June 16, 8:37 am
It's amazing how quickly you can get used to seeing dead bodies, Pil thought, as their car crept past the headless man, hanging by his foot from a neighbor's fence.
Richard's car was a dark blue Toyota RAV4; which was not a tiny car by any means, but one that was still tight for Pil's huge frame. He sat with his arms crossed uncomfortably across his chest and his knees up against the dashboard. The smoldering ruin of the neighborhood that they drove through only made his claustrophobia worse. The bodies weren't on every block, but they were scattered at random, in ones and twos, as if they had fallen from the sky. Some had fallen on yards, but many were in the streets themselves. Twice he saw bodies crumpled at slammed doors, as if they had been trying to get inside at the moment they were struck down. Others were sprawled over cars, half-hidden by shrubbery, or sliced open and halfway out of broken windows.
Pil squirmed. Even though the seat was pushed back as far as it would go, his shaggy head continually brushed the roof of the car. Each time it did, he jumped as if a squirrel had landed on him. His nerves were close to shot, and he wondered if Richard and Justin's battle had done more damage to his psyche than he realized.
Michelle was driving, her lips tight, and her hands gripping the steering wheel so hard it looked like she might twist it into a pretzel at any minute. That left Keith and Howard together in the back. But Howard was leaning forward between the two front seats, his eyes frantically scanning the ruined streets and the smoldering buildings.
Looking for ghosts, Pil thought.
"Do you see anything," he asked.
"No. Not so far," Howard said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Now that the sun was up, the city wasn't so deserted. There were occasional living people on the streets, or lingering outside of the homes they passed. Some seemed furtive, as if they were dashing from one safe burrow to another. Others just seemed stunned, or curious—looking out at the world with blank faces and hands clenched into fists. And several times Pil saw nervous families packing up cars in garages, or driveways. As Michelle drove slowly past, those families eyed the Toyota warily, poised as if to fight or flee at any sign of danger.
"I'd like to stop and talk to some of these families," Michelle said. "But I'm afraid that if I do, we might get shot."
"Or worse," Howard added.
"Let's just keep driving," Pil said. "But go slow. We need to arrive safely, not fast. And so far, we're doing okay."
Only once did they have to backtrack a block, when they came upon two cars that were tangled together in an accident. They found their way around the scene and soon emerged from the Avenues. They hit South Temple at the junction of H Street, but less than a block later, their way west was blocked by a tanker on fire. Several cars were abandoned around the blaze, and Pil couldn't tell if the way was clear. Without even asking for their opinion, Michelle skipped over to 1st South to try and skirt the scene.
Pil breathed a sigh of relief when they were off South Temple. The broad expanse of the boulevard had made him feel vulnerable and nervous. 1st South was more residential, and like the Avenues, at times almost seemed normal.
At the corner of 1st South and 3rd East, they came upon a surprising sight. Even before they reached the corner, they saw a dozen vehicles lined up on the left side of the street, facing the wrong way, as if the traffic laws had all been suspended by the crisis. There were scattered people standing around the cars, all looking nervously around. Many were carrying weapons. One man near the front of the line had a high-powered deer rifle in his hands, and another had a double-barreled shotgun that looked more like an antique than anything you'd normally see used today.
"What's going on?" Keith asked, leaning up from the back seat.
"I'm not sure," Michelle said, slowing the car. She pulled it to a stop in the street. "It looks like they're lined up for gas."
Pil could see that there was a Sinclair station at the end of the block, and he recognized it as one he had used regularly. He recalled that there was a 7-11 convenience store attached to it. Even from where they were stopped he could see the green and white dinosaur logo, partially obscured by a modest cottonwood tree.
Michelle was right. The far end of the line snaked into a single pump at the gas station, and even as he watched, the front car pulled out and the next one moved forward. Each of the cars rolled quickly ahead to fill the gap, and the line was motionless once again.
It seemed strange that a gas station would be operational in this kind of crisis. And stranger still that in all this chaos, people were acting civilly and waiting their turn at the pump.
"How's our gas situation?" Pil asked, leaning over to look at the dashboard.
Michelle caught his eye and then glanced at the passengers in the rear-view mirror. "I didn't want to say anything, but we have less than a half tank," Michelle said.
"Is that enough to get us to Ogden?" Keith asked.
"Probably," Michelle said.
There was silence in the car. They all knew that "probably" wasn't good enough.
"It's only going to get us there," Howard finally said, breaking the tension, "if we don't run into any problems along the way. And I don't think that's something we should count on."
