Waking world

Elmore awoke groggily, blinking at the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. The smell of fresh coffee lingered in the air, and he felt stiff from days of deep, exhausted sleep. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, which creaked under his weight, realizing belatedly that his clothes were clean, the room was tidied up, and a blanket had been draped over him.

"About time you woke up," Ash's voice chimed from the kitchen, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. She set down a plate of eggs and toast on the table, leaning against the counter. "You’ve been out for two days. I had to drag you to the couch after you passed out at the dinner table. And then..." she trailed off, laughing softly, "you wet yourself like a baby. So I had two little ones to take care of for a while."

Elmore flushed with embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry about that, Ash. I didn’t mean to—"

Ash waved her hand dismissively, still smiling. "Don’t worry about it. You’ve been working yourself to death. Honestly, I’m just glad you got some sleep. You needed it."

He chuckled sheepishly. "I guess I did. I’ll clean up the couch in a bit. And, uh… thanks for handling everything while I was out."

After finishing a quick breakfast, Elmore took a long, hot shower. The water felt like heaven against his sore muscles, and as he washed off the grime of the last few days, he thought about how lucky he was. Ash had taken care of everything, and the fact that the power was back on was a welcome surprise. After getting dressed, he cleaned the couch and tidied up the mess from his unintended hibernation.

Ash was busy with Edward, so Elmore decided to tend to the garden. As he walked outside, he was amazed by how rapidly everything was growing. The crops were coming in faster than expected, and the weeds were sparse, as if they had simply given up against the strength of the soil. Kneeling down, Elmore inspected the rows of vegetables, running his fingers through the soft dirt.

"At this rate," he muttered to himself, "we’ll be self-sufficient in no time. Maybe another month or so."

The fruit trees in the backyard were even more astonishing. The branches were heavy with ripening fruit, and Elmore realized he could already harvest a decent amount. He grabbed a laundry basket and began picking, moving between trees, filling it with apples, pears, peaches, plums, and cherries. By the time he was done, the basket was half full with five different types of fruit, their vibrant colors shining under the sun.

Elmore walked back inside, setting the basket on the kitchen counter. "Ash, look at this," he said with a grin. "I was thinking… we could start selling some of this fruit. If the garden keeps going like it is, we’ll have more than enough for us. Could make a bit of extra money on the side."

Ash glanced at the overflowing basket, nodding in approval. "That’s a great idea. Tomorrow, we can head into town and see what we can get for them. But today..." she paused, her eyes sparkling. "You’ve got that truck to rebuild, don’t you?"

Elmore smiled, knowing what was next on his to-do list. He hadn’t worked on the old truck in a while, and now was the perfect time. Before everything had gone haywire, his father had gone in for surgery and was staying with Elmore’s grandma up in town. They were doing fine and planned to move back into his dad’s house soon. But for now, the truck sat waiting in his father’s yard.

Elmore grabbed his tools and made his way up the path to the truck. There, nestled in the cover of tree and brush like a sleeping beast, was his and his father's old black Ford. It was a sight to behold—a relic from an era when vehicles were built to last. The truck's body was solid iron, an unyielding testament to an age before crumple zones and modern safety features. Its angular frame gleamed in the light, a hulking, stubborn mass that seemed to defy time itself.

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The truck had character. Its black paint, though chipped and faded in places, still gave off a deep, mat sheen. The white interior, surprisingly well-preserved, looked clean and inviting, with those old bench seats that were as comfortable as they were spacious. There was no air conditioning, no power steering—just raw, old-school engineering. The kind of truck you could feel in your bones when you drove it, as if it was more muscle than machine.

Elmore ran a hand over the hood, feeling the cool metal beneath his fingers. The truck didn’t have the luxuries of modern vehicles, but it had something better—durability. This was a truck that had been built before the concept of “planned obsolescence” had entered the conversation. It didn’t bend to the whims of progress; it simply existed, a mechanical brute that refused to die.

"Well, old girl," Elmore said quietly, smiling to himself. "Let’s get you running again."

