Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

The Junkyard

ZACH

It’s midafternoon as we approach the junkyard. But my mind is miles away, processing Aiden’s story. I immediately thought about my family when he mentioned the tsunamis and the storm surge. Our house is right on the water on Vashon Island. But it’s fifty feet up on a bluff and in a protected inlet. That gives me some hope, but I’m still sick with worry. I shake off the thought and focus on the task at hand.

The dirt road leads to a tall chain-link fence with barbed wire on top. Piled up behind the fence are countless rusty cars. The road comes up to a sliding gate with a large padlock on it.

Aiden points to a Beware of Dog sign. “Is that something we need to be worried about?”

“What, Daisy? She’s a sweetheart. She knows me.”

Aiden’s sour face shows he’s not convinced.

My friend Ezra is nowhere to be seen.

“Ezra? Hello?” I call out. No response.

We do a complete circle around the fence perimeter but come across no one and find no other entrances. The junkyard office is next to the front gate, so we peek in the windows, hoping to see something. A desk with piles of papers and old coffee cups rests against the far wall, but no Ezra.

Aiden turns to me. “He doesn’t seem to be around. Do you know where this car is that he offered you?”

“Yeah, he keeps it in there.” I point to the middle of the junkyard at a rusting metal garage with a large rolling door. The door is closed.

“Well, let’s get in there.” Aiden picks up a large rock and smashes it through one of the exterior windows of the junkyard office.

“Hey! I don’t want to destroy the place.”

“See those?” Aiden points to tire tracks going into the junkyard.

“Yeah?”

“Those tracks are weeks old. Maybe months. See how the imprint is no longer well formed? Also, in the office, you can see a thick layer of dust over everything. Nobody’s been into or out of this place in a while.”

I nod but say nothing, worried about what that may mean.

Aiden punches out the remaining glass with his fist balled into his shirt sleeve. He reaches in and unlocks the window. After opening it, he climbs in, and I follow behind.

As Aiden pointed out, the interior of the office is clearly unoccupied and has been for some time. And it’s not only the dust. The air is stale. The whole place feels abandoned.

The front room of the office is much the same. A vintage bright-red vinyl sofa looks pink under a thick layer of dust. Old engine parts and car magazines are strewn about haphazardly.

A small back room off the office serves as Ezra’s bedroom. An unmade bed sits in the corner. Spread throughout the room are piles of dirty laundry. The same musty smell permeates everything. I shoot Aiden a worried look, and he looks back with tight lips and arms crossed.

“Doesn’t look like he’s been here for a while.” Aiden looks around the room. “If he left, let’s hope he didn’t take his car.”

“This junkyard was his whole life. I don’t know where he’d go.”

“You’re assuming he left of his own accord. I’ve heard rumors of slave camps around here. Slavers go around, rounding up survivors.”

I glare at Aiden. “You’re not making me feel better.”

“Sorry. I know he’s your friend. Just trying to be prepared for the worst.”

“Let’s keep looking.”

We leave his bedroom to head to the yard. Aiden slowly opens the door from the main office, and we make our way out, glancing back and forth. Neither of us makes a sound. I’ve given up on calling out for Ezra since it’s clear he isn’t around.

We make our way to the metal garage in the middle of the yard. I reach down and pull up the large rolling door.

Sitting near the back of the building is a ’67 Chevy Camaro. It’s painted black with two white stripes down the hood. I have to admit it looks pretty cool.

“Well, he didn’t take the car. There she is.” I gesture toward the Camaro.

Aiden does a catcall whistle. “Nice! Maybe not the best gas mileage, but hell, if the car runs, I ain’t complaining.”

We both walk toward it when it hits us—a smell I’ve gotten all too familiar with in the last year. The unmistakable scent of decaying flesh.

I scan the room, then reel back from a grizzly sight—human remains. Ezra. But the clothes are all tattered, and much of the flesh is gone as if it’s been ripped away. It’s practically a skeleton.

I gasp and put my hand up to my mouth, horrified. Aiden comes over to me and lays a hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Zach.”

I’m numb, but the need for human contact overwhelms me. So I turn to Aiden and hug him. He’s a little taken aback and starts out hesitantly but then wraps his arms around me. I’d only met Ezra a handful of times, but he was the only person I had spoken to in the last year—my lifeline to humanity.

“What happened to him?” I ask.

Aiden sighs. “Honestly, it looks like a wild animal got to him.”

And then I get a definitive answer. Not a wild animal. A starving one. Standing between us and the exit is Daisy. She’s growling loudly, with slobber dripping out between her bared teeth. She’s always been a good-sized German shepherd, but now, she’s emaciated. Her bones poke out beneath her skin. Ezra must have died of a heart attack or something, and poor Daisy was left without any food. From the looks of her it’s been weeks or even months.

