The ward was silent but for the spinning of fans overhead and the breathing of men sleeping. Outside, a few crickets chirped, lapsing into silence when the occasional soldier passed on his way to some late-night assignment. Donovan lay on his thin mattress, trying to match his breathing to the rhythm of the sleeping soldiers around him. Two doctors passed outside the window, talking of plastic rationing and the latest Federal directive against hoarding. Donovan stiffened, straining to judge the speed of their walk and the direction they were going.
When all was quiet again, he eased out from under the sheet and swung his feet to the floor. He had been practicing this movement for days, in spite of the pain in his ribs and shoulder. He stood a moment at the side of the bed, then pulled a bundle from under his pillow, picked up his boots, and made his way to a window. It was a window like all the others in the hall, left open to let in whatever breezes could get through the badly mended screen. The only things that distinguished this one from the others was that it was away from any sleepers’ beds and it was the one Donovan had altered earlier that day.
He cut the threads holding the loosened screen and after checking that he was still unobserved, he sent his bundle, his shoes and finally himself after, grimacing as he landed on the hard-packed ground. He scooped up his belongings and made a dash for a spot he had scouted earlier behind an outbuilding. The effort made him double over with pain, clutching his side where bandages concealed a long row of stitches. Maybe this was a mistake. But no, he had heard the orders given to the doctors: Get them ready. If he waited any longer, escape would become more difficult, maybe impossible.
As the pain faded to a dull ache, he undid his bundle and slipped into uniform: loose pants, t-shirt, long-sleeved jacket and a cap. All business now, he affected a brisk walk as he headed toward the motor pool. There was a guard at the gate, but Donovan had seen the roster and knew he had nothing to worry about. He saluted briskly. “Evening, Taylor. Boss man told me to give you a break.”
The guard, barely a teenager, blinked with the startled expression of a rabbit. “He did?”
Donovan studied the boy in the flickering electric light. Poor kid was too young to be serving in the Guard, or in any military unit. He probably lied about his age and signed up to get three squares a day, like so many did these days. Unless, of course, he was one of the ones grabbed off the streets. Any able-bodied man over sixteen was expected to be doing military service, but this poor kid was what, fourteen? And he looked like for at least part of his life he’d had things pretty good. Maybe his parents had died from one of the new viruses. Or maybe he was picked up by over-zealous recruiters while out with his friends. It hardly mattered. What Donovan liked was that he was naive. It was a stunning oversight that had put him in charge of guarding the motor pool.
“Better get going, before someone changes their mind. Anything I need to know? Anything happening?â€
“Just the same old shit. A good shift to take a nap, if you ask me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Once he was sure the boy was gone, Donovan scanned the rows of vehicles. Some were falling apart, others were newer and seemed in good repair. But even though they were a Federal agency, the Guard got the last of everything, so there was no guarantee that a transport bus didn’t have bald spots on its tires or a jeep have cracks in a fan belt. One certainly couldn’t expect that the vehicles had full tanks of gas. Donovan spotted a few promising ones and examined them more
closely. The first was a pickup. It looked to be only about twenty years old—a gasoline-electric hybrid, light and fast. But a closer inspection revealed worn spots on the tires and headlights that wouldn’t turn on.
The next was a transport truck. It wouldn’t be as fast as the pickup, but the lights worked, the tires were sound and although it wasn’t a hybrid it had two gas tanks—one full, the other nearly so. Donovan made a mental note of the license plate, then went to check the final vehicle that had caught his eye. This last was a jeep. It looked faster than the transport truck, but listed slightly to one side and was so old it probably pre-dated the collapse of the Saudi oil fields and the invasion of Venezuela.
Donovan returned to the guard post and pulled the key to the transport truck. Then after another look around, he hurried back to the truck and started it up. The engine caught with a deep, satisfying purr. It wasn’t often that one got to hear that sound. Now if he could only remember how to drive!
Gingerly, he pulled out of the parking space and headed toward the front gate. This would be the toughest part. If he got stopped, it was all over. But Donovan was no fool. Surely there was some other way to live than by stealing from the civilians he had sworn to protect. There had to be some place in this mad world where a man could find a little peace and hope.
This was where the alley cat smarts of Donovan’s childhood on the streets would pay off. That, and a little desperation.
Ann is a hobby writer who enjoys experimenting with new ideas, styles and mediums. For the last few years her
writings have focused on a speculative future in which humanity failed to prepare for a world with inadequate hydrocarbon fuels. She blogs at Writings and has published Bella Diana and My New-Found Land.
Excellent story, Bunny! I liked it very much!