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Saturday Morning
Henderson Nevada–7:00 AM
Curtis rose early to prepare breakfast in the bunker's kitchenette. Expecting the trio’s arrival, he stocked up on food deliveries. Curtis has breakfast plates on his long desk when Rick stumbles into the main room.
“Wow, this looks wonderful, Curtis.”
Curtis brushes off the compliment. “I hope it’s all right. It’s been a long time since I cooked for anyone. It surprised me I could still order fresh eggs, bacon, croissants and orange juice.” Curtis doesn’t mention he paid triple the normal price.
“Compared to what I’ve eaten the last few days this could be the Ritz-Carlton,” Rick says, ecstatically.
Jin steps into the main room. He brushes his hand slowly over the blanket covering Becky as he passes the dining area.
“Hey buddy. Just in time for breakfast,” Rick says.
“Not hungry,” Jin mumbles.
Curtis rushes to Jin, leading him to sit in his executive chair. He moves a plate of food in front of Jin.
“Jin. Eat. You’ve got a nasty wound. You need to get your strength back.”
“Thanks for patching me up, Curtman. I’ll be fine.”
Rick studies Jin. “Your body will heal quickly. It will take more time for the wound to your heart. I can only imagine how I’d feel if...,” Rick’s voice trails off.
“You need to get to your family. They must be sick with worry,” says Jin.
“It’s normally a five-hour drive. The Vette will get you there faster. Traffic data is not updating on my map, so I can’t tell you what the roads are like,” says Curtis.
They finish breakfast then move to the garage. Curtis moves quickly up the narrow stairs. Rick and Jin follow. Curtis steps through the metal door to find the garage half destroyed. The storm has torn off sizable portions of the roof. Attic insulation, wood, and debris are strewn everywhere.
“I always thought a skylight would be a nice touch. Not quite this big though.” Curtis says, surveying the missing roof.
“It really brightens up the room,” Rick says.
Curtis looks to the rear of the garage and instantly grieves. “Oh, damn. My baby.” Curtis steps through the mess on the garage floor to check his high-pressure extractor. “Ah geez, the compression chambers are crushed, and the monitor is cracked. Oh, man it’s ruined. This is bad.” Curtis picks through broken parts, mourning the destruction of his custom designed extractor.
He looks to the glass enclosure containing his inventory of THC extracts. “Everything is smashed” Jars and vials of extracted oils drip to the floor. “My work is ruined. Luckily, I stored a bunch of stock in the bunker.”
“Sorry about your equipment and the extracts. The storms are destroying everything,” says Rick.
Curtis looks at his broken extractor. “It was giving me problems. I was going to tear it down, anyway. Maybe I can rebuild it.”
Jin uses his good arm to pull insulation and wood off the Corvette. “We have another problem here. Meteorites have punctured the hood, ooh, in several places.”
Rick kneels to peer under the car. “There’s a pool of oil on the floor.” Rick stands. “This Vette isn’t going anywhere.”
“How about the Harley’s? Check the bikes. A bike might be better, anyway,” says Curtis.
“The bikes have tipped over on each other. I’ll get the wood and dry wall off them.” Rick says. Once the debris is cleared, he lifts the top bike and sets the kick stand. “This one’s dead. There’s a hole going through the fuel cell chamber.”
Jin tries to lift the second bike but struggles with the weight. Rick helps him. “I can get it,” Jin says. As they lift the bike, the damage is obvious. “The handlebar of the other bike crushed the battery compartment and smashed the ultra-capacitor. This bike is finished too,” says Jin.
Curtis leans down to examine the damage. “I think I can fix this. We can swap parts from the other bike. Might take a few hours. We can do this.”
Rick pushes more debris aside to uncover the antique Indian Motorcycle. He stands the bike up. The clutch is twisted out of position. Rick easily pushes it back. He looks the bike over. “This bike is a classic. It looks to be in decent shape. How about this one?” Rick asks testing out the handlebars.
Curtis, gulps. “That one? That’s my dad’s. It’s a 1950 Indian Scout 440.”
Rick gives the bike a once over. “It’s old, but it’s in great shape. You’ve really taken great care of it.”
Jin lifts his good arm over Curtis’s shoulder. “Ole Walter wouldn’t mind. He’d want to help Rick get home to his family. Don’t you think?”
Curtis steels himself. “Oh, man.” Curtis stalls. “I know. It’s just, it’s the only thing I have of my dad’s. It was his favorite. I’ve kept it in the same condition all these years. It’s like he’s here, with me—”
“Hey, Curtis, I understand. I wouldn’t think of asking you to let go of something that means so much to you. I’ll find a car. Heck, if I hadn’t broken the TX, I would fly home.”
“No! No! Hold on. I’ve got a container of fresh gasoline in the compressor room.” Curtis hustles through the mess in his garage.
Rick and Jin clear debris from around the old Indian motorcycle.
Curtis returns with the fuel. “Jin’s right. My dad would have insisted you ride the Scout. Let’s fill up the tank and get you on your way.”
Curtis opens the fuel canister, then asks, “Rick, can you fill the tank? I need to get something.”
“Sure. I really appreciate this, Curtis.”
Jin clears debris so he can raise the garage door.
Curtis scurries through the debris as quickly as his big frame allows. He pulls open the door to the house and shouts. “Oh Boy! Another skylight in the kitchen.”
“Hopefully, this works. Open Garage.” Jin commands the garage to open. The door is bent from wind blasts. It stutters as it rises, causing the motor to grind loudly. Jin uses his good arm to push the door past the rough spots.
Curtis returns to the garage loaded with gear. “You need a helmet. This is a Bell Bullitt Retro with a full-face guard. