The Dark Roads (3 page)

“That was a huge line of bullshit. Things don't repair themselves without action, just like pests don't go away on their own. All we did was stop using some of the chemicals that speed up the damage to the stratosphere. Nobody
did
anything as far as the public knows.

"When everyone started feeling the real heat of the thing, it was way too late to take any kind of action. I know that the UN and all the major government players had some bunkers built over the last twenty years. With a little research we could probably even find one of them if there was a working computer around.

“I'm sure that our president is sitting in a climate controlled room, either helping them try to figure out what to do or hoping for winter to come back, but that isn't helping anybody on the outside, on the surface."

"So the call was about the ozone?" Buddy asked.

"It was. It was about the known depletion and what the higher ups called "Cause for Concern". The big wigs said to be ready for climate changes, but not to worry about it too much. There were safeguards in place for everyone. It probably wouldn't be all that drastic, most likely. My friend said that they even made a joke about needing raises to pay for all the extra AC they were using. What they were really doing was protecting themselves, creating scapegoats for when fingers would be pointed. The EPA is a pretty powerful agency, but they weren't always a required entity. They were worried about their jobs, which is funny as hell considering how much money a man needs to get by when there isn't a store open for business or a house you have to pay taxes on anymore.

"What they told their people was that the ozone layer had been weakened to about 89% absorption. That means that in the last two years we were being hit with 11% of the sun's UV rays. Now I wonder if it wasn't closer to 80% absorption.

“Basically, we're being burned to death by too much direct sunlight and unless you have a tube of SPF-5,000,000 in your hip pocket, it's smart to stay inside during the day. And it's getting worse."

"I knew I should've gone into politics," Buddy said, cutting the tension a bit.

"Me too, son. Me too," Dundel said, "I don't know what happened to the friend that called me, but I hope he had his own plan. He was a good man."

The girls to his left and right hadn't said much, but both of them had been listening as if they'd never heard his explanation before, though Richie was sure they had. They nodded in the right places and looked somber when it was required.

For some reason, though, Richie didn't like the way it all came across. He might have been drawing off of the look on Elvis' face when they'd all met because Elvis had been good at knowing who to like and who to avoid all of his life. It was like an internal radar told him who would be mean to him.

Elvis was looking at the girls with an "avoid them" look that Richie recognized immediately. He also noticed that Steve Dundel didn't touch them in the way that most fathers do when close to their daughters. In fact, he hadn't touched them at all.

Maybe he was just reading into the dynamic too deeply. Wasn't it possible to be away from people for long enough that you didn't really connect with them in that way, anymore? Sure it was.

"I hate to ask you, sir, but do you have anything to eat?" Buddy asked, still playing the spokesperson of the group and silently telling Richie and Elvis that they shouldn't continue the conversation.

Dundel smiled at Buddy's question and stood without a word. He walked to a door and opened it, revealing a pantry stocked with dehydrated meals. He grabbed six of the packets and sat them on the table in front of the three travelers. He motioned toward the sink.

"The only good thing about the water being hot is that you don't have to worry about boiling it first. It's not the best chow you'll ever eat, but there's plenty to go around. Eat up."

***

The walls of the shelter were thick concrete, providing insulation against the heat emanating from the surface. It wasn't cool by any means, but Richie's thermometer showed the ambient temperature at just over eighty degrees. If they were able to sleep, it might actually be restful.

They'd eaten their fill of the dehydrated meals, not really caring what the food tasted like. In these times quantity was a big leader over quality. Elvis had stuffed himself, eating the two dinners he'd been given and finishing anything his friends had left over. He was full, but didn't seem as happy as he usually became when he'd been able to eat enough.

"I think they might be mean," Elvis had said seconds after they'd been left in the main room to set their sleeping bags.

"Why? Did they say something you didn't like?" Richie asked more out of curiosity than anything. There
was
something off about the daughters. Dundel seemed on the up and up, but Annie and Theresa projected a bad vibe toward them.

"Don't know. It ain't the man. It's them girls that give me the willies," said Elvis the mind reader.

"I think we ought to keep a watch. You know? Sleep in shifts," Buddy suggested.

Richie nodded his agreement, but decided against saying anything further about the family that had taken them in. He wondered if they had become less secure with being around people because they'd been alone for so long. Living souls were few and far between on the road these nights and it had been months since anyone had made their presence known to them.

Civilization had crumbled to a point where a person didn't want to meet another person for fear of being robbed of their few possessions or killed for food. Cannibals weren't common, at least not so far on their travels, but there were groups of them running the roads in search of meat.

There were many books written and movies made about the end of the world and a few of them seemed more like premonitions than stories. Short of the actual cause of the world's ruination, a lot of them had proven accurate guides to what was happening. Buddy was the reader out of their little group and had opened thirty books, at least, that covered the fall of structured government, the loss of life, and the cannibalism that resulted from food shortages.

If they hadn't seen the people who'd decided on that course of survival, none of them would have thought it possible. De-evolution on a grand scale was in progress.

"You guys sleep," Richie offered, "It'll be a while before I can close my eyes, anyway."

"Sure?" Elvis asked, already laying back, but serious about the question.

Richie nodded his encouragement and laid the coach gun to his right and under the sleeping bag he was sitting on. He didn't think it wise to leave the weapon in plain sight just in case one of the Dundels came to check on them, but he did want it close and ready. Elvis and Buddy readied their weapons in the same fashion. Nothing wrong with being prepared.

