As soon as the car ahead inched forward enough for him to get his bumper around theirs, David pulled onto the shoulder, then flipped on his “cop lights” and drove down the shoulder. He tried to keep to a modest fifteen miles per hour, because people did stupid things like pulling out in front of other cars without looking, and the last thing he wanted was to be stranded way out there.
It took only a few more minutes to reach their duty station, right where I-76 crossed under County Road 4, just past Lochbuie. It was the site of a roadblock that occupied all lanes and the many ramps to and from the freeway there. The broad stretches of grass and shrubs between east- and westbound lanes had parallel “U”-shaped sandbag walls facing opposite directions, acting as a guide wall as the police and state patrolmen within were directing cars to turn around.
Between the two sandbag walls, the duty station proper consisted of multiple mobile-office trailers, a couple still hitched to rather ancient-looking diesel trucks, and next to that were lots of police cars. The walls gave the officers protection from people trying to run the roadblock. Outside those sandbag walls sat at least two dozen neatly parked private vehicles, though whether they belonged to workers or would-be escapees, David couldn’t yet tell.
A State Trooper stopped him at a little side gate set up to stop people from running the blockade on the shoulder, just like he was doing. His eyes flicked to David’s badge, and his face lit up. “Hey, Denver’s here. All right, now we’re talking. How was the drive?”
David politely smiled and waved. “Long. Traffic stretches back for miles. We ended up driving the shoulder, though we had to go around a couple stalled cars shoved to the side of the road. My four-by-four loved it, though.”
“I hear you.” The Trooper pointed to the roadblock going on over the eastbound lanes and said, “Pull in behind the barriers, park your P-O-V wherever there’s room, and report to Captain Muller in the only blue trailer. He’ll probably put you on the westbound lanes, since we’re still undermanned there. Stay safe.”
“You, too.” David thanked him and followed directions.
On the way, Orien muttered something about hating this surprise new duty station the captain had loaned them off to, but David ignored it.
Over by the office trailers, there was plenty of room to park. He and Orien were shortly on their way to meet the operation’s duty captain. David knocked.
A woman’s voice called out, “Enter.”
Inside, a well-muscled woman wearing captain’s bars sat behind a cheap office desk, writing by hand with a pen. She looked up as they entered. “Denver P-D. Nice to see you, officers.” She didn’t seem to bother to look at their name-plates pinned to their uniforms. “I don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll make this brief. Report to the sergeant covering westbound traffic, and he’ll put you where he needs you. Things are a bit chaotic, so you could be moved to a different duty at any time.”
David nodded. “Yes, ma’am. What will we be doing?”
She grimaced before replying, “Basically, we encourage cars trying to drive into Denver to turn around. If they insist on going on, then ask them to step out of the car however you can, with the least fuss possible. Then, tell them they’ll be escorted into Denver with all their possessions. We park their cars—you probably saw the makeshift parking lots outside the barriers—and then we take them to whichever trailer the duty sergeant tells you to. There, someone else handles the rest, and you go back to stopping cars.”
David saluted, and Orien followed his example with a much crisper salute. They turned to go.
As David started to leave, Captain Muller said, “One more thing. I know we always assume people are armed and loaded, but this time, they really are. Disarm them, but assure them they get their weapons back as soon as we run them. Trailers full of angry, armed people is no one’s idea of fun, and not all of them want to go into a trailer. But once they refuse to turn around, their part in the decision-making process is over. Basically, stay safe.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Once outside, Orien grunted.
David resisted the urge to roll his eyes as they walked toward the interstate’s far lanes, and after a moment, he asked, “What’s on your mind, partner?”
“Did any of that seem odd to you?”
“All of it. My ‘spidey-sense’ is tickling. But what can we do? We follow orders. Get the job done and go home alive, same as every day.”
“Roger that.”
Neither spoke for the rest of the short walk, but all was not silent. Even from that distance, the sounds of voices raised in anger echoed, both ahead of and behind them.
Just before arriving at the westbound lanes checkpoint, David said, “It’s gonna be a long day, son.”
Orien only nodded.
12
Christine adjusted her rearview mirror, using it to scan the kids in the back as she did so. “Everyone buckled up? Yeah? Okay then. Weldona, here we come.”
Mary, in the passenger seat, sat with her feet together and tucked almost under her seat, knees together and turned toward Christine. One hand gripped the seat, the other held firm to the “oh, crap” handle above her door.
Then again, Mary was the nervous, high-strung sort. Christine just didn’t want it to affect the kids, and it’d be a long drive with a silent, fearful friend beside her. She made small talk as they pulled out of her driveway, and tried to ignore the faint sputtering sound her car had made ever since the coronal mass ejection.
True to the radio reports, she spotted a police roadblock where Martin Luther King left Denver and entered Aurora. She turned off MLK and headed for the east-west residential streets to get around it. Thankfully, Mary didn’t argue about it. She had been a little unpredictable, lately, not that Christine could blame her for being high-strung; she felt it, too.
Once she’d dodged the roadblock, she drove roundabout to the next I-76 onramp and sped up. She kept to the speed limit, though, both to keep Mary from yet more anxiety and to treat her sputtering car as gently as she could.