A second car pulled out of the gas station, and a third one pulled up to the pump. They sat in silence, watching the other cars move forward. Pil counted that there were now nine.
"It looks like the line is moving pretty quickly," Michelle said. "Maybe they're rationing. Do you think we should wait?"
Pil bit at his fingernail. "Considering the destruction we saw on the way here, it's a miracle they're open. I say we take advantage of it."
Everyone quickly agreed, and Michelle made a u-turn in the street, and then another. She pulled into the line behind the last car, shut off the engine, and the car fell silent.
Pil looked around the neighborhood. There was only one body here. It was in the street, and it looked mangled like a rag doll, as if it had been run over repeatedly. In fact, as he looked, he could see skid marks on the pavement, and what looked like the muddy tracks left by a big vehicle. Perhaps an army truck? Had the military been here earlier, before they all pulled out?
As he looked at the scene, he couldn't help but think that even with all the devastation the city had experienced, this particular moment was oddly quiet. In many ways, the busy city had become more like a ghost town. There was almost no traffic now, and the number of people on this street corner was limited to those waiting in the line at the gas station, and a few others hurrying from place to place, furtively, like thieves running from cover to cover. A stiff breeze had come up, which had cleared almost all the smoke from the area. The sky was brilliant blue, and the sun was warm on the arm Pil had hanging out of the open window.
While they waited, two more cars pulled out ahead of them, and their Toyota moved closer to the front of the line. Pil tried to count the cars, but he couldn't see exactly how many there were from the passenger seat.
In that moment, something hit Pil that felt almost like a premonition. He suddenly felt that he had to get out of the car, and that there was no way for them to protect themselves if danger should approach while he was wedged into this seat like a sardine in a can.
"Howard, let's get out," Pil said. "I think we need to keep an eye out."
"Oh, honey, do you think that's a good idea?" Michelle said, grasping his wrist. "Aren't we safer in the car? What if we have to get out of here fast?"
Pil didn't answer her, but just leaned over and planted an awkward kiss on her cheek. She released her grip on his wrist and gave him a smile. "Be careful, Beastie," she said.
Howard didn't question Pil's request, and he popped out of the passenger door behind Michelle.
Standing in the fresh air, Pil felt the weight of what had happened in this city bearing down on him. It was much more than the accumulated devastation they had witnessed, and even more than the mangled body that lay a few steps away. It was an existential weight that the suffering of untold thousands had created. It was something like a smell in the air, or more accurately, like a heaviness that made breathing difficult. He looked at Howard, now standing beside him, and knew that he could feel it too.
"Do you see anything," Pil asked for what felt like the thousandth time. Howard just shook his head, his hard eyes scanning the street in all directions, and his hands gripping the tire iron like a baseball bat. There was something in the young man's eyes that made Pil tremble.
"Howard, I don't think you're telling me everything. Are you seeing ghosts here?"
Howard turned to Pil quickly, and the two men's eyes met. Finally, Howard had to look away, but he spoke quietly.
"Not here. And not now. But I saw some up on South Temple. It's not always easy to tell if I'm looking at a ghost, or looking at a person. They pretty much look the same. But sometimes the ghosts are... naked. Or bloody. Or dressed in hospital gowns. That's about the only way to tell."
Pil let that sink in. What must the world look like to Howard Gunderson? He guessed it looked much the same as it looked to him at this moment, but with the added insanity of mad specters wandering through the wreckage, possessing at random, creating chaos, and then moving on. Pil was grateful that at least that part of the horror they were going through was not visible to him. He was barely holding it together as it was. What greater strength must Howard have to bear even more horror and stay sane?
Another car dropped out of the line, and Michelle crept the Toyota forward, while Pil and Howard walked silently alongside. There were now two new cars behind them. They had arrived stealthily, as if they wanted to draw as little attention as possible.
"Howard, I'm going to walk up the line a bit. Just to see what's happening. I need you to keep watch over Michelle and Pil. You need to keep being our eyes and ears."
Howard used his hand as a visor and looked up toward the gas station. "It looks like there is just one guy there, pumping gas," he said.
"I'm going to go talk to him. You stay here. And yell if you see anything at all."
Howard tried to hand Pil the tire iron, but Pil didn't move to take it. It was almost as if the hunk of angled metal had become part of Howard's arm.
"No, you keep it," Pil said. "I'll be scary enough to this guy as it is, without looking like I have a weapon."
