Charges (24 page)

Vincenzo shot them a thumbs-up. “Looks like you guys have the right idea,” he said, not breaking stride.

“Where you headed?” one of them asked.

“Los Angeles. You guys?”

“Different places. No one headed to Cali, though.”

Vincenzo nodded. “Take care on the road, guys. Things are getting rough.”

“Where did you come from?” another biker asked.

“New York City. Don’t go there. Stay away from it. In fact”—Vincenzo turned and walked backwards a couple of steps—“avoid all the large cities wherever you can. Too many people, too much desperation.”

“Thanks for that,” the first biker said. “Have a safe trip.”

Vincenzo nodded and faced forward again. He felt okay, not as many aches and pains as in previous days. The fact that it was cool—in the high sixties, maybe the low seventies—helped. The rising sun was still obscured by heavy clouds, but it didn’t look as if rain was going to pour down again anytime soon. Just in case it did, he kept his poncho at the ready. He didn’t want to be lugging wet clothes for the next few days, so the plastic liner would come in handy. He wished he’d worn it the day before, but sometimes,
stupid is as stupid does
.

He heard wheels on asphalt, and a moment later the seven bikers cruised past him. Vincenzo raised his walking stick in salute.

One looked over his shoulder and nodded his helmeted head at him. “Safe journey,” he said.

“You too, bro.”

The bikers pedaled on, weaving around the few dead autos in the street. In minutes, they were gone.

###

The road widened to three lanes, changing from NJ-57 to US-22. The designations meant nothing to him, just marks on his map. The map was holding up very well. It was still dry, though he really didn’t have to refer to it very often. All he needed to do was get through Philipsburg, cross the Delaware River, and kiss New Jersey goodbye.

The sky was still cloudy and uninviting, but at least it held back the sun’s rays for the time being. More people appeared on the road, coming out of buildings and parking lots and dead motor vehicles. No one paid him any mind, and no one got too close. It seemed that everyone had learned their lessons since the lights went out, and trouble was nothing anyone wanted to invite. Vincenzo did switch the big walking stick from his right hand to his left, just in case he needed to get to the Beretta in a hurry. It still struck him as odd, having to consider such a thing, but he knew he needed to get in that mindset and stay there. Safety was something he wouldn’t be sure of until he walked up the driveway of his house in the Hollywood Hills, and even then it was far from guaranteed.

Phillipsburg was a fairly unremarkable town, though some old world charm appeared the closer he got to the Delaware River. Midcentury buildings and older emerged amidst the monstrosities of strip malls and glass-faced office buildings. Many were ornate, and they spoke of a time that existed long before Vincenzo had been born, a time of his parents and grandparents. US-22 sheared off to the right, and he continued straight down Morris Street, ambling through another residential neighborhood full of closely spaced houses with front porches that overlooked the street. The residents watched the progression of humanity marching past with more curiosity than distrust. It was a refreshing change of pace, but he was certain it wouldn’t last. Eventually, one of the travelers would do something inappropriate, either an outright crime or something as bizarre as taking a dump while squatting over a storm drain, and that would turn the tide.

Morris ended at the intersection with Main Street, across from a set of railroad tracks. Vincenzo tracked left onto Main, passing weathered buildings and mountains of stinking garbage. He was surprised to find an amazing amount of activity occurring. There were people everywhere, and they seemed to be in good spirits. He tried to stay on the outskirts of the group, as did many of his fellow travelers, but it soon proved impossible. The road narrowed to two lanes again, and the sidewalks were full of tables with goods being hawked. It was a trading bazaar, of all things. Local police kept a watchful eye over things.

Vincenzo took a moment to examine some of the tables. At one, a woman was selling blue jeans and T-shirts. At another, a family had freeze-dried food. A third, quite busy one displayed an array of liquor bottles, and the men who presided over it were armed.
 
In the parking lot of a gas station, a haze of greasy smoke rose into the air as several people cooked hamburgers and hot dogs. Vincenzo’s stomach growled, so he headed that way. A sign in the grill area read CASH OR TRADE.

“Hey, what’ll you take for a burger?” Vincenzo asked as he approached the exchange table.

“Ten dollars for a burger and a soda,” one of the women said. She had long gray hair that was tied back in a ponytail, and her face was a mass of creases and lines. “We only have Coke and Diet Coke, and it’s warm. And for trade, we’re looking for seeds, vitamins, ammunition, or batteries.”

Ten bucks for a burger and warm soda?
“How good is the meat?” he asked.

