He turned and walked to the next vehicle, an ancient mini-pickup from the 70s. “What the hell is a Luv?” He snorted as he poked his head in the window. “Looks like a wind-up toy.”
He reached around the steering wheel and felt the keys dangling from the ignition. “Well, son of a bitch. One. One fucking car with the keys in it.”
He pulled the door open and slid behind the wheel. “Jeezus…I’ve got shoes bigger than this thing.” He pushed the clutch in and held the brake as he twisted the key. The engine barely turned before the starter solenoid began to click.
“Mother…” He paused and stared at the little truck. “Maybe I can push it?”
He wiggled the gear shift to ensure it was in neutral then hopped out of the truck. “Please start you little piece of…” He leaned into the cab and pushed. The little truck slowly began to roll, gravel crunching under the tires as it moved. He pushed harder, cresting a very brief high spot in the road and felt the truck gain speed as it started down the other side.
Simon ran to keep up with the truck then jumped in behind the wheel. He shoved the gear shifter into third then popped the clutch. He felt the truck shudder before the engine turned over and the tiny four cylinder barked to life.
He smiled to himself as he revved the engine and turned the wheel. “Finally. Something goes my way.”
He drove the tiny pickup to where the SUV had given up on the side of the highway entrance ramp and parked beside it. He kept the engine running and set the parking brake before slipping out and transferring the boxes to the bed of the truck.
“This is just sad.” He shook his head as he stacked the remaining boxes in the bed. “I can fit more shit in a damned car than in the bed of this truck.”
He set the last box in the passenger seat and winced at just how much room it took up. “I need a actual truck.” He slammed the driver’s door then released the brake. “I need me a truck that ate its Wheaties growing up and became a REAL truck.” He revved the engine and eased the clutch out, feeling the Matchbox toy shudder under the added weight of the booze.
“I need a truck with a real clutch is what I need.” Simon drove the vehicle slowly, watching the sun crest over the horizon. “With any luck, I can go car shopping again and find me something more befitting my stature.”
He reached for the half-empty bottle and opened the cap with his teeth. “But first…breakfast!”
Chapter 20
Hatcher bent low and picked up the pieces of the rag doll. He quickly slipped it into a trash bag and rolled it up. He nodded to the sentry, who seemed more intent on watching the sun come up.
He slipped back into his office and dropped the rag corpse into the trash. He’d rather do away with the evidence than upset a child finding the doll destroyed.
He moved slowly, methodically, back to the chair, careful not to aggravate his bruised ribs. He would have sworn that the blows to his middle at least cracked a few, but Vicky was certain they were only bruised. Unfortunately for him though, bruised ribs took longer to stop hurting than broken ones.
The treatment for both was the same. Wrap the area tightly and take an anti-inflammatory. Hatcher groaned as he sat in his office chair. He pulled the wool blanket up to his chest and slowly closed his eyes. Sleeping was easier to do sitting up than lying down. Besides, getting up from a horizontal position with a rib injury was nearly impossible.
It had seemed as though he’d barely closed his eyes when the building came to life. He blinked awake and stared at the bodies flowing past as traffic through the main foyer picked up. A quick glance to the wall clock suggested that four hours had passed, but he honestly couldn’t see how.
His door opened and Roger stepped in. “Ready to eat?”
Hatcher shook his head. “Just coffee for me.”
Roger nodded then reached for the coffee pot. “I’ll get this going for you.” He cast a furtive glance to the man. “You sleep in here last night?”
Hatcher yawned. “If you want to call it sleep.” He sat up slowly in his chair. “It hurts too much to lay down.”
Roger stepped back from the coffee pot and let it do its thing. He turned back to Hatcher and sat across from him. “I want to bounce something off you.”
Hatcher raised a brow. “Just don’t bounce it off my ribs.” He smiled at his weak attempt at humor.
“Candy had this idea last night and I kind of like it. I thought I’d run it by you first.” Hatcher gave him a curious stare, willing him on. “She said there’s a shop across town that dealt with all kinds of off the wall stuff…including ham radios.” He waited while Hatcher’s mind processed the idea.
“To what purpose?”
“Well, the military tracked you down when they wanted a guide to the park. If we had radios, we might could call them back. Or find other survivors.” He shrugged. “It would be kind of nice to get a picture of what’s going on outside of these walls.”
Hatcher nodded slowly. “That’s actually a really good idea.”
Roger held his hands up. “That’s not to say that we’ll actually reach anybody; who knows who does and doesn’t have power, or the ability to convert batteries to wall power. It’s all one big shot in the dark.”
Hatcher nodded, sitting more upright. “No, I get it. But it’s still a good idea.”
Roger eyed him carefully. “We were discussing this outside Vicky’s place.”
“And?”
“Mike overheard. His dad was a big HAM radio guy.” Roger blew his breath out and gave Hatcher a knowing look. “He wants to go with us.”
Hatcher’s eyes widened