With that, he opened the garage doors wide, grabbed his tools, and got to work. The day stretched out before him, but he didn’t mind. There was something almost meditative about working on the truck—each bolt he turned, each part he cleaned and replaced felt like a small victory, a step toward reviving a piece of history.

Old iron

As Elmore worked on the old black Ford, he marveled at how much easier everything seemed this time around. The parts that had once felt impossibly heavy were now manageable, like they were made for him to lift. He remembered every detail from the countless hours spent in the garage with his father, struggling to breathe new life into the truck. Back then, they’d hit roadblocks—sometimes because parts were too hard to find, or because his father lacked the know-how for specific repairs, like welding aluminum.

Elmore paused for a moment, thinking back to that time. His father had stared at the truck with frustration etched into his face. They had tried their best but had to stop when they reached the aluminum welding job. It had been a major setback.

Now, though, Elmore felt something different stirring within him. With brute force and ingenuity, he didn’t bother with welding the aluminum; instead, he crafted replacements from the scraps that littered the junkyard his family had called home for nearly 150 years. Old parts lay scattered about, some half-buried under dirt and brush. His dad had always joked with him about how their home was built on top of a rusted gold mine. Today, though, Elmore saw the truth in that.

He rummaged through the wreckage, pulling out bits and pieces that he shaped into usable parts, replacing the ones that had been a problem in the past. It was almost as if his hands moved with a knowledge that wasn’t entirely his own, making complicated modifications simple, solving problems as if they were puzzles he already knew the answers to.

When it came time to replace the engine, Elmore expected to need the cherry picker, a tool they'd always relied on for lifting heavy engines. But as he gripped the old engine, he realized he didn’t need it at all. He could lift it by himself, muscles straining slightly but not enough to stop him. With a grunt of effort, he pulled the old engine out and set it aside. He brought over the diesel engine he had prepped for the truck, modifying it for rougher fuels in case they couldn’t get anything better in the future.

In just five hours, the entire engine swap was done—a task that should have taken him all day, if not longer. He stepped back and admired his work, wiping the sweat from his brow. The truck was one step closer to being roadworthy again. But he wasn’t done yet.

He walked back to the house—a short five-minute trek—and grabbed a quick lunch with Ash. She had made sandwiches and filled him in on Edward’s antics while he’d been gone. After a brief meal, Elmore returned to the garage, ready to start on the next project.

He gathered a few steel drums from the junkyard, cleaned them out, and set up a makeshift fuel-processing station in the corner of the garage. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it would work. He knew they had five 50-gallon drums of old engine oil lying around, and with some effort, he could refine it into diesel fuel. That took up the rest of the day, and by the time the sun was setting, Elmore was exhausted.

He trudged back home, his legs feeling like lead with each step. When he finally stepped onto the porch, Ash was waiting for him. "You look like you’ve been through a war," she teased, handing him a towel as he walked inside.

"Feels like it too," Elmore muttered, his voice tired but satisfied. He took a long, hot shower, scrubbing the grime off and letting the heat soothe his aching muscles.

At dinner, he sat down with a deep sigh of relief. Ash placed a plate of food in front of him, and he dug in gratefully. Between bites, he filled her in on what he’d done that day. "The truck’s coming together faster than I expected. Got the diesel engine in, and I set up a station for processing fuel. With the oil drums we have lying around, we should be set on fuel for a while, even if we can’t get gas."

Ash smiled at him, her eyes filled with admiration. "That’s incredible. You’ve been working so hard. I’m really proud of you."

He chuckled, a tired grin on his face. "Well, now we’ve got a backup plan for when gas is impossible to come by. It’s not perfect, but it’ll work, and most importantly run."

They spent the next few minutes in comfortable conversation, talking about plans for the garden and how well Edward was doing. The mood was light, a sense of accomplishment hanging in the air. Everything felt like it was finally falling into place, like they were ready for whatever came next.

Then, the mood shifted.

The television, which had been playing in the background, suddenly flashed with breaking news. Ash picked up the remote and turned up the volume. Elmore paused, his fork hovering above his plate as they both turned their attention to the screen.

"It’s starting," he murmured quietly, the words hanging ominously in the air.