Earth's Survivors Apocalypse (24 page)

“...So, I've gotten pretty sick of the world myself. It never seemed to stop, and it seemed that people kept coming up with more ways to be cruel. To tell the truth, I'm glad it's mostly gone, I hated it that much.”

When Bob finished they were all silent for a few minutes.

Mike thought about the food signs. How many times had he seen them? Countless, he guessed, but he had never stopped. He had been, well, sort of afraid to.

“I think we all made our share of mistakes,” Mike said. “I know I did. I wish I hadn't, but I did. I guess maybe things are better, in a way,” Mike finished his beer, got up, and retrieved three cold ones from the cooler in the Jeep. He handed one to each of the men before he sat back down in the chair.

“So,” John said, easing back into the conversation of where to go once they arrived in Rochester. “North side is out I think, there's no way I'd want to go back in there, especially now. East side is mostly old mansions; East Avenue, Park Avenue. West is made up of mostly poor neighborhoods and shopping centers, and farther out small business. South side is a mix, some places are as bad as the North side, and others are as nice as the east side. Farther out though, it's all malls and big discount stores. I'd say downtown would be a good place to start looking.”

“Why?” Bob asked.

“Just a hunch, I guess,” he replied. “But where did you go after it happened?”

“I see your point,” Bob said. Downtown, Bob thought, was the first place he had thought of going. It made sense to him that it should be the first place to at least check.

“We'll have to walk, at least I'm pretty sure we will,” John said.

“I believe you,” Mike agreed. “A city that size has a lot of traffic I suppose.”

“Unbelievable,” John said. “An awful lot of it ends up on the Can-of-Worms, but its heavy downtown too. There are still a lot of small companies down there, so I'm fairly certain we'll have to walk down. We should be able to get within a block or two of the War Memorial though, and that's dead downtown. City Hall is across from that, and if there are people, that's where they should be. Of course the only real way to find out is to get there and see.”

The small caravan pulled back out onto the highway and continued on a few minutes later. Long before they reached Webster the stalled traffic began to back up, and they lost a great deal of time winding their way through it, or where that was not possible, pulling into the center traffic divider to get around it.

Even the center divider, a narrow, sloped grassy area double the width of the two lane highway, began to fill up with stalled vehicles, and several times they were forced to get around some other way. Fortunately the areas along the highway were crowded with small restaurants, shopping malls, and gas stations; the closer they got to Rochester. And they all had feeder roads. Roads that were mostly empty now.

The parking lots were fairly empty, and they managed to get around the stalled traffic that way.

When they reached Webster it was nearly 6:00 PM, and a light rain had begun to fall. The exit and entrance ramps were packed solid with cars, and impassable: As a consequence they were forced to drive the Jeeps down the side of the steep escarpment to the road below. Some cars appeared to have either been trying to enter or exit using the wrong ramps, and the results had been catastrophic.

Most of the cars were crushed and blackened shells. A large gasoline tanker sat amid the wreckage. The tanker had apparently tried to exit the entrance ramp and had crashed and burned.

It looked as though gas, from the ruptured tanker, had spread the flames under the entire bridge, and everything had caught. Mike supposed that several of the cars gas tanks had probably exploded too, helping to fuel the inferno.

Once they had negotiated the steep and muddy embankment and driven out of Webster the stalled traffic eased up.

“Most likely everyone stuck to the main routes,” John said. “I'd hate to see what the Thruway looks like though, it's probably packed tighter than a drum.” The others nodded agreement.

Even though the stalled traffic had lessened, they were still forced to detour off the road several times to avoid accidents or vehicles that seemed to have been abandoned in the middle of the road. It was well after 8:00 PM when they reached the four corners in the small village of Fairport, and the sky was beginning to darken. The rain was coming down harder.

Mike angled the Jeep into a deserted gas station and they all ran toward the door which had been left propped open, thankful they were out of the rain.

They were no sooner inside, when the rain began to pelt the tarmac outside in great sheets. The sky darkened rapidly, and a stiff wind kicked up, blowing the trash that littered the streets through the air.

Mike was staring out the wide glass window when suddenly the street lights began to glow. Within a few minutes they were all glowing brightly, illuminating the wind driven sheets of rain. Candace walked over and flicked on a switch next to the door, and bright fluorescent lights buzzed to life overhead. She clicked on several of the other switches next to the first one, and the outside sign, along with the pump islands lit up.

“Looks like you were right, Bob,” Mike said. Bob, grinning, blew lightly on his finger tips and rubbed them on his shirt. “Elementary, my dear Watson,” he said, still grinning.

He was still grinning a few seconds later, when Lilly began to point out the window and screamed excitedly.

“Look!” she exclaimed, “a truck, people!”

Everyone quickly crowded toward the windows to look out.

An older Chevy sat at the curb idling, its wipers throwing great sheets of water from the windshield. The darkened side windows gleamed, reflecting back the bright glare of the station lights. Lilly, and several of the others were waving through the glass in an attempt to get the drivers' attention.

“Looks like a Suburban... Where did it come from?” Mike asked, puzzled.

“I don't know,” she replied. “I turned around and there it was. Aren't they going to come in?”

“Maybe they're afraid,” Candace said, shrugging her shoulders. “They must see us.”

Everyone stood silently for a few seconds staring out at the Suburban. It still sat at the curb, and it appeared to Candace that the person or people inside it were not going to come in. Just as she had the thought though, the car reversed, and began to slowly back up towards the entrance to the station.

When it reached the station entrance, it pulled slowly onto the edge of the pavement and stopped.

“What are they doing,” Terry asked, sounding slightly afraid.

Everyone else turned towards Mike expecting that he might be able to answer the question.

“I don't know,” Mike said. “Could be they're afraid, like Candace said.”

