Matthew Costello - Vacation

“Hey, is this near the camp? Looks weird here.”

“You never saw real mountains before,” Christie said.

“Hey—” Jack said.

Christie faced forward.

“There we go. Our exit, three miles ahead.”

Exit, Christie thought. Getting off the Northway.

Onto the smaller roads. The smaller towns.

“Good,” she said.

Not at all sure she meant it.

Jack slowed, hitting a series of severe speed bumps that signaled the way to the exit checkpoint.

Always checkpoints.

Christie read the bold signs, the letters big.

Then, after another speed bump that had the kids laughing from the carnival ride effect, another sign:

Road conditions. As if there was snow, branches down, flooding. The conditions the sign referred to had nothing to down with weather.

Another bump.

Christie scanned the booth ahead. A real metal barrier instead of a simple wooden bar to block cars. Guess the locals might be concerned about New York City riffraff sneaking into their pure, clean mountains. One guard in a booth and another standing to the side with a gun on his shoulder, his eyes locked on the car, scanning it.

Jack pulled up to the booth, opened the window, and looked up at the guard.

A nod and a smile, but the middle-aged man didn’t smile back. Could be he was a veteran. There were stories that the Highway Authority had been hiring vets. It took the pressure off the suddenly unemployed combat soldiers in a changed world.

More important, they could keep their cool and knew their way around automatic weapons.

This one didn’t look too happy.

Uniform unkempt. A stray stain here and there. Needed a shave. Squinting, narrow eyes in the late afternoon, but open enough so Jack could see they were bloodshot.

“Papers.” The guard said it as if measuring out exactly how many words he could use.

Christie passed the papers from the glove compartment.

Jack handed them over.

“Paterville,” the guard said. Jack caught the guard looking over to his partner.

“Yeah,” Jack said.

This time, Jack didn’t engage in any of the small talk. None of the I hear it’s nice … or never been there.

The guard looked over the papers.

Then:

“Got to check your vehicle. Mind stepping out?”

Stepping out? Jack had read nothing about that. He looked at the guard again—the messy uniform, the grizzled face. Had he read the guy right? Someone who didn’t care?

Then the guard added: “Just gotta check your safety precautions. Before we update you on the rest of your trip.”

“Okay.”

A quick glance at Christie. Nothing needed to be spoken.

Jack popped open the door. As he shut it, he heard Christie lock it behind him.

He walked alongside the guard as he looked over the modifications on the Explorer.

The guard turned to Jack. “Double-walled spun-steel hybrid tires?”

“Yup.”

“Set you back a pretty penny.” The guard knelt down. “And these things?” He tapped the metal plates in front and rear of each tire. “Good thinking there.”

The guard didn’t get up. Jack wondered: Does he do an inspection like this with every vehicle that leaves the highway?

Maybe it’s time to flash the badge.

“But I got to tell you. Even these tires can be brought down.”

“Not by a bullet.”

“Oh, right. Sure. Not a single bullet. But you ever see those road chains? Two-, three-inch metal spikes, dozens of them on a chain? Could do real damage to even these tires.”

“Let’s hope I don’t run into any of them.”

The guard nodded and stood up, the effort of standing revealing that exercise wasn’t on his weekly agenda.

“You never know.”

The guard continued around to the front of the car. He smiled at the kids.

Or maybe it was a leer at Christie. With his face, it was hard to tell.

“Good front grill protection, and I imagine the body is all—”

“Reinforced steel. Special plate glass. Look, this gonna take much longer?”

The guard cocked his head.

“You in a rush? I’m just trying to do my job, Mr.—” he looked down at the papers “—Murphy. Just making sure you’re in good shape to head… up there.”

“Right.”

Jack took a breath and reached into his back pocket. The guard’s eyes followed him. Maybe smelling a tip? Did he supplement his income this way?

Jack flipped open the leather case, showing his shield.

“Whoa—NYPD. Guess you do know how to make a vehicle safe.” He took a few steps closer to Jack. “Imagine you got some weapons, too, hm?”

“A few.”

“We’re supposed to log any firearms.”

The guard held Jack’s gaze. “But fuck it. We’re in the same business, right? Right!”

As if…

“Okay, so I want to give you your road briefing… Officer. You’re leaving the highway now. Things will be different. ”

“See, you take Nine-N to Eighty-six all the way to Paterville. Nice straight drive. And we haven’t had reports of any action in weeks.”

“Good to hear.”

“We know how to shoot up here. Still, you’ll bump into a bunch of checkpoints. Places where they’ll want you to stop. Ask where you’re going. Any latest news, that’s how you’ll hear.”

“And between the towns?”

The guard rubbed his chin.

“That’s where you gotta be careful. Don’t stop for anything. Keep your eyes open. With this vehicle, you should be in good shape. But it’s a no-man’s-land between the towns.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

The guard smiled. “In another hour or so, you’ll be at Paterville. Now, I hear those folks really know security. Good family place. So I heard.”

A nod.

“We done here?”

“Sure. Sure we are, Officer.”

The guard signaled to his partner. Slowly, the heavy duty barrier began to rise.

“You’re on your own now. Drive safe, be safe… take care of that lovely family you have in there.”

Jack walked back to the driver’s side. As soon as he grabbed the handle, Christie popped open the lock.

He slid in and shut the door.

The gate wasn’t quite all the way up.

“Dad,” Simon said, “can we finally go ? This is boring.”

“Yeah. We’re all set,” Jack said. “Won’t be long now.”

The gate fully up, Jack gave the guard another glance, and left the protected world of the Northway for the weaving two-lane back road that would take them to Paterville.

“God, it’s like… everyone just left .”

Christie watched the deserted motels, bars, and ice cream and hot dog places—boarded up, some with windows and doors smashed, open to the elements—roll by.

Even the kids knew better than to ask if they could stop.

A pair of faded dancing bears advertised the Mountain View Chalet. Chunks of wood missing. For fuel, maybe? One bear with a gaping hole in its head. Target practice. The colors bleached by the elements and the sun.

Then a bar with a sign announcing FOOD SERVED ALL DAY.

The front door missing, all of the windows smashed.

“Guess nobody lives here anymore.”

“No tourists, no money.”

“Yet Paterville Camp survived.”

“Well, if they saw what was coming… if they took precautions, Paterville may be the only game in town now.”