Unprepared Read online

  Kelly looked up from her phone and met David’s gaze.

  “Oh. No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, worried he'd implied she had been unemployed too long.

  “I know you’re joking, Dave. I’m just giving you ‘the stare’. You know I’m desperate to get back to work again. My last job sucked and I was glad to leave, but shit. I’m sick of being out of work. It’s been like four months now.”

  The server brought over their food and coffee, while the TV in the corner of the cafe was playing CNN. It was admittedly a nice start to their day, even if the whole thing was ultimately a waste of time.

  “Uh oh, what’s he up to now?” David said, while pointing at the television with a corner of toast.

  Footage of President Trump was showing on the screen. It was old footage, taken during his historical meeting with the ‘Supreme Leader’ of North Korea, Kim Jong Un. The text on the base of the screen read NORTH KOREA THREATENS WAR.

  “What do they want now?” Kelly asked. “I thought things were all smoothed things out with North Korea after the summit?”

  “Kel, it’s CNN. If I spilled my coffee they’d report it as a major environmental disaster. They’re nothing but clickbait journalism in televised form,” David stated. “It’ll be nothing as usual.”

  “True. And even if North Korea declared war on us, what are they gonna do? Throw spitballs?” Kelly joked.

  “Well, they could throw food… oh, wait, no they can’t,” laughed David.

  “Yep. That country’s poorer than a gender studies graduate,” Kelly joked.

  Technically, David was right. North Korea had nothing. No food, no freedom and no economy. However they did have something: they had an intercontinental ballistic missile. That, and endless threats.

  In mid-2018, President Trump met with Kim in Singapore, with the media eating it all up. There were promises of peace, North Korea took down their anti-US propaganda and they began to disassemble their intercontinental ballistic missile launch sites - or at least they said.

  It looked genuinely hopeful. But, new intelligence was revealing that it was all just a show.

  In North Korea’s typical style, they commenced issuing threats of war until they received what they wanted, then they backed down, before threatening again for something new. It’d been this way for years. It was normal. The only difference is that now they had a dangerous weapon which they kept a closely guarded secret. The ultimate weapon, in fact.

  But they wouldn’t dare use it. The missile was just a bargaining tool. It remained unlikely that they even had the technology to get it off the ground.

  ◆

  Finishing their breakfast and using the bathroom, it was time to hit the road. The news, although sensationalized, gave the impression that Lynchburg had escaped without any serious damage, other than a few signs blowing over and the local rivers and creeks being a little higher than normal. Sitting back in the car, David called the office. There was no answer, so he found his boss’s cell phone number and called that instead.

  “Hi Paul, it’s Dave. How’s things there?”

  Kelly listened, while the voice on the other end of the phone spoke, inaudibly.

  “Oh that’s good to hear. Yeah, Kel and I left yesterday after work. We’re in Colonial Heights. It’s in Tennessee, about two hundred miles away.”

  David’s boss continued to speak. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but David seemed calm and upbeat, so it must be all OK back home.

  “That’s a relief. I was worried it would have blown away,” said David. “We’re about to head back up now. Are we opening today?”

  Kelly could hear from the tone in Paul’s answer that he was calm.

  “OK, no problem,” David continued. “In that case I’ll see you tomorrow.... Alright… See ya.”

  David pressed the end call button on his phone’s display and turned to Kelly, smiling. “Well, guess who’s got the day off?” he asked.

  “Oh, that’s good, babe. No stress for us today then. Let’s head home.”

  Chapter two

  Unprepared

  Driving from Colonial Heights, Tennessee, to Lynchburg, Virginia takes around three and half hours, providing you’re not facing unusually heavy traffic flow. Unfortunately, heavy traffic is exactly what all motorists on the I-81 faced, as what seemed like half the state was attempting to return home. David and Kelly were among those early returners, of course.

  Most evacuees had no doubt planned to stay with friends or relatives inland for up to a week, so many were still at their inland places of refuge. But in the age of the Internet, information about the sudden weakness of Hurricane Henriette spread quickly, and some attempted to beat the rush home. The result was traffic not unlike what they saw the day before, when they attempted to flee, but heading in the other direction.

  After two boring hours of driving, the conversation had withered away. Both driver and passenger stared blankly through the windshield as the cars edged forward.

  Kelly readjusted in her seat.

  “Maybe we should try taking the regular roads,” she suggested.

  She picked up her phone and opened the Waze application, looking for alternative routes.

  “If we take exit 81, we can get off the interstate and take the I-77 inland. We'd be able to get off the interstate all together and make our own way home via the back roads. In this traffic it says it’ll take the same amount of time, maybe a bit longer, but at least we’ll be moving.”

  “How far away is that exit?” David asked.

  “Uhm. Hang on.” Kelly scrolled and pinched at her phone.

  “Not far. About six miles from here.”

  The idea sounded excellent. After now almost three hours behind the wheel, David was eager to feel the sensation of actual movement, even if there was no real time saving advantage. The wait for exit 81 was eternal when traveling at twenty miles per hour, but eventually it appeared. Turning off that highway was a voyage into the unknown, but the change alone was beautiful.

