by Ned Sahin
We are on our way to the West.
“You think it’s a good idea, Matt?” Kathleen breaks an hour of silence after we left Purple Haze. It takes me a few seconds to get my thoughts together to respond to her.
“I hope it is… I think the country roads are as dangerous as highways,” I say. We debated about using the highway or country roads before getting into the car. I’ve been driving on the highway so far. Our speed is around 50 mph. With this speed, we should be at the refinery before it gets dark.
Rowan told us that Herington Rebels control Kansas and some parts of Colorado, which is the next state we will drive through. He said it’s unlikely to see checkpoints on the way since rebels are not obsessed with patrolling their land.
If we come across one, we will let the guard know about our connection to Rowan and our purpose to find gas for the farm trucks. All rebels should know Purple Haze is one of the towns that is crucial for their food supply. I don’t think they will give us any trouble if we stick with this story.
“Would you like to switch?” Toshi asks. He is in the passenger seat. We’ve been on the road for several hours. Even though I don’t feel tired yet, I want to get some rest before we arrive at the refinery. In a post-apocalyptic world, things can get hectic in a matter of seconds. I should have the energy and mindset to face any challenges.
Toshi gets in the driver seat while I fill up the tank from the gas can. Kathleen takes a few steps into the dead wheat field.
I put myself in her shoes. An accountant working at corporate America for years and a daughter of loving parents. Now running for her life knowing she will never see her family, including her dog again. Despite what she went through, she’s stayed positive, but I know she has her moments of thinking about the past and worrying about the future.
“Anything to eat there?” I ask Kathleen sarcastically.
“Yeah, wanna have a dead grain salad mix topped with dirt, and who knows what these bugs are?” She never fails to play along.
I go to the trunk and pick up three of the sandwiches Sunshine made for us. We have about a week of food and water in the car.
“In case you want something more nutritional, I have a roast beef sandwich with spinach and avocado,” I say. I am still amazed by how much food people in the hippie town have access to.
She walks back from the field and grabs one of the sandwiches. I see the kind of happiness a good meal can trigger. Toshi’s face lights up with a similar expression too.
We get back to the road after our short break. I watch the deserted fields and lonely farmhouses through the open window. I can smell the dead crops around abandoned houses. Some of them have open doors and shattered windows while the rest seems intact even though they don’t provide shelter to anyone anymore.
I see a house surrounded by chain-link fencing and windows covered by plywood. I think it’s a deadly mistake to set up a perimeter like this. They might as well have put a neon sign that says: “There is a huge stockpile of food and water here.” If it was in the territory of Saviors, that house would most likely have been one of the first to be sacked.
“That must be the refinery,” Kathleen says while pointing to a steel contracture with a tall chimney and pipelines around.
Toshi looks out for road signs. “There it is. Exit 47,” he says and reduces speed.
We all carefully scan the area for any threats. There is no sign of humans, animals, and Ricas. We approach what looks like a gas station near the refinery building. By the size of its pump area and wide lines in the parking lot, it looks like a gas station for truckers.
Toshi turns to enter the station.
There are two sets of pumps. The ones on the left seem to be dried out. Hoses are on the floor and trash cans are toppled. There is even a truck that hit the iron pole on the side of a pump.
“The ones on the right...” I say. All six pumps appear in good condition, and there are no trucks or cars parked around them.
Toshi slams the brake when he sees a man sitting on a beach chair between two stations in the center of the pump area. He is a middle-aged man with a long beard wearing a cowboy hat and jeans jacket. He holds a cigarette in one hand while keeping his other hand on an AK-47 laying on his lap.
He doesn’t stand up or change his position. He keeps staring at us while smoking.
“Let’s get out of here,” Toshi says.
“The tank is almost empty.” Kathleen objects to him. She has a point. Even if we turn around and leave, we won’t be able to drive far.
I remember the triple-A rule from one of the survival shows I watched before the outbreak: Assess the surroundings, avoid a conflict, attack if there is no other choice. I check the surroundings. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else, but I am pretty sure he is not alone. He wouldn’t be this relaxed if someone else wasn’t watching his back. We should attempt to get gas while avoiding trouble with him.
“Let’s give it a shot,” I say. I still have the bow the kids gave us in the church. The shotgun is also with us but there are no rounds. We asked if Rowan or his friends have guns or ammo that we can take, but they don’t have any type of firearms in their town as we expected. Harmony gave us kitchen knives that we covered in shirt sleeves and attached to our belts under our t-shirts.
Since we outnumber him, knives and a bow can give us a chance against an AK-47 if we use them wisely. I still want to stick with the “avoid a conflict” rule, though.
The bearded man keeps staring at us as Toshi slowly moves the car and parks within a safe distance where we have a chance of turning around in case he—or anyone—decides to shoot.
I roll down the window and try to smile. “Hey. Is there still some gas left?” I ask.
He doesn’t respond. His squinted eyes go between me, Kathleen, and Toshi.
“You hear us?” I ask. Who knows, he might be deaf.
“What you got?” he finally speaks.
