A New World: Chaos (7 page)

“Try putting some in the Jeep,” I say after like the fourth time my hand becomes soaked.

“I’m trying.”

“Well, try harder.
 
Maybe we aren’t going about this the right way.
 
Try not getting a bit of it in the funnel.
 
Maybe that’ll work better.”

He gives me a big grin, the first in a while.
 
We have always joked around like this and a sense of normalcy settles in on us with a warm glow.
 
Our relationship has always been close, I mean very tight, and we both get a sense that perhaps things will be alright as long as we have this between us.

He gives as good as he takes.
 
I can remember playing a co-op game on our 360.
 
We were in the middle of a battle against the aliens on Halo 3.
 
Greatly outnumbered but holding our own, he comments, “You are a really good shot.”
 
I got ready to thank him when he continues on, “I mean every single shot you fired hit me.”
 
Yes, my gamer tag in Halo should have been ‘friendly fire.’

We finally manage to get the fuel in the Jeep, well, at least some of it, secure the cans and put everything back in.
 
I make mental note to secure a larger funnel and walk back to the white F-150 to put the cap back on, set the keys next to the cap, and close the fuel door.
 
Robert has retrieved the shotgun from the front seat of the Jeep and is surveilling the area.
 
Good
,
I didn’t even have to tell him
.

“Okay, ready?”
 
I ask.

“Yep,” he answers and climbs in.

The fuel gauge reads a little over ¾ of a tank.
 
Good deal
.
 
That should be good enough for today, tomorrow, and to get back.
 
I pull out of the gas station, up to the stop sign on the highway, look left, right, and left again - yes, old habits, only, they aren’t really that old - before pulling across the northbound lanes and turn.
 
Southbound toward
Olympia
.

I drive by the casino on our right after about a mile down the road.
 
I think it may make a safe place but realize there are far too many entry ways and it would be difficult to secure.
 
I mentally strike it off my list of secure places in the event we need one.
 
With the casino sliding past, Robert asks, “What kind of plane are we taking?”

I fully expected him to be concentrating on picking up Michelle but he is already ahead of that now that we were on the way.
 
He always surprises me with his thinking abilities and inner toughness.
 
That same fortitude I noticed when he hadn’t texted Michelle back that night.
 
Now, that would have been tough and must have gnawed at him.
 
He is also one to keep his head about him.

“I’m thinking about a C-17 from McChord if there isn’t anyone there,” I answer back.

“Do you know how to fly one?”

“Um, sure,” I answer back with a shrug.

“Why not a C-130 like you used to fly?”

“Too slow.
 
And besides, they don’t have any up there anymore that I know of.
 
Traded those out some time ago.
 
I think the ranges are about the same in any case.”

“Wouldn’t you want one you were more comfortable with though?”
 
Robert asks knowing you can’t just arbitrarily fly any aircraft you choose because you know how to fly.
 
He was close to getting his Private Pilot license and would have completed that this summer.
 
His grand master plan was to head off to the Air Force Academy and go fly fighters.
 
He is fully capable of doing just that.

“Well, yes, but it’ll take us twice as long, and, like I said, there aren’t any there anyway.
 
It’s going to be a bitch enough with all of the refueling stops along the way, I don’t want to poke around at it too,” I say looking over at him.
 
“I’m not saying there won’t be a steep learning curve needed,” I add after seeing a guarded look cross his face.
 
“And, I will need you to be my co-pilot.”

I see flash of fire and excitement course through his eyes.
 
To the extent that I am thankful there isn’t anything flammable in the immediate vicinity.
 
Oh wait, there is the gas on my hand although evaporated
, I think as I mentally tuck my hand under me.

“Okay, grab that note pad”, I say nodding toward the tablet sitting in the glove box in front of him with a pen attached.
 
“We need to make a list of what we need to bring with us tomorrow.”

He grabbed the paper and prepared to write.
 
We think of items and potentialities as we drive to Olympia.
 
When we finish, this is what we have:

Water – from gas station – 1 bottle person per day – 40 min

Food - canned (from gas station)

           
Bread – if it is still good

           
Jam and peanut butter

           
Plastic silverware

Can opener

Flight suits *I have about 10 of them with rank and patches

Flight jackets * I have one summer and one winter jacket

Sleeping bags – 4

Clothes

           
Changes

           
Gloves

           
Warm coats

           
Sweat shirts

Toiletries

           
Toothbrush

           
Toothpaste

Flashlights

Batteries – D and AA

Battery
operated cell phone charger – in Jeep

Toilet paper – 5 rolls

First aid – in aircraft

Sunglasses

Tool box

Towels and washcloth’s – 4

Rope – 100’ in shed

Charts, maps, approach plates – worldwide – base ops or wing scheduling desk

Knee boards – in briefcase

Flight computer – in briefcase

Paper tablet – writing on one

Felt pens – red, black, and blue

Binoculars

Weapons - shotgun, Beretta, knives, ammo

I pull off the exit ramp just as we finish our list.
 