  The journey inland was worth the stress relief, but it came at a cost. The trusty Toyota might be reliable enough to survive a movie-style zombie apocalypse, but without gas, it wasn't going anywhere. With its gas needle falling closer and closer to the white ‘E’ at the bottom of its dashboard display, David was on the lookout for a gas station, aware of how heavy his foot had been on the journey so far. Meanwhile, Kelly was trying to look for the nearest gas station online, though her cell phone signal was weak on the hilly side roads.

  “Oh thank God,” David said, some miles later, causing Kelly to look up from her phone.

  “Oh good,” she said, with the view of the Copper Hill gas station and hardware store appearing in front of them.

  Laughing, David admitted, “I was, uh, actually getting a bit worried there. Got some range anxiety seeping through. I can unclench my butt now!”

  Kelly gave a laugh as the Toyota pulled into the gas station, stopping in front of pump number four. While the pumps were all available, the place looked like one of those gas stations that also sell a few cars out the front. There were about fifteen late model cars all parked off to the side.

  David flipped the gas cap and got out of the vehicle, looking forward to stretching his legs. The attendant came out of the building and walked over to him.

  “Sorry bud. We’re outta gas,” were the first words out of the attendant’s mouth.

  “Oh shit. Seriously?” said Kelly, overhearing.

  “‘Fraid so. That hurricane caused a run on us, draining our tanks last night and we’re still waiting for the tanker truck. They reckon it should be here in about an hour.”

  “I guess that explains all those cars,” David said, pointing to the fifteen vehicles parked to the side of the gas station.

  “Yep. Most people took the risk and carried on. There’s another gas station fifteen miles down the road, but they’re empty too. Some of the car owners realized the situation is pointless so they’re
sitting inside, buying drinks and sandwiches. Tell you what, it’s been good for business, if nothing else,” the attendant joked.

  “If you two want, you can park up next to those cars and wait too. Just leave enough space for the tanker truck to get in here.

  David looked at Kelly. They both knew what each other was thinking.

  “Nah, it’s OK. We’ll carry on. We still have a bit of gas left in the tank. Just wanted to be extra safe and fill it right up, even though we can make it home. Thanks anyway, though,” David said to the attendant.

  The attendant smiled, not worried about losing business when he had a captive audience waiting in his store.

  “Alright then. You two drive safe,” he said.

  The gas light was glowing orange on the dashboard.

  “We need to find a discreet place to fill up,” David said, getting nervous. They didn’t want to mention on the gas station forecourt that they actually had a four gallon container full of gas in the back of the car. The last thing they wanted was to be the target of some frenzied bidding war, as people with much more money attempt to buy the gas off them for ten times its value.

  And, considering what they saw back in Lynchburg, when four adults devolved to brawling for water - in the rain, no less - they both knew it was prudent to keep such information undisclosed.

  ◆

  Telling people you have what they need in a time of crisis can only lead to escalated consequences. Not only that, the number one rule of being a “prepper” is never to tell anyone you’re a prepper.

  ◆

  “There. That gravel driveway. Behind those trees,” Kelly said, pointing.

  David braked and pulled the car off the road. The gas needle was pointing lower than he’d seen it before.

  “It must be running on fumes,” he said, as he turned the car around, so that the gas filler cap was facing away from the road, then he stopped the engine.

  Kelly lifted the trunk hatch and, carefully looking around, removed the four gallon gas container from the back, placing it around the side of the car.

  The average observer would never have known there was a gas shortage sweeping the state, as there still seemed to be cars passing by every ten or twenty seconds on this winding country road. Perhaps they were all in the same situation?

  “You know, that explains why we’ve seen so many breakdowns,” Kelly said, fishing out the funnel from inside the back of the car.

  “I reckon most of them are just out of gas,” she added.

  “Makes sense,” David responded.

  “Remember last night at the gas station by the highway? Some of those folks are probably still there now. They’re lucky the hurricane was a flop.”

  David screwed the spout onto the top of the gas container’s mouth and waited.

  Another car went by.

  They stood there in silence; the rear of their car partly concealed by a tree on this empty driveway leading somewhere around a corner.

  Silence.

  “Go. Do it now,” Kelly said quickly, looking towards the road, listening intently.

  “OK.”

  He lifted the four gallon container up and quickly aimed the spout into the gas tank's gaping esophagus. Tilting it, the distinct sound of gasoline sloshing down the spout began. The container weighed about eight pounds, but was getting lighter with each second.

  “Stop! Car!” Kelly said.

  David yanked the spout out of the car’s gas filler and it fumbled in his hands. A stream of gasoline flowed out as it slipped from his fingers and landed on its side, pouring precious fuel all over the dusty driveway.

  “Fuck!” he said, grabbing it and standing it upright as a car went past; its occupants looking through the car window in their direction, craning their necks before disappearing around the next bend in the road.

  The two stood motionless next to the car.

  “Do you think they saw anything?” he asked. Kelly didn’t immediately answer as she was busy listening to hear if the car would turn around.

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “Besides. Maybe they didn’t need gas. Maybe they live locally.”