“Might be better to flick off the inside lights,” Bob said, in a low tone of voice. “It doesn’t look as though they intend to say hello.” He peered out at the truck.

Candace reached over and flicked off the inside lights.

Almost immediately the Suburban's headlights came on and it pulled ahead slightly, angling the beams into the station interior. The lights flicked up to high beams, flooding the interior in harsh bright light. Almost as soon as the lights had flicked up, the two front doors opened and two shadowed figures stepped out into the rain. The headlights were blinding.

“Listen, man,” One of the figures shouted in a deep voice. “You ain't welcome here. You come into the city and you will get fucked up.” Silence held, rain drummed against the steel roof. The figures got back into the car. The headlights winked out.

Tiny spots floated in front of Mike’s eyes and he quickly blinked them away. The truck was backing slowly into the road, away from the station.

“What in hell are they doing?” Dave asked, looking at Bob. “What the hell was that all about?” he asked again.

Bob shrugged. “I guess we've been warned... I didn't much like it, I can tell you.”

“I didn't much like that either,” Mike said as he looked over at Dave. Bob stood beside him, his eyes locked on the car.

Once the Suburban reached the roadway it pulled slowly up to the stop sign at Route 250 and once again sat idling, its lights still off. Mike tried squinting his eyes tighter, to see into the darkened side windows, but they were pitch black, like a limousine, he thought.

“What should we do,” Gina asked? Mike looked at her, and it was obvious she was frightened. In fact, he noticed, everyone, himself included, seemed frightened. Terry was the only one who had brought a rifle into the station with him and Mike noticed it.

“Terry, give me that,” he said motioning at the rifle.

“Be careful, Mike,” Bob said, “No telling what they're up to. I don't know if it's wise to go out there.”

“Don't!” Candace said, turning to face Mike. She seemed on the verge of panic.

“Don't worry,” he said. “I only want to show them we're armed... maybe they'll take off. Think they're armed, Bob?” Mike asked.

“I don't know, but who knows how friggin' long they were sitting out there watching us, if they'd wanted to shoot us they could have easily. The lights in here probably lit us up like a damn Christmas tree,” Bob stated. “I ain't so sure you should be going alone if you're going out there though. I'm going too.” Terry and Dave followed them out the door.

The four men advanced slowly toward the car in the pouring rain. The Suburban stayed put, its engine softly idling, and curls of white exhaust floating up through the sheets of rain. They stopped about ten feet from the still idling car, and Mike stepped to the front of the small group with the rifle clutched in both hands. He didn't want to seem too threatening, but he wanted them to see the rifle.

“Hey, you in the car!” He shouted above the deafening roar of the rain. The taillights flashed briefly as if in answer, and a cold chill crept up Mike’s spine. He shuddered involuntarily. “
What the hell is with these guys,”
he muttered, to no one in particular.

“They are some kind of assholes all right,” Bob whispered. Mike looked over and saw that they were all shaken. He tried again.

“Hey, what's the problem?”

He had meant for the question to come out strong and loud, but it had not. Instead, the words had seemed to choke up inside him, and had sounded strangled when they had come out. The eerie feeling had gotten stronger, and Mike noticed that he felt an almost panicky urge to run back towards the station.

He looked at the others, and noticed they seemed to be panicked as well. What the hell, he wondered, as he fought to control the panic. He found himself suddenly raising the rifle and aiming at the car.

“Don't shoot the bastard,” Bob whispered.

“Don't intend to. I just... I...”

Just after he began to lower the rifle, the Suburban's headlights suddenly flicked on, and the rear tires spun on the slick pavement, smoking and screaming as they clawed for purchase. The engine whined higher in pitch and the big Suburban seemed to jump out into the intersection. Mike watched as it skewed around sideways on the wet asphalt and roared off towards Webster. A passenger leaned out the window and aimed a rifle at them.

The rifle in Mike's hands bucked and the rear window of the Suburban burst inward in a spray of glittering black diamonds as it sped away. The shooter ducked back inside. Shapes moved and shifted in the back of the Suburban, maybe as many as half a dozen, Mike thought, maybe even more. No way to know, he decided. The pitch of the motor rose higher, and a few seconds later the taillights slipped out of sight.

“Christ.” Mike said, as his dry mouth tried to work.

“I counted at least eight with the driver and passenger,” Bob confirmed.

Mike could still hear the Suburban accelerating in the distance over the sound of the rain as it sped away, and feel the heavy pounding blat of its engine in the pavement under his feet. The four men turned away and walked slowly back towards the station in silence.

Mike stopped at one of the Jeeps before they entered, and waited for the other three to catch up.

“Listen,” he said in a low tone, almost a whisper. “I don't think it's wise to scare the shit out of the others. Maybe we should tell them the back was empty. Agreed?”

Terry was still swallowing convulsively, but nodded his head up and down like a puppet. Bob and Dave both mumbled agreement.

“Terry,” Mike hissed, “snap out of it. It won't do any good if we walk in there with you looking like that.” Terry nodded and tried to calm down. “Maybe you can get Terry aside and talk to him, Dave.”

Just as Mike had finished speaking, the door to the station swung open, and the people inside poured out into the rain. Candace, looking badly shaken, walked towards them with her hands folded across her chest.

“They all had guns... The ones in the back, Mike,” she said. “I looked, we all looked, Mike.... When you shot out the back window.”

Her voice had risen as she spoke, and at the end she was nearly screaming. Mike pulled her to him and held her in the rain. To hell with it, he thought, keeping secrets was never one of my strong suits anyway. It's probably better this way.

“Mike,” Bob said. “I think it might be best if we stay here for tonight, instead of going into the city. I also think we ought to pull the Jeeps inside the service bays for the night... keep an eye on them. Probably ought to keep the rifles with us from now on too.”