This list is going to put a serious dent in the available space we have in the Jeep.
 
Especially with four people.
 
I am assuming Michelle is going with us.
 
I think about using the truck at the gas station but we may manage with the Jeep.
 
This has been a long day.
 
It feels like a week has passed since getting the kids just this morning.

“Okay, tell me where I need to go Robert.”

“Just go up by Capital, it’s only a couple of blocks away from the school,” he answers putting the tablet with the list on it back in the glove compartment and pulls out his phone.
 

After several seconds, he says, “We’re just pulling off the highway and almost there.”
 
He listens says, “Okay,” after getting what I can only assume is a reply and closes his phone.

“She’s waiting outside for us,” he says turning to me.

I had expected a little traffic or to see someone at least but we are met with the same severe lack of movement as we drive through the west side of Olympia.
 
There are very few cars on the road, meaning off the road on the side or in parking lots.
 
At the stoplight about to turn left, a Safeway to our right gives the same message as did the Wal-Mart and Fred Meyer earlier.
 
No one is here.
 
The stoplight ahead blinks red, the only indication that mankind was here not so long ago.

I turn left and a high school baseball field appears to our right.
 
To the left, the new strip mall is vacant.
 
Well, almost; I see two cars sitting in the lot.
 
It’s a little warm inside
, I think as the sun gleams through my driver side window.
 
On any other day, I would take down the Jeep top for a nice, summer day in the sun.
 
Not knowing what to expect, that is just not going to happen today.

“Well?”
 
I ask as the baseball field slides past us.

“Turn right here and then a left in front of the school,” he nods toward the street we are approaching.

A cat wanders out of the trees and dashes across the street vanishing between two houses as we approach the high school.
 
The normal things you would see as far as animals go thrown in with the total lack of people just makes everything all that much more eerie.
 
A painted rock appears on the right by some trees.
 
This is the high school rock the seniors paint as the school year progressed; changing colors throughout the year.
 
I remember that rock well.
 
Not that I attended here but I used to live fairly close.

One night, a girlfriend of mine decided, along with her friend, that it would be a good idea to paint the rock.
 
Oh, I might add there was a little alcohol involved with that decision.
 
As was seemingly usual, I was tasked to go along.
 
There was my girlfriend, her friend, several Mike’s hard lemonades, a can of spray paint, and me.
 
Every time a car would come by, they would whisper-scream ‘a car’ and scramble back into trees and bushes.
 
I would just stand there and watch them do their ninja impressions.
 
I mean, we were just painting a rock; hardly something that was going to get us anything like solitary confinement or pounding rocks with hammers.

With the addition of more drinks, the whisper-screams became less of a whisper and more of a scream and the scrambles into the trees would get a little further from the road.
 
Oh, did I mention there was a large, steep hill.
 
Well, it was inevitable.
 
Like an apple hanging from a tree, it was only a matter of time before the apple let go and fell to the ground.
 
Then, the apple let go.
 
One of the many ‘a car’ notifications and subsequent ninja moves was followed by a screech which was itself followed milliseconds later by a second one.
 
I turned to look as both of their flawless ninja impressions transitioned into that of an avalanche; both literally going head over heels and tumbling down the hill.
 
That was when I learned that laughing heartily, until tears streamed down my face, at two women who had just scraped a hillside free of shrubbery with multiple parts of their bodies was not conducive to one’s health; note taken.

I turn left in front of the school and see a blond girl sitting by the curb about a block and a half away.
 
I have never met Michelle but have seen her a couple of times when dropping Robert off.
 
She is sitting on a military-style duffle bag
 
with a suitcase sitting beside her.
 
We pull up next to the curb.
 
She brushes off her jeans and picks up her duffle.
 
Robert jumps out as soon as we stop and walks to her as I scan the neighborhood.

Just your normal middle-class neighborhood; houses built close together, small front yards, concrete driveways leading up to double car garages.
 
Not that there is absolutely anything wrong with that, just that the contractors building these neighborhoods only build three or four different varieties and use paint colors to provide the variety.
 
The road we are on ends a half block up in a “T” intersection; houses at the end and across the intersection continue to the right and left in the same styles.
 
All of the windows stare back emptily.
 
Some of them have the drapes pulled across the windows and others have curtains drawn back revealing only darkness behind.