The Last 3 Days (08): Who Doesn't Love a Road Trip?

Previous chapter - The Last 3 Days (07): Tell me, Where Will you Go?

All published chapters can be found here.

57:38:42

Dressed now in jeans and a T-shirt and perched on the edge of his bed, Nick paused his video game and cocked his head to listen. The house was quiet.

Lying on his bed behind him was an open knapsack stuffed with clothes.

As quietly as possible, he unplugged his game system, selected a couple of games and then discovered not everything would fit. He pulled the clothes out and packed the games and system. There was barely room for a handful of underwear, a couple of T-shirts and his deodorant.

Shouldering the knapsack, he paused briefly at the door before carefully twisting the latch. He slid through and closed it behind him.

57:26:54

Parked a short distance away from Jay’s apartment block, Ryan and his friends waited for Jay.

Bobby noticed a lone figure on foot. “Is that him?”

The figure resolved into a young man as he entered the halo of light cast by the building’s security halides.

Ryan lowered a wad of wet paper towels from his bruised and swollen eye and squinted through the windshield. “No. Hold on. It’s him — the kid that did this. The one that’s hot for Becky. Get him — “

57:26:39

Hitting ‘Redial’ on his phone with one hand, Nick pressed the buzzer for his friend’s apartment using the other.

Jay’s voice answered. Finally. “Where are you?” He listened as Jay spoke. “I’m at your place. Can I crash on your couch tonight? Thanks. I’ll explain when you get here.”

As he closed his phone, he felt himself pulled off balance and falling backwards. His reflex was to throw his arms out. The phone flew from his hand.

His impact with the concrete path was softened by his game system as it sacrificed itself.

Shadows hovered above him, briefly, silhouettes against the light, and then blows and kicks seemed to arrive from everywhere at once and all he could do was curl up and cover his head with his arms.

Eventually, a voice said, “Now what?”

Ryan studied Dave for a moment. Then a huge grin spread across his face. He took in the others and then answered Dave. “Road trip. Put him in the trunk.”

51:03:43

Nick groaned as the sun’s first rays hit his face. He grabbed for his blanket and went to roll over, but repeatedly failing to find it roused him.

As he came fully awake his body reminded him of his beating from the night before. The pain was absolute — there was no part of him where nerves didn’t scream. He felt broken and was terrified it might well be true. Yet he couldn’t remain where he was — where was he, anyway — and he needed to know how badly he was hurt.

In tiny increments, he tested his legs, straightening them. The joints functioned. Next his arms, though his right elbow was so stiff he worried it was broken. It was asleep, numb from supporting his head against the rough scrub.

Scrub? He sat up and gazed around. The landscape was alien as the moon.

He rolled onto his hands and knees, cried out as he straightened his back. He paused to take a few deep breaths and summon his resolve before he stood, and then struggled to find his balance.

Slowly, his awareness spread beyond the pains of his body and he spun in a slow circle, incredulous. He saw nothing resembling a landmark.

“What the — Where am I?”

He shivered. Night had yet to relinquish her last temperate defiance against the day. Nick wrapped his arms around himself and looked for his jacket. It wasn’t there.

Lost for what to do next, he looked at the lifeless sandy soil, a barren ocean littered with sparse islands of coarse yellow grass. Then an aberration caught his eye. A pair of long, shallow, straight depressions in the sand.

Tire tracks, leading into the distance. Lacking any other option, he followed them.

49:38:13

Don pushed through the densely packed precinct lobby, one hand protectively covering his holster, and ignored the demands and questions of those seeking help. He could not recall this many people needing police assistance at the same time.

He twisted and side-stepped his way to a metal door in the corner of the room and swiped his ID across a scanner on the wall. The front service counter stood a few yards away and yet was hidden by the crowd.

He pulled at the heavy door and hurried in before it closed on his ankle again.

In complete contrast to the lobby, the squad room was empty. The neat rows of desks seemed somehow derelict without their human partners. The only officers besides himself manned the counter.

The solid crack of the door latch drew a glance from his Sargeant. “Burns. Thank God.”

“Where is everybody?”

The Sargeant shrugged. “Home with their families. Can’t blame them. I’d probably do the same.”

Don approached the counter, studying the crowd. “So we’re it?”

49:23:43

A short, upbeat jingle animated the logo of local affiliate television station KQTS. When the jingle ended, the logo stopped spinning. A deep, disembodied voice said, “This is a KQTS update. KQTS. You heard it here first.”

The voice brought Anne from the kitchen, coffee cup in hand.

The news anchor was serious about staying until the end. Dressed in a different suit with his hair as perfect as any other day, still his make-up could not erase the shadows under his eyes.

He seemed reluctant to share what he must. “An anonymous leak from the United Nations emergency session last night confirms our worst fears. Earth — “

His voice broke, but he cleared his throat and pressed on, a true professional.

“Earth will be struck — “ He paused and touched his ear. Hope washed over his face. “The United Nations is issuing a statement. We’re going live to — “

The screen abruptly changed to the UN General Assembly and a packed house. A spokesman entered from a side door and crossed to a podium surrounded by the flags of the world’s nations.

He began without introduction. “Good morning. I have a brief statement from the emergency session held overnight. I will then take questions. Our most recent analysis has determined that Earth lies in the path of the asteroid known as Benevolence B7438.”

49:12:39

A cheer worthy of a last-second upset erupted through the crowded precinct lobby when Don appeared from the holding cells, escorting an unassuming young man on whom the handcuffs binding his wrists looked to be the crime. He smiled, shrugging at Don’s quizzical look, then adjusted the drape of his department store jacket. He sat in the chair Don indicated and shared his smile with the crowd.

Don lifted the top on an oversized shoebox and withdrew, one piece at a time, a wallet, a belt, a cross and a Bible. Then he checked each item off a list.

“Anything missing?”

Lifting the Bible in his cuffed hands, the young man touched it to his forehead. “Nothing at all.”

“Your victim is not pressing charges, Pastor.”

The Pastor’s smile grew wider. “The Lord looks after his own.”

“And silences witnesses, apparently,” Don said. “Hold out your hands.”

Rubbing his wrists, the Pastor’s smile seemed to grow further. “Mysterious ways, Officer.”

“Doesn’t God frown upon beating the evil out of sinners?”

Donning his simple cross, the Pastor answered, “An addict begged me to drive out his demons. I merely obliged him in a way he understood.”

Don slid a form across, laid a pen beside it. “Sign here and you’re a free man, Pastor.”

The Pastor signed, then stood and threaded his belt. Last, he pocketed his wallet. “God be with you, Officer.”

A louder cheer erupted when the Pastor walked through the metal door and into the lobby.

Raising the Bible high, his voice cut through the noise. “The time to repent draws to a close. Will you waste your chance? Join us and find peace.”

The Pastor left the Precinct House, followed by the greater part of the crowd.

Among those people who remained was Peter Thurro.

Also published here.