Geoff North - How the World Ends

Almost all ten acres was covered with cars. Row after row after row of parked vehicles. Caitlan counted less than half of the first line directly in front of them and gave up at forty. The rows behind seemed to go on forever.

“We’ve confiscated thirty-one hundred and ten,” Jeffrey said. “Your car will make it thirty-one hundred and eleven.”

It looked like a used car salesman’s wet dream. Most of the vehicles were old, produced in the nineteen-seventies and earlier, but there were a few newer models. Caitlan walked up to the front end of a cream-colored Volkswagen Beetle and touched the hood. It was an ’09, maybe even a 2010. Caitlan loved cars, but she couldn’t be sure. There were two rusty Pontiacs sitting next to it, and a Mercedes-Benz CLS beyond those. She went to it and looked in through the driver’s window. A 2018, Caitlan was sure because she’d almost bought one. The fact her Audi had been available in black at the time was the main reason she hadn’t gone with CLS.

Sergeant Jeffrey was standing behind her. “A few of the newer German models weren’t affected by the EMPs. I’d say almost a quarter of them are still running, yours included.”

She turned to him. “Why have you confiscated them? What right do you have to take people’s cars away?”

“We can’t have the survivors roaming around wasting gas. It’s for their own safety as well. We treat everyone for radiation sickness, and keep them fed. They’re safe here… you’ll be safe here.”

“We’ll be controlled here.”

Jeffrey shrugged and pulled some keys out of a pocket. “Follow me.” He took them down the first row and met up with a hulking guard leaning against the hood of an ancient Buick. “You want to go for a ride, Fred? These two have an Audi on empty just a little ways east, got kids waiting to be picked up.”

Hayden wasn’t listening; his attention had been diverted by a by a big green tank sitting on the other side of a chain link fence next to the Buick. He had seen less than a handful of the military machines in his life, so he was no expert, but this one looked familiar. His fingers wrapped around the metal links and squeezed. “Where did this come from?”

“Why?” Sergeant Jeffrey asked. “You like tanks?”

“No. I just want to know.”

The big guard watching over the northwest corner of the compound answered. “Showed up yesterday, driven by a bunch of civvies. They said they came across it and a few other army vehicles in Ontario just a few miles from the Manitoba border.”

“But where did the tank come from originally… what about the soldiers in charge of it?”

Fred shrugged. “They said it had been abandoned. Found it in a ditch still running. Not a bad bunch of guys… young and stupid, but at least they turned the vehicles in when they reached Brayburne.”

Hayden pictured the soldier they’d spoken to in town—the one that had given them directions to the supply tent. Then he remembered the idiot that had urinated onto the burning debris of a blown up car. He saw his horse, riddled with bullet holes, lying in the muddy front yard of Elton MacDonald’s farm.

“These guys… most of them are still in Brayburne?”

“Well, yeah. Where the hell else would they go? Like I said, they’re not a bad bunch. They even offered to help out, so command put them uniforms and they got field commissions.”

“You ask a lot of stupid questions,” Jeffrey said. “Are we going for that car of yours or not?”

Caitlan climbed into the backseat with Hayden. She could see by the sunken look on his face that his plans had been drastically altered—or perhaps it was something else? She leaned close to him, pretending to search for a seatbelt, and whispered in his ear. “This is still on. You take the big one when we get the chance, I’ll handle rat-face.”

They set away from Brayburne, checking in and getting clearance with two more guards on the eastern end of town. Fred turned in his seat, planted his thick forearm on the bench seat’s cracked upholstery, and started talking to the new arrivals. “An Audi, hey? I had an ’03 once, the fenders were rusted right through, but that thing never broke down. Good mileage.”

Caitlan stared out her window. “What happened to it?”

“My nagging wife made me trade it in on a mini-van.”

“Yeah… women. We’re all bitches, aren’t we?”

“I never said that.” Fred looked away from Caitlan and stared at Sergeant Jeffrey. He was laughing. “You think that’s funny? At least I had a wife. What was your excuse, Sparky?”

Jeffrey glared at him. “Do not call me that. I’m ranking officer here.”

“Why do you call him Sparky?” Hayden asked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to say.” Fred held his hands up in mock fear. “Take my advice, though… Do not piss Sparky—I mean Sergeant Fartel Jeffrey off.”

The sergeant slammed on the car’s brakes. “How many fucking times have I told you to never use my first name? How many fucking times?” Jeffrey put the Buick into park and thrust his finger inches from the bigger man’s face. “All you fucking assholes think you’re so goddamned fucking funny!” A pulsing vein had appeared at the center of his forehead and a line of spit was stuck to his chin.

Fred grinned into the backseat. “See what I mean? We call him Sparky for that temper of his—one little spark is all it takes.”

“I’m reporting this when we get back.” The sergeant started driving again. “I’m sick of this shit… the disrespect… the total disregard of rank. Just because a bunch of bombs wiped out almost everything, doesn’t give you or any of those other assholes the right to talk to me like that. I’m fucking telling as soon as we get back. You’ll see.”

No one else said a word for the next five minutes as Fartel drove and threatened. Fred grinned at Caitlan and Hayden with raised eyebrows the entire way. The Audi was still parked on the shoulder of the highway. Michael and Amanda were sitting on the hood with Nicholas squeezed between them.

Hayden saw Angela appear from around the back end. She made her way to the front passenger side and started opening the door. Hayden shook his head as they exited the Buick. No, don’t go for the gun, not yet.

“Three rug rats,” Fartel observed as he went to look the Audi over. “Glad to see they’re good and healthy. They’ll be plenty to keep them busy in Brayburne.”

Hayden introduced them to the two soldiers and explained the situation. The twins nodded glumly, slid off the car, planted their hands in the pockets of their track pants, and stared at the ground. Nicholas remained on the hood, pushing an empty water back and forth between his legs. He looked at Jeffrey expectantly. “You got hotdogs and ice cream there?”

The sergeant was running his fingers along the car, walking slowly around it. “No hotdogs, kid. And all the ice cream was eaten in the first week. You’ll have to settle for whatever rations are provided.” The little boy looked disappointed, and went back to his bottle game. Jeffrey ended his walk-around inspection of the Audi with a kick to the front tire. Caitlan made a grunting sound. It was how most ignorant people judged a car’s merit. He glared at her. “This vehicle is actually yours? You paid with real money?”

Hayden braced for the inevitable attack. She would break his nose for that, and maybe worse. Caitlan simply nodded. “The money seemed real enough to the dealer… Sergeant.”

She’d almost called him Sparky. Or Fartel. Either one would have sent him into a rage.

Jeffrey nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, Fred, let’s get her fuelled up.”

The big guard went to the back of the Buick. Jeffrey threw him the keys and he opened the trunk. He leaned in to grab one of the four full gas containers, and Hayden nodded to Caitlan and Angela simultaneously.