all god's orphans

Brian awoke at dawn, but not voluntarily. The sun had just peeked over the horizon and drove a splinter of light between his eyelids, drawing him up from his slumber. He blinked into the brightness and tried to remember where he was. His neck hurt from sleeping up against the window of the driver’s seat but there were no other options. He had driven last night until he could go no farther and simply stopped on the side of the road. Kite, Grey, and Carla had fallen asleep long before that, but Wallace stayed alert the entire time, even offering to drive when Brian could no longer manage, but he demurred.

Opening the door, he practically fell out as his legs were not ready for his weight. He steadied himself and then walked a few paces behind the car to relieve himself. The road stretched westward to the horizon and he could see nearly every square inch of land between here and there. It was empty, save for grass. On both sides of the highway, lonely fields offered the only things to look at. He climbed back into the driver’s seat and started the engine hoping that he would crest the next hill and find some sign of civilization. The Cherokee was low on gas and still hobbling on the incorrect tire. He drove on slowly into the rising sun.

Hours passed before he found a little “town” beside the highway. It consisted of a grain silo, a gas station, and a Mr. Frostee, which may or may not have been from the previous century. The place had been abandoned. Exactly when that might have happened was up for debate, but the fact remained that there was nothing here now.

“Let’s hope these pumps still have something in them.” Brian said, sliding up alongside one of them. “Otherwise, it’s gonna be a long walk back to the world.” The rest of the group piled out and spent several luxurious moments stretching in the morning sun. Bones creaked and joints popped, all accompanied by a chorus “oh’s” and “ah’s”. Brian chuckled and went inside to turn the pumps on. He had gotten good at this over the previous weeks, but this geriatric version of a gas station was one he had not seen before. It took him a moment to find the switches behind the till, but when he did, he was rewarded with the telltale hum of a functioning gas pump. He went back outside and filled it with premium octane, because why the Hell not.

Wallace leaned against the Jeep still not feeling one hundred percent, while the others went to look for supplies. The gas station was quite small and had only one cooler that had stopped working a while ago, but it was still filled with a decent selection of sodas. Grey fished out one that he had seen Brian guzzle down before, and found the one that he preferred. He couldn’t read the label, but the green and yellow writing was familiar. He and Kite gathered up whatever packaged goods they could and made their way back to the Jeep.

“Any energy drinks?” Asked Brian without hope. Grey held up the black and green can. “Oh, bless you.” He said and popped it open, not caring at all that it was lukewarm. “We’ll probably get to a real town soon.” Brian said to Wallace. “After that, we’ll find you a nice car and you can be on your way.” Wallace nodded.

“Where are we?” He asked. Brian shrugged.

“No idea.” Brian admitted. “I can’t even guess how far we’ve come because I had to keep it under thirty on account of the wonky tire. We might have gone sixty miles or just five. I honestly can’t tell.” Around the side of the gas station, Brian thought he saw something. He finished pumping the gas and walked around the corner. It was one of those old Ford pickups, the kind that never seem to die. A big, boxy steel truck with an unkillable engine. “Hey, Wallace.” He called. “Can you drive a stick?” Brian opened the door and silently thanked whoever had left the keys in it. But really, who was going to steal it all the way out here? Nobody, he thought to himself, that’s who.

He turned the key over and prayed as the engine tried to cough itself to life. The first few times, it gave up after a few hacking noises, but on the fifth attempt, it sputtered out grey smoke and roared into the still air. The group came around the corner to see what was making the racket.

“I can’t believe it started.” Wallace mused.

“These old trucks run forever.” Brian told him. “Do you think you can manage it?” Wallace nodded.

“We just need to get that trailer off of it.” He said. What he had generously labeled a trailer was really just some metal that someone had welded together and slapped some tires on it, both of which were now flat. At this point, it was nothing more than an anchor.

“No problem.” Brian said and went to unlatch the hitch from the ball. The last time anyone had unhooked this trailer, television had been black and white. He couldn’t get the mechanism to budge. “Look for some tools.” He said to the group. “I can’t unlatch it.”

“What are tools?” Kite asked in her way that made even the most annoyingly basic questions tolerable. Brian stopped to face her.

“Y’know, tools.” He said. “They’re like this big. Made of metal, usually. There were a whole bunch in Wes’ van.” Comprehension dawned on Kite’s face.

“Oh.” She chirped. “Like this.” She removed something from her pockets and held it out. At the sight of it, Brian’s face contorted.

“Where did those come from?” He asked.

“They were in Wes’ van.” She said. “I cleaned off the blood.” Brian’s heart fell to the ground pulling his face with its weight.

“Fuck.” He sputtered, his guts roiling.