double take. “There is something fundamentally wrong with you.”
She frowned at him. “You’ve never had my microwaved spaghetti.”
Hatcher shook his head. “I think I can survive.”
She turned and started making her way toward the interior of the warehouse. “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, Hatch. I make a mean spaghetti.”
“In a microwave.” He shook his head. “Maybe we’re better off staying here.”
Charles slipped the clean clothes on and sighed as he buttoned the shirt. “This feels amazing.”
Carol smiled, her back turned while he dressed. “Glad you’re feeling better, doc.”
“I feel better than better.” He ran a hand along his neck where he had shaved below his beard. “I feel human again.” He paused and glanced at her. “I suppose that might have been a poor choice of words.”
“Not at all.” She pushed off the corner of the wall. “You dressed?”
“Decent enough.” Doctor Carpenter pulled his freshly laundered lab coat on and sighed. “I am so looking forward to getting back to work.”
“I got an orderly bringing food down after the shift change.” She averted her gaze. “I wasn’t sure how some of the crew might react if you went to the mess decks dragging the generator with you.”
He nodded and cupped her cheek. “That was very kind of you. Thank you, Carol.”
The pair turned and walked the short distance to the lab. “I had an idea I wanted to bounce off of you.”
“Of course.” He reached for the door and pulled it open for her.
“So, I was thinking...this generator is mainly just a noise machine, yeah?”
Charles shrugged. “In a very rudimentary way, that is an accurate description.”
She smiled at him. “So how about we make you a portable unit? Just…to give you more freedom to move around. Until you find the actual cure?”
Charles eyed her cautiously. “What did
you have in mind?”
“Something like the old Walkman? Remember those? My dad had one back in the day and he said they were the original iPod. He loved his.”
Charles chuckled as he walked beside her. “And you think you could miniaturize the generator to attach to my belt? And I’d wear headphones?”
She shook her head. “I was thinking maybe we experiment. What if we digitally record the frequency that the generator is set at now, put it on an endless loop and then create an mp3 player with an external speaker?”
He paused and stared at her, his mouth hanging open. He closed it and rubbed at his bearded chin. “You know, that might actually be doable.”
She nodded. “The best part is, the frequency is so high that humans can’t hear it.” She leaned close and nudged him. “Nobody would know you had it.”
“Unless they were canine.” He smiled at her then reached to pull the lab door open. “If you really think something like this could be made, I’d be forever grateful.”
She shrugged. “I’m not promising it’s actually doable, but I honestly don’t see why it couldn’t be done. I know they have an electronics lab on the boat. Maybe one of their techs can help me create it?”
“That would be wonderful.” He patted her arm just as Vivian approached.
“What would be wonderful?”
Charles turned and gave Vivian a bright smile. “Carol has an idea on a portable generator that I could attach to my belt like one of the old Walkmans. Remember those, Viv?”
She stared at him blankly. “Vaguely.” She glanced at Ponytail and smiled. “Those were really before my time.”
“Anyway, I think it’s a marvelous idea.” He turned back to Carol. “Thank you so much for thinking of me.”
She blushed. “I can’t promise it’s actually achievable.”
“It’s the thought that counts.” Charles watched as she ducked away, her cheeks reddening. “She’s a good kid.”
Vivian grunted. “If you like them power-hungry and conniving.”
Charles turned and gave her a curious stare. He opened his mouth to say something when Dr. Broussard screamed something in French and threw a beaker across the room.
“Heavens. He’s upset.”
Vivian groaned. “He’s been like this since he arrived. If he doesn’t knock off his little temper tantrums, we’ll not have any Pyrex left.”
“I’m sure it’s just culture shock.” Charles glanced around the tiny lab. “Well, as much ‘culture’ as one can be shocked by here.” He patted Vivian’s shoulder. “I’ll see if I can assist him. Maybe take some of the stress off of his shoulders.”
Vivian watched him approach the foreign maniac and shook her head. “Knock yourself out.”
Simon followed the van at a safe distance. He tried to wait until the van turned a corner before pulling on to the street and when he saw them head for the on-ramp to the highway, he paled. “There’s no way to follow them without being seen.”
He wanted to scream then threw his fist to the side, beating the seat back. One of the rifles fell to the floor board of the truck and Simon stared it for a moment.
With an evil grin he put the truck into gear again and floored the accelerator. He shot up the on-ramp and could just make out the van ahead, swerving between the few parked cars on this end of the highway. He knew that the road was blocked ahead, but if one was careful they could navigate past it.
“That’s where I’ll catch ya.” He pushed the accelerator harder and swerved the lifted truck between the dead cars lining the sides of the highway.
He saw the van’s brake lights glow red just before the traffic jam and he pushed the big truck harder. He wanted to catch them while they tried to navigate the blockage. With any luck he could be on them before they emerged from wreckage.
The van crunched over broken car parts and shattered glass. He saw a face appear in the rear window then the van seemed to accelerate, trying in vain to weave through the damage quicker.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Simon barked and whooped as the big truck closed the distance. He reached beside him and gripped the shotgun. With his left hand he held it out of the open window and leveled it using the side mirror as a brace.
