The Last Handful of Clover - Book 3: The Stone in the Stream

3.14 The Saint at the Pump

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.