edge, maybe on the edge of sanity. Anything could happen.
Quickly, he shifted the pistol’s aim and fired, three fast shots, chest, shoulder, face. Siobhan dropped, dead. David leaped on top of Hector and they fell, rolling and fighting. Everyone scattered. The gun went off again, once, twice. If this was The Oasis, it was crumbling. There was nothing we could do to fix it. We ran.
13
Interstate 95 runs up and down the entire East Coast, connecting most of the big cities. In between long stretches of pavement sided by nothing but trees, there were clusters of strip malls and office developments sitting along the highway. If you couldn’t find it along 95, you couldn’t find it anywhere. We weren’t really looking for anything in particular, except food and nightly shelter, but then we saw it: an RV dealership. The sign promised comfortable living and happy families traveling across the country. The appeal was instantly overwhelming: our own vehicle, to make the travel faster, to carry our gear, to keep us out of bad weather... and most importantly, to sleep in safely every night. Unfortunately, we weren’t the only people to think that. The dealership was pretty much cleaned out. There were a couple of huge vehicles left, but peering through the window I could see I didn’t have a clue how to drive them. There was a pickup truck with a camper trailer, but that would mean two separate, self-contained spaces to worry about — the truck cockpit and the camper interior. Around back, we got lucky, coming across a smallish integrated RV that might have been the owners’ private ride. It was locked. Rosa went to the dealership office and tried the door. It, too, was locked, so she broke a small window, reached through, and let herself in. She had to step over a dead body, desiccated beyond recognition, with wisps of clothing and the last remnants of skin and hair clinging to its greyish form. She tried drawers and cabinets, and ended up with a ridiculous number of keys. Back at the RV, she tried nearly every one until finally the door opened, and she jumped into the driver’s seat.
“Okay, now what?” she asked.
I checked the tires and found them in passable condition. “Do you know how to drive one of these things?” I asking, moving over to look at the range of dials and controls in front of her.
“I don’t know how to drive. Period. I never got a license because I lived in the city.” Rosa smirked.
“I used to drive a ‘luxury sedan,’” I said. “That seems like another lifetime.” Rosa hopped out and I got behind the wheel. I put the key in the ignition and turned it. Nothing.
“When I was a teenager, my parents made me learn a little bit about cars,” I said as I reached under the dashboard, looking for the hood release. I pulled it, and the RV’s hood popped free with a kachunk . I moved to the front of the RV. “I’m thinking it’s the battery. I doubt it could sit here for 10 years, or even just a few years, depending on the last time it ran.” I opened the hood and there was the dead battery, mottled with corrosion, mocking me.
“What do we do?” Rosa asked.
“Well, two ideas come to mind. First, we push this baby over to a downhill slope and hope that we can pop the clutch and get ’er started.” I could tell that my sarcasm was lost on Rosa, the non-driver. “But given that this is an automatic transmission, that’s out of the question.”
She peered at me from the driver’s side window. “Plan B?”
“I have a thin hope that our RV dealer friend was also into disaster preparation. Let’s look around.” We went back to the office and dug around, then wandered through a door and into a small workroom. Looking carefully, I found something I hadn’t seen in several decades: a trickle battery charger. I put it on a countertop. I found some tools and was able to disconnect the battery from the RV and bring it back into the
Quickly, he shifted the pistol’s aim and fired, three fast shots, chest, shoulder, face. Siobhan dropped, dead. David leaped on top of Hector and they fell, rolling and fighting. Everyone scattered. The gun went off again, once, twice. If this was The Oasis, it was crumbling. There was nothing we could do to fix it. We ran.
13
Interstate 95 runs up and down the entire East Coast, connecting most of the big cities. In between long stretches of pavement sided by nothing but trees, there were clusters of strip malls and office developments sitting along the highway. If you couldn’t find it along 95, you couldn’t find it anywhere. We weren’t really looking for anything in particular, except food and nightly shelter, but then we saw it: an RV dealership. The sign promised comfortable living and happy families traveling across the country. The appeal was instantly overwhelming: our own vehicle, to make the travel faster, to carry our gear, to keep us out of bad weather... and most importantly, to sleep in safely every night. Unfortunately, we weren’t the only people to think that. The dealership was pretty much cleaned out. There were a couple of huge vehicles left, but peering through the window I could see I didn’t have a clue how to drive them. There was a pickup truck with a camper trailer, but that would mean two separate, self-contained spaces to worry about — the truck cockpit and the camper interior. Around back, we got lucky, coming across a smallish integrated RV that might have been the owners’ private ride. It was locked. Rosa went to the dealership office and tried the door. It, too, was locked, so she broke a small window, reached through, and let herself in. She had to step over a dead body, desiccated beyond recognition, with wisps of clothing and the last remnants of skin and hair clinging to its greyish form. She tried drawers and cabinets, and ended up with a ridiculous number of keys. Back at the RV, she tried nearly every one until finally the door opened, and she jumped into the driver’s seat.
“Okay, now what?” she asked.
I checked the tires and found them in passable condition. “Do you know how to drive one of these things?” I asking, moving over to look at the range of dials and controls in front of her.
“I don’t know how to drive. Period. I never got a license because I lived in the city.” Rosa smirked.
“I used to drive a ‘luxury sedan,’” I said. “That seems like another lifetime.” Rosa hopped out and I got behind the wheel. I put the key in the ignition and turned it. Nothing.
“When I was a teenager, my parents made me learn a little bit about cars,” I said as I reached under the dashboard, looking for the hood release. I pulled it, and the RV’s hood popped free with a kachunk . I moved to the front of the RV. “I’m thinking it’s the battery. I doubt it could sit here for 10 years, or even just a few years, depending on the last time it ran.” I opened the hood and there was the dead battery, mottled with corrosion, mocking me.
“What do we do?” Rosa asked.
“Well, two ideas come to mind. First, we push this baby over to a downhill slope and hope that we can pop the clutch and get ’er started.” I could tell that my sarcasm was lost on Rosa, the non-driver. “But given that this is an automatic transmission, that’s out of the question.”
She peered at me from the driver’s side window. “Plan B?”
“I have a thin hope that our RV dealer friend was also into disaster preparation. Let’s look around.” We went back to the office and dug around, then wandered through a door and into a small workroom. Looking carefully, I found something I hadn’t seen in several decades: a trickle battery charger. I put it on a countertop. I found some tools and was able to disconnect the battery from the RV and bring it back into the
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