“It was frozen solid until yesterday. Thermometer says the temperature is still forty-two degrees. It’s still good, but it’s not going to last. Where you from?”

“New York.”

“Things bad there?”

He nodded. “They were going to hell, which is why I left.”

“You see any sign the government is pulling its act together?”

Vincenzo shrugged. “New Jersey National Guard seems to be active. I walked past a headquarters building that was lit up and guarded, and I saw them a few miles back doing something in a town, but I didn’t get close enough to see what.”

“Where you headed?”

“West.”

“How far west?”

Vincenzo smiled. “To the Pacific.”

The creases in the woman’s face deepened as she frowned. She bent over the table and looked him up and down. “Well, you might make it. You don’t seem that bad off. You walking past Fort Indiantown Gap?”

“It’s on the way.”

“Heard from some fella yesterday that the Army or the Guard or whoever is pulling together some major relief station there. FEMA is involved, too. You might want to check it out.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“So what’ll it be, cash or trade?”

“Cash,” Vincenzo said, and he pulled out a ten dollar bill. It was damp, either from rain or sweat, but that didn’t stop the woman from accepting it.

She handed him an orange ticket like the old ones they used at movie theaters when he was a kid. “Go stand in that line there and give this ticket to Molly, the girl with the brown hair and white apron,” the woman said, pointing at a queue near the grills. “She’ll take care of you. Have a good trip.” She turned to the person standing behind him, an obvious sign of dismissal.

Vincenzo joined the line at the grills and tendered his ticket when his turn came. The girl there took the ticket and gave him a greasy hamburger and a warm can of Coca-Cola. She hadn’t inquired whether he wanted diet or regular, but he didn’t give a damn. The burger wasn’t huge, and there was nothing on it, other than a layer of grease and some carbon from the fire. The bread was a little hard, well on its way toward becoming stale.

Vincenzo stepped out of line, the can of Coke tucked under one arm so he could keep a grip on his walking stick. He stopped under the wide awning of the gas station on the corner and wolfed down the burger. It was just as greasy as it looked, but it tasted fine despite the hardening bun. It was gone in four bites, which meant each mouthful cost him two dollars and fifty cents.
Guess Reagan would be proud to see it only took the end of the world to give rise to supply-side economics.

He tossed the greasy paper plate into an overflowing trash can between two dormant gas pumps and popped open the Coke. It was just as warm as the can had suggested, but it was wet and still carbonated. As he drank, he looked around. Theo’s Drive In was on the far corner, and he suspected that was where the meat had come from. Across the street were two other dining establishments: the Union Square Grill and a slightly upscale restaurant called Sweet Basil, which had picnic tables out front filled with patrons eating burgers and swigging warm soda. Down the street was the bridge he would cross, taking him out of Jersey and into Pennsylvania, one state closer to home. He put the can of Coke on top of one of the gas pumps and pulled out his map again. Across the bridge, the street became Northampton, and it would take him through the town of Easton, Pennsylvania. A couple of miles to the west, he would turn left on Butler Street.

All good to me,
he thought as he replaced the map in his knapsack. He polished off the Coke, belched, and place the empty can atop the heap of trash mounding out of the garbage can. Hitching up the straps of his hiking pack, he joined the wave of humanity streaming across the bridge. There were just as many people coming into Jersey as leaving it. He wondered why people would want to come
into
New Jersey but didn’t give voice to the question. After all, there was no reason to start a fight.

18

Vincenzo wound through the working-class communities of Easton, Pennsylvania. The trash-lined streets probably hadn’t been all that safe at night when the lights were on, and they were likely a lot less so since the electricity was permanently off. There was no police presence about, which was not a great surprise. All the businesses were shuttered, save for Louie’s Bar, which was apparently still doing great commerce, judging by the amount of drunken locals out front. They jeered at Vincenzo as he drifted toward the opposite side of the street, but they didn’t come after him. Several of them had firearms, and he kept the walking stick in his left hand, sweating in nervous fear as he hurried past. The men cackled as he picked up the pace.

“Run for the hills, you little pussy!” shouted a man with a huge beer gut spilling out from beneath his green T-shirt. He held a bottle of Johnny Walker Black in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He was missing some teeth beneath his bushy mustache. “Hurry, before I make you my bitch!”

Vincenzo pressed on without comment. Two hours later, he was walking through the town of Wilson, which was a little further up the economic chart. Instead of row houses, the homes were colonials, bungalows, or capes on separate plots of land. Residents stood out on their lawns or porches, watching their kids play. Vincenzo was momentarily surrounded by some toddlers who encircled him with their Big Wheels and tricycles, all peppering him with questions about where he was going and why he was carrying such a big stick. He humored the kids while stepping around them, amazed that they were so open with a stranger. A man and a woman called the kids off, watching him with sharp eyes. Vincenzo tipped his cap to them and continued on, waving goodbye to the children.

