by James Sperl
With a population of roughly forty thousand people, the town seemed to exist expressly for the purpose of supporting Holloman Air Force Base and the five thousand or so military and civilian personnel who worked there.
Home of the world renowned F-117 Nighthawk—known by its more common moniker of “Stealth”—Holloman apparently also boasted a top tier division known as RATSCAT, or Radar Target Scatter, which delved into areas miles above Catherine’s level of comprehension. The dossier on RATSCAT mentioned words like “monostatic” and “bistatic RCS measurements” and talked about its importance in obtaining data on what was called “low observable weapon systems”. But all that Catherine gleaned from the bio is that whatever RATSCAT was, it was important. And that was good enough for her.
Along the eastern edge of Alamogordo and extending away from the town in a southeasterly direction lay the Sacramento Mountains. Part of the Lincoln National Forest, the mountain chain rose anywhere from two to three thousand feet above the city. A popular outdoor enthusiast’s region, the park was riddled with campsites and hiking, biking, ATV and horse trails.
It was somewhere in the canyons of the Sacramento Mountains where Catherine and the others would find their new home. If only they could make it in time.
It was September 13th, a mere two days until the earth would be reduced to a gray ash wasteland. All that was still beautiful would be leveled into lifeless patches of barren desolation. If everything went as planned, they would have not much more than a day to spare. Catherine couldn’t think of a way to cut it any closer and prayed with all her might that the decision to destroy it all would be worth it.
Janet sat in the front seat, volunteering to navigate for Oliver. They’d been following the one ninety-one for a while now, heading south along the relatively flat eastern portion of Utah. This was good thinking on Janet’s part as the selection of the route allowed the bus and its weighted down payload to avoid the strenuous mountain climbs it would have most certainly faced had they chosen other roads through Colorado, burning precious gas in the process. This saves fuel. And that buys time.
But even with the diligent monitoring of roadways and onboard fuel supplies the time would eventually come where the issue of gas would rear its ugly head. And judging by the way Oliver nervously and repeatedly glanced at his fuel gauge, Catherine assumed the time was now.
Turning to Tamara beside her—the girl attempting to animate a stick figure on a stack of Post-its—Catherine laid a reassuring hand on her leg.
“I need to go up and talk to Oliver for a minute. I’ll be right back, okay?”
“I’m okay, mom,” Tamara said with a roll of her eyes.
Catherine gave a curious smile as she rose to her feet, Tamara’s embrace of maturity both entertaining and worrisome.
Traversing the short aisle, Catherine stopped briefly to check on Abby. Having remained relatively quiet most of the day, Catherine speculated whether this had been due to illness, a melancholic attitude toward the events that had played out or a combination of both. She stopped alongside the seat Abby alone occupied. Her arms wrapped tightly around her, Abby merely stared out the window.
“How you doing, kiddo?” Catherine said.
Abby turned. “I’m doing all right. Just got a case of the blahs, I guess.”
“Sick blahs or sad blahs?”
“A little bit of both.”
Catherine nodded. “Well given all that’s happened, I think it’s fair to say you’re entitled to the sad blahs. As for the sick blahs, anything I can do?”
Abby thought a moment then shook her head. “Nah. They’re not too bad. It feels good to just sit here.” Abby looked back out the window. “I hope we can make it to daddy in time.”
“Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”
Catherine gave Abby’s shoulder a squeeze then walked the remainder of the aisle up to Janet.
“What’s the word?” Catherine said.
“The word is fuel,” Oliver said. “As in we ain’t got any.”
Catherine peered through the steering column at the gas gauge. A jittery white needle hovered just north of the letter “E”.
“The drums?” Catherine asked.
“Tapped those on the last stop,” Janet replied. “If there’s even a drop left in ‘em I’d like to know how.”
“So what’re our options?” Catherine asked, her thumbnail anxiously finding her teeth.
“There was a sign a few miles back for a gas station,” Oliver stated. “It looked to be a roadside service station so we shouldn’t have to head into a town or anything.”