Simon pulled the trigger and the sawed-off shotgun nearly jumped out of his grip. The barrel flew back and banged against the side of the cab, his hand barely able to maintain a grip on the slender pistol grip. “Okay, that was fuckin’ stupid.”
He slammed on the brakes and the big truck slid to a stop, the front-end pitching to the left. Simon swung the shotgun around and pointed it through the open passenger window. He loosed the second barrel and watched as the rear glass of the van erupted into a million tiny shards.
The driver goosed the accelerator and the monster vehicle nearly sheared the rear bumper from a wrecked import. Simon reloaded as he watched the van tear away at top speed.
“Son of a…” He tossed the shotgun into the seat again and backed the truck up, pointing the nose toward the gap in the wreckage. “I’m coming for ya!”
He tapped the gas pedal and pushed the front into the carnage. He could feel things going under the tires, lifting the truck higher into the air before it slammed back onto the pavement. Something scraped the passenger side as he continued to try to weave the big truck through the wreckage.
He glanced up and saw the van disappearing in the distance. “I’m coming for ya! Don’t run, you’ll just die tired.”
Simon floored the accelerator and listened to a nerve rattling scrape, the pickup ripping the rest of the import’s bumper loose. He pointed the nose to the open road and stomped on the gas pedal again. “Come on you big son of a bitch! We gotta catch them assholes.”
Simon gripped the steering wheel and stared out of the windshield, his eyes wild and crazy as the parked cars whizzed by. He slowed the truck and stared down an offramp. He couldn’t tell if the van might have taken it or not so he floored the truck again.
“I’m coming for ya! I’m gonna get ya!” He screamed at the top of his lungs.
Roger gripped the steering wheel tightly and listened as the lifted truck with the loud exhaust roared by overhead. He didn’t dare breathe as the truck flew by. He finally let his breath out and turned to Wally. “I’m shocked that worked.”
Wally nodded, his eyes wide. “Yeah. Me, too.”
Roger looked to the rear view mirror. “Hank, you sure nobody’s hurt?”
Hank waved him on. “Just covered in glass back here. We’re good.”
Roger sighed heavily and started the van again. “Well guys, we’re batting a thousand today. How about we push our luck a little further.”
“Screw you, man. You can let me out here.” The large ex con stated. “I’m good on my own.”
Roger bit back the sharp reply that he wanted to give him. Instead he shook his head. “Nope. They want me to drop you off where you can find wheels.”
“You think I didn’t recognize that bottleneck you just pushed us through? There’s enough cars parked along the damned highway that we could all have one for every day of the week.” The con leaned forward. “I can’t see, but I ain’t stupid.”
Roger continued to drive away from the highway. “Those cars have been sitting there for months. Who’s to say if they have fuel or even if the batteries are up.”
“Trust me, man. I can find one.”
“If it were up to me, you’d already be walking.” Roger slowed the van and turned onto another paved road that appeared to run parallel to the highway. “But I promised the man that I would deliver you to Albuquerque, so that’s what I’m going to do.”
“The way you drive, I think I’d be safer with the idiot shooting at us.” The con leaned forward. “Just pull over man. Let us out. We’ll go from here. You can go back and tell your boss that you did what he wanted.” He lowered his voice and all but whispered. “Who would know the difference anyway, right?”
Roger glanced to Wally who only shrugged. He looke
d to the rearview and Hank shook his head. “Fine. You want out.” Roger slammed on the brakes and slid the van to a stop. “Get out.”
Wally hopped from the passenger seat and pulled the side door open. He pulled the men out and untied their hands. They each removed the black sacks from their heads and stretched, shaking the blood back into their extremities.
“Thanks for the lift but just give me the fucking gun and I’ll be on my way.” The con stuck his hand out and Wally looked to Roger.
Roger nodded and Hank stepped forward, backpacks in hand. “Here ya go. Use that ammo sparingly.”
“Yeah, right.” The con reached into the bag and gabbed the pistol. Both Wally and Hank gripped their weapons, ready to defend themselves. The con didn’t even look at them. He shoved the pistol into his waistband then slung the pack. “Pleasure meeting you, assholes.” He flipped Roger the bird. “Later days, Squirrel.”
Roger watched the man walk away and shook his head. “He’ll be back. I’d bet money.”
12
Mike Mulroney groaned as he pulled the blanket off of his body. He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth as he swung his long legs off of the bed and pushed himself to a sitting position. His forehead was covered in sweat by the time he got steadied and he felt faint.
Mike slid off of the edge of the bed, gripping the mattress as his feet touched the floor. He clutched the bottom sheet covering the mattress in his oversized hand and forced himself to take long, deep breaths.
When he slowly bent forward and put his weight on his legs, he felt his entire body shake, his props threatening to collapse under him.
He quickly spun around and planted both palms deep into the mattress, pushing himself to a standing position. Mike ‘Savage’ Mulroney was on his feet.
Stella burst through the door of the makeshift recovery room and ran to his side. “What the heck are you doing, Savage? You can’t be out of bed. Doctor’s orders.”
Caldera 5_United We Fall Page 9
