The next day, the snow had started to melt. This was my chance before we needed to leave. Carrie could now somewhat walk giving up the possibility to leave. I left for the gas station today. It’s a simple place, 3 pumps and a store with not much in it, but I'm just looking for anything. The roof is starting to fall in and appears weak. The front glass has been shattered, and blocked with wood planks. On the planks, the words “Leave! NO MORE GAS ” are spray painted.
I grab a small gas tank and fill my bag with some potato chips, chocolate, and other snacks. Before I leave I stand next to the motorcycle. Since it's on its side it's easy to transfer the gas, but after this, it's going to be more difficult. I drain the gas that it has giving me a gallon and a half. I scope out for a good car that does not have too many miles, is rather new, if possible, a stick shift, and is good on gas. I stop at the only place I can think of, Skidmore Used Motors your one-stop shop for all your automotive needs. Their one of those Shaddy used car dealerships where they will sell you an engine possum. It's only got some 30 cars but all are alright options. Today's special is a 2002 gray Ford Crown Victoria with 63,000 miles. Asking price $8,995. 2010 dark blue Nissan Maxima with some 19,000 miles. The asking price is $18,995, but today's pick is going to be a 2009 white Honda Fit with only 12,000 miles and an estimated 38 miles a gallon. Asking price? Im stealing the damn thing, only problem its an automatic. If I want to start It up I would need to jump it.
I break the front door to the dealer. It's a small building with only a desk and three doors. One with a glass window that says manager office I open the door, and I'm bashed in the head. Falling to the ground. I look back at an elderly man, with a long beard, and hair. He’s holding a shotgun to my head. I can barely make out his face. “You best be getting or I’ll shoot you ina’ two!” He yells out.
I step up trying to see if there is any way out of this. He then yells out “I’ll give you till the count of three! One!” I look around looking for the keys. “Two!” To be honest for living in the apocalypse I've never Delt with this. “Three!” I throw myself to the ground. He shoots, and the sound echoes through the room, but he missed. I pull out my knife and gab it into his leg causing him to fall back into the main room, dropping the shotgun. I grab it from him holding it up to his nose and yelling. “Now listen here, I don't know who you are but I don't want any problems, so shut up and I’ll leave!” I look in a cabinet with a million keys. I grab a black key with a silver H on the back, the tag says “09 Hon-Fit” I look back at him now his leg bleeding slowly. “You're just going to leave me to die ain't you.” I walk out and say back to him “In life, you have the good, the bad, and the ugly. This one is definitely ugly.”
I can't leave him for dead, he's now a bit of a liability but at the same time, I don't want to kill him. Any respectable man would have shot him, and gone, but not me. I pull out of my backpack an old magnum. And a few rounds. Loading one, hesitantly. I wish I could find any reason not to kill him. I caulk the gun and ask “Any last words”? “This world…” He takes a breath, and is about to pass out “Was hell to begin with!”
I am not a person of altercation, for being Clint Eastwood I don't like killing, but in this world, it's mainly kill or be killed, nobody really negotiates. I'm much of a coward but when I have to I will, not without hating myself for it first. Every day I wish for things to possibly return to what it once was. Civilized society, how much I miss it. We are not saints in this world that's for sure.
I unlock the Honda, shift it into neutral, and start pushing it back to the church. By now the sun was setting and about to turn into night. I park it out behind the church, and start up the truck, to jump the Honda’s battery. I open the hood and check the engine to see if everything is in line sparkplugs, air filter, and gas lines if all of these are good it should start, I need it to be reliable. After ensuring that there was no engine possum, I tried cranking it over to see if it would start. The engine's compression sounds good, and it cranks well but it won't start up. The fuel gauge is on E so I grabbed the gallon I had and used it.
It started up with no problem after that but it still read empty. Somebody must have drained it when things started. I shut off the truck, started to siphon the gas from it, and sent it to the Honda’s tank. Within a few minutes, the tank was already full, and I managed to get some 3 more gallons to keep as spear gas in an emergency. The car's tank alone should take us some 400 miles, if I take out the rear seats, and drive smother possibly 450. And the other 3 gallons can get us some 100 miles. I don't care where we go so long as it’s not here.
The sun has gone down now. I enter the church planning on what we need, food water, and all the rest. Carrie by now is alright, but I'm still worried about her. I can't stop worrying in fact. My mind shifts to almost a million different questions and possible outcomes, but I push on. I pack everything that I can place it in the car, and rest for a bit.
I wake up to Douglas pulling on my leg. It was midnight, no light whatsoever. But you can see him like a high visibility vest, shining no matter what. I grab a candle and light it, allowing a bit of visibility. He keeps waiting for me as if he wants to show me something.
I follow him to the back door. He has started to claw the back door as if he is trying to leave. But why would he want to leave? I look around the area, only fog and the two cars. I look down but Douglas is now gone I walk out and he once again is waiting for me. He runs back to the bathroom and jumps to the broken window. He’s standing on the ledge looking out to the right.
I look out the window, but there is nothing. Fog, and melting snow. Until I hear it. The sound of a motorcycle engine starts getting closer and closer, but it isn't one. 3 motorcycles pull up and stop at the intersection.
