Mountain Man - 01 (15 page)

“Just might. Well, never thought of that before. Shit. Good idea. If we pass it,” Gus added.

“Fair enough.”

“Get a good night’s sleep, ’cause I guarantee you’ll be drinking to forget in the evening when we get back.”

“
If
we get back.”

“No,
when
we get back. At least, I’m coming back. You can decide if you’re sticking around down there or not. No negative thinking in this dojo. Got it?”

Scott nodded reluctantly, but didn’t feel very certain.

“Listen,” Gus aimed at him. “I’m serious. Positive thinking on this. Take no risks. No stupid chances, and we’ll be back in no time tomorrow. Most of the runners are gone by now, or the night chills them so they can’t break for us. All that leaves is the rest of whatever’s left of Annapolis’s population to deal with, and they move mighty slow.”

“How big is, or was, the population here?”

“I don’t know. Don’t matter. See?”

Scott sensed an untruth there, but he didn’t want to press the matter. “How many shells do we have?”

“Figure a thousand or so. I grabbed whatever boxes I could from the gun and rod shop. Plus backup. A lot of that shit got taken right away.”

Scott rubbed his thickening beard. “Any smaller guns?”

“You mean like pistols?”

“Yeah.”

“Nah. I wish. That’d be cool.” Gus grinned.

“It would. Did you ever get to the cop station to check?”

“I did, but all the good stuff was taken. Place was balder than a waxed snatch.”

“So this is all we got.”

“And the bats,” Gus informed him, stretching his neck. “Don’t forget the bats. The shotguns are great, but a good bat… well, that’s magic. Does wonders. Just make sure you got your helmet visor down. Don’t need to accidently swallow a piece of scalp.”

Scott made a face. “That’s gross, man.”

“It’s a gross world.”

*

Gus took Scott into the garage and formally introduced him to the beast. He pointed out the reversed gear labelling, where
Drive
was really
Reverse
and vice versa. He showed him the racks on the ceiling for the guns, the storage bins, and the spare mountain bike hanging on the wall.

“There’s only one, though,” Scott pointed out.

“You’re only here for a short time though, right?” Gus asked, smirking under his beard. “Besides, only room for the one, with the bins and everything. Can only take so much on safari.”

“What do I do if the van breaks down?”

“Can you run?”

“Smartass.”

“Speed walk?”

“Smartass.”

Gus clapped him on the shoulder and walked away, enjoying the fact that Scott was starting to loosen up around him.

“But
really
…” Scott said.

*

They turned in shortly after prepping the van. Gus thought Scott looked a little nervous, but he didn’t let it bother him. He’d only be driving the first time out anyway, and Gus had made it clear his role would be that of driving. He wouldn’t go into the street, wouldn’t go into any houses, and essentially wouldn’t step out of the vehicle. He’d have Gus’s back once he was inside. If Gus fired the shotgun while in the house, he’d come check on him. If Scott laid on the beast’s horn, that was the sign for Gus to get the hell out of Dodge. Simple plans made by simple men in difficult times. They retired to their respective rooms around ten, and Gus left two full bottles of Jack Daniels on the table.

To celebrate their joyous return.

The beast rumbled toward town the next morning, the sun making the night’s frost twinkle on the highway. They drove on the familiar road that Gus always followed into Annapolis. They were suited up and ready for the day. Gus had on all of his equipment: knee and elbow pads, neck brace, chest protector under the jacket, and helmet. He made note to see if he could find any extra pads for Scott, thinking it might be easier to pick some up at Home Hardware or Walmart. That kind of padding might not have been looted. Gus had extras back at the house, but didn’t see a need for the driver to wear them just yet.

“See anything strange out there?” Gus asked.

Scott glanced over at him, looking uncertain. “Huh?”

“Notice anything?” Gus asked again, his words muffled only slightly from the motorcycle helmet. Gus knew the man was concentrating hard on driving, but he didn’t want the guy to have a goddamn aneurysm over it.

“I’m driving here,” Scott grated.

“I can see that, but do you see anything out there?”

Scott squinted at the road ahead as if he were memorizing every inch, and finally shook his head. They passed the semi that had been driven through a roadside billboard. The cars were starting to thicken on the road.

Scott’s lack of perception disappointed Gus. “Slow down and get ready to stop.”

“Stop?”

“Yeah, we need to fill up those three gas containers back there.”

“Where?”

“I’ll tell you. Just slow down.”

The beast slowed.

“Okay, right here,” Gus said.

Scott halted the van in the middle of the highway among cars coated in frost. The sun made everything sparkle in grandiose fashion.

“I’ll do this,” Gus said as he moved to the back of the van. He got out an aluminum bat and scabbard which he threw over his shoulder, a red gas container, large plastic bowl, and a handheld rechargeable drill. He also grabbed a stretched-out coat hanger, a funnel, and a fistful of rags. “You see if you can pick up on anything interesting about those cars.”

Scott frowned. “But I––”

Gus closed the door on his words. The morning freshness smacked him in his face, and he took a moment to just breathe. He smelled the exhaust and walked away from the van with a frown. His boots scuffed on the asphalt and his bare fingers, the only part of him uncovered, felt the biting chill on the air. November would soon be over, and he was only a little done. With Scott, however, it would be much easier to house pick and loot in general.

Loot, loot!
his mind yelled, making him smile. He walked by three cars with their sides dented, knowing that Scott’s eyes watched him and had his back. It was rare for gimps to be in or between the cars, and it wasn’t the first time he had taken gasoline, but with that second set of eyes on him, he felt safer.

