The Remnants of Yesterday

THE REMNANTS

OF YESTERDAY

ANTHONY M. STRONG

West Street Publishing

THE REMNANTS OF YESTERDAY

Published by West Street Publishing

www.WestStreetPublishing.com

www.AnthonyMStrong.com

This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and events are products of the authors imagination. Any similarity to events or places, or real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 Anthony M. Strong

All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission.

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1

THE WORLD ENDED on a mild Tuesday night in June. There was no fanfare, no warning of what was to come. In the days, hours, and minutes before everything went to hell, everyone hurried about their business with the certainty that they were safe within their small corner of existence, that the mundane tasks they performed each and every day would continue on an endless cycle. Waking each morning, brushing their teeth, dropping the kids off at school, going to work, driving home, climbing into their soft, comfortable beds at night.

Rinse and repeat.

They thought they had things all figured out. They thought life would be like that forever.

I was no different. After all, it wasn’t like I had a crystal ball to see into the future. Besides, even if I could, maybe I would have driven to that lonely gas station off I-89 anyway. Maybe…

“Can I help you?” The girl behind the counter looked up when I entered the gas station convenience store, alerted by a small bell suspended from string above the door. Her dusty blue eyes sparkled despite the cold white light given off by the neon tubes set into the false ceiling.

“I need a fill up,” I replied. She was cute - Much too attractive to be working on her own at night in a gas station off the highway. My eyes fell to the nametag fixed, slightly askew, above her left breast.

CLARA.

“Thirty dollars on four?”

“You got it.” She flicked a strand of long brunette hair away from her face. “Cash or credit?”

“Credit’s fine.” I flipped my wallet open and picked a card, the one with the lowest balance, and pushed it across the counter. She plucked it up between slender fingers and examined it.

“Cool name.” Her eyes skipped from the card back to me. “Hayden Stone. Sounds like a rock star or something.”

“Yeah, right.” Too bad it took more than a cool name to become a rock star. I took guitar lessons for a while in high school. I sucked. Ten years on I still had no inclination to give it another go.

“Still a cool name.”

“Thanks.” I hesitated for a moment. “You know your card reader is broken, right?”

“It is?”

“I tried to pay at the pump. It just told me to come in here.”

“Yeah. Sounds about right. I’ll tell Walter. Not that he’ll fix it. If people pay outside they don’t come in here and buy stuff.”

“Who’s Walter?”

“My boss.”

From somewhere behind me I heard a new voice, rasping, full of too many years of cigarette smoke. “And don’t you forget it.”

A short balding man in his mid fifties appeared from the direction of the restrooms. He wore an ill-fitting short sleeve shirt with buttons stretched just a little too tight, and tan slacks that seemed to be fighting his belly for dominance of his waistline.

“That’s Walter.” Clara scowled. Her eyes met mine for a moment and I saw a flicker of disgust.

“I’ve told you before Clara, you’re to call me Mr. Hancock,” he scolded, pushing his way behind the counter with a grunt. As he passed her, he brushed just a little too close even though there was more than enough room, and opened the register to inspect the contents. “There are plenty of folk that would be happy to have your job right now.”

“Yeah right,” Clara said. She swiped my card and waited for the transaction to process. “They’ll be lining up around the block.”

“One more quip like that and I’ll dock your wages.” Walter said, turning his attention to me. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries.” I caught Clara’s eye and smiled.

“Where you heading son?” Walter asked.

“New York, to see my brother Jeff. He and his wife are having a baby.”  Actually it was a double celebration, but I Didn’t bother to mention the deal I’d just signed for the book I spent the last two years writing. The book that was going to let me quit my day job. It was none of his business.

“Really? New York?” He scratched his head, the motion dislodging a few flakes of dandruff. “Where you coming from?”

“Burlington.”

“Burlington, huh? Don’t go there too often myself. Too many people, I don’t like all those noisy crowds.” Walter sniffed and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “Not that New York’s any better mind you.”

“Each to their own.” I directed my attention to Clara, who more than likely wished she were anywhere but in close vicinity to Walter. “Are we done?”

“Just about.” She forced a smile and handed me a receipt, which she watched me sign, then took back, handing me the carbon. “Enjoy New York Hayden Stone.”

“I will.” It seemed wrong to leave her in the company of obnoxious Walter. For a moment I entertained the thought of jumping over the counter, sweeping her up into my arms, and rescuing her - A shining knight in a Volkswagen. Instead I just said, “Hope you find a better job soon.”

“Me too.” She grinned.

If Walter heard, he ignored it.

…

The gas station forecourt was almost deserted. It was late and I was in the middle of nowhere, which in Vermont is worse than the middle of nowhere in most other places. I probably should have just waited until morning and set off then, after a good night’s sleep, but after Jeff called and said his wife, Becca, had gone into labor I didn’t want to wait. It wasn’t like we had any other family around to offer support. So I finished up my shift at the coffee shop, dropped by the apartment, packed a bag, and hit the road.