Howard nodded. A red Ford pickup truck pulled in behind them, and even from a distance, Pil could see the full rack of rifles in the back window.
"Okay," Howard said, following his gaze. "But if I yell, get back here. And start throwing punches at whatever I'm swinging at. You won't be able to see what I see. But you'll know where."
As he walked up the line, Pil couldn't help but picture Howard Gunderson, standing in the street and swinging the tire iron at something invisible. He'd look like a crazy man to everybody in the line. And there was that guy three cars back with the gun rack. If they had to fight, they'd have more than just the ghosts to worry about.
All up the line he saw the scared families in their cars. They looked out at him through their rolled up windows, with a terror that only abated as he walked past. Some cars were filled to the roof with possessions, but most had little or none. Even before he got to the front of the line, another car had gassed up and left, and one car in between decided they didn't need gas after all.
Just five cars now, Pil thought.
The attendant was a young, skinny, Hispanic guy with tattoos up and down his arms. Pil stopped a safe distance away, and kept his big hands open and in full sight, as the guy eyed him warily. Now that he was closer, he could see and hear the generator that was powering the pumps. It was plugged into a fuse box on the far corner of the 7-11, and that appeared to be giving the man enough juice to pump the gas.
The guy looked like he hadn't slept in the past thirty-six hours.
A police band radio was set up near the gas pumps and tuned into something that sounded to Pil like white noise. He tried to listen, but the attendant saw him and said, "Don't bother. It's mostly just static now." He appeared to have decided that Pil wasn't a threat, and didn't look at him again as he took the nozzle out of the car at the front of the line. As that car pulled away, he gestured for the next car in line to pull forward.
Four cars, Pil thought.
As the attendant pumped gas into the next car, he once again turned to Pil, who was still trying to make some sense of the radio.
"Most of the cops and the army guys turned tail and ran, just past midnight. There are a few cops around, but I think most of them are gone now too. The ones that stayed feel like bad news. They're just shooting first and asking questions later."
Pil looked at the man. "They're shooting people?"
"Yup. Anybody that's looting, or even just acting weird. I live just a couple blocks down. There's a pile of bodies outside our apartment. Probably forty or fifty of them. The cops just mowed 'em down."
Pil sighed. "Then maybe it's good most of them have run."
"Yeah, I don't blame them for bailing out. We're going to go too as soon as the gas runs out. My wife and kids wanted to go last night, but I felt like I had to stay and help any way I can." He tapped the end of the hose on the gas tank, and replaced it on the pump. "I think pumping gas does more good right now that almost anything else I could do."
"We're all very grateful," Pil said. But the man wasn't really listening.
"The gas is almost gone." he said. "And then so are we."
This car was full of young girls. They looked like sorority sisters from the University. The attendant tapped the windshield. "That's it," he said, motioning them out of line.
The girl in the driver's seat cracked her window.
"But the tank's not full!" she said in a high pitched, whiny voice.
"Five gallons," the man said, harshly. "Same for everybody. Five gallons, no more. No charge, and no arguments." Casually, he pulled aside his shirt to reveal the pistol in his belt.
The girls didn't provide him with an argument. Without even saying thank you, they eased out of line, and the cars moved forward.
Three cars now, Pil thought.
Looking down the line, he could see Michelle's face clearly through the windshield. She looked nervous, and her hands were still gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. But to her credit, she also looked steely-eyed and determined. Michelle had always been the strongest person he knew, and he suddenly felt very grateful for that. She was the glue that had kept the three of them together through all this.
Actually, the four of us now, Pil thought. Now we have Howard.
The young man was standing at the back bumper of the car, scanning the street like a guard dog. Several more cars were now in line behind them.
Turning back, Pil asked the attendant if he was the owner of the station, and the guy looked down at his work.
"Nope. The owner is... inside." Pil looked and saw the windows were broken out of the 7/11, and what looked like blood splattered against the cash register. The place had clearly been looted. He didn't ask for details.
The next car pulled out of line. Only two more now, and then they could get their gas and get the fuck out of here.
Slowly, Pil returned to their car, and Howard met him at the front bumper.
"Everything okay?" Howard asked.
"Yeah. I think that guy is a saint." Pil leaned down so he could talk in the open window to Michelle and Keith. "He's only giving out five gallons for each car."
Michelle nodded. "That sounds fair. That should be plenty. It will help if we run into trouble." She looked relieved to have Pil back with the car, and he saw her hands visibly unclench from the steering wheel. She shook them as if they were cramping. He was aware of her eyes on him, and when he turned to look, there was an unexpected smile on her face.
