Seeing a familiar sign, Trey took a sharp right turn, heading toward the Shell station.

  Trey’s eyes widened. “Shit,” he said.

  He tried to back out and turn around, but it was too late.

  Two men in dirty, raggedy t-shirts that had the sleeves torn off advanced toward their pilfered vehicle, grim expressions on their faces. They carried studded bats, nails jutting out of the weapons at numerous angles. One of them, Trey noticed, was barefoot, while the other sported tan-colored boots that appeared brand new.

  “I told you not to go to the gas station,” Sofia said from the back.

  Trey slammed a fist down onto the steering wheel. He whipped his head around and glared at his daughter. It was only the look of abject fear that shone in her eyes that gave him pause. Muttering an apology, Trey turned and redirected his gaze toward the closest pair of enemies.

  Shrugging, Trey put the car back into drive and plowed through them.

  One of them landed with a thud on the hood. That one possessed a clean-cut appearance. His blue eyes stared with malevolent intent as the emaciated, enmity-fueled character clung to the edges of the car and tried to avoid being thrown off. With his thin, stylish glasses and pimply nose, the boy appeared like any other young man that one might see on a college campus.

  Coming to a violent halt, Trey grabbed his gun from the console and jumped out of the car. He shot the hostile force in the head, preferring not to waste bullets. Rushing back into the vehicle, Trey gunned the engine and advanced farther toward the gas station.

  “Get ready,” Trey said.

  He stopped the car just inches from the edge of the tiny building. “Go,” he yelled.

  Trey jumped out, weapon drawn. He fired at two people who turned, almost startled by their sudden appearance on the scene. Then, walking forward, he shot three more in rapid succession.

  Someone hit him. Turning, Trey saw a man in shorts and a blue Hawaiian shirt with a thick bike chain attacking Melody. However, he couldn’t rush to her aid, as a fat androgynous person with purple hair raised a bat and was about to strike him again. Kicking the human in the stomach, he watched them fall. Raising a foot, he delivered a nasty blow to the enemy combatant’s head, rendering them instantly unconscious.

  Before forced to engage with yet another hostile foe, Trey caught a glimpse of Chloe holding a youngish person by the arms while Sofia pummeled the person’s stomach with her fists. He smirked. Atta girl, he thought.

  Then he had to dodge flying glass coke bottles hurled by a pallid being that had probably spent the last decade locked in a basement. Popping up periodically from behind an overturned sign, the bald guy with the shiny pate and sallow skin seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of containers. They crashed, sloshing sticky fluid over him and sending shards of tiny glass into his exposed skin.

  Finally too pissed off to care, Trey unleashed a furious torrent of bullets on the entire area, sending up wooden specks. He hit the glass window behind the sign as he worked his way forward. When one magazine emptied, Trey patted his pockets, finding another and replacing the old one. Then he resumed his relentless assault on the dumb ass.

  “Hey,” Trey said, when he’d reached the sign and looked down into the terrified eyes of the assailant. “Mind if I take one of those?” he asked, pointing to the remaining stack of coke bottles.

  The poor, trembling guy silently nodded and grabbed one, raising it to Trey with a quaking hand.

  Taking it, Trey smashed it over the guy’s head. Then he took the jagged part that remained in his hot, bleeding hand and began stabbing the male figure. He pierced him repeatedly, taking his anger out on the unfortunate corpse of this innovative soul.

  Finally, breathing hard, Trey felt himself pulled back by one of his crew. He stumbled when Marshall let go of him, flailing his arms. He caught himself, however, saving himself from a potentially embarrassing fall. “That was intense,” he said, smiling.

  It felt good. Killing always managed to get his blood flowing, now that he’d experienced it.

  Gradually, he realized they needed to get going. They were sitting ducks for as long as they remained there, exposed and out in the open. “Let’s get the car in the garage, there,” Trey said.

  “Do we have to stay, dad?” Sofia asked, concern in her voice. She looked around, her eyes wary and afraid.

