Counting Down (5 page)

They were still and silent for a few moments, almost as if they were individually saying prayers for each lost soul.

“I still can’t believe that happened.” Alex’s grin removed the stillness and lightened the mood. “And I can’t believe you did that. Man, if I’d known you could drive like that I would’ve pushed you into stock cars instead of art shows.”

Abby gave a little smile, sadness still clinging to her expression. “Yeah, I’m not sure how I did it. It happened so fast. I just reacted.”

“Well bravo girl. We’re still in one piece.” Alex laid his hand on hers and gave it a light squeeze.

“Yeah we are. Let’s just hope that’s the most exciting thing that happens on this trip. We’ve got like
nineteen
hours to go still and I’m pretty sure I’ve got to pee already.”

“Um, not me. I think I did my share of peeing back there when it was raining rocks.”

Abby looked at him with a disgusted sideways glance and he chuckled wholeheartedly.

“I’m kidding.” He pointed to his pants. “See. Nice and dry.”

Abby laughed and slapped his shoulder lightly. It was good to know she and Alex could be friends after all. This was a new dimension of their relationship and she was grateful to know that he could take her from tears to laughter in a matter of a few seconds.

* * *

Approximately
nineteen
hours later they were
driving down the main street of Clover Lake, Kansas. The modest town was predominantly populated with construction workers, school teachers and their families. When the farmers, shop owners, and everyone else were added in, the overall population
only
hit somewhere around
fourteen-
hundred
. It was a quiet and quaint town and Abby had always felt pulled to its simple charms.

The center of town was surprisingly empty considering it was lunch time on a Monday afternoon. Apparently the residents of Clover Lake had skipped the news and decided not to loot or riot just yet.

The Connelly farm was only minutes outside of town, nestled comfortably on
one hundred and eighty-two
acres of open land, forested hills, and planted fields. They would be reaching their final destination in a matter of minutes.

For the most part, their journey had been uneventful, though they had witnessed some unusual things along the way. And Alex, in his typical sarcastic style, had a comment for each of them.

In West Virginia there was
a
whacky looking street preacher standing on the highway, in the middle of a construction site, wearing an orange hard hat and a sandwich sign around his neck proclaiming that the end was near. He held his hands high enough in the air for everyone to see and stared up into the sky expecting to be beamed up at any minute. They had driven past him with the windows down
specifically
to hear his fire and brimstone proclamations.

“Hey, what do you know? The Devil is going to ride in on a many headed sea monster and ta
ke away all the sinners to Hell,” Alex had exclaimed.
“
Is that in one of your paintings Abbs?”

In Indiana they saw a line of nuns, black and white habits and all, walking down the freeway with their rosaries in hand. About a dozen or so of them marched in time together with their heads down, apparently deep in contemplative prayer.

Alex had chuckled. “Now there’s something you don’t see every day. Do you think it will get me sent to Hell if I think one of them is hot?”

What followed was an in depth discussion on where in the world those nuns were going and what the earlier street preacher had really been talking about. This then led them to an argument about faith, religion, sin, morals, and everything in between.

Illinois had not disappointed either. From what they could see on Interstate 70, looters were running amok in the streets and several fires were blazing through the smaller towns. When they tuned into the area news station, Abby and Alex found out that a series of spontaneous tornadoes had run through the state on a rampage. Apparently the locals were getting wise to the end of the world rumors and they weren’t too happy.

As they cruised th
r
ough Clover Lake Alex was at the wheel. Both of them were exhausted but that didn’t stop them from doing some friendly bickering about art. It was by far one of the things they argued about the most.

“Oh please. You’re such an art snob Alex. The reason there are any clichés to begin with is because they resonate with people. Everyone can recognize the theme and they relate to it. Just because something’s been done before doesn’t mean it’s no longer relevant.”

“Yeah, but it’s all old hat. You know? No one wants to see the same regurgitated crap time and time again. There can be original takes on clichés?”

“Oh, I totally agree with you on that point. The problem is, people aren’t as kind to the new ideas. I swear if I have to see one more Van Gogh on the wall of a doctor’s office waiting room I’m going to lose my lunch right on the linoleum. And you know I love Van Gogh.”

Abby usually talked with fervor, gesturing with her hands a lot. At the moment, due to driving straight through half the country, she was too worn out to move much. Her seat was tipped back slightly as she reclined sleepily.

Abby continued, “And what’s with all the Klimt posters pasted to the walls of every college student’s dorm room.”

“Well come on now. It’s not just any Klimt they use for wallpaper. It’s The Kiss specifically.” Alex put up one index finger emphatically.

“Absolutely. It’s like no one even realizes he did anything other than that one piece in his whole entire career. I’d like to pull them all aside and introduce them to something new but it won’t do any good. Because, back to my original point, everyone wants what’s familiar. The cliché.”