I have just about seen enough. I run out and to the front row. Grab the car keys, and wake Carrie. I don't say anything but I show her the keys and point to the door. I think she gets it.
By now I hear the front door moving. It's blocked but it is clear that they know we’re here. I grab Doug and run for the back door. Carrie follows along slowly taking the radio with her. I lock the back door. And hop in the car. I put the key in and crank it, but there is nothing. “You are not doing this today!” I yell out panicking. I crank it aging. It starts. I shift it into drive and floor it down the road. Hitting one of their bikes along the way causing them all to domino their way to the ground. It will hopefully buy us some time, and not kill the car, like the last time I pulled a stunt like that.
I steer to the left merging onto the highway now heading in the general direction of Corpus Christi. I slow down the car a bit making sure it's in overdrive and on the lowest RPM possible. If you own a car now, you have to hypermile it until the gas tank has nothing but cobwebs left in it. The sun is now starting to rise almost directly in front of me. I passed a road sign “Corpus Christi 40 Miles”. I'll be there in an hour. Let's just hope I don't find myself in any trouble.
I arrived in Portland Texas just outside of Corpus Christi. Route 181 is fully blocked off allowing no way into town. Anything south of Moore Avenue is closed off. I pull up to Moore Avenue and pull into a Chevron gas station next to the highway exit. There is a line of cars waiting for gas. The Line is so long that if you stood in the middle you couldn’t see the beginning or end of it. It’s a reminder of the '70s gas crisis in a way. The gas sign shows the worst days before the government fell. “Half gallon $7.95. Full Gallon $15.90” In small letters under the price there is written in white paint. “All sales are rounded to the next Quarter dollar.” These were in the days of stagnant inflation and overall chaos after all trade shut down. We once again resorted to selling gas at half a gallon. The price got so high that the machine couldn't count ten-plus dollars a gallon.
The area is lined with dead and drying palm trees. Palm trees are dead to the point that they are dyed in a shade of brown, and falling over. I shut off the car hop out, and enter the gas station. The front door has the Iconic “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service” and under it, in a fading red sharpy, it says “CASH ONLY” The place is in all right shape, not much has been looted, and it appears as if all it needs is a good cleaning to have it open up for business again. I look around find a Starr County road map, and start marking off all the roads and possible options to get into the city.
Fort Starr is on the south side of Corpus Christi which from what I remember is where Carrie was located. Maybe If I make it there they could help us and Carrie with her injury. For now, I just need to manage to get into the city. The 181 is closed, and so is Interstate 37 from what I remember. From what I can tell the best course of action is to take the 361 through Port Aransas, and then cross the JFK Causeway into the Bay Area of the city.
I hop into the car and place the folded map in the sun visor showing the first half of the route, all the way till I enter Mustang Island. I start to drive off and make my way to Route 361. The sun has fully risen and the snow has fully melted by now but with the snow gone, the fog has gotten more intense. I look back for a moment, Doug is sitting quietly in my hat. I feel naked without my hat, but at the same time, I don't mind that he is using it.
By now Carrie was starting to wake up, the sun for how blocked it can be from the fog sometimes will bother your eyes. She stretches and adjusts her seat. “I heard a theory that on Mustang Island and only Mustang Island, there is no fog, and you can see the ocean clear as day,” she said. She starts looking out the window to her right. She then asks “You're going to Fort Starr aren't you?” “Yep. Might as well go somewhere safe” I say with some optimism. “I just want to settle down. Stop moving.” “Well, cowboy I don't know if they’ll let you in because you don't have any sort of clearance.”
As I was about to cross the Port Bridge, through all the fog, and parked cars the bridge collapsed. I slammed the brakes, leaning me forward, and only giving me a few feet to spare from the edge. I reverse the car back, giving a couple of feet from the edge. “Did you get your license out of a Happy Meal?” Carrie asked annoyed. She grabs Doug from the back and checks on him while I grab the map and look at any other options. Looking over the map there are only two ways into Mustang Island, Port Bridge and the J.F.K. Crouseway.
Every Entrance to Corpus Christi is closed off. Mustang Island, Route 181, and Interstate 37. All other options are from the south. Corpus Christi Bay is blocking up from every angle. “Carrie, how do you get into the base?” I ask. She grabs the CB Radio, but before she says anything, she says. “Park the car by the docks.” She says while connecting the Radio. Tunes it on Channel 37 and says “This is Raven in need of a pickup via boat”. There is silence for a few till there is a response from the other side. “Understood, one will be out in 10 minutes.”
I park the car behind a rusting red wagon and hop out. All I can see is the ledge and nothing after the fog. Carrie opens the door, leaning her body weight on the door, as not to put stress on her leg. “So why are we waiting here?” I ask. She pulls out of her pocket a broken wristwatch and then says. “We own and run Mustang Island ever since the Navy base got burned.”
I grab Doug from the car, keeping him on my shoulders while I grab everything else. I hear a small motor getting closer and closer, but I see nothing. It takes a minute, but a small wooden single-engine boat pulls up and docks next to the edge.