It took two more days before we were ready to leave the ValuCo.
Two days of the stupidest bullshit I have had the misfortune to witness since the time I sat next to a militant flat-Earther on a plane flight.
When we told people about the pavemimics, I expected doubt. Most of the warehouse didn’t have windows, with the exception of the door near the employed parking lot. There were some tiny apertures cut in the garage doors near the killzones, but those were difficult to see out of, blocked by cages and only about a foot high.
Even if someone looked outside, it wouldn’t reveal the new stealthy monsters unless they were actively fighting someone.
I figured we’d have to find and kill a few in plain view of an open door to prove their existence - which we did - but I’d sort of expected that to end the matter.
Instead, a vocal minority flat-out denied the pavemimics existence.
“If there were new monsters, they’d be attacking the killzones.”
“I looked outside and I didn’t see anything.”
“Oh, sure, the new monsters don’t move. How convenient.”
“Ooo, you faked an attack by a new monster. People ‘saw’ it. So what?! It’s probably just some ability.”
“You should be ashamed of yourselves! Scaring good people just to get attention.”
Some people even accused us of inventing the monster to cover up our murder of Dan, the ex-military guy who went out shortly before us that morning and never returned.
Why we would want Dan dead was never explained.
The other people bold enough to hunt outside confirmed our claims, but that didn’t deter our critics. The other hunters were just part of our “gang” or people we’d “bullied into going along with our lies.
Most people believed us, I think. Some even vocally argued with our accusers. There were probably only a hundred or so who didn’t… but they looked just like the rest of the people from the warehouse. I knew their two leaders by sight: a woman named Francine and a man named Filbert. Those two were constantly following us around, watching us suspiciously and accusing us of nefarious intentions even when we were doing innocuous things like eating lunch. When we tried to fix a pump they started accusing us of making a bomb.
Everyone else who mistrusted us blended in easily with the crowd unless they were causing a scene.
We never blended in. No one staying inside needed a muffler or winter jacket or ski helmets. Even though we frequently took those things off indoors, we always had them close at hand. Zephyr’s lilac scales were impossible to hide or mistake. There weren’t many others with armored skin, and none with scales the same color as hers.
People started watching us suspiciously, no matter what we were doing. Our detractors would move away when we got close, frequently pulling crowds of neutrals with them. Everyone was twitchy and scared these days, and following the crowd was a good policy: someone might have noticed something you didn’t. Hell, the first time I noticed people near me get up and move away, I went with. It was only after several venomous glances that I realized they were trying to move away from me.
Insults and arguments were common, as were tiny missiles - balled up paper napkins or bits of foil. Grade-school bully fare. Nothing that would really hurt anyone, other than emotionally. When JoeyT noticed someone about to throw one at his back and shouted at them, one of the assholes took it as an opportunity to claim that he was about to attack, “proving” how violent and untrustworthy we all were.
Francine tried to advocate that we be kicked out of the warehouse. Irritated, I suggested that she and Filbert be kicked out to meet some pavemimics themselves. The moderate majority seemed horrified by both ideas, so nothing came of it.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The deniers kept lashing out at us in small, petty ways. Someone even woke Davi up from a nap by spitting on her face.
“Seriously! Who the hell does that?” Davi asked. She wiped her sleeve against her cheek. She’d already scrubbed it several times, but I couldn’t blame her for trying to rid herself of the phantom feeling of uncleanliness.
“They’re scared,” Kurt said. “And they’re taking it out on the bearers of bad news. As long as we’re scummy liars, they don’t have to change what they’re doing or worry about the future.”
“I’m glad it was only spit,” I said.
“Ugh! Easy for you to say!” Davi shivered.
“There are worse things than spit.”
Davi shifted uncomfortably. “Well, sure, but there are so many people around! If they’d tried anything really disgusting, someone would have noticed. The noise would have woken me.”
I shook my head. “That’s not what I mean. It doesn’t take a lot of time to hurt someone. Even kill them. I don’t think anyone would go that far, but…”
We started keeping sentries when we rested, both at night and for naps. We ended up sharing the duty with the others who were going outside to fight, since they were experiencing the same prejudice. By the time a day had passed, we were sleeping in what was almost a little fort, pallets of glassware and small appliances shoved together to make an enclosed area with only one entrance.
That definitely didn’t help convince anyone that we weren’t a gang or a cabal, but I was beyond caring. We might still be here physically… but mentally, I had moved on.
We’d raided truck cabs to find road atlases, and I’d been pleasantly surprised to snag several that were fairly current. Figuring out a route gave us something to do while Kurt recovered from each bout of Cleanse.
Heading south first was the one thing we all agreed on. I’d have loved to head straight east along I-70, but I couldn’t deny that having TAF’s help had been critical. Without JoeyT taking the ability to form wires and the rest of the team being willing to guard our backs while we delved into engine innards, everything would have taken much longer. Besides, we weren’t heading that far out of the way; we’d only agreed to travel with them to New Mexico before separating, them to the west and the rest of us to the east.
Byron wanted to detour into Dallas after that, to check on his grandparents and extended family, but he’d agreed to see how things were going before we made a final call. “Worst case, if you guys decide to go east on I-40, I can head off on my own when we hit Oklahoma City.”
That still left us with the problem of figuring out our exact routes. I-25 would take us south, but choosing the best route to the interstate amidst the maze of country roads was a puzzle. Even John, by far the most optimistic of our party, didn’t want to try to head through Denver proper.
Things should be easier after we reached the highway, but I still tried to map out parallel routes and locate exits. I wasn’t sure what we’d find in any of the smaller cities that dotted our way. Hell, something as simple as a traffic jam could make any road totally useless.
It was a relief when Kurt straightened up from the engine and announced that he was done.
“All clear,” he said.
“The gas tanks are full too,” Byron said. “And we filtered out the crap. Hard to say what kind of mileage we’ll get, but 250 gallons ought to get us somewhere, assuming it works at all. Try to start it?”
Kurt hesitated. “I don’t want to head out right now. I’m wrecked. Even if I can get it started, I’d rather be awake and alert in case of emergencies.”
I thumped his shoulder. “So turn it right back off again. Come on, you can’t tell me you’re not curious too. We’ve put in all this work! Let’s see if we succeeded.”
It didn’t take much persuasion. Kurtis grinned. There was a small glow from near the steering wheel and a click. We all stared with rapt attention.
The engine rumbled to life with an uneven whir. I saw the belts begin to spin, slowly, then grind to a halt.
“Damn it!” Kurt shouted. He slammed a fist into the side of the hood.
“Try it again, son!” John urged. “Fuel’s poor-quality. Just ‘cause it didn’t get going good doesn’t mean it can’t.”
Kurt stared at John for a second, his face torn between grief, hope, and fury. Then he shook himself and took a deep breath. This time, when he started it up, a blue glow also surrounded the belt to the fuel pump and the engine itself.
The engine, once again, gave off a fitful whine. Swaying on his feet from exhaustion, Kurt forced it to keep going for several seconds. The noise evened out to a steady purr.
The glow faded.
We held our breaths.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
The engine was still running.
I grabbed Kurtis in a hug and shook him. “You did it! We did it! We’re getting out of here!”
Kurtis flared his power once more, a blue glow of light bringing the engine to a halt. The action seemed to take all he had left. His eyes drooped shut and he became dead weight in my arms, already snoring. Even so, his mouth was locked in a smug grin.
One I was sure was mirrored on my own face.
As I slung my friend across my shoulders in a fireman’s carry, I couldn’t shake the thought: we were really doing it.
We were going home.