“Which is good,” Janet added.
“Which is real good,” Catherine concurred.
Oliver shifted in his seat. “If this place has got fuel and we’re able to fill up and top off our drums, theoretically, we shouldn’t have to stop again until we reach our destination.”
“I like the sound of that,” Janet said.
“And if they don’t have fuel?” Catherine queried.
Oliver shot Catherine a quick, but knowing glance. “Sure is a pretty day, huh?” he said, his blatant subject change eliciting smirks.
Then, as if on cue, a three story sign emerged on the horizon. Catherine recognized it immediately, the distinguishing colors and simple logo seared into her brain after a lifetime of use. And as the Shell station rolled into view, Catherine felt her adrenaline rise, the blood pumping through her heart surging at the sound of Janet’s voice as she turned to Derrik.
“All right, D. Let’s lock and load. It’s hunting time.”
Oliver guided the bus alongside the station fuel wells. As soon as the brakes hissed and the bus rolled to a stop, Janet and Derrik were out the door, weapons in hand, as they charged over to the small convenience shop that at one time serviced parched and snack-crazed motorists.
Catherine watched warily from her perch atop the second step of the bus, her eyes scanning the station and its surroundings, ready for anything.
The station was a small four pump arrangement, two sets of two analog pumps that ran parallel to one another under a simple, corrugated tin roof. One of the filling handles to one of the pump hoses had been severed. Insignificant amounts of fuel dripped onto the pavement.
The convenience shop was no bigger than a sizeable walk-in closet and even through the dingy glass, Catherine could tell it had long since been cleaned out. Hand painted signs still hung in the greasy windows advertising beer and ice.
Adjacent to the snack shop was a single stall garage, the door to which was open. The bay was void of cars. A scattering of miscellaneous tools lay on a small workbench beside the car lift, which was currently in the down position.
Derrik vanished around the far side of the snack shop to where the bathrooms lay. His movements were precise and quick, as if he’d been a commando in a previous life.
Janet ducked inside the shop itself, rapidly aiming her weapon in all directions, covering her corners and blind spots. She worked her way behind the register counter and conducted a thorough search. But for what, Catherine had no clue.
Seconds later, Janet emerged carrying something in her hand. She looked to the bus and held up the object with one hand, giving an enthusiastic thumbs up with the other.
Everyone gathered around Janet as she knelt over the filling port to the fuel holding tanks. She worked a large and heavy peculiar looking round key over the top of a cogged fitting on the port then slipped a second key into a standard lock.
“These guys must’ve been really paranoid they were going to get ripped off,” Janet said, grunting. “Had the keys hidden in two different places. This small one I found by pure luck inside a coffee cup full of miscellaneous junk.”
She twisted the key as the first lock clicked. Immediately she spun the spoked key and twisted off the lid to the fuel tank.
“How will we know if it’s diesel?” Josh asked.
“We’re gonna give it a highly technical sniffer test,” Oliver said.
&n
bsp; “What’s a sniffer test?” Tamara asked.
Abby put her arm around her sister. “It means he’s going to smell it.”
“Can you really tell that way?” Catherine asked skeptically.
Oliver cracked his knuckles playfully then took two quick breaths through his nose. “This schnoz has sniffed more diesel from my bus driving days than I care to talk about. If it’s the real deal down there, I’ll know.”
“All right, quit bragging and get sniffing,” Janet commanded as she glanced about uneasily.
Oliver got to the ground, lying flat on his stomach. He moved his face over the opening and took one simple whiff. He held his breath for a second then exhaled mightily. Rolling on to his back, Oliver looked up at the group.
“We’re in business,” he said with a grin.
Derrik worked feverishly. Manning the hand pump, he pulled relentlessly on the handle as Oliver monitored the fuel level in one of the barrels aboard the bus. With its lengthy bit of tubing snaking into the fuel well, Catherine couldn’t help but smile at the simple contraption that held their lives in the balance.
