by Connor Mccoy
“That’s him,” Cowell said.
“How’d you come by him?” Sykes asked.
“I was following up on a case, a family that lives off the grid. I was attempting to interview their daughter and that’s when my car stalled on Road 215. I followed the family to Trapp, and soon after I met Doctor Samuel. He took me in for the night. He’s been helping me get on my way.”
Sykes nodded. He placed his elbows on the table and leaned in a little closer. “You don’t feel very confident that you’ll make it to Fall Crossing, do you?”
Cowell’s frustration continued festering. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I am completely unprepared to handle this…this emergency. I’m not a damn farmer. I don’t know anything about camping, hunting, picking corn, drawing water, braving a wilderness…” He winced. “Having to fight off and kill another human being who wants your supplies.”
Sykes said nothing.
Cowell locked eyes with his companion. “How in the world did nobody see this coming? Why didn’t they prepare us? I am completely lost here. And pretty soon I’m going to have to trek halfway down this state, without a car, without a working phone, anything to help me. So, yeah, I don’t think I have a chance in hell of making it to Fall Crossing. I can’t turn to anybody, not the mayor of this godforsaken town, not the police, not the U.S. government.” Cowell clenched his fists. “I don’t know what to do.”
Sykes nodded. “That’s a pretty powerful sentiment. I totally can understand where you’re coming from. In fact, I probably would be where you are if I hadn’t grown up out here in the countryside. I took a lot of lessons with me as I moved up the corporate ladder. One of those lessons was to be in command of your own destiny.”
“Well, no one’s in command of their own destiny any longer,” Cowell said.
“Is that so?” Sykes raised an eyebrow.
Cowell frowned. What was Sykes trying to imply here? The man was a fool if he thought anyone held a tight grip over their future any longer.
“You think you can’t get to Fall Crossing? What if I told you that you could make it there inside of a day?”
“How?” With a chortle, Cowell started gulping water.
Sykes leaned even closer, about halfway across the table, and spoke in a quieter tone. “I got a working truck.”
Cowell swallowed some water down the wrong pipe. After a bout of coughing, he asked, “What?”
“Easy. Don’t make a big spectacle.”
Cowell wiped water from his mouth. “Sorry. I mean, how the hell do you have a working truck? They all should be out of commission!”
“Hold on a second. Yeah, it’s true that an electromagnetic pulse can take out the electrical systems of automobiles, but not the older ones. The ones that don’t have electronics, they still can run. Basically, some 1970’s and any vehicle from the 1960’s or earlier are the best. They’re not very common.” Sykes patted his upper chest.
“Now, we at Corbin, we’ve been keeping an eye on the recent solar disturbances. We figured, hey, maybe there would be hits in the atmosphere, maybe some low-level pulses that would take out a town or two. Now, we missed the mark by miles, but we still prepared anyway. We switched to our oldest trucks. I came down here in one of them yesterday.” Sykes took a glance at the other tables before continuing. “Of course, I’m not advertising that, for understandable reasons.”
Cowell dropped his voice. “They would mob you if they knew.”
“Correct,” Sykes said.
“Then why are you telling me? Why are you offering me a ride? Aside from money, and money’s now worthless, what could I give you in return?”
“You have it in good with Doc Sam, right? What does he have on hand?”
“Well, I know he has a lot of medical equipment, bandages, antibiotics, anesthesia…”
“What about fuel? Gas? Oil?” Sykes asked.
“Well, I don’t know. I think he mentioned something about keeping gas for a generator.” Cowell snapped his fingers. “I think he might have some in his garage. Yeah, he mentioned it yesterday. But why do you ask? Do you want to trade for it?”
“Trade would not be the word I’m thinking of. I’d call it an extended loan from him to me.”
Cowell stiffened. Extended loan? That didn’t sound legitimate to him. “Extended loan?” Cowell asked.
Sykes’s smile suddenly seemed a little sinister. “Well, maybe you could say we are appropriating the fuel for a worthy cause, namely mine.”
