Tim Washburn - Powerless

The dynamic between them is different. From boss and employee to something on a deeper level. At least in Sam’s mind. His only hang-up is the age difference. That, and the fact he doesn’t have a clue about Kaylee’s thoughts on the matter.

“Gather what you can and we’ll head out.”

“What, about five miles to your house?” Kaylee says.

“Yeah, thereabouts. I would offer to drive but I’m afraid the roads will be impassible.”

“The hike will do us good.”

Sam glances once more through the window at the angry clouds and follows Kaylee from the room. “Grab all the water you can find and you better grab a coat.”

She gives a little wave as she retreats down the hall.

It doesn’t take long for them to gather their meager supplies, and both are ready to go only minutes later. They exit the building to a cool breeze blowing off the Front Range. Sam pauses to lock the door, and he and Kaylee stroll down the access road that leads up to the Space Weather Prediction Center. At the bottom of the hill they take a left on Broadway, the main thoroughfare bisecting Boulder.

Sam’s home is located north of the Space Weather Prediction Center, where College Street dead-ends at the foothills.

Seeing all the abandoned cars, Sam says, “I’m glad we decided not to drive.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t have gotten far. This is unbelievable. It looks like a scene from a disaster movie.”

“I only wish it had been a movie. We better pick up the pace,” he says, glancing up at the encroaching black clouds.

“I think you’re right.” They accelerate the pace, almost jogging, as they pass one closed business after another.

“Keep an eye out, Kaylee.”

“For what? I don’t see anything.”

“For other people. We haven’t been outside and we have no sense of the mood. But I assume it’s not good. Let’s keep the noise to a minimum. If you spot anything, wave your hand. It may be better to hit the back roads before we reach the downtown area.”

Kaylee nods, her breathing labored from the hurried pace. Sam hooks a left on a residential street as the skies open up, drenching them in a cold rain. Within half a block the rain transitions to sleet. It feels as if they are being pelted by buckshot. He slows down enough for Kaylee to catch up.

“Damn… Sa… m,” she stutters out, “can we… slow… down?” Kaylee is incapable of drawing a full breath.

Sam slows slightly. “We need to get out of this before we get hypothermia. Pull your jacket up around your neck to keep the ice from drifting down—”

An icy north wind arrives, whipping the remaining words from his mouth. Kaylee shivers, and the biting cold forces her to quicken her stride. Both are wearing the only coats they could find—Windbreakers that provide little resistance to the gale-force winds now pummeling their bodies.

Sam turns his head and shouts, “I told you those cigarettes weren’t good for you.”

Kaylee shoots him the finger. “How… much… further?”

“Just a little ways.” He, too, is beginning to huff, his heavy breathing creating a continuous fog.

“What’s… a… little… ways?”

“About six or seven blocks.” Sam jogs across an intersection, now heading north. The sleet is falling in sheets, melting upon impact when meeting exposed skin. Despite having his collar turned up, meltwater trickles down his back. He glances back and sees the laces of Kaylee’s Converse sneakers covered under a heavy glaze of ice. The cold wind is relentless in its pursuit, finding every available crevice.

“C’mon,” Sam shouts above the wind. “Almost there.”

Two more blocks and they make a left onto Sam’s street. They veer off the roadway and Sam leads them through a shortcut between yards. He reaches the back door of his home and struggles to retrieve the keys from the frozen pocket of his khakis. Kaylee catches up as the door swings open.

“Get those wet clothes off.”

Kaylee begins peeling the frozen layers from her body. Within seconds she’s completely nude. She wraps her shivering arms around her midsection and glances over her shoulder to see Sam, his mouth agape.

She laughs at the absurdity of the situation. “Blanket, Sam?”

The question snaps him out of his reverie. “On the sofa,” he replies as he struggles with his own frozen clothing, sneaking a peek at Kaylee’s retreating backside.

Sam enters the house in his birthday suit and grabs one of the throws from the sofa, but not before Kaylee gets a glimpse of the entire package. He searches her face for a wince, a cringe, anything that might express displeasure.

“You have a nice body, for an old man,” Kaylee says.

He blushes as he wraps a blanket around him. “Uh… well… I… think I’ll start a fire.”

Kaylee laughs.

En route to Texas

The traveling is fairly easy, with only an occasional car stranded on the roadway. Until he crosses the Red River into Texas. As Zeke nears the outskirts of Denison, the number of abandoned cars creeps upward with every tick of the odometer. He exits the highway at an uncluttered off-ramp and pulls into the parking lot of an abandoned convenience store

He kills the engine to save fuel and grabs the map from the door pocket. It takes him a couple of revolutions to get the map oriented to his liking. A quick glance at the intersection reveals the road name and he quickly pinpoints his position. If he follows Farm to Market Road 120 west to 131 it’s a straight shot south to Sherman. Zeke studies the map’s scale and uses his index finger and thumb to gauge the distance. Eleven miles—a ten-minute pickup ride or a half a day by horse. Zeke votes pickup and restarts the engine.

As he pulls back on the road he slaps the wheel, knowing he’s behind his self-imposed timeline. To make up some time, he gooses the truck up to sixty while searching for the road leading south. The truck crests a small hill and Zeke slams on the brakes as the turnoff to 131 races past the window. He eases up on the brakes and curses under his breath, hoping like hell he hasn’t injured any of the horses.

At the next intersection he coasts to a stop and inhales a deep breath. After a few moments, he makes a wide U-turn and backtracks toward 131 at a more reasonable pace. He brakes gently and steers right at his turn.

Lesson learned. He eases down the road, never going more than thirty-five. Very few houses dot the landscape, just acres of pastureland interspersed with recently planted fields of winter wheat. On the outskirts of Sherman, he can make out the downtown buildings, jammed together tight as teeth. He pulls over again for another glance at the map, hoping to avoid any area where people may be gathered. He finds a road two blocks to the west that skirts the downtown area.

He hooks a right at the next intersection and begins hunting for someplace to park the pickup and trailer. A place removed from passersby. Farther on, he spots an oilfield road that winds around through the trees, and makes the turn. The truck and trailer bump across the cattle guard and through the already open gate. Zeke steers along the gravel path a good distance, and before stopping glances over his shoulder to make certain the main road is out of sight.

He steps from the cab and does a quick walk around the area. Off to the left is an opening through a dense group of cedar trees hugging the far fence line. “Should fit,” he mutters as he climbs back into the cab. With shrieking from the branches along the fenders, he pulls the trailer far enough into the trees to hide it from view. After one final glance at the gas gauge, the needle hovering just south of half a tank, he kills the engine and exits the cab. He begins unloading supplies, tying to sort out in his mind the best way to arrange things for easy loading onto the horses. Now the tricky part is getting the horses out of the trailer without any of them trying to make a break.