“Mom,” Tamara said, drawing Catherine’s attention away from the bus, “I need to use the bathroom.”
“The bathroom?” Catherine said, looking over their desolate surroundings. “Okay,” she sighed as she set down a half-eaten plate of dried apples, peanut butter and jelly crackers and nacho chips. “Let’s go find you a bathroom.”
“I can do it myself. You don’t have to go.”
Catherine leveled her eyes at Tamara. “I do if you’re looking around here.”
“Janet and Derrik checked the place out and there’s no one here. Right, Janet?”
Janet looked up from her lunch, a piece of jerky hanging from her mouth. “Hey, don’t bring me into this.”
“I’ll go with her,” Abby offered.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Tamara said, more snidely than she intended.
“Thanks, Abby,” Catherine said as she picked her plate back up. She glanced at Tamara. “That’s the deal.”
Tamara rolled her eyes and groaned. “Fine.”
Abby climbed to her feet and trailed behind her sister. “Come on, squirt. Let’s go find you a ladies’ room.”
“I’m not a squirt!”
“Oh yeah?” Abby kidded. “That’s the kind of thing a squirt would say.” She gave Tamara a playful shove then ran off ahead of her. Tamara recovered and gave chase.
“Don’t shove me!”
“Squirt!”
Tamara and Abby disappeared behind the far side of the bus, their initial confrontation giving way to eventual laughter.
Catherine shook her head as she nibbled at a cracker. “Adorable, aren’t they?” she said to Janet.
“Precious.”
“Want to buy one?”
“I don’t know,” Janet said. “Is therapy included in the price?”
Catherine laughed heartily, Janet finding a grin.
Josh rose from his place beside Catherine. “I’m gonna go over and talk to Shelby. She looks bored.”
Catherine turned and stared across the lot to an outcropping of sandstone rocks that spilled out at the bottom of a thirty-foot cliff face just behind the station. One rock jutted out like a table, Shelby sitting atop it as she watched her mother perform Tai Chi.
“All right,” Catherine said. “But put on some sunscreen first.”
“What?”
“They’re sitting in direct sunlight. So if you’re going to go over there then you need to lather up.” Catherine rummaged through her bag, extracting a tube of Coppertone. She tossed it to Josh. “With your skin, especially. End of the world or not, I won’t let you get skin cancer.”
Josh snatched the tube out of the air. “Jesus, in two days we’re gonna be locked in a vault for God knows how long. I think I’ll survive.”
“Humor me,” Catherine said humorlessly.
Begrudgingly, Josh popped the top and squirted a torrent of sun block into his palm. He worked the thick liquid over his arms and face, finishing with the back of his neck.
“Okay?” he said smartly. “Do I pass inspection?”
“You’ve made your mother very happy. Dismissed.”
Josh pursed his lips and tromped off toward Shelby.
Janet finished the last of her jerky. She watched Catherine silently.
“You’ve got good kids, Catherine,” She said finally. “You’ve done really well with them. You should be proud.”
Catherine glanced at Janet, somewhat surprised. “Thanks. You always think it’s going to get easier the older they get, but it really only gets harder.”
“Ah, they’re all like that,” Janet started. “Think they know everything and when they’re wrong don’t want to admit it.”
“You, uh...have kids,” Catherine asked gingerly.
“Me? Lord no. Can you imagine what those poor souls would look like? Not to mention the mental damage.” Janet forced a smile.
“Please,” Catherine said dismissively. “Try silent recluse, drama queen and burgeoning know-it-all on for size. Mental problems?” Catherine huffed playfully.
Janet laughed through her nose then paused. “I had a niece. My sister’s girl. Layla. She was twelve. Or is twelve or...whatever.” She picked a couple of rocks up from between her feet and turned them over in her hands. “She was a good girl. Studied hard. Got good grades. Loved her mama. And her auntie Janet, too.” Janet peeked up at Catherine with a smile then looked back down. “If I ever had a kid, I’d want it to be just like her.”