  David picked up the container and continued pouring its contents into the car’s tank.

  “I might have lost us a few miles by spilling that gas.”

  “Shit babe, don’t worry about it. The gas stations on the highways are probably refueled by now anyway,” said Kelly, reassuringly.

  “Besides,” she added, “Worst case scenario: even if the gas stations are all still empty, we have more gas at home. We just have to make it back.”

  It was ridiculous that they had to refill their car in such a clandestine manner. It was just a few gallons of gas. The world hadn’t fallen apart. They were in a first world country.

  “I actually think we’re overreacting. No one’s gonna stop us and try to buy our gas from us... Or worse. I mean, yesterday was different, with those guys and the water. The hurricane was coming and everyone was on edge. But it’s all good now. I reckon we’re being paranoid,” said David.

  While waiting for the last few ounces to slide down the spout and into the car’s filler hole he did some basic math.

  “I think we’ll be OK. It’s what… about seventy miles to get home? The car gets around twenty-one miles per gallon. I put in four gallons-”

  “Well, almost,” Kelly interrupted with a smile.

  “Hehe, almost,” chuckled David.

  The last few drops left the container. David gave it a shake. Every droplet was another foot of vehicular movement and there was no guarantee all the gas stations back in Lynchburg had been replenished yet.

  David put the now-empty container on the ground, just as a red SUV drove past. The occupants looked over at them, standing behind their vehicle, with its back positioned behind a tree. The SUV continued onwards, going out of sight as it followed the curve in the road.

  “What the hell is everyone looking at. We’re just two people standing behind a car,” David said, mildly annoyed at the inquisitive passers-by.

  “They probably just think we pulled off the road for a quickie,” Kelly said.

  David paused for a moment and silently contemplated sex in the car once more.

  Kelly laughed.

  “I know what you’re thinking!”

  “What?” he responded, smiling.

  “I know you,” she laughed. “This is Bible Belt territory. Sex is basically illegal here unless it’s for making a quiver-full of babies. Let’s just get home and have a shower.”

  Kelly picked up the empty gas container and put it back in the car, closing the rear hatch.

  “Here,” she said, pulling out a packet of wet wipes and handing them to David. He opened the packet, took out a moist towelette and wiped the smelly spilled gas residue off his hands. He then tucked the scrunched-up wet wipe in the back of the car and got behind the wheel. Kelly resumed her position as navigator in the passenger seat. Turning the key, the Toyota sprung into life and the gas needle began to rise up like Icarus flying toward the sun. Unlike Icarus, however, the needle only went up a fifth of the way.

  “I'm pretty sure that should be enough to get back. I reckon we’ll be home in a couple of hours,” he said as he slipped the shifter into “D” and released the parking brake.

  ◆

  Hypermiling, meaning driving as economically as possible by feathering the accelerator and adjusting a vehicle’s speed well in advance of corners and other motorists’ actions, is only really fun when it’s optional. Ask any early adopter of city electric cars, with their small batteries and short driving ranges, and they’ll tell you that driving economically is a bore, especially if there are cars close behind you, desperate to go faster. When seriously hypermiling, your butt hole is constantly clenched, concerned about getting a gentle run-up before every hill, while trying not to piss off everyone behind you. It’s a fine line between driving so slowly that you become a dangerous hazard on the road, a
nd driving fast enough in order to not annoy your fellow motorists, but doing so at the risk of possibly running out of fuel or electricity before you reach your destination.

  ◆

  David was treading a fine line between economy and speed. On the single-lane, twisty back roads heading to Lynchburg, there really weren't a lot of opportunities for the seven cars behind them to pass, either. This meant David and Kelly weren’t really making a lot of friends on their slow and methodical journey back.

  They were too far from the interstate to make it worth changing course and getting back on it, and besides, the closer they got to home, the heavier the traffic would be.

  It was now getting close to 2 PM and the journey had taken much longer than anticipated. The traffic, the back roads and the stops all took their toll and the fun was quickly draining from the journey home.

  The town of Bedford was about five miles ahead and Kelly tried to lighten the mood by changing what was being played on the car stereo. They had been listening to a recent album by Sting featuring the artist known as Shaggy, but neither of them thought it was Sting’s best work. Kelly connected the stereo to her phone via Bluetooth, ending the “Mr. Boombastic” singer mid-sentence.

  “Oh thank God. I was starting to get sick of that,” David said. “I mean, I get Shaggy. He has some good songs. But partnering with Sting? It’s like oil and water. Sting is… Sting. But Shaggy? Shit. The guy has all the vocal range of a car horn.”

  Kelly let out a chuckle, phone in hand. She decided on a comedy podcast and clicked the play button on her phone. After a second, the stereo replaced the voice of Shaggy with the voice of comedian Bill Burr. The podcast launched in the middle of an episode, straight to the point where Kelly was last listening two days ago. The comedian was giving relationship advice to those who dared to write in to his show. His last listener had asked him for advice on a cheating spouse. In his usual comic style, Bill Burr went on a rambling tale of sports references and anecdotes, before coming to the obvious conclusion that the relationship had to end.