As I filled the tank I glanced around. Apart from myself, there was only one other customer, a tall woman in a red dress next to a convertible BMW roadster. She smiled when our eyes met. I would have returned the gesture, but it was at that moment that it happened.

Pain slammed into me, a crushing, searing agony that started in the deepest depths of my brain and punched outward.

I grunted and leaned against the car, white-hot daggers of brilliant light swarming in front of my eyes. I was sure that any moment now my head would split open, my skull explode from the immense pressure within.

Then suddenly my legs stopped supporting me. I toppled forward, the ground racing up much too fast. 

In the moment between hitting the pavement and losing consciousness, I wondered about the woman in the red dress, and why she wasn’t rushing over to help me…

2

SELF SERVE. GROCERIES. COLD BEER.

A bright white strip light flickered, blinking like some kind of crazy erratic Morse code, buzzing as it did so.

Where the hell was I? What was I looking at? My addled brain took a second to interpret the strange view, and then it hit me. I was staring up at a canopy of some sort. There were words on the side in tall red letters with peeling edges. 

I battled to quell a rising panic. I needed to clear my head, make sense of where I was, what I was doing. For a moment my mind remained blank, a void of hazy recollections, disjointed and jarring. Then, just like that, everything snapped back into focus, the memories tumbling over each other. Stopping for gas, my brother in New York, the baby, and the book deal. We were going to party like it was 1999, whatever that meant.

My head hurt. It hurt a lot – I probably cracked it against the ground when I collapsed – but at least I was alive. I was also uncomfortable. The concrete was hard, and there was a stone pushing into the small of my back. I sat up and glanced toward the ground, expecting to see a halo of blood where my head had been. There was none, much to my relief.

I looked around. It all seemed too quiet. Where was the woman in the red dress? What about Clara and Walter? The place was like a ghost town. Surely they must have seen me take a dive, but yet there were no concerned faces peering down at me, no paramedics checking my vitals. Either I’d only been out for a moment and they hadn’t noticed yet, or they didn’t give a crap. If it was the latter, that was a little disturbing.

I pulled myself up, using the car as a crutch, and waited a moment, checking my balance. Whatever happened, it seemed to have passed now. The pain in my head was receding and my legs appeared to be working again.

The BMW still sat at the next pump. The driver’s door was open a crack and the hose of a fuel pump snaked from the side of the car like a black rubber umbilical cord. A white Gucci purse rested on the roof of the vehicle, the strap dangling over the side. The woman in the red dress was nowhere in sight. Maybe she went to the restroom. That would explain why she hadn’t rushed over to help me. It seemed odd that she had left her purse behind, where anyone could come by and steal it. Didn’t women usually take their purse with them when they went to the bathroom? Most of the girls I ever knew did. Not that it mattered. What did matter was reaching Jeff’s place in New York and catching a few winks of sleep before heading over to the hospital.

I rummaged in my pockets, looking for my keys.

They should be there, but they were not. Had I taken them out before pumping gas? If so, they should either be on the roof of the car, a place I had a habit of putting them down, or on the ground, dropped when the pain hit.

After a brief search two things became evident. They were not on the car roof, nor were they visible on the ground.

Great.

It was hard to go anywhere without a way to get back into the car, or start it for that matter.

I knelt down, wincing as a jab of remaining pain flared behind my eyes. Reaching under the car I felt around. After what felt like an eternity, my hand closed over a familiar shape. I gripped the key fob and pulled it out with a grunt of satisfaction. One problem solved.

I got to my feet and paused, glancing around. Something felt off. Things were quiet. Too quiet. The BMW was still unattended, and not a single vehicle had pulled up to the gas station since I regained consciousness. Even stranger, I couldn’t hear the sound of cars on the highway. Maybe that was normal, after all, the interstate was at least a mile away so it was possible the traffic noise didn’t carry that far, but still I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was weird. On the other hand, I did just take a nasty fall, so maybe I was just shaken up. I would feel better once I was on the road again.

I slipped behind the wheel and pulled the seatbelt across my body, my mind back on Jeff four hours away in New York. The clock on the dash read 10:30 p.m. Was it really only ten minutes since I’d pulled off the highway? It felt like more time had passed. I checked my wristwatch, half convinced that the clock was wrong, but they both agreed. Again the thought occurred to me that my fall had caused some kind of state of befuddlement. What the hell did it matter what the time was? Earlier was better, right?

I inserted the key into the ignition and turned it.

Nothing happened.

Actually that isn’t strictly true. Something did happen. The engine made a dry clicking sound and refused to start.

I tried again.

Click.

Albert Einstein once said that insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. If that was the case, then I was clearly insane, because I turned the key for a third time, then a fourth. By the fifth attempt there wasn’t even a click.

My battery was dead.