Catherine studied Janet, chose her next words carefully. “Do you, I mean...do you know if—”
“Nah. Not a clue.” Janet flicked a rock with her thumb. “Tried to get a hold of them on ‘the day’, but couldn’t reach my sister. Things being what they are, I know the odds are against them surviving. And in a weird way, I’m kind of okay with that. The thought of Layla having to scrounge and hide to survive saddens me in a way I’ve never felt before. Her mama loved her fiercely and would’ve done anything for her. But she didn’t have that survival instinct. Not like me.” Janet made intentional eye contact with Catherine. “Or you.”
Catherine flinched. “Me?”
“Sure. Don’t sell yourself too short. You did a hell of a thing. Admittedly, I was a little jealous when I found out about all the heads up preparation you had. Hell, let’s be honest, I was downright pissed.”
A rosy shade of crimson filled Catherine’s cheeks.
“But then I thought to myself,” Janet continued, “wouldn’t I have done the same fucking thing if I’d had that advantage? Wouldn’t I have done everything possible for my family? And the answer is you can bet your sweet ass I would.”
“I appreciate what you’re saying, Janet,” Catherine began, “but I can tell you with all authority that I’m about the farthest thing from a survivalist that you can get. Most of the time I didn’t even know what I was doing.” Catherine’s eyes welled with tears. “And it almost got my family killed.”
“But you didn’t.”
“But I could have. If it wasn’t for you and sheer blind luck things...things could’ve been different.”
“Sometimes luck is part of the equation,” Janet assured her, laughing just a little. “You think everything I’ve done up ‘til now’s been planned? Jesus, luck’s been my closest ally through all of this.” She tossed the other rock to the ground. “No, what you’ve accomplished—you and your kids—deserves a round of applause. It’s no small feat just to keep oneself alive these days let alone the lives of others. I know that from personal experience.”
Janet turned her gaze to the school bus and Leanne who sat motionless, staring forlornly out the window. She returned to Catherine, scrutinized her as she fixated on the red-brown dirt at her feet.
“I’ve been hard on you,” Janet said plainly. “In fact, I’ve been downright mean.” Catherine snapped her head up. “And when we get to Alamogordo and everyon
e’s safe and sound, I wondered if you’d do me the honor of joining me for a beer. Or a Coke. Or water or whatever those military types keep around.”
Laughter broke out between the two women, the pent up tension and animosity evaporating into the dry desert air with each passing second.
“I’ll think about it,” Catherine said playfully. “I’ll have to check my schedule.”
“Of course.”
“But I imagine I shouldn’t have too much trouble fitting you in.”
“Well, I’m much obliged then,” Janet said with a grin. “It’s a date.”
“Consider it so.”
Catherine and Janet sat in silence for a moment, stared at the ground, the sky. Janet snatched up another handful of rocks when she suddenly blurted, “You know I ain’t gay, right?”
Catherine chuckled. “You know I’m married, right?”
The laughter from the two women reverberated off the cliff walls.
Tamara crept up alongside the garage. It was the only place left where Abby could have hidden that she hadn’t checked. The store was empty and so were both disgustingly filthy bathrooms. It had to be the garage.
She rounded the corner and peered into the work bay cautiously. There were tools and greasy rags on a workbench. Oily barrels and empty cardboard boxes lay stacked in a corner. There was even some high-tech looking machinery and a heavy looking contraption she remembered her father calling a “jack” lying nearby. But there was no Abby.
How could this be? she thought.
Then suddenly from behind, Abby charged, grabbing Tamara by the shoulders and sending the girl a foot into the air. Immediately upon the return of her feet to earth, Tamara whirled in place.
“You jerk!” Tamara said loudly. “You scared me!”
Abby giggled gleefully. “Really? I couldn’t tell by the way you jumped out of your clothes.”
“That wasn’t nice.”