  Nodding, Trey lowered himself to a crouch so that they were face-to-face. “It’ll be okay, sweetie. I just want to get some stuff to upgrade the vehicle. Plus,” Trey said, thinking as he spoke, “if we have something valuable like fuel, we might have a better chance of getting in to see the Mormons,” he said.

  Sofia slowly smiled, the gesture tepid but still offering an acknowledgment that she trusted his judgment. “Okay,” she said.

  Getting behind the car, Trey helped push as Harry sat in the driver’s seat, aiding them by guiding the wheel. They maneuvered the vehicle into the garage, where tools littered the ground. It smelled horrible inside the hot and stuffy area. Trey coughed. He raised his shirt so that it covered the lower half of his face. “Okay, Sofia and Chloe, will you go inside and grab all of the red gas canisters you can find? Go and fill them, and take Marshall with you in case you encounter any resistance,” Trey said.

  Shaking his head, Trey forced himself to remove his shirt from his mouth. “Whew,” he said. He didn’t know what it was that stunk so badly, but he understood that he wanted to get out of that garage as soon as he possibly could. “Okay, Harry, will you help me reinforce this car? I was hoping to put some sort of plow on the front, maybe with some spikes. What do you think?” he asked.

  “If they have any run-flats, I’d say we should change the tires, too,” Harry said.

  “Good point. But, what are the chances of that?

  Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. But if they have them, we need them,” he said.

  Chapter 6

  Trey didn’t know how.

  He’d never changed a tire before.

  “How come you never taught me, dad?” he asked.

  Harry laughed as he walked around the back of the car to assist his son. “Don’t panic,” he said, placing a reassuring hand on Trey’s shoulder. “You never wanted to know. You were too busy studying. Or whatever you were doing up in your room all those years,” Harry said. He looked down at the floor. “I tried to teach you a lot of things, son,” he said.

  “Alright, first, help me carry the tires out here,” Harry said, returning around the corner to where he’d found the run-flats.

  Trey reluctantly followed, feeling the familiar sense of ineptitude and neutered rage creeping up on him. He hated it. He despised acknowledging that there were things outside of his control. That made him vulnerable. It meant his life could end at any moment based on things that he didn’t have much power over. It was a scary thought that he didn’t like to indulge, even in the slightest.

  A narrow, dusty hallway met him as he turned the corner. Dimly lit by a small light bulb dangling from the low drywalled ceiling, the space had rows of tires hanging from both sides of the wall. Harry stood toward the back of the space, near a frosted glass door with a dried bloodstain on it, in front of several large tires.

  “These ones,” he said, pointing. Harry reached up and grabbed one, carrying it with both hands, grunting as he shimmied past his son on the way back to the car.

  Trey went to the general area he’d seen his dad in, pausing as he stood in front of the wall of tires. He couldn’t figure it out. He felt uncertain. Seeing the spot where the missing one was, he nonetheless wasn’t sure which item to grab. He took a deep breath. He tried to calm himself down, but the anaconda of panic began to wrap itself around his mind, constricting all rational thought.

  “That one,” Harry said, returning. He placed one hand on Trey’s back and pointed with the other one, specifying the tire directly next to the empty space. “Just put it by the other guy,” he said.

  Carrying the heavy tire, Trey wondered about his past and his future. What was going to happen? He felt so utterly unprepared. That fact didn’t do anything to help alleviate the incredible anxiety pressing down on his chest. We’re fucked, he thought.

  But he did as he was told. Depositing the tire there, he stood there, absorbing the silence of the musty garage. He waited. As he did so, he looked around. Trying to see if there were any other weapons or useful tools in the space, Trey suddenly began to wonder about logistics. They were about to add a lot of stuff to their already substantial cargo.

  “How are we going to carry all of this?” Trey asked when Harry returned, this time hauling two of the massive tires, one on each arm. Hurrying forward, Trey relieved his dad of one of them, frowning as he dropped it on the ground. “Are you okay? You didn’t have to do that,” Trey said. He experienced a momentary flash of pride in and admiration for the man. “Those things are heavy,” Trey said.

  Breathing hard, his face red, Harry nodded. He smiled. Waving a dismissive hand to ward off any more help from his son, Harry staggered over to a blue water jug that rested near the door they’d used to enter the structure. He pressed the little white button down and got a cone-shaped cup of fluid, which he slurped down. He immediately went for another one.

