Nathan Hystad: The Survivors: Books 1-3

We made a few pit stops at the gas station and convenience store, and then we were off. I felt bad not paying for anything. I knew that there was no one to pay, but these things were ingrained in our brains from childhood; right and wrong are always right and wrong. I had a hundred-mile drive to go, and I figured under ideal conditions it would take me just over two hours. I was wrong. The streets were full of crashed cars near town, and it took some heavy maneuvering to get around some of them. Maneuvering meant pushing with my truck’s bumper on occasion. Carey stuck his head out the window, sitting in the front passenger seat with his tongue flapping in the cool fall morning air. I sipped my coffee as we slowly made it past the car piles and through to the outskirts of town. Once I made it to the highway, the roads were sparsely littered with vehicles, and I was able to go forty miles per hour.

“Carey,” I said, and his head turned as he looked at me, “how are you doing? I’m sorry you’re stuck with me like this. I know you must miss your mom a lot.” He turned his head the other way and looked at me with that sad spaniel face. “I want you to know that I’m actually very thankful to have you with me. You’d think I’d be used to being alone, but truthfully, I’ve never been good at it.” He slipped his butt to the back of the seat and plopped down, putting his head between his front paws, all the while never taking his gaze from me.

“I’ve always wanted a dog. We had one growing up on the acreage. I remember the day my dad brought home Johnny. What? Don’t look at me like that. Johnny is a perfectly respectable name for a dog. Plus, he told me I could name him, and I was obsessed with The Karate Kid that summer. Anyway, Johnny came tromping over to me in the yard, all ears and paws. I must have been around seven, and he seemed so huge to me even as a puppy. I still have no idea what breed he was, but he ended up weighing around sixty pounds. We were inseparable for his whole life.

Unfortunately, big dogs have short life spans, and he passed the summer before I went into high school. I was depressed for a year, I think, and when my parents suggested we get another dog, I slammed the door and said I hated them. We didn’t get a dog, and I’ve never had one since Johnny.” It felt strange but good to talk to Carey about this. He lay still, eyes slowly closing to the sound of my voice. “So, Carey, hey? I have a feeling Susan didn’t name you after Jim Carrey, although I can see the resemblance between you two. In a good way, of course.” His eyes closed and soon I heard some soft snores. I put my focus back on the road and noticed as we got nearer to New York City how many cars were jammed on the north bound highway. People were frightened by the sheer volume of ships that had been hovering over their city, no doubt, and thought they might find solace in the countryside. It appeared no one had been safe from the beams of the ships, at least not as far as I could tell.

I did keep an eye out for anything that might be a sign of another human being, but so far, nothing. I had the AM radio on low, so a quiet buzz constantly emanated from the truck’s speakers, but no signal came the whole trip. I honestly hadn’t expected to hear anything, but it was worth a shot. At that moment, I wondered if it had been short-sighted to not bring a CB radio. If someone was alive, they might try transmitting on one of the common channels. I decided to find one as soon as I got into the big city.

I slowed down as I neared an exit that would take me to Manhattan in about thirty miles. If I tried to take one of the city bridges in, or a tunnel, I knew they would be jam-packed with cars and there would be no way to get my truck and supplies through. I elected to head east and make for one of the entrances far north of Manhattan so I would have an easier time; then I could meander down through Yonkers and south from there. With any luck, I would be able to get through.

It almost seemed too good to be true as I approached the large bridge. It was fairly full, but mostly on the other side. I could tell that a bunch of people had tried to drive on the wrong side of the road at the end, but I could still squeeze through by keeping half my truck on the shoulder. I bumped the curb a couple times, but soon I was over the Hudson River and on my way into the city. I took as many side roads as I could to avoid cars. At this point, I wished the aliens had taken the cars with them too. It was extremely eerie to see thousands of vehicles strewn around the roadways, but no people.

As I thought about a city the size of New York being empty, the hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. All of a sudden, I felt very vulnerable out here all by myself. As if on cue, I saw it lower through the clouds.

I quickly slowed the truck to a stop as the silver-gray ship dipped lower and lower. My heart slammed against my chest, and I started to gasp for air. I checked the necklace and it was just the regular color; no molten green at the moment. I sat as still as possible and Carey perched himself up against the window that I had closed. He watched the ship with me as it sped across the morning sky. It did a loop a couple of times, like it was looking for something, and then disappeared into the distance. One thing I knew for sure was that the ship was a duplicate of the ones that had arrived yesterday, but it was much smaller. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew I had to keep my eyes peeled for more of those things. Whatever I was destined to do, something was going to try to stop me.

B y the time I got to the Bronx, there were so many cars on the roads that the only place the truck would fit was on the sidewalks. Maneuvering it through the light poles and building steps wasn’t as easy as I hoped. It was a very slow, rough drive, and by the time we got to Yankee Stadium, it was well after noon. My stomach was growling and Carey looked like he could use a bathroom break; so could I.

The stadium grew in my windshield until I was parked right outside its front doors. I used to love coming to the games, watching the Yankees on a sunny afternoon, “Sunday in New York” blasting through the stadium speakers. We hopped out of the truck and to the gate. Surprisingly, it was open, unlocked to the public. I was the only public left, I supposed, so we sauntered on in, making our way to the field. I’d never stood on the grass, and once down there, I found that given the world’s current situation, being on the diamond had lost its luster. Carey decided to relieve himself on the pitcher’s mound and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the sight. He wiggled and ran around the grass like he was a puppy. I ran with him for a few minutes, like a boy playing with his dog. After we were both worn out, I figured while we were here, we might as well get some baseball food. We went to the concourse and I hopped the concession stand, pilfering a few bags of peanuts and some beef jerky. Carey seemed to smell the meat before it was out of the bag; drool fell from his mouth as I tore the bag open.

“Someone’s hungry.” I gave him a piece of the jerky before eating a piece of the salty meat myself. Dark clouds were rolling in as we walked back towards the truck, and it looked like rain was due any minute. I looked to the sky and for a moment worried I would see that silver ship again, but there was nothing but dark clouds looming above us now.

“Come on, Carey. Let’s get moving.” He listened and ran ahead of me but never too far away. I found it hard to believe this was the same whining dog from back home, since he seemed so confident and self-assured out here in the wilds of New York City. We headed toward the front entrance and I grabbed a Yankees ball cap and umbrella to stave off the impending rain. As we left the front doors, I whistled “Sunday in New York,” for a second forgetting the fact that I was all alone in the world.