It’s a world of trading now.
“We are coming from Purple Haze. We have a trade deal with Rebels,” I say.
“So?” He takes another breath from his cigarette. It looks like he doesn’t care about either of them. We should find a way to make a deal with him.
“Three days of food and water for a full tank,” I say. This would be a good trade for us. We will still have enough supplies for several days if he accepts the offer.
“Five days for half a tank,” he counters with a pouty face. The corner of his mouth twitches and the tip of his nose rises every time he takes a breath.
A half tank wouldn’t even take us to Denver. I share a look with Toshi and Kathleen. Both of them shake their heads.
“Five days of supplies and a quarter pound of weed for a full tank,” I say.
Toshi was against the idea of taking weed from Rowan, but we all agreed that it would come handy for trading.
He tilts his head and narrows his beady eyes. “Now you’re talking,” he says with a toothless grin.
“Jack!” he yells at the gas station’s convenience store. A younger man comes out of the store, and the man nods his head.
The younger man walks to the pump and extends the hose. Toshi moves the car closer to the hose.
I leave the bow on my seat and get out of the car. Kathleen gets out of the car too.
I open the trunk to meet our side of the bargain while keeping an eye on the guy. The guy stares at Kathleen's thighs.
“Hold on, Jack!” he yells. “I want a private dance from her.”
That’s a red line I won’t let anyone cross. His dark eyes fill with lust and saliva leaks over his ugly beard. This is what a man who makes decisions between his legs looks like. The apocalypse didn’t eliminate assholes like him. It made them worse.
The deal is off.
“We are leaving now.” I close the trunk and push the younger man away from the car. The man stands up and puts his finger on the trigger of an AK-47 and raises it halfway.
>
“Fuck off,” I say.
His smile turns to anger. He throws his cigarette at my shoes. They say each cigarette a person smokes will cost eleven minutes of their lives. This guy might have just multiplied it by hundreds with this move.
I look at my bow through the rear window.
“It’s fine, Matt,” Kathleen says.
I turn to her. She can’t be serious.
“Make sure the tank is filled up,” she adds.
“Don’t,” I say, shaking my head.
She glances at me before turning to him and waiting for the next move.
“Ladies first,” he says, showing us all his yellow teeth with his hideous smile. He points to the store, and Kathleen walks toward the front entrance.
He slaps her butt cheeks. She pauses for a second and looks down trying to hold her anger. She continues to walk.
I can’t stop grinding my teeth. I can feel Toshi is doing the same.
“What are you waiting for?” I say to the other man. He places the hose into the cap and starts filling the tank.
There is no way I am giving food or water to that human waste. I look at the store to figure out a plan to storm into the place and take him down.
Toshi gets out of the car and looks at the store. From his knitted eyebrows and clenched jaw, I can tell his brain is running with possible scenarios as well.
Approaching the door cautiously and running inside together should create a surprise effect that can help us take the gun away from that monster.
The younger man doesn’t seem to be a threat to us. I assume he won’t make a move behind us.
I nod toward Toshi. He nods too before walking after me.
We take a few steps when we hear screaming. It’s from the guy.
Kathleen runs out of the store toward us. “Get in the car!” she yells.
The younger man panics. I run to him and punch his face with all the anger I built up. His torso hits the car before falling. I punch his face again. His nose turns to a waterfall of blood.
Kathleen runs to the hose and pulls it out. Toshi gets back to the driver seat. I run to the back of the car and open the trunk.
“Matt! What are you doing!” Kathleen yells while I am picking up the empty gas can.
“Fill this too!” I tell Kathleen. I drop the can next to her. She turns her head to the store. She pauses for a second to catch her breath. Then she puts the edge of the hose into the can.
I hear the guy crawling through the store door.
“Get in the car guys!” Toshi yells.
“Almost done!” I say.
Toshi glances at the guy crawling through the store door by dragging AK-47, then turns to us. His eyes are wide open, and he is biting his lower lip. Knowing we are in the target of an automatic rifle, Toshi looks frightened. He picks up the bow from the passenger seat and inserts an arrow. He shoots at the door, and the arrow hits the wall a few feet away from the crawling guy who leaves a trail of blood on the floor. The man pauses for a second and tries to aim his gun at us.
“Done!” Kathleen says and pulls the hose up, but the gas is still flowing. My lower arms are now soaked with excess fuel.
“Get into the front seat!” I tell her. I place the cap and take the gas can to the backseat with me.
Toshi hits the gas pedal as soon as I close the door. The engine of the old Taurus revs up as if waking up from decades of sleeping.
“Fuckers!” the guy yells before firing his rifle.
A few bullets hit the metal and fly around us. One of them shatters the passenger side window. Kathleen screams. Toshi turns the car around drifting the rear tires and speeds up toward the exit of the station.
I lean forward to see Kathleen’s face, fearing she was hit.
“I’m okay!” she says. Toshi forces the car to its limits while driving up the ramp to the highway.
I lean forward again while holding the gas can on my side.
“What happened?” I ask Kathleen.
