She’d done enough roadside maintenance in her time to know how to improvise when the right tools weren’t available.
The bike wasn’t in terrible shape, but it wasn’t rideable right now.
One of the tubes was punctured. That was an easy enough fix, and it only took her a couple minutes. After all, she was a pro.
The chain had been knocked off the gears. This was normally an easy fix, but some of the links had been bent beyond repair. There was no way to get the chain back onto the gears.
The only solution, in the absence of a replacement chain, was to remove some of the links. Shortening the chain meant that Jim wouldn’t be able to change gears. He’d essentially have a single speed bike. Using sewing pins and a lot of swearing, Jessica got the links removed and got the chain reattached around the middle gears.
The bike’s frame was cracked near the bottom bracket. Normally that meant it wasn’t safe to ride. But there wasn’t any way to fix it. Jim would have to hope that the crack didn’t get worse.
Jessica raised the seat since Jim was taller than her, and took the bike outside to him.
“How long you think it’ll take you?”
“Dewittville is only two hours away by car. But who knows what the roads are like. And if I have to bike back, it’ll be even longer.”
From the end of the driveway, Rob came walking quickly. He’d been patrolling the wider area.
“We’ll take good care of her, Jim,” said Rob. “Just try to stay safe yourself.”
Jim nodded. His had an expression of grim determination on it as he lowered himself into the Subaru.
No more words were spoken as Jim cranked the engine and backed slowly down the gravel driveway.
“You think he’ll make it?” said Rob, as they watched the Subaru disappear behind the trees.
“Yeah,” said Jessica. “He’s got to. Now let’s talk about what we’re going to do if the Carpenters return while Jim’s gone.”
23
Aly’s pus-filled infected wounds were weighing heavily on Jim’s mind.
But he had to push them to the back of his head. There were plenty more immediate things that he needed to worry about.
The Carpenter’s house was up ahead. If he didn’t make it past there, Aly wouldn’t get her antibiotics. And she’d die. There were no two ways about it. And Jim didn’t believe in sugar coating anything, even to himself.
Jim grabbed the shifter, depressed the clutch, and got the Subaru into neutral. He didn’t want to kill the engine, but if he could coast by the Carpenter’s house, there was less of a chance they’d hear him.
If they saw him, they might try to shoot him as he passed. Or, worse, they might try to attack the lake house now, knowing that he was away.
The blinds in the squalid little house were drawn and there was no one out. No sign of anyone, really, except for the beat up pickup in the driveway.
When Jim was well past the Carpenter’s house, the Subaru was slowing down, and he put it back in second and slowly accelerated, keeping the engine noise to a minimum.
His plan was to take the back roads north to Dewittville, which was a small town of only a few thousand. He had maps with him, as well as a small backpack with enough food to sustain him for a few days.
But he didn’t expect to be eating much.
The plan was to get to the pharmacy, grab the antibiotics and head back. As quickly as possible. And with as little human interaction as possible.
People were going to be getting desperate. Every new interaction would have a possibility for violence. For confrontation. For injury. And death.
The biggest problem that he foresaw was that the pharmacy would likely be already raided. And antibiotics were going to be a prime target for everyone.
Sure, many people would go for the opiates. For the anti-anxiety meds. But the ones who understood the true risks at play in a situation like this would go for the antibiotics. They’d stockpile them.
And that meant that if Jim had to get to them, he’d be up against people who knew what they were doing, who were most likely armed.
He didn’t know how it would play out.
But the one thing he did already know was that he’d stop at nothing to keep his wife from dying from an infected gunshot wound. Especially one that was his fault.
Jim kept a close eye on the gas gauge as he drove. It was getting down into the danger zone, and he expected the emergency gas light to come on at any moment.
But he knew that he had about three gallons left once that warning light came on. And that was a lot of miles, so long as he drove carefully. The important thing for gas economy was to not drive faster than 55 MPH, and accelerate and brake slowly.
When possible, on the long sloping down hills, Jim put the Subaru into neutral and killed the engine.
There weren’t any other cars on the road.
He’d expected to see a few. Maybe some stopped. Maybe some moving.
But there were none.
Rather than being reassuring, it was eerie, giving him a sense of dread that sunk deep into his bones. He couldn’t shake it no matter how hard he tried.
Occasionally, when the trees allowed for it, Jim could glimpse thick plumes of black some on the horizon. He didn’t know where they came from. But he knew what they meant.
Chaos.
Jim wondered what would happen to the lake house if the Carpenters attacked while he was gone.
Would Jessica and Rob be able to handle it on their own?
They’d be, after all, severely outnumbered.
There wasn’t anything he could do about it. Not now while he was away. He’d done his best training Rob in firearms. In accuracy. Reloading. Everything he knew.
Hopefully it’d be enough.
Jim glanced at his map. He was getting close to Dewittville. He was expecting to come up to an intersection at any moment. He’d take a right, and it’d be a five minute drive into the center of town.
The road took a long, sloping curve around to the right.
The intersection was up ahead. Finally visible.
But there was more.
A large windowless van was parked laterally across the street, about a hundred feet before the road broke into the turn offs.
Jim slowed down, keeping his eyes peeled, looking for any sign of human activity.
The van was from the 1980s, one of the large ones used by plumbers and other workmen. Probably one of the one ton versions.
If Jim drove partially off the road, there’d be just enough room to squeeze around the van.
But maybe that was what someone out there was hoping for. After all, there must have been a reason the van was parked like that.
Someone could easily be hiding in the woods or the interior of the van, waiting to spring out and shoot at Jim’s tires.
Or worse, shoot him through the window.
Jim’s mind was working rapidly.
The way he saw it, he didn’t have any other options.
He had to go for it.
And if he was going to do it, he was going to do it fast. This wasn’t the time for caution. The faster he got through there, the safer he’d be. Sure, he’d risk an accident, but that the least of his worries right now.
Still no sign from the van. Or from the woods.
Jim downshifted quickly.
He floored the accelerator.
The Subaru leapt forward.
Jim drove straight towards the van, swerving only at the very last moment.
The right tires hit the bumpy ground. The Subaru rocked forcibly across the bumps and ruts.
The van on the left side moved by in a rapid blur.
Jim was going too fast.
There was a tree in his path straight ahead. If he continued, he’d wrap the right side of the engine around the tree.