"Don't worry, Beastie," she said, and squeezed his hand through the open window. "We're going to be okay. It's a short drive up to Ogden."
Pil lifted her hand and kissed it. "If we get through this, it will be because of you. I don't know where you get your strength."
She leaned her head back and her eyes sparkled. Something Pil had not seen in days, or maybe weeks. "I get it from you, silly man," she said.
Within another five minutes, they were at the front of the line.
Pil and Howard stayed outside of the car, and Michelle pulled forward as the car in front of them, packed with what looked to be two families, pulled out and crept away down the deserted street, threading its way through a string of abandoned and burned-out vehicles. Pil looked back. There were probably eight or nine cars behind them now, and one was a stuffed Econoline van with a half-dozen more people clinging to the roof racks. As far as he could tell, they looked like ragged strangers that this driver must have picked up along the way.
I guess there are still some good people, he thought.
Howard was looking back at the van as well, and scanning the people clinging to the roof, as if he was trying to make sure they were all among the living. Pil watched him closely, knowing that any tick or flinch he saw in the young man's face might mean that danger had arrived. But at this moment, he looked calm and quiet.
As the attendant began to pump their gas, Pil was standing on the passenger side, looking out into the street. Howard was at the back of the car, looking west, up 1st South. He was clutching his tire iron with both hands. Pil bent down and looked in the passenger window. Keith was there in the back seat, looking very small, like a rabbit. They locked eyes for a moment, and Pil could see the terror painted across his face.
The sooner we get out of here, the better, he thought.
He heard the sound of Michelle rolling down her front window, and then her voice.
"Thank you for what you're doing..." he heard her say to the attendant.
When he looked back, Keith was pawing through a small backpack he was carrying, as if he was looking for something. With an exasperated groan, Pil heard him speak to Michelle, who turned around to look at him.
"I forgot my journals!" he moaned. "That's the main thing I didn't want to leave behind! All my poems and my memories of Richard are in there!"
"Don't worry, Pea," Michelle said, half turning to look over the seat. "It's going to be okay. We'll come back when this is over. I'm sure that the journal will be right where you left it."
Pil scanned the street. He saw that there was an apartment building across 1st South, and in the early morning sunlight he could see several faces, pressed up against the glass, watching the street below. He could also see a half dozen apartments with windows broken out. From one, a bloody hand hung, dripping red. Pil allowed his eyes to follow and found the small pool of blood splattered on the sidewalk below.
And yet, it's all so quiet. It's almost peaceful, Pil thought. If it weren't for the bodies in the street and the eerie silence, this would be just any other beautiful day in the city he called home...
When Howard screamed, Pil nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped around, already in a defensive posture, fists up, trying to focus in on Howard.
It all happened so fast, but to Pil, it felt like he was watching it in slow motion.
The first thing he saw was Howard rushing around the back of the car with his tire iron raised, and he was lunging toward the attendant. For a fraction of a second Pil thought Howard was going to strike the man with the weapon, or worse, that the attendant would draw the gun from his belt and put a bullet in Howard's forehead. But what he didn't expect was what happened next.
Before Howard could reach him, the attendant pulled the nozzle from the gas tank, still spraying gas like a garden hose. And he turned it directly toward Howard Gunderson. The spray hit the young man full in the face, and he faltered, sputtering. His swinging tire iron missed the attendant entirely and glanced off the gas pump. Howard went down hard, out of Pil's view, behind the car.
And then Pil watched in horror as the attendant turned the spray of gas directly into Michelle's still open window.
She brought up her hands in a desperate attempt to ward off the flow and turned her head away with a strangled cry. But the gasoline soaked her instantly, and splattered over the back of the seat and onto Keith, who was now screaming Michelle's name.
It was only for a second, but Pil stood frozen, trying to comprehend what he was witnessing. With a roar, he sprang to life. Later he would wish that he had sprung over the car itself to tackle the attendant, but instead, he acted on his most primal instinct, which was to get to Michelle. He ripped the passenger side door open so roughly it felt as if it would tear free of its hinges, and the smell of the gas hit him like a wave. He knew vaguely that the door next to him was also falling open, and Keith was struggling to get out, but his seat belt was still fastened.