The view was mostly empty, until shortly before the Bennett offramp. A hundred yards beyond it stood a sea of red tail lights that stretched out of sight. She hadn’t quite believed the radio reports of the governor’s office blocking off I-76 down the road, but what she saw was consistent with that report.
Once again, she left the larger road to travel surface streets. The police couldn’t possibly have blocked every road out of town. First, she got off at the next offramp and turned right to head south, then left. Both were farm roads.
About a mile down, however, the road turned sharply left—north, back toward the freeway. The flat terrain afforded her an excellent view of a traffic snarl that stretched far in both directions, as well as dozens of red-and-blue flashing lights.
Mary said, “If that’s the roadblock the news talked about, it puts the one out of Denver to shame. The radio said they weren’t letting any cars go through…”
“I know what the radio said. But I have a right to go to my mom’s house, and we’re going to do just that. I’m not sitting through that traffic only to be told to turn around.”
Mary only nodded.
Christine made a U-turn and backtracked. She took her first left, carrying her away from the freeway, then left again half a mile later at the next intersection. She drove slowly, as these roads hadn’t been cleared of dead vehicles, working her way around them with her eyes out for danger. Maybe it was silly to be thinking of ambushes, but with all her food in the car, and especially her kids, she took no chances.
Perhaps twenty minutes later, they made it north of I-76, and Christine turned off the road, onto a private farm road. Though it would be slow going, and take a bit of trial and error, those roads all interconnected, but they weren’t on most maps. The whole region was verdant with farms and isolated, which she hoped meant there wasn’t enough traffic to lure the criminal sort out that way. Those would likely be preying on people pulling off the freeway, not
way out there.
Then again, the car was sputtering worse than ever. But it’d make it. Only about four miles to Weldona. It had to make it, because they couldn’t carry their food that far. Too heavy. The heat was already oppressive, despite being only mid-morning, and the humidity from all the croplands as well as Bijou Reservoir was oppressive.
A half a mile later, though, the engine jerked and revved, jerked and revved, while the dashboard lights flicked off and on each time.
Darcy spoke for the first time since they left home, with fear in her voice. “Mom? Is it okay? We’ll make it to Nana’s, right?”
In response, the engine jerked, then stalled.
Christine pumped the gas and turned the key again, trying to start it, but to no avail.
Hunter asked, “Did we run out of gas?”
Christine slapped her steering wheel and clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to shout profanities at the damn car. Of course it would break down way out there—that was just her luck. Piece of crap…
No. This was beyond her control, and there was no use freaking out about it. She’d just have to adapt to this new problem. “No, we didn’t. I always keep it above half a tank, just so this won’t happen.”
“Are we going to have to walk?” Hunter’s expression, in the rearview mirror, showed his concern as he glanced back and forth between Darcy and Christine.
“Yes. We’ll leave the food in the trunk, and I’ll bring the gas can just in case my fuel meter failed, or something. There has to be a gas station or a repair shop up ahead, somewhere.”
Darcy leaned forward, saying, “Can’t we just stay here? Help will come. Or ask one of these farmers for a lift.” Her voice was tight and higher-pitched than usual.
Christine frowned. “Of course not. It’s not safe for kids to sit in a car in the middle of nowhere, you know that. And help is not coming any time soon. When is the last time we saw a car driving around these roads?”
Mary finally let go of the handle above the passenger door. “Can’t we knock on the nearest farmer’s door? That was a good idea.”
“Thanks,” Darcy replied, though her tone still told Christine that she was not looking forward to walking in that heat, no matter the distance.
Hunter said, “Mom, I could stay here with Darcy while you go knock on doors. Yeah, this could work. Farmers are nice people, too. Ask for cookies or something, okay? I’m hungry.”
Christine’s stomach was too jittery to even want to think about food, but thinking about leaving the kids behind unattended—because she was damn well going to take Mary with her—made her flip-flopping stomach churn. “Heck no. We stick together from now on, understand? We’re in the middle of nowhere, and I’m not risking that.”
“Aww, I’m old enough—”
“No, I said. Remember what happened the last time you decided to do what you want instead of doing what I told you? It didn’t work out very well for you. Just listen to what I say. Now, everyone out. I’ll grab the gas can out of the trunk, just in case we actually are out of gas, then lock up our stuff. Make sure your shoes are tied well.”
Mary interrupted. “Why can’t I just stay with the kids? Then you go get—”
“We stay together, Mary. You can do what you want, but I’m walking down the road, and I’m bringing my kids. I would feel a lot better if you came, though. I don’t want to have to worry about you too.”
The kids grumbled just loud enough to make sure she heard them, and Mary went silent, but they did all get out with her. After she locked up the car, she looked around for any potential danger, and seeing none, she set out north with her kids and Mary following close behind.
She was sweating less than five minutes into their long walk.
13
Mom - Went to Denver with the kids. Heard they are giving out food to everyone. I’ll give their dad’s address, they’ll have to let us in. I won’t take no for an answer. Back by Sunday night. Help yourself to what’s in the basement freezer, but leave some for us! What a way to spend my birthday, huh? TTYL! Love you. -D.