Cowell wanted to change this subject, and fast. “What about the gas stations?”
“There’s only three in town and the government took control of those quick. No way we could fuel up from one of those. A lot of stations probably are emptied by now. They’re still talking that they can rig up a generator and use the gas for that.” Sykes chuckled. “Bunch of fools they are.”
Cowell now was fretting for a way to exit this conversation gracefully. It was clear now that Sykes was a thief, and Cowell wanted no part of whatever he was up to. “So, you’re out of gas, is that what you’re saying?”
“Hell no. I got more than enough to get out of Trapp. I want to stock up on enough gas to take me anywhere I want in this country.”
The impish look in Sykes’s eyes continued unnerving Cowell. “I see.”
“You’re not sure about me, are you? I can see it in your eyes. But you’re still listening, still thinking about it. I know why. It’s just what you said earlier. You’re lost in this new world. You don’t know shit about how to survive and you’re afraid you’ll be dead inside of the next three days.”
Sykes drew back a little. “Remember that little lesson I spoke about? Being in command of your own destiny? Here’s how it works. ‘He who has the gold makes the rules.’ That gold can be anything. Right now, it’s fuel. I want it. I’m gathering all I can before I steal away to my next target. Anyone who’s with me can reap the reward.”
Cowell cleared his throat. “I’ve noticed a lot of people around here have guns. I don’t think they’ll settle for arresting a thief and reading him his Miranda rights…”
“Oh, horseshit. You’re going to let that stop you? Procuring my fuel isn’t going to be a complicated operation. Just fill up on the gas and bring it out to the road. I’ll set the time. We’ll be there to pick you up. And if you’re worried about someone taking a shot at you, well, I got some friends who will help us out.”
Cowell bristled. As much as he hated what this guy was proposing, he couldn’t stop considering it. Hell, a part of him even liked it. A chance to ride to Fall Crossing inside of a day? He’d be a fool to turn that down! Even so, just who was this guy and why should Cowell trust him?
“You talk a very good game, but I have no proof I can trust you. You could be leading me down a primrose path, only to yank the carpet out from under me. I didn’t get to where I am by being gullible.”
“Hey, I totally understand.” Sykes nodded. “You don’t have to agree to anything right now. Just keep it in mind. Keep it in mind as you toil out there and watch this world pass by, and you recognize that you don’t have a place in it anymore. If you change your mind, you can look for me here.”
Sykes then rose from his seat, smiled, and walked away.
Cowell, believing that was the last he would see of Sykes, let out a long sigh. Stealing from another person? That would make him no better than the dregs of this world who thought themselves free to take whatever they wanted now that all authority had broken down. Alexander Cowell was better than that. He raised the glass to his lips and prepared to drink heavily.
The glass was empty.
Chapter Fifteen
Brandon was so immersed in his latest drawing that he did not notice Doc Sam approach until the older man’s shadow dwarfed his paper. “Oh, excuse me.” The doctor chuckled. “Didn’t mean to get into your light.” He backed away from the window, allowing the sunlight to shine fully into the room. “Your mother told me what you’ve been up to
today.”
“Yeah.” The nine-year-old looked up. “It’s okay if I draw your house, right?”
Doc Sam laughed. “Of course! Bet you’ll never see one like this ever again, although stranger things have happened.”
“Why did you build your house out of bags?” Brandon asked.
“I suppose for the same reason Michelangelo carved David out of marble. He felt the need to do it, to express himself.” Doc Sam grinned.
“Actually, my reason isn’t quite so inspirational, I guess. You see, when I was in Asia, I met people who didn’t have a lot of money, so they didn’t have homes like we do over here. They had to use branches, sticks, mud, and sometimes the homes had trouble standing up. When Doctor Nguyen and I met with some of these people, we showed them how to pack sand and dirt into bags, just like these.” He pointed to the walls. “We gave them a little engineering perspective to keep the bags fortified. Last I heard, those houses they built were still in good shape.”