“Hey, don’t go!” called on girl astride a trike. She wore a pink dress, a helmet, and kneepads. Something that looked suspiciously like chocolate was spread across her lips. “Stay and play with us!”

“Can’t, sweetie,” Vincenzo said. “I have to get back to my own family. You guys stay where your parents can see you, okay?”

“Why don’t you bring your family here? Then we can all play together!” the girl countered.

Vincenzo laughed. “I’d like to, but they’re pretty far away.”

“Raquel, come back,” a woman called.

“Aw, Mom!”

“Listen to your mother,” Vincenzo told her. “She knows what’s best, okay?”

The girl pouted. “Okay.”

Vincenzo smiled and walked on, his walking stick hitting the pavement with metronomic regularity, underscoring each step he took. He trod past Monocacy Park, where he considered making camp, but he still had several hours of daylight left, and the park seemed to be full of people.

In the outskirts of Allentown, the city was trying to reorganize under the guidance of the local and state police, with help from the fire department and public works. There were running trucks, all diesel, along with several buses. Vincenzo overcame his desire to remain anonymous and approached a group of firemen. He inquired about the buses and asked if there was a chance he could get a ride. The senior fireman told him he had to prove state residency or be in substantial need to benefit from any services.

“I’m from California, on my way home to Los Angeles. Does that qualify as substantial need?” he asked.

The fireman snorted. “Well, yeah, but we can’t help you there. If you keep walking west and find your way to Fort Indiantown Gap, the government has an aid camp set up. They might be able to get you squared away.”

“How far from here is that?”

The fireman considered it. “By walking? I don’t know, man. A day? Two days? Sorry, never walked it. You’d make better time if you get on the interstate, though.” The fireman wore a blue uniform and a baseball cap, and he was sweating heavily. Even though it was late in the day and cloud cover remained, it was still hot and humid. His chin was adorned with more than a few salt-and-pepper whiskers.

“Yeah, but you’d better be careful if you do,” said a younger fireman sitting astride a ATV with knobby tires. Its small bed was laden with cases of water.

“Why’s that?” Vincenzo asked.

“Highwaymen are making a comeback,” the older fireman said, scratching his stubbly chin. “Not a lot of law enforcement on long stretches of the interstate. But you make it to the Gap, you won’t have to worry about security. It’s a National Guard training center, lots of guys in uniform there, plus FEMA and both state and federal government. Heard FEMA started moving in a few days ago. You might be able to get yourself a hot and a cot for a while.”

Vincenzo nodded. “Thanks for the info.” He gestured at the water. “That for public consumption?”

“It’s for us and for anyone who’s approaching heat exhaustion,” the younger fireman said.

“Fair enough,” Vincenzo replied.

“You said you’re headed to California?” the older fireman asked.

“Sure am.”

“Figure you’ll be able to cross the Rockies before winter sets in?”

Vincenzo shrugged. “I hope so. Don’t plan on crossing the Rockies, anyway, more like the Sierra Nevadas. I’m heading for Los Angeles.”

“That’s, like, twenty-five hundred miles from here,” the younger fireman said. He looked around at the other firefighters in his group, and they all shook their heads in bemused amazement.

“Yeah, it is,” Vincenzo said.

“Timmy, toss the man a bottle,” the older fireman said. “If he’s really on his way to California, he’s going to need it. You think you’ll be able to make it, if they don’t get the lights back on?”

“No other choice, man. My family’s alone out there.”

The younger fireman pulled a bottle of water out of one of the cases on the back of the ATV and handed it to the older man, who relayed it to Vincenzo.

Vincenzo accepted it with a nod. “Thanks. Anything I can do for you guys?”

“There is something,” the older fireman said. “My daughter lives in Tustin. You know where that is?”

“Sure. Orange County.”

“You do me a solid, and I’ll advance you one. If you make it before the lights come on, let her know her mom and me are doing okay. She’s twenty-three. Went out there to try and get into the movies. We haven’t heard from her since a few weeks before the event, so if you can somehow manage it, track her down and let her know we were fine when you saw us. Okay?”

“Sure, I can try and help you out. I can’t promise you I’ll make it, but if I do, I’ll relay the message,” Vincenzo said. “Just tell me where to find her.”