We both freeze. Daisy faces me, about ten feet away.

“Day—zee,” I call out in a singsong voice, but she growls more and starts barking.

“Real sweetheart,” Aiden whispers.

Aiden slowly reaches for his rifle, but I whisper forcefully in his ear. “No! It’s not Daisy’s fault. She’s literally starving. There has to be another way.”

“Okay. So what do we do?”

“She’s blocking the door. On three, we need to make a break for the car. Okay?”

“Okay. Do we know if it’s unlocked?”

I sigh. “We’ll know soon enough. You take the driver’s side. Okay, one…two…three.”

We let go of each other and make a mad dash for the car. Daisy immediately pursues, her paws slipping underneath her as she fights for traction on the slick cement floor. Aiden faces toward the car and has a slight head start on me. Daisy detects this and chases after me, the closest target.

Aiden reaches the driver’s side door. And it’s unlocked. He swings the door wide.

I’m still a few feet from my door when Daisy makes her move and leaps in the air. I turn in time to see her gaping jaws with razor-sharp teeth headed directly for me.

A hub cap flies into view, and I spot Aiden in mid-follow-through. It’s a direct hit, striking Daisy in the face. This dazes her enough for me to deflect her momentum and send her flying past me.

She recovers remarkably fast and comes back around. I reach for the passenger side door. And it’s locked. Aiden dives into the car and shoves open my door. He drags me into the car by my shirt.

The dog leaps again, this time going for my feet dangling out the door. She clamps her jaws around the loose fabric of my pant leg, missing my actual leg by a fraction of an inch. With the free leg, I kick her hard in the snout. She yelps and releases me.

Aiden hustles me the rest of the way in, using adrenaline and brute strength. As he does so, I hook the door handle with the toe of my shoe and slam the door shut as Daisy comes in for another attack. She smacks hard against the closed door.

We land across the front seats, a tangled mess of arms and legs. We’re both overwhelmed by the moment, half laughing, half crying.

“Thanks for saving my life. Again,” I whisper to Aiden.

Aiden smiles. “The score is two to one. It’s your turn next.”

*

AIDEN

After the narrow escape from the dog, we both lie across the front seats, our bodies intertwined. The instant peril, followed by tremendous relief, amplifies every sense and every emotion. The feel of Zach’s skin on mine, the sound of our heartbeats, and the heat of his breath sends little tingles throughout my entire body. Our eyes lock, our faces inches apart. Zach bites his lip.

Because my subconscious won’t allow me an ounce of joy, Marcus hits my mind, sick and dying. I have no control over the reflex, the waves of guilt and remorse. The shift in body language speaks volumes. Zach pulls away and sits up.

It’s for the best. Zach still hopes to find his boyfriend, no matter how slim the odds are. He doesn’t need me complicating things. And I’m clearly incapable of feeling normal emotions. Not to mention, I’m leaving the first chance I get. The next working car we find, I’m out of here.

But before I can worry about the future, I need to focus on the present. We’re not out of the woods yet. Daisy is prowling around the car, growling and barking. And to top it off, the keys are not in the ignition.

“Look.” I point to the empty keyhole.

“Crap.”

We both hunt for the keys. Zach checks inside the glove box, and we search above the visors, under the seats, and in the ashtray. Nothing.

Then Zach points to a hook on the wall on the other side of the room. “There.” A set of keys dangles from it, a Chevy logo on the chain. Between us and the keys, Daisy paces back and forth, growling.

As a last resort, we have the rifles. But I already know Zach won’t like that option. And I’m actually somewhat relieved. The thought of shooting her makes me ill. I’m not sure I could do it. This poor dog is trying to survive, kind of like us.

Instead, Zach removes his backpack and grabs his little toolkit from it. “Give me just a few minutes. These old cars have simple ignition wiring.”

“Of course you can hot-wire a car.” I laugh.

Zach makes a sheepish smile and shrugs. Why did I ever doubt him? If it’s mechanical or electrical, Zach can figure it out. I climb into the back seat so he can shimmy his way under the steering wheel. He lowers the front driver’s seat into the fully reclined position, then goes in headfirst and tummy up.

I curse myself for being so shallow. But ever since Zach cleaned himself up, I see a different person. I can’t help it. Any more than I can’t help the fact that I’m into guys. It just is. His shirt lifts as he bends backward into the footwell, exposing his bare midsection. His lean stomach and narrow waist peak out. A small tuft of hair around his belly button trails down into his pants. I fight the urge to reach out and touch it. That would only lead to no good.

“Hey, can you hand me the needle-nose pliers?” Zach holds his hand out expectantly.