Doc Sam cleared his throat before continuing. “Not long after I came home, I felt something was wrong just living in that apartment of mine. I was thinking of buying my own home, but that city I was in, nothing felt right. When I came back here after so many years, the first thing I noticed was this plot of land. I saw the soil, I saw the plants, and I just knew I had found my true home.” He smiled wryly.
“It was also very cheap. The gentleman who sold it to me told me I was out of my mind to want to build here. He said the plumbing alone would take a lot of money to fix. So, I just built my own plumbing system. When the power went out, losing the town’s plumbing wasn’t a big loss.”
Brandon chuckled. Doc Sam, laughing a little, stepped up to one of the living room’s support beams, where he could get close to the bags that made up the front wall. “But most of all, I wanted to share in the experience of those people I left behind. This house helped me do that.” He glanced at Brandon. “It’d be nice if you had some pictures to remember this place by.”
Before Brandon could speak, a series of loud horns rattled the nearby window. Doc Sam rushed to the farthest window, the one looking out on the street. A man was off in the distance, his hand raised. He was holding something, and although Doc Sam could not see it well, he knew what it was. “Damn. Air horns. The warning system.”
Brandon leapt from his seat. “What’s going on?”
Doc Sam sped over to the boy. “Without phones, the police honk horns to show that trouble’s coming and to get ready. I think your mom’s outside.” The doctor fled to his office.
“Best for you to stay in here until I give the all clear.” Then he emerged with a shotgun and a pair of binoculars. He quickly handed the latter to the boy. “Keep your eyes peeled. With these, you’ll see trouble coming from a distance.”
Brandon took the binoculars. “Will do.”
Cowell stopped to rest, again. Making it back to Doc Sam’s was proving to be the hardest leg of this whole trip. After dropping off his crops and water at Moses Travers store, he bid Moses farewell and departed for the doctor’s home. Doc Sam already had taken Cowell’s gear and moved it to his home, so Cowell was spared the ordeal of hauling it back himself.
Unfortunately, his body wanted to relax after the hard day’s work, and that didn’t cooperate very well with all the walking. Cowell was in a mental fight with his own legs. He had been laboring hard. Why didn’t he just rest in Moses Travers store? Moses even had offered to let him sit and recuperate for a while in the backroom.
Because, once again, Cowell was too stubborn for his own good. He fumed. He still overestimated his own limits, even as he bemoaned his inability to fit into this new world. Sykes’s offer looked more tempting as he thought about it.
Forget about that. The man’s either talking hot air or he’s a hoodlum and you shouldn’t be involved with that anyway. Besides, he never would steal from another human being, not even in these dire circumstances. He simply would have to brave the open road to reach his sister.
He reached an intersection. A simple turn to the right would take him onto the street that ran past Doc Sam’s house. “Almost there,” he said through a dry throat.
However, he did not get more than a few steps before he heard a succession of blaring horns. They reminded him of horns that spectators would honk at a sports game. Why the hell were people shooting off horns?
Whatever the reason, the noise was enough to unnerve Cowell and motivate his limbs to walk a little faster.
Unfortunately, his increased speed was not enough to carry him all the way to the house before trouble showed up—fast. A man dressed in sweats approached from behind, running on the opposite side of the street. He was huffing hard. Cowell soon spotted the reason why this stranger might be running. He was gripping a handgun in his right hand.
The armed man quickly closed the gap between himself and Cowell. Cowell locked eyes with him. The man’s brown eyes flared with the intensity of a predatory animal. The gunman slowed quickly. His eyes widened. He saw something in Cowell, something worth taking.
Cowell’s heart quickened. Run! Get the hell out of there! His mind screamed a host of instructions that his legs would not obey. This man had a gun. Cowell would be dead if he tried to run. No, you fool, get away from him! You won’t have a chance if you stay!
Cowell did turn and run, but sheer terror got the better of him. He tripped and fell in the sandy ground just off the shoulder of the road.
“Cowell! Keep down!” shouted Domino.
