Eric Walters - The Rule of Three

“We could.” An extra person would be good—especially one with a gun. I was allowed to be a little paranoid.

“How much gas do you have?”

“Not much.”

“Good, because the gas station is the first place I want to stop.”

“But the pumps don’t work,” I said.

“Gas can be siphoned up from the storage tanks. Tell the twins. Then you go and get Todd, and I’ll meet you out on your driveway in thirty minutes.”

Danny didn’t want to come, telling me that since he wasn’t a girl, he wasn’t interested in riding any horses. I wasn’t a girl either, but a girl was certainly motivating me to ride a horse. I’d never actually ridden one before, but how hard could it be?

With Danny in tow, I’d gone down the street to Todd’s house. His mother was puttering in the garden and she agreed to watch Danny. He actually seemed happy to help her in the garden. Todd’s father was in his woodworking shop in the garage and waved as I went in the front door. He was a banker by profession but a master craftsman with wood. Using hand tools, he’d made half the furniture in their house—including the bed Todd was sleeping in when I got there. I woke him up and he declined my offer by tossing a pillow at me, swearing, turning on his side, and pulling the covers over his head.

Herb and Brett were waiting as I walked back to the house alone. Rachel was still inside trying to find something horsey to wear.

“While you’re waiting, I was wondering if we could take a look at your ultralight,” Herb said.

“You have a plane?” Brett asked.

“My dad and I are assembling it, so it’s not quite finished yet. I’ll show you.”

I opened the garage door. It sat on a trolley waiting for the wings to be added. I couldn’t help thinking about my father, hoping that he was all right, wishing he was here to take care of us. Strange, but I felt like if he had been here that we’d be safer, somehow.

“Doesn’t look like much,” Brett said.

“You don’t need much to fly,” I said, suddenly feeling defensive. It wasn’t just his words but the look on his face.

“You’ve flown it?” he asked in amazement.

“I’ve flown in one—it was a two-man ultralight just like this, and my dad was at the controls. You use them for training.”

“That’s right—your father is a pilot,” Brett said.

“And so is Adam,” Herb said.

“I’m still a few lessons away from my solo, but soon, you know, when things get back to normal.”

“Your ultralight doesn’t have computers, does it?” Herb asked.

“None. Everything is simple. It even runs on automotive fuel. It could get up into the air.”

“You know, being able to fly would be a huge advantage,” Herb continued.

I thought about my father again. If he was here we could get it into the air almost immediately and he could fly it. Then I thought about if the ultralight was with him. Even halfway across the country he could fly home in a few days, a week at most.

“All that’s left is to attach the wings, and it could be up there,” I said.

“Are they difficult to fly?” Herb asked.

“They’re not that difficult if you already know how to fly,” I explained. “You learn in a plane with a pilot, and then once you know what you’re doing you can fly an ultralight.”

“So, technically, you could fly this thing,” he said.

“Technically, yes.”

“Very interesting.”

A chill went up my spine. Was he suggesting that I fly it? But then again, that was why Dad and I were building it, to fly it. Flying an ultralight without training was difficult, dangerous, and maybe even a little crazy, but I’d certainly spent enough time on an ultralight simulator and I did know the controls of this thing as well as any pilot except my father. I could fly it.

“But first things first—let’s go for that drive. Brett, you’re carrying, right?” Herb asked.

Brett, who was wearing civilian clothes, pulled open his jacket to reveal a badge on his belt and his service revolver in a side holster. “I try never to leave home without it.”

“I’m ready to go!” Rachel called out as she rounded the corner.

“Then we better get going,” Herb said. “We need to get back before dark.”

Rachel climbed into the backseat of the Omega along with Brett, and Herb was in the passenger seat.

I was backing out of my driveway when somebody appeared in my rearview mirror and I slammed on the brakes. It was Todd, and he came to my open window.

“Are you trying to get yourself run over?” I asked.

“Not only can I move faster than your car, but if it did hit me it probably would have broken or stalled out,” he joked.

“Don’t insult the best car in the neighborhood.”

“Think again. That judge over on Trapper Crescent has a ’57 Chevy and Mr. Langston on Wheelwright drives a ’66 Camaro. He gave my dad and me a ride yesterday.”

“Okay, fine, one of the best cars in the neighborhood.”

“I changed my mind. I’m coming along,” Todd said. “Once you woke me up I was instantly bored. If I’m not careful my mother will have me working in the garden or babysitting your little brother. Parents are so much easier to deal with when they go away to work.”

Before I could even think to answer he pulled open my door, shoved my seat forward so that I was squished into the steering wheel, and climbed into the back.

“We’re going horseback riding,” Rachel said.

“Fantastic. I hate horses, but I’m feeling a little claustrophobic.”

I was happy enough to have him along, and not just because he was my friend. Another person, another big person, could only help.

We rumbled up the street and past the mini-mall. With the exception of the plywood covering two of the windows of the supermarket, it looked normal. I knew Ernie would be open for food distribution later that day. It would follow the same pattern. Nobody would go hungry in the neighborhood, and because of the system Herb had put in place it would all be orderly.

The checkpoint was just up ahead. They’d taken patio furniture from the nearby houses and set it down in the middle of the intersection. There were lots of people there—more than the eight men assigned—women and children, including a few kids riding bikes and some playing Frisbee. It was like they’d set up a picnic in the middle of the street.

“Quite a little street party going on,” Herb said.

“Do you want them to stop?” Brett asked.

“No, it’s probably better this way. More people being there provides more protection. Let them enjoy.”

I tapped on my horn and everybody turned to us. A couple of the men on the line waved, and then four others picked up a picnic table and moved it out of the way so we could pass. I eased through the intersection and turned into the gas station. I drove around the big tanker truck and went to pull in beside one of the pumps.

“No, park it right in front,” Herb said.

I came to a stop beside the entrance. Herb climbed out. He had a big smile on his face and waved to the man inside, who gave a little wave and a nervous smile in reply.

“Open the door!” Herb called out. “We need a fill-up.”

Reluctantly the man came to the door and opened it a crack. “Sorry, but without electricity there are no pumps.”

“We could siphon up the gas, and of course we’d pay. Straight cash.” Herb produced a thick wad of cash from his pocket.

“With that amount of money you could buy half the gas in that tanker truck!” the man exclaimed.

“It’s probably a stroke of bad luck for you that that truck was here when everything stopped working.”