Wiley grinned as he set the note back on the kitchen counter. The house was empty, and judging by how neatly the note had been placed to line up with the tile grout, it appeared her mom had never stopped by. He felt bad for the kids, but the mom had likely gotten them all locked up at that roadblock he’d seen on I-70.
Oh well. There was definitely food in the basement, then, and with the power still on here—the miracle of a generator in a shed, on an intermittent timer, though the fuel tank gauge showed it was near “Empty”—he looked forward to a hot shower. Three whole days on foot, eating only what he could steal, had left him hungry and filthy. He’d avoided the I-70 roadblock, and another on I-76, but it was easy to go around, on foot.
But if he couldn’t get into Denver, yet, what he really needed was a car. All the ones he’d seen were newer models, and surprisingly few of those, even.
The stretch of farms he’d searched had no older cars, either. They had probably had the same thought as “D,” going to Denver. Fools. What they should have been doing was heading away from the city. Those in authority had apparently started to abuse their power, as with the barriers to travel and the radio news that they were detaining people, closing stores, seizing property, and when the abuse began, that was the time to leave, if one could.
It all made him kind of glad he hadn’t made it to Denver before the crazy mayor started flexing his muscles like some kind of warden.
First, he enjoyed the frozen casseroles and popsicles in the deep freezer in the basement. Then, he packed as much of their food as he could carry, at least the stuff that would keep, like beans and rice. Conveniently, the family had left their camping supplies behind, and he’d nabbed the field mess kit and collapsible camping cookset.
He showered and washed his clothes, too. An hour after arriving—and feeling much better with food in his belly and underwear that didn’t smell like his cellmate who never showered—he was gone, baby, gone.
Before then, he’d been thrilled that the CME had caused so much confusion that no one really noticed him, and no one was likely hunting him down, not yet.
So, when he saw actual, honest-to-goodness people down the road, he was surprised that he was actually looking forward to saying hello, rather than being wary. He’d never let his guard down around strangers, of course, but that was different.
As the dots got closer—two women and two older kids as it turned out—he noticed one was carrying a gas can. And that meant a car—one that worked, until it ran out of gas, at least.
Wiley grinned and started to walk toward them, practicing his charming hellos. Opportunity had finally knocked, and he was damn well answering the door.
14
Christine hated sweat. Which was too bad, because after an hour of walking and the early June temperature rising sharply, she was sweating in places one shouldn’t sweat, and she’d given up trying to be discreet whenever she had to pull her underwear out of whatever crevice was eating them that time.
She also hated listening to the kids complain, particularly Darcy, as if they were somehow magically hotter than everyone else. She’d finally snapped and told them to shut up when they got into a verbal sparring match over who was more uncomfortable.
Since then, they had all walked more or less in sullen silence, and Christine was praying they’d find a damn gas station, soon.
So, when she spotted a lone man walking toward them, coming from the other direction, she had very mixed feelings. On the one hand, she could ask him for directions, or if he’d seen a gas station. On the other, she was in no mood to talk to anyone, nor to pretend she was in a better mood than she was. Being “nice” was not going to be the highlight of her afternoon.
Ultimately, she needed information more than she needed silence in which to suffer alone. She took in a deep breath and sighed, when the man was maybe thirty feet away, and forced herself to smile.
At least she didn’
t have to be afraid of the guy. He was all of five foot six and skinny, clean-shaven, and wearing designer athletic shoes, jeans, and a tee-shirt meant he was likely even hotter than they were.
At about ten feet away, the kids and Mary stopped. Christine glanced back and saw Mary with one arm protectively around each of her kids. She looked back to the man and smiled. “Hello.”
The man had an oval face, pleasant, with mesmerizing yellow-green, almond-shaped eyes. His smile was relaxed and friendly. Even the edge of a tattoo on the left side of his neck, which looked like a snake perhaps, didn’t make him seem any less open and honest.
That was a huge relief.
“Good afternoon, ladies. Sir,” he said, indicating Hunter. His voice was mid-range, soft-spoken, and pleasant like a radio announcer’s. “I have to say, it’s a relief to see real people again. Everyone but me left my neighborhood, and the car wouldn’t start. I’ve been looking for another living soul for hours, now.”
Behind her, Mary said, “Oh, we’re definitely living.” Something was off about her voice, and when Christine glanced back, she was blushing and touching one elbow with her other hand.
Christine caught herself from rolling her eyes as she looked back at the man. Should she tell him what they were doing out there? Oh, right. The gas can. No point lying. But he seemed like a decent guy, so far, so she wasn’t too worried. “Sorry for that. We’re just looking for a gas station. You live around here, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Where’s the nearest one?” Inwardly, she flinched. She’d just told a stranger, in dire circumstances, that she and her family weren’t from around here, and that they were in trouble, but she hadn’t seen any way around it.
“No,” the man said, “I don’t know where the nearest station is. I used to gas up by work, once a week.” He smiled, his almond eyes creasing at the corners. “How’d you let yourselves run out of gas way out here? I’m Wiley, by the way.”
Inception of Chaos: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Story Page 9