Cowell looked up. Domino was charging in from the direction of Doc Sam’s house, her gun in hand and aimed over Cowell’s head. The gunman, who had slowed down almost completely, turned and ran in the opposite direction.
Domino fired the gun three times. Cowell winced with each gunshot. He never had been so close to a discharged firearm before. The sound was much louder than he expected.
The gunman disappeared around the corner of an old shed. As Domino fired off her third shot, Doc Sam approached with his own gun in hand.
“Cowell! Quick, get inside and keep watch over the kids. Don’t let them out!” Doc Sam sped off across the street. “Young lady, back me up and call out loud!”
Domino followed the doctor. “Hey!” she screamed, “Gunman outside! Watch it!”
Cowell, still planted on the ground, watched the two dash off after the gunman. He was safe, but damn, that was close—too close.
Reclining on the sofa, Cowell kept a nervous eye on the front door. He wondered what news Doc Sam or Domino would bring when they stepped through the door. Did anyone in town manage to catch the gunman?
For a moment he glanced at Brandon. The young Avery boy wore a belt that included a firearm. Cowell grimaced. Why the hell should a boy be walking around with a gun? It repulsed Cowell to think times were so bad that children had to walk around armed.
God help me, what would happen if someone barged into this house right now? This child is my last line of defense? Cowell had a gun on his person thanks to Doc Sam, but he had little confidence in his ability to use it.
Figures approached the home. Cowell saw them through the window. “Mom! Doc Sam!” Brandon called. He had identified them before Cowell could. Cowell sighed in relief.
The two adults opened the front door and walked in. Doc Sam was wiping his forehead with a small cloth. “I don’t envy their task in the morning, burying that son of a bitch.”
Brandon rejoined his mother. She reached down and hugged him. Cowell kept silent until she stood up. “I am happy to say the time around here passed without incident,” he said with a stutter.
“Good.” Domino leaned over Cowell. “Thanks. Are you doing better?”
“Still a little shook up, but otherwise I can’t complain,” Cowell replied, “The gunman, what happened to him?”
“Reichert. He’s the second in command to the sheriff. He and his posse intercepted the man and put him down.” Doc Sam pushed down with his palm. “He was limping a little. Domino’s gun
must have put a slug in his leg. Lucky for us. It slowed him down, allowed us to catch him.”
Cowell sank back into the couch. The menace of that madman was over. However, he wondered how many days would be like this. “I suppose,” he said, “it is fortunate that Miss Avery was armed.”
“Always carry. That’s been the story of my life for more than ten years.” Domino patted her belt between her buckle and her holster.
“That’s the way it’s going to have to be,” Doc Sam said. “There’s no dialing 9-1-1 any longer.” He pointed to Domino. “You were fortunate she was packing. I don’t know what that bastard would have done if he thought he could do as he wished.”
A cold chill ran down Cowell’s back. I could be dead by now, he thought.
Doc Sam looked out the window. “It will be dark before too long. I’d better start thinking of what to cook for tonight.” He smiled at Cowell. “After all, I do have you as a dinner guest for one more night.”
“Of course.” Cowell stood up, but his legs shook unexpectedly. His body was not relaxed yet. “I should run to Saburo’s. I need to take care of some business before night falls.”
“Sure,” Doc Sam said.
Cowell excused himself and walked out the front door. Once in the doctor’s front yard, he nearly buckled. He grabbed onto his upper legs for support.
“Damn,” he said, “there’s no way. There’s no way I can go out there by myself.” Marching into a wilderness for three days with no one else around to help him was a fool’s errand. He knew it.
And so, his choice, uncertain as it had been for the past few hours, became crystal clear.
Cowell shuffled through the open door into Saburo’s. He looked around. With the mass of men seated or standing around, it was hard to pick out Sykes if he was here. Cowell half-hoped Sykes was not there.
However, Cowell spotted his old table near the window, only it now had a full glass of water on top of it. Puzzled, Cowell walked over to it. Did the establishment now place waters on the tables before the patrons sat down?