  “How is it?” Trey asked, making a face.

  “Lukewarm,” Harry said, wiping the back of his hand over his face. “But good enough for me,” he said. “Important to stay hydrated.”

  “You always used to say that if you couldn’t fix it by drinking more water or taking ibuprofen that it couldn’t be fixed,” Trey said, smiling at the memory.

  Harry laughed. He nodded slightly. “Yeah, that’s how it is in the Army,” he said. “That mentality may come in handy,” Harry said, pointing toward the stack of tires. “Okay, so, you ready for this? We probably should get going.”

  Nodding, Trey turned and tried to focus. He needed to learn this.

  “Okay, so, first, we’re going to find some little wooden blocks or something to put under the front and rear tires. Make sure the car doesn’t accidentally roll around,” Harry said.

  “Then what?” Trey asked, already hunting for a suitable block.

  Harry raised an eyebrow. “First things first, son,” he said.

  “Okay, now, watch me, okay? I can’t necessarily explain this, but you’ll get more from watching me, anyway. Now, you need to jack the car up first. You have to be sure to get the jack in the right place or you might damage the vehicle. So… you see this mark here, on the wheel well?” Harry asked, on his stomach as he fiddled with things.

  Trey squinted and looked down in the direction his father was indicating. He nodded. “Yeah, I see it,” he said.

  “Good, now, make sure that you don’t lift too high. Because that’ll also potentially screw things up. Don’t actually lift the car. Just enough. Okay. Now, after you do all of that, you want to loosen the nuts. Okay? Just loosen, night remove. What do you want to do?” Harry asked, pausing to look up at Trey.

  “Loosen,” Trey said.

  “Good. Yes, loosen. You want to loosen them, going counterclockwise. Then…” Harry grunted as he struggled with one of the nuts. “THEN you lift the car up enough to get the tire off,” he said. “Just pump the jack, but make sure the vehicle is stable while you do that. If it’s NOT square, then take a second and redo everything. Okay? Yeah, so, once the car is up high enough, do the rest of the nuts, get them out of the way, and then you just…” Harry pulled off the tire. He tossed it underneath the Renault.

  Wiping his hands on the front of his pants, he got up, smiling. “See? Easy peasy. Now, do you remember which way to turn the nuts?” Harry asked.

  “Uh, counterclockwise,” Trey said. He fidgeted. He thought that he might have gotten the answer wrong, and it made him nervous.

  “Good job,” Harry said, beaming. He slapped his son high up on the arm. “Now let’s see you do it,” he said.

  “Dad…”

  “Nonsense,” Harry said. “I’m too old for this shit, anyway. You need to learn. You aren’t going to learn by listening to me talk, son. Go change the fuckin’ tire,” Harry said.

  Blinking, Trey hesitated. But then he went around to the other side. He followed the steps given to him by his dad. His face hurt from smiling so hard when he finally pulled the tire off of the car. “I did it,” he said.

  “Yeah, you did, son. Good job. But you got two more to go,” Harry said. “And you have to do the jack on those ones,” he said.

  Within another half-hour, Trey had successfully replaced all of the tires with the new run-flats. Dirty and exhausted, he nonetheless felt an immense sense of satisfaction with having conquered a job that he’d previously thought un-doable. Staring, his hands on his hips, he admired his handiwork. “I almost want to call Sofia in here,” he said. He wanted to show off what he’d done for his daughter.

  Harry walked up to him and slapped him on the arm again, an affable gesture that conveyed a certain level of paternal affection that he’d never really shown Trey before. “You did good, son,” Harry said. He sniffed. “Sorry it took me so long to say that to you,” he said.

  “Oh, dad,” Trey said.

  “Stop,” Harry said, raising a hand. “You resented the hell out of me. You hated me, even. We barely even talked until… until your mom died. And then after Rebecca…”

  Trey felt a tear slide down his face at the mere mention of his first wife’s name. Sofia’s mother. That had been a hard thing for him to bear, a horrible trauma inflicted on the entire family.