Buddy laid back, his fingers linked behind his head for support, and closed his eyes. Elvis followed suit, imitating Buddy in the way that he'd always been in the habit of.

Richie had to smile at the similar postures. He extinguished their lantern, leaving their world pitch black for the few moments it took his eyes to make the adjustment. Soon he could see their forms again. It was comforting. They'd been together for a long time.

Moments like these, when he was by himself in thought, always seemed to stretch for Richie. Buddy was always calling him "The Thinker" after that old statue. Richie didn't mind the comparison because it was apt enough to be stated. He
was
a thinker and was able to sort his thoughts into nice even piles when left to his own mind. It was like having a desk in his brain, manila folders sat here and there waiting for the proper arrangement to occur.

On that night, his thoughts turned toward a conversation he'd heard a few years before.

He'd been at work, getting a cup of coffee with a couple of the other employees who were busy discussing the state of the planet Mars. They were going back and forth about some theories as slightly intelligent people had a habit of doing and Richie listened in before going to his desk. The guys were entertaining.

"You know that Mars used to be like earth, right?" one of the men said while stirring powdered creamer into his cup.

"I've heard that," the other said.

"Well, just think about it. You have to imagine that the whole world was covered in water, like ours, and the atmosphere was good enough to support life and plants."

"Right."

"I've seen some things online that show Mars billions of years ago and it looked pretty close to the way Earth looks now."

"Yeah," the other man began, "But how could we know that? What's to say that the place hasn't always been what it is today?"

"Nothing at all, but what's to say the opposite. Just imagine what would happen to our world if something crazy went on. Maybe we're like a second version of the original Martians and we're headed down the same path."

"All things
is
possible," the man said jokingly, "Like you getting something done today other than bending my ear."

"Bite me."

Richie almost laughed, sitting in the darkness of an underground house with his hand on a shotgun. The conversation hadn't been long or detailed, but it crept back to him. Was it possible that the happenings on Earth were just a mirror of what had happened on a dead planet billions of years ago? Sure. Why not?

The world was in some definite trouble at the moment. People were wandering toward the same list occupied by the dinosaurs and the dodo bird. They were doing it in the most frightening style that they could manage, too. Sure. Why not?

The next hour was filled with thoughts of that comparison. It became like a dream as Richie dozed from time to time. He could hear the soft snoring of his friends as they slept.

***

Buddy sat up suddenly, a few hours later, with his gun in hand. He searched for the source of whatever had caused him to wake until he was sure there wasn't a threat. He
did
see Richie and could tell by his posture that he was close to falling to sleep.

He thought about trying to catch another hour, but his concern for Richie overwhelmed his own need. He looked over at Elvis to make sure he was still sleeping soundly and was rewarded with the sight he'd hoped for.

"Bad dream?" Richie asked in a low voice.

"Nothing new."

"Yeah."

They sat there for a few moments more, enjoying the almost mild temperature of the place, before either of them spoke again. Buddy was the first to break their silence, but he regretted doing so. Silence keeps a dangerous situation at the back of the mind. Words bring it to the front.

"You want to sleep a little?" Buddy asked, "I'll take the rest of the watch and we'll let the King sleep."

"Yeah. I'm bushed."

"Lay down then."

"Want the coach? Easier to shoot when you don't have to aim and it'll scare the hell out of anyone who tries to come in."

"I'm good."

“Suit yourself.”

Richie laid back, his eyes finally closing, but knew that sleep would elude him for a few minutes more. He'd been thinking about their situation for the last couple of hours and badly wanted to compare notes with Buddy. He was hesitant, but things had to be said.

"I think we need to leave tonight."

"Yeah," Buddy confirmed with a disappointed sigh, "So do I."

"Elvis knows something. He just can't say it. Doesn't know how."

"He said he thought they were mean. That's good enough for me when it comes to Elvis. He may be a little soft, but he isn't dumb."

"I agree," Richie said, "But what's the deal? They've got food, shelter, water, and relative safety. I don't think they could want anything from us."

"They don't want nothin'," Elvis spoke, scaring the hell out of them, "Sometimes people are just mean."

"Be nice if you'd tell us you're awake instead of making me piss my pants, dick," Buddy snapped.

"You're a sissy, Buddy," Elvis said without much thought, "They won't be mean to you guys. I don't think they like
me
being here."

"And you're such a sweetheart. How dare they?" Buddy retorted.

"I am," Elvis agreed.

"He is," Richie said from his own edge of sleep.

Richie was soon in the hands of slumber, satisfied that the others agreed with him. He'd been wondering if he might be paranoid, but his friends reassured him by either validating his paranoia or joining it with their own.

It wouldn't be easy to leave a place where they didn't have to eat rodents on a daily basis, but it was better than what could happen if they stayed. He was drifting away when Elvis asked Buddy one last question.

"Do you think we'll make it to Alaska?"

***

The three guests were quiet. Dundel knew that what he was hearing wasn't their doing. He knew the sounds of his home well and the movements happening now were obvious to him.

The sound of a kitchen drawer sliding open and cutlery being rummaged through was one he didn't want to hear in the current situation. The man sat up in bed, knowing he was going to find something he didn't want to see.