“He is not a man anymore,” she says.
Chapter 26
We pass by Denver.
Before the pandemic, I always wanted to visit this city for a day and then go to a nearby ski resort to spend a few nights. This is far more different than the trip I thought I would be doing.
The city skyline is not the same as it used to be. Most buildings are heavily damaged by the bombing the US Air Force conducted as a last resort to control the riot. I heard that the military had to retreat eventually, resulting in a civil war between the wealthy who bought grocery stores and people who are desperate for food.
The green and blue silhouette of downtown turned to gray and black because of the debris and burned structures. There are still ashes flowing in the air. Overgrown plants surround the roads and fences. Their thin and yellowish branches are dying out.
The highway is jammed with cars bumper to bumper. I know that this is not unusual for Denver, but it’s a different kind of traffic jam this time. The cars are either empty or they are still doing their duty carrying their owners whose souls are no longer among us. Many of them were broken into or siphoned out. Some of them are covered by a thick layer of dust while others have handprints on their hoods to show scavenger activity took place.
We slowly drive on the side curb, trying to avoid dead bodies. Some of them are in a pool of dried blood around their faces. This is not what the virus does. It’s what Ricas do.
The sun starts to settle down. We should keep going as further as we can before it gets dark. The last thing I want is to get stranded on this chaotic highway near a big city that was destroyed in civil unrest. There is a problem, though. We only have a quarter tank of gas left.
“We should look for gas,” I say. Kathleen is driving now. We pulled over before entering the city zone to switch drivers and fill the tank with the gas can we filled at the refinery.
“Not sure, Matt. It’s too dangerous,” Kathleen says. Her lips are pressing each other while her eyebrows are closing into her hairline. I know she is nervous and concerned, but we need to think ahead.
“If we continue, we’ll run out of gas on the mountain probably without any cars around to siphon gas from,” I say.
“Right…” She purses her lips again.
I turn my head back to Toshi sitting in the backseat.
“We should be quick,” he says.
Kathleen rolls her eyes at him in the rear-view mirror. Then she turns to me. “Is the siphon pump in the trunk?” she asks. Rowan gave us a siphon pump so we can retrieve gas from other cars.
“Yeah...” I say.
She stops the car. We look around to make sure there is nobody around us before opening the doors. There are only cars, overgrown bushes, and lifeless bodies.
I see several emergency responders and military vehicles around. There is a fire truck with one of the back flashers still blinking.
Toshi and I get out of the car. I grab the siphon pump from the trunk. Toshi covers me with his bow, ready to shoot.
Instead of checking the passenger cars that were probably already emptied out, I decide to go for the fire truck. Other people who were desperately looking for gas most likely ignored this truck, thinking it won’t be too easy to siphon gas from it. They might be right, but I will give it a try. I hope the videos I watched as part of my apocalypse prepping during the first months of the pandemic will help me figure it out.
The truck has numerous valves. I look closely at the hood near the driver and passenger doors. Nothing that looks like a gas cap. I go around the truck one more time. Both sides have only water pipes.
“Any luck, Matt?” Kathleen yells from the car. The sun is moving down on the horizon. We should get going before the sky turns dark.
Toshi climbs on the roof of our car to have a better view in both directions.
I go to the rear of the truck and see an iron cap attached to a chain. This must be it. I try rotating the cap, but
it doesn’t move. I try to loosen it up by shaking, hitting, and pulling it, but it doesn’t flex even an inch.
“Two people are walking this way!” Toshi says pointing to the direction we came from.
“Are they Ricas?” I ask.
“Um… Don’t think so. They are slow.” He shrinks his eyes to focus better.
I take a deep breath and push the cap counterclockwise with both of my hands one more time. It finally starts loosening up. I rotate it until the cap is completely off the hook.
I move the longer side of the siphon hose down to the tank. I pinch off the other side. I squeeze the ball pump and let it out. Nothing comes through the hose. I try it again and the oil finally comes up. I slide the other end of the hose into the can. Gravity takes care of the rest. Gas is slowly flowing.
“Don’t get closer!” Toshi yells to the people walking toward us. He is ready to release his bow.
They look like a couple in their 30s. They both have masks and backpacks. They raise their hands in the air.
“Can you give us a ride, please? We’ve been walking for days...” the man says.
Toshi shares a look with me. “No… We can’t,” he says. They turn to me with begging eyes.
I shake my head. I don’t trust them even a bit.
“Please… We have food. We’re healthy. We won’t slow you down,” the woman says. They don’t seem sick and their bags look packed, but it is still a significant risk to let them ride with us. We don’t even know if they have guns.
I glance at Kathleen. She looks hesitant. Toshi turns back to me to determine my opinion.
“We just need to get out of the city. You can leave us after a few miles. Please…” the man says.
As much as I want to believe them, asking for a ride for a few miles doesn’t sound realistic. It’s more like something a person says to get a seat in the car only to steal it from us later.
Half of the ten gallons was filled before the gas stopped flowing. This must be all the truck has. I seal the cap and carry it to the trunk.