  But now they were in a dog-eat-dog apocalypse scenario, and the clock was ticking. They didn’t exactly have much time to dwell on emotions or past tragedies. If they did, Trey would probably be contemplating suicide again as he reflected on how he’d murdered an entire village.

  “Well, I forgive you, dad. I love you,” Trey said. He smiled and hugged his father. “You taught me how to use a gun,” he said. He chuckled. “Let’s see how the girls are doing,” Trey said.

  Emerging into the cluttered building, chaos confronted them. Overturned shelves had disgorged their contents all over the tile floor. Chips crunched under Trey’s boots as he waded deeper into the dim interior of the small store. Cans of energy drinks had busted open, leaving a think, shiny, viscous residue on the floor. Blood pooled just outside the restricted area for the tellers. Peeking behind the counter, Trey saw an older man with half his head blown off. The cash register remained open just above him.

  Seeing a shotgun next to the deceased, Trey took a moment to detour and grab the weapon. The putrid, almost cloyingly sweet stench of the body told him that it had been there for a while, perhaps even as long as a day. He again put his shirt over his nose. Coughing, he waved a frantic hand toward Harry. “Find some spray,” he said.

  With a horrid, distinctive odor, Trey knew he’d never forget it, just like he’d never be able to erase the indelible stink of burning flesh. With a stink that somewhat resembled that of old garbage, it smelled redolent of rotten meat, vegetables, and eggs but with a hint of something synthetic and chemical-y. Plus shit. Trey definitely detected ordure.

  Harry rushed over with a can of what seemed to be French Febreze. He tossed it.

  Catching it, Trey indiscriminately sprayed, fanning the fine mist with his free hand as some of it fell on his face. Walking out and away from the register area, he almost forgot the shotgun. Returning briefly to pick it up, he hustled out of there, fleeing the offensive odor. It seemed its own belligerent entity, a bellicose force eager to assault one’s nostrils. That stink invaded the soul.

  Once far enough away to feel safe, Trey removed his shirt from his face. Breathing heavily, he looked around. Seeing the refrigerators with the broken glass, Trey walked over and extracted a beverage. Beads of moisture still clung to the metal exterior. Popping it open, he slurped down the orange-flavored fluid, relishing the cold as it rushed down his throat. After he finished, he tossed the can onto a pile of garbage that sat in the middle of the floor.

  “Where are they?” Trey asked.

  Turning, he saw them out in the open, studiously filling large red plastic containers with petrol. He smiled. “Look at that,” he said. Shaking his head, Trey couldn’t help but chuckle. “First time for everything,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Harry asked, frowning.

  “Oh, when’s the last time you saw them doing what I asked?” Trey asked.

  “Give them some credit, son. They’re pretty good kids.”

  “Yeah, well, let’s go see how good they are when I tell them we have to get rid of some stuff,” Trey said. He pushed open the door and headed outside. The fresh air, while warm and thick with humidity, felt good as it hit him in the even face. Even the faint odor of fires was better than the inside of that store.

  “Hey, girls,” Trey said, raising his voice. He noticed Marshall turning to face him before the others detected his presence. Feeling grateful for the man and his diligence, Trey nodded toward the large black man. “Come on over here and huddle up. We need to talk,” he said.

  “What’s up?” Sofia asked, sweat shining on her face. She’d tied her black hair back into a loose ponytail with a frayed red ribbon she’d found somewhere, probably on the ground outside. Chloe stood quietly beside her, while Melody remained back in the shade offered by the pumps.

  “Well, with all the new stuff we’ve acquired, we might need to think about getting rid of some things,” Trey said, raising a hand to shield his eyes. He heard something. Whatever it was, it remained distant, but it seemed to be getting closer.

  And it didn’t sound good.

  “So, let’s go ahead and move those gas cans to the garage. Maybe one of you can fill a few glass bottles with some of it while we try to figure out how to pack the car,” he said. He turned and walked away without waiting for their response. At first, he went toward the main gas station entrance, but as soon as he recalled the horrifying stench, he veered back toward the door that led directly into the garage.

 

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