I fish through the toolkit and place them in his hand. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

A few minutes pass, and Zach exclaims, “Okay, here goes nothing.”

Sparks shoot out from below, and the engine tries to turn over. The battery sounds weak, but at least it has some juice.

“That’s progress,” I encourage.

He crosses the wires, and the car turns over again. But it still doesn’t start.

“This isn’t working.” Zach peaks up at me. “I need a third hand. It’s gonna be a little tight, but I need you to push down the gas pedal when I tell you to. Okay?”

“Okay.” With no other obvious way to fit, I get on top of Zach and reach down until my hand touches the pedal. With my body fully pressed against his, that same tingle runs through me. I clear my mind. Force out thoughts of Marcus and try to block everything out. But I can’t ignore the heat of his body, the light scent of his sweat mixed with campfire smoke, and soft skin—the way our bodies rub together with every breath. I try to fight off the urges, but it’s no use as I start getting hard. I hope he doesn’t notice.

Zach shoots me a quizzical look that morphs into recognition, and his face turns beet red. “Um…what’s that?”

“Sorry! It just happened.” I’m so damn embarrassed. “I can’t help it.”

Zach laughs nervously. “Uh—I guess I’m sorry, too, then.”

That’s when something stiff rubs up against me.

Zach clears his throat loudly. “Okay! I need to concentrate. For now, I’m going to ignore everything going on down there.”

“That works for me,” I blurt out.

We both do our best to ignore it.

In a moment, Zach regains his composure. “Okay, when I say go, push down on the gas. Ready? Go!”

Sparks fly, and the engine turns over. As I push down on the gas pedal, the engine revs. It almost catches. So close.

“One more time,” Zach says. “Ready? Go!”

The engine sputters and groans. I press down on the pedal once, then twice. The third time, the engine roars to life. I pulse the pedal a couple more times for good measure. The engine purrs as the RPMs ramp up. It’s a wonderful sound.

We both cheer, then hug each other. A hug of comradery and joy. We did it.

When we climb out of the footwell, I take the driver’s seat, and Zach is happy to be the passenger. We don’t talk about the elephant in the room. Or the boners in the car? Zach has let it drop, and I’m relieved. That’s a conversation I don’t feel like having right now, with all its complications.

It takes a bit of honking and inching forward to convince Daisy to let us by, but she finally relents. I drive out of the garage and turn toward the junkyard exit. Zach freaks out a bit as I punch the accelerator, heading toward the outer fence, but the aluminum links are no match for the ton and a half of steel. It might not be the best thing for the paint job, but we’re not trying to win any car shows.

I pull the car over outside the junkyard. Daisy follows us out and goes running off into the woods.

“Probably going to find some dinner,” I say.

“I’m glad she’s free.”

Zach looks back at the garage we just left. “It doesn’t feel right leaving Ezra like that.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t.”

In the nearby woods, we find some fallen twigs and small logs. We drag them back to Ezra’s remains and cover up the body.

But coming back turns out to be a blessing in disguise. As Zach prepares the pyre, I spot something I hadn’t seen before.

“Hey, Zach, look at that.” I point to a circular hatch on the ground toward the back of the garage. It’s about the size of a manhole cover.

“That looks like the entrance to a bomb shelter. Ezra never mentioned it.”

“He had the car parked right over it. That’s why we didn’t see it before.”

“Let’s check it out.”

The hatch has a latching mechanism. It’s hard to disengage by hand, but kicking it does the trick. I open the hatch and stare into a dark abyss. A metal ladder on the side heads downward.

It descends about twenty feet to a cement floor. With a flashlight in hand, I scan the surroundings. It has all the earmarks of a bomb shelter. A long, narrow room extends back about fifty feet. Shelves stuffed with canned food, weapons, and other supplies line the walls.

Zach climbs down and stands beside me.

“Looks like he didn’t die of hunger.” I point to the lines of canned food.

Zach’s shoulders drop. “He was old. Maybe his heart gave out.”

“I guess we should see if there’s anything useful.”

While Zach tops off our packs with more food, I inspect the pile of weapons.

“Man, he’s got some military-grade stuff in here.” I point to a pile of hand grenades and landmines. On a whim, I stash a few grenades in the front flap of my backpack.

“Hey, look over here,” Zach calls out from the back of the bunker. He’s standing next to several five-gallon plastic gas cans. “These are full.”

“Nice. That’ll get us quite a bit farther.”

We haul up everything we want and stash it in the back of the car, sprinkling a little of the extra gas over the logs to be sure the fire burns well.

Zach stands over the pyre, matchbook in hand. He pauses momentarily, then strikes a match and tosses it in. “Goodbye, Ezra. I’ll miss you.”