“Okay, I get it. But you have to admit Monet’s Water Lilies are still seriously over manufactured pieces of shit. They are freaking everywhere. And I mean everywhere. I can’t get the brakes on my car replaced without seeing one version or another of those things on the dealership wall.” Alex faked a tiny shudder. “I swear they’re haunting me.”

Abby let out a tired laugh. How was it they could talk as friends now that they were no longer having sex? Why hadn’t she noticed that he was witty and clever and always kept her on her toes? When did Alex become the kind of guy she could sit and talk with over coffee all night?

He was the same person he had always been. It was Abby who had changed and suddenly she was beginning to feel something for him, something
new
that was more real than she had know with Alex before. Or maybe she was just tired and extremely stressed out. She let her mind wander from feelings to more lustful things.

“I know that look,” Alex said, breaking Abby’s train of dirty thoughts.

Abby quickly threw her gaze out the window. “Shut up Alex.”

“I’m not saying a word.” There was a hint of laughter in his voice. “I am no words guy over here. Just taking a leisurely drive through r
ural Kansas.”

He
waited a minute before continuing. “Um, where am I supposed to be going again?”

“Oh right.” Abby snapped out of what was going on in her head and looked down to examine the handwritten directions in her lap. “You’re going to turn up here at that stop sign. And then the house is about a mile down on the left.”

“Got it. I guess we’re about to get to our new home then. At least for a while anyway.”

“Yeah. Home sweet bomb shelter.”

Monday, December 17th 2012, 12:02pm

T
he all weather radials on the Jeep crushed loose rock as Alex and Abby pulled into the driveway of James Connelly’s farmhouse. From what Abby could see the house hadn’t changed since she had been there last. After five years the yellow paint still looked fresh and new. Standing on the front porch, painted white to match the shutters of the house, was her Uncle Jimmy.

Some southern rock blared from inside the house as he walked down the steps rubbing his hands on a grease stained rag. True to his obsession with a certain 1980’s TV show, he was working on restoring a 1969 Dodge Charger to mint condition. It sat in disrepair to the side of the double wide driv
eway with its hood popped up.

Jim was the brother of Abby’s late mother and was only
eleven
years her senior. He had never been married and had no children. His family consisted of his faithf
ul old hound dogs, Bo and Daisy,
or the Dukes as he sometimes called them, and the various animals that lived on the farm.

He was on the taller side with dark blonde hair and a finely chiseled face behind deep-set eyes. Walking towards them in his brown flannel shirt and old jeans, Abby thought he certainly looked the part of a Kansas farmer.

“Hey Jimmy.” Abby smiled as she got out of the Jeep then reached out to offer up a hug. Due to the lack of serious age difference it had always felt a little odd to Abby to call him Uncle Jim. Her mother had always called him Jimmy and it was a name that stuck.

“Hey Kiddo. You finally made it back to Kansas. How was the trip?”

The two hound dogs came running, plowing into Abby. She laughed, knelt down to greet them with affectionate rubs and pats. “Hey guys. I missed you too.”

She looked up at her uncle again. “The trip was long. Very long. We didn’t even stop to sit down and eat a proper meal. Dollar menu drive thru all the way.” Abby shifted her glance to Alex, nodded in his direction. “This is my… um friend, Alex.”

Alex and Jim said their hellos, shook hands, and sized each other up. Her uncle was the only real father figure Abby had ever known, so she assumed it was natural for him to be a bit wary of any man she brought home. Part of her even liked knowing he was protective of her. It made her feel special and maybe even a little precious.

“Thanks for letting us come out here. We really appreciate it.” Alex took a look around. “This is a great place.” His eyes appraised the land around him, sweeping past the fields and the outbuildings.

“Thanks, though it’s
not like I had a choice.” Jim raised an eyebrow. “When my only niece calls me up and starts talking about the end of the world, I tend to listen.”

“
Right
, about that,” Abby began. “Is the shelter all set? I’m not sure yet when we’re going to need it, but I guess it should be ready to go as soon as possible.”

“Well, straight to business I see,” Jim said. “To be honest I haven’t been down there yet. I had some other things to take care of around the farm. Damn horses are coming down with something. Plus I needed to get the new starter installed on the General.” He patted the front end of the car like it was one of his dogs. “I told my
business
partner about it our um… situation and he said he would take a look down there, make sure the cobwebs were cleared.”

Abby looked towards where she knew the bomb shelter was buried beneath feet of soil. “Oh, that’s right. You have a partner now? I remember you mentioning something about that.”

“Y
up
, Kyle Windstone. He started here about five years back as a farm hand, just after your mother passed and you decided to try city life. He was my best worker, I trusted him, and he had some old family money that he wanted to invest.” Jim turned back to the engine of the General and wiped off a spot of oil. “Since we had gotten to be good friends I let him buy half the property from me a couple years ago. He built his own place just over there past the corn.”

Abby followed her uncle’s hand to see a blue house that looked very much like his own, except newer and possibly even a little bigger. She noticed now that the one driveway extended all the way up to Kyle’s house where his cherry red pick-up truck was parked to the side of the porch.