II
815 Words
IICHUCK’S OLD BEATER truck got me right outside the suburban borders of ‘Cagga. Then I finally let it die. That truck I’d gotten started with a new crankcase of oil, new transmission fluid, and a full tank of gas. And I had to touch a few parts under the hood.
It literally became part of me. So it would start up only for me, and no one else could make it run. They’d try. I’d even leave the keys in it and watch them from a diner window sometimes. They’d see me drive in, see the windows down, look inside for the keys and nip in there as quick as they could. But the battery was always dead.
If they tried to tow it for scrap, it wouldn’t come out of gear and the brakes would lock up solid. The funniest time was once was when I was watching them over a third cup of coffee and a second slice of pie. Like I had nothing to do that day. But I could feel them coming for it, so I just waited and smiled to the waitress who brought me re-fills, as I looked out their big front diner window.
The guys pulled up with a beater tow truck, of all things. And they couldn’t get the rear end of that truck off the ground. Straps broke. Chains broke. And their hoist motor burned out. Smoke rose off it. Even tried to back into it to get it to break free. All they did was bend their own backend up. Like they had hit a battleship or a concrete bridge support.
I paid off the waitress in coin, then came out to have some fun with them.
They were really pissed and frustrated beyond belief. Just standing there. They knew the cops wouldn’t mess with them, not in their own neighborhood.
So I just came up, this white girl with red hair. and put on an innocent look.
And got some of the most foul-mouthed nonsense coming back at me. But me, I was like that truck. I didn’t ask to be hit on or abused. So anyone that tried to get near me got sicker and sicker they closer they came. When they moved away, they felt better the further away they got.
Funny, huh?
At last, I just walked up to the truck, opened the door and slid in. Turned the key, started up with a roar, then adjusted my mirrors (smiled to them through that reflection) and drove off in second gear like nothing had happened.
Just once did anyone try to come after me.
Their truck just stopped dead in the street. Engine dead. All wheels locked. I just drove on, under the posted speed limit, obeying all the local laws.
- - - -
ANYWAY, HERE I WAS in ‘Cagga.
I stopped once I saw their fencing and gates. Turned down a side street in their empty suburbs so their guards wouldn’t get alarmed.
In those days, they only had chain-link fence up. With razor wire on the top. That was to replace the troops after they seceded. Fed troops they didn’t want.
No troops, but having to go through a checkpoint with no papers or ID, that would be a little difficult. Probably could make one up if I could see one and hold it in my hands, but not today.
And ‘Cagga was calling me for some reason, to meet someone. That’s my way these days. I get an idea someone needs me and then head that direction. I’ll get what I need as I need it – along the way or when I get there. Always the way it’s been, since as long as I knew.
So my next thing was to walk over through the suburban lots in between the empty houses until I was about half-way between this last check point and the next. Then I just walked up to the fence and cut it by touch. More like dissolved it, and absorbed what I touched.
Yea, that sounds weird, but you get used to the concept after awhile. The original Lazarai learned to breathe vacuum and eat concrete, along with every single disease the government had in its lock-boxes. I’d never had to do it, but I’d tried and tested about everything I touched and found out I could absorb about anything. Even drowning was impossible, as I could get along fine for hours at the bottom of a pool. Quiet down there.
The difference to my generation was that we knew we didn’t have to. Besides, I really liked chocolate cake or pecan pie much more. Anything home-made. As well as a good Caesar’s salad or some barbecued ribs. And craft beer. The finer things in life.
So I was through the fence and moving fast. I didn’t sense any proximity alarms or motion detectors, but that didn’t mean much. I had places to be and people to see.
Just didn’t know where or who, not just yet. And the closer I got the more I knew.
- Writer
