Mark Tufo - The End ....

The barn was a treasure trove of trash. Broken tools lined the walls. Various sized engine blocks created a haphazard maze. In one of the far corners, debris and trash was piled so high, that any shifting of contents would cause an avalanche of refuse. I was surprised, seeing as how the house was so tidy. My guess was the house was Mrs. Powell's domain, and the barn belonged to Mr. Powell.

"Great." BT said sarcastically. "Of all the farms in Pennsylvania we have to find a hoarder's."

I shrugged my shoulders as I was climbing over a small wall of transmissions.

"Ever build a car?" I asked BT as I got to a stack of carburetors.

"Didn't I tell you?"

He said it so earnestly I had to turn and see if he was telling the truth. He wasn't. BT was still scaling the transmissions when I made it around a stack of radiators that had to be at least 10 high and 5 across. The majority of stuff here was garbage with two notable exceptions and I was staring at them. The first was a 1950's pick-up truck and the second one was an older John Deere tractor.

Nicole had come up beside me. I was apprehensive about her climbing all over the rusted metal lest she hurt something inside of her. I could tell she appreciated all the extra help I was giving her as she traversed the pile but she was also giving me a look of 'What gives?'

BT had finally mustered his way up to me, a nice looking mahogany cane in his hand. "Ah, so this isn't the only thing in here worth something," he said, holding his cane up.

One tire was flat and the bed of the truck was exposed. All three of us had the same thought. BT voiced it first. "Gonna be pretty cold in that truck bed."

"Sure is, too bad you can't drive with that busted leg of yours."

"Nicole, have I told you lately that your dad is not a nice man?"

I shrugged my shoulders again. "Doesn't matter much if there isn't a spare," I said pointing to the flat. "On the other hand, that tractor is making me sort of gleeful."

"Gleeful?"

"Just an expression."

"Yeah, just don't stand too close," he said holding his cane up to make sure that I knew he had a weapon. "Can't really see what a tractor is going to do for us? We can't all fit and there's no cab for any of us to stay warm."

"Not the tractor itself but what it runs on."

"Diesel? That thing runs on diesel?" BT asked hopefully.

"Pretty sure and these farmers usually store it in big 55 gallon drums."

BT looked a little deflated. "This place looks like a graveyard for all things busted, you think he was even using that thing?"

"I hope so, plus it looks like we came in from the wrong side. The barn is free and clear on the other side."

"So he could drive that thing in and out."

"See, now you look gleeful."

"Watch it, Talbot."

"Don't worry, you're not my type."

"What, too pretty?"

"Yeah that's it." I said as I reached up and clapped his shoulder. This was the first break we'd had in a bit. I just hoped it panned out.

"Bingo!" BT yelled as he got to the other side of the tractor. He was pointing with his cane to the left hand side of the barn at four 55-gallon drums of something.

He had already found the drums, so I was going to make sure I found the fuel. I rushed passed him. "Glory whore!" he shouted.

The first drum fell over as I pushed a little too forcefully while checking for any contents, nearly smashing Nicole's toes in the process. The second also fell away. BT was beside me as I got to the third barrel. What started off sweetly was quickly turning sour. I was getting anxious. The third barrel had a hand pump secured to the top for dispensing the fuel. It didn't move nearly as easily as the first two, but it did not hold its ground as firmly as I would have liked when I pushed against it.

"Maybe twenty gallons," I told BT. "But that's a complete guess."

"That's a start, right?"

"At 11 miles to the gallon it won't get us halfway to where we need to go."

"How many gallons does the hummer hold?"

"I think around forty, forty-two maybe."

"You going to check the fourth barrel?" he asked apprehensively.

"Why don't you, my luck isn't so good today."

BT whacked his cane against the side. The sound was resoundingly positive. The impression of fullness reverberated joyfully in our souls.

"Probably should make sure it's not cow piss before we celebrate too much." I told BT.

"Wait, what? Why would a farmer need cow piss?"

"He's messing with you BT," Nicole said with a smile.

"This is where I'd laugh my ass off if you weren't such a friggen giant." I smirked at him.

"Just check it," BT said, and I could tell by the sound of the words he wanted to add an expletive at the end.

I unscrewed the small air tap and was welcomed with the slightly metallic, bitter smell of a full drum of diesel fuel. If it was gas we'd have to take the truck and no one would relish their time in the back no matter how many blankets we could stuff back there.

"Now what?" BT asked.

"Well, first I'm ripping the upholstery out of the drivers' seat in the hummer. I don't care if I'm sitting on bare metal, there's no way I'm sitting back down on the remains of that poor bastard. Then I'm driving that thing over here, filling it up. Maybe see if there is anything worth draining out of the tractor. Then I'm going to need a little help polishing off those beers and then tomorrow we head out."

"Sounds like a plan," BT said as he headed out what was apparently the front door of the barn. With only bits of straw to impede his progress, he made good time.

"Hey, don't sweat it. I don't need any help." I shouted to his back.

"Good thing," he replied. "I'm tired and my leg hurts."

"Always with the leg, how long you gonna milk that?" BT flipped me off and then I lost him in the glare of the snow-shine as he opened the door. "Real nice, you know that hurts my feelings right?"

Nicole took this moment while we were alone to ask a question. I figured this was going to be the big reveal.

"Dad, can I talk to you?"

"Sure sweetie. What is it?" I asked as I turned away from the drums to look at her.

Two sounds took this most inopportune time to fight simultaneously for my attention, my son's shout of warning and the high-pitched whine of a small vehicle engine. Sounded like a damn mini-bike but I couldn't figure out how someone could possibly be driving one in this snow. BT was no more than two strides from the door when I caught up to him. His gaze led right to the intruder astride a snow mobile.

"Oh, that's what that is."

"He's got a rifle," BT said, squinting with his hand shielding the sunlight from his eyes.

"Doesn't necessarily mean trouble. Wouldn't you have one if you had the choice?"

"I hear your words Mike, but they're not making me feel any better."

"Yeah, me neither. How close would I have to get to use a pitchfork?" I looked back towards the house. Travis was pointing towards the vehicle and now people were lining the windows on the first floor to get a better view. "I wish they'd be a little more inconspicuous."

"Yeah me too." BT agreed, never looking towards the house to see what I was talking about. "Umm, Mike."

"Yeah?" Just then the snowmobile revved high and shut off. The ensuing silence was not nearly as peaceful as it had been a moment before his arrival. Expectancy hung in the air.

"Good to see you're doing well, Mike." A cold calculating voice shouted across the vast white waste.

"Durgan." BT and I said simultaneously.

"He's like a cockroach," I bitched. "Can't kill him."

"Mike, we need to talk!" Durgan shouted.

"I'm a little busy right now, I've got some muffins in the oven and I really don't want them to burn!" Durgan didn't laugh. I glanced over at BT. "He really doesn't appreciate my humor."