He stopped at an old hybrid Toyota that seemed to be still intact and untouched. He glanced inside the car to ensure it was indeed empty. Then, he opened the door and checked for keys. Some cars had them, as the beast had had her keys left in the ignition, much to Gus’s relief. No keys, but it was just as well. He didn’t want a sedan. He preferred SUVs or pickup trucks. He did, however, want the gas if there was any left in the tank.

Looking around out of habit, he reached down and popped the lever opening the tank’s cover. A second later, he stuffed the long rag down into the tank with the help of the coat hanger, then withdrew it, soaked.

He took off the scabbard and got under the car. He put the bowls in place and made a small hole with the drill. Gasoline pissed down into the bowl. Gus filled one bowl, and while the other filled, he emptied the first into the container with the funnel. Gas splashed into the bottom and for a moment, Gus thought of peeing in a cup for any number of urinary tests. Glancing back at the beast, he waved and gestured for Scott to pull closer.

A moment later, the van huffed to his side.

The sedan held only enough to fill the container less than a quarter full. Before moving on to the next car, a pickup, Gus took the bat and bashed in the side of the car’s driver’s door, denting it just enough to mark it. He looked back to Scott, who shook his head.

That’s right
, Gus said to himself.
Gotta mark the cars somehow
.

The sun shining overhead, Gus moved to the next vehicle––a Dodge Ram––and repeated the process, using the dry end of the rag. The pickup wasn’t in bad shape, but the keys were missing, and damn if he knew how to hotwire one of the 2025 models. He would ask Scott once he had the chance. He got the container up to half full with the gas from the pickup before denting the driver’s side, and lugging the can to the next car, a Lexus.

Scott and the beast followed.

Gus filled the first container after the tenth car, another sedan, before carrying it back to the van. Five of the vehicles were electric models, and those he left untouched. Opening the rear door of the van, he hefted the gas inside and stowed it away.

“So you dent all the car doors?” Scott asked.

“Yep.”

“The ones on the other side aren’t checked.”

“I’ll do them next time. Don’t you worry.”

“A lot of fuel out there,” Scott commented, looking out his driver’s window.

“Yeah, but it’ll be all gone sooner or later. Either we’ll get it or someone else. See that black SUV up ahead there?”

“Yeah.”

“Hope that one has its keys. Hey, you know how to hotwire a car?”

“No, sorry,” Scott answered with a shake of his head.

“S’okay. No trouble. Need more rags.”

Thirty-one cars, SUVs, and pickups later, Gus loaded the last of the containers on board and stowed them away. He closed the rear door with a slam and got into his seat.

“Not bad, usually have contact with a few gimps after bangin’ in the doors,” Gus commented.

“Maybe it’s gettin’ too cold?”

“It’s gettin’ there.”

“You call ’em gimps, eh?”

“Yeah. What do you call ’em?”

“Dead fuckers.”

That made Gus chuckle. “They are that.”

“Lea used to call them deadheads.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“I think it was an old band or something or other, I dunno.”

“Deadheads,” Gus tried the word. Liked it. “Dead fuckers has a ring, too.”

“I think so. Hey, do I have to wear this helmet?”

“Don’t have to, I guess. You’re in the van. But it’d be pretty shitty luck all around if you take that off and later down the line a single deadhead comes through the windshield and chomps your ear off.”

“They’d have to get though the beard.” Scott smiled.

“Your fuckin’ beard ain’t growin’ out of your ear, man.”

Scott’s smile dissolved into a frown.

“I’m just shittin’ ya, okay? Don’t take it personal,” Gus assured him.

“No problem,” Scott said, and after a moment added, “shithead.”

Gus grinned.

Carefully putting the van in gear, Scott eased back onto the road.

“Too bad about those SUVs back there,” Scott said, keeping his eyes on the road and the van at a steady forty.

“Happens. I haven’t checked all of these cars, and I’m sure someone will have left their keys or have a spare set hidden inside. Just finding them is the thing. Couldn’t do it alone, but with you, all sorts of things are possible.”

Scott rubbed at his eye. “Into town, then?”

“Take us in, Scotty.”

Gus noted that the reference was lost on his companion. Probably before his time.

The beast turned into the sun, and the rays made them both squint until they lowered their visors. On either side, the houses began to thicken. In the distance, dark towers loomed like hives in the morning light.

“Y’know something?” Gus said.

“What?”

“This place, way back when it was only a bunch of towns and most of the farmland hadn’t been bought up, you’d get the smell of fertilizer coming from the farms. That sweet stink of pig shit, or whatever the hell the farmers used on the soil, would waft down through the entire fucking length of the valley and cause most everyone to gag. Stink. Christ, you’d think Ottawa itself dropped its drawers and shat on someone’s front lawn.”

“You smell that now?” Scott’s brow scrunched.

Gus shook his head. “Nah, I… I just miss it.”

Scott nodded and glanced at the dashboard clock. “It’s nine.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah.”

“Worried about the time?”

Scott’s head tilted a little. “A bit.”

“Don’t, then. We’ll be outta here before mid-afternoon. Gives us plenty of time to get back before nightfall.”

“That’s about five-thirty now,” Scott observed, sounding worried.

“A little later, I didn’t adjust the clock back from daylight saving.”

“Why?”

“Only me. I know when it’s going to get dark. Daylight saving’s only for the shop owners. And you can see where they are,” Gus finished with mild sarcasm.

They passed empty sidewalks and deserted houses with smashed windows. The front lawns, tall and yellow, were bent over like canes and glistened with melted frost. Trees stood bare and harsh, their bases hidden in the dead wet leaves. Old cable lines sagged from houses to the poles.

“There.” Scott pointed.