The older fireman reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card. From a pocket on his sleeve he removed a pen. He turned and, using the cases of water on the back of the ATV as a desk, scribbled something across the back of the card. When he was finished, he handed the card to Vincenzo. “Her name and address.”

On the back of the card was the name Erica Guardino accompanied by an address in Tustin, California. He flipped the card over. The name on the front was Captain Gregory Guardino, Allentown Fire Department.

Vincenzo tucked the card in his shirt pocket. “I’ll do it. Thanks for the water and info.” He hitched up his hiking pack and firmed up his grip on the walking stick.

The older fireman held up his hand. “Hold on a second, cowboy. I said I’d pay the favor forward, and I wasn’t talking about giving you a bottle of water and the tip about the Gap.” He turned back to the younger fireman on the ATV. “Timmy, give the man a ride to the stationhouse. He can bunk there tonight. Let him take a shower and square away his gear, and he can take off from there tomorrow.”

The younger fireman looked a little put out. “Seriously? We’re going to let a stranger into the stationhouse?”

“If this is going to cause some heartburn, then thanks for the offer, but I’ll be on my way,” Vincenzo said. “The water’s enough, and I’ll do what I can to get a message to your daughter. But it’s going to be two or three months before she gets it.”

“Then at least let me offer you a shower,” Guardino said. “We have a generator at the stationhouse we crank up a couple of times a day. We’re about to come off shift, so you can hang with us, have a shower, and head off. Or you’re welcome to stay. You’ve only got maybe two hours before it gets dark. And tomorrow, I can run you into the sixth ward when I head for the firehouse.”

“
Damn
, boss, you’re being a bit generous,” the younger fireman said.

“And if your kid was out there on the other side of the country and someone was willing to pass her a message,
you
wouldn’t want to show some gratitude?” Guardino asked.

The younger guy just shrugged. A couple of cops wandered over and gave Vincenzo the once-over, then they seemed to forget about him.

“Listen, guys, I don’t want to cause any problems here,” Vincenzo said. “A shower sounds great but not if it’s going to cause a major morale issue.”

“Hey, I’m good with it if it’s what the captain wants,” the younger fireman said. He dismounted and started unloading the cases of water. “I’ll leave these here with you, Cap. Be back in ten.”

“Thanks, Lonnie,” Guardino said. “Explain it to the rest of the guys for me, in case they have some questions.”

“Ten-four.” Lonnie climbed back onto the ATV. “Come on, guy. Today’s your lucky day.”

Vincenzo hopped on behind him, and Lonnie kick-started the ATV into life. He threaded the rugged vehicle through the stream of people marching into Allentown and crossed the intersection. Once he made it to the other side, he accelerated south down Irving Street.

###

The fire station was across a large park that seemed mostly empty. Vincenzo considered it as a place to hole up for the night, as his presence at the fire station might cause more friction than he was interested in enduring. But when the ATV stopped in front of the clean brick firehouse, he decided maybe he could withstand a little bit of heat as long as he had the senior man’s backing.

“Place looks great,” Vincenzo said as he dismounted.

“Yeah, I never knew it was going to be turned into a Holiday Inn Express,” Lonnie said.

Vincenzo pointed across the street. “I’ll hang out in the park tonight. I’m not interested in making trouble for you guys. I know Captain Guardino’s trying to butter me up to contact his kid, but you guys shouldn’t have to suffer for it.”

Lonnie waved a hand and got off the ATV. “If it’s what he wants, it’s what he wants. Don’t sweat it. You have a sleeping bag with you, so no one’s going to be put out by giving up their bunk. Don’t be expecting air conditioning, though. We don’t have the generator juice to run it. Come on. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the guys, and you can have a shower. Maybe wash some clothes if you need to.”

“Damn, that sounds great,” Vincenzo said, thinking of the wet, and possibly moldering, clothes in his pack.

“As long as we have the power to run the water pumps, you’re good to go,” Lonnie said, walking toward the station.

Vincenzo hiked up his pack and followed. Lonnie unlocked the front door and stepped through, holding it half-open for Vincenzo. Lonnie locked the door behind them.

A fireman sitting behind a desk asked, “Hey, who’s this? You know we aren’t supposed to have any civilians in here!”

“Hey, Jescoe. Cap offered him a shower and a place to sleep,” Lonnie said. “He’s going to check on his daughter in California.”

“Oh, is that so?” Jescoe was older than Lonnie and severely bulked up, a true metal pumper. He regarded Vincenzo with small, dark, porcine eyes that didn’t reflect a lot of human warmth. “We supposed to give him a blow job, too?”