Pil dove into the car and got one hand bunched into the front of Michelle's shirt, but she too was belted tightly into her seat. She was sputtering and whimpering and fumbling with her buckle, but before she could free it, Pil watched in horror through the open window as the attendant, now laughing like a maniac, flicked an old-fashioned cigarette lighter to life.
"No!" He screamed, and his right hand tried to claw at the window controls, past Michelle's lap.
A shot rang out at that moment, and everything froze.
A blossom of red appeared on the attendant's chest, and grew as Pil watched. The man was wavering. Instinctively, Pil glanced through the back window, and saw the man from the pickup truck, who was standing on the sidewalk and had a rifle to his shoulder. He was still aiming it at the attendant. A second shot rang out, and Pil saw blood spray out of the man's back as the bullet exited. But in horror, he realized that the man still held the cigarette lighter in his hand.
The flame was wavering, but it was still burning.
Michelle saw it too, and she turned to Pil in horror. She brought a hand up to his face, just as the man at the gas pump casually dropped the flaming lighter into the car.
Michelle looked at Pil with absolute terror. "Beastie?" she said. But the sound of it was cut off. The inside of the car exploded with a roar, blowing Pil backwards and into the street, a burning piece of Michelle's shirt still in his rigid hand.
The blast of the flames was almost as loud as Pil's scream, and as he gaped at the car in horror, he realized Keith was still there, in the back of the car. He hung half out of his door, like a rag doll, still attached by his belt. His arms were burning where the gas had soaked them, and his shirt was rapidly catching fire as well. With a feral roar, Pil was back in the flames. He never knew if he unbuckled Keith's belt, or simply ripped the fabric of it apart with his hands. But seconds later he and Keith were sprawled in a heap on the street. He tried to look into the flames, and for a heart-rending instant he saw Michelle flailing in the orange roar like a mad marionette. He could hear no screams from her as they were absorbed by the inferno.
Howard Gunderson was crawling behind the rear bumper of the car, miraculously not in flames, despite the soaked shirt, which he was tearing off even as he crab-walked away from the inferno the car was quickly becoming. Keith was gasping now, having regained consciousness from the blast, but he didn't seem to know where he was, or what had happened. And both of his arms were still on fire.
Screaming in panic, Pil tore Keith's shirt off his chest, rending it like tissue paper in his huge hands, burning bits of it flying in all directions. But even with the shirt gone, the flames were dancing on Keith's forearms, and he was staring at them numbly. Pil threw his body over Keith's, smothering the last of the dying flames. But his friend's forearms were now as red and raw as hamburger, with black, charred bits of the shirt embedded in the burns.
Strangely, the attendant was still standing, although he, too, was now in flames. The man was flailing wildly and laughing on the other side of the gas pumps. The pooled gas around his feet had gone up as well, and the flames were licking at the pumps.
The cars in the line were trying to flee. The closest ones were bumper to bumper, so there was no way for them to get out, and no time to try. The people in the first two cars had now abandoned them and ran. The cars at the back of the line were crashing back and forth into each other, and once the first got out, the entire line broke up like scattering mice.
Numb with horror and grief, Pil looked up and saw Howard Gunderson. He was standing shirtless now, staring into space, and holding his tire iron like a club. Pil knew instantly that he was looking at a ghost, which now must have finally fled the dying gas station attendant. The man lay silently in a heap now, burning and dead from the gunshot wounds.
For a moment it looked like Howard was ready to strike the empty air with the tire iron, but then he just sank to his knees, his eyes tracking a retreating, invisible presence down 1st South.
Keith and Pil were clinging to each other on the ground. Pil knew Keith was badly burned, and the knowledge that Michelle was gone flooded him with despair and anguish that felt like it might crush him out of existence. For a moment, he thought he might fling himself into the burning car, but instead he gripped Keith even more tightly, and let out a wordless scream.
And he heard that Keith was screaming now, too. He had suddenly registered the fact that Michelle was gone...
Howard was quickly on them and barking into their faces.
"We have to GO! This whole place is going to go up! PIL! WE HAVE TO GO! NOW!!!"
Pil would never understand how he did it. He would never understand from what depth of his soul he found the strength and the will to get to his feet. But he did. And he hauled Keith up with him, who was as limp as a rag. Howard pulled hard at his arm, and the next thing he knew, all three of them were running up 1st South. They fled east, the way they had come. Pil barely registered what Howard was saying as they ran.
"She came out of nowhere! I didn't see her in time! It was the little girl! The little ghost girl! It was Princess!"
They were half a block away when the explosion came, and the fireball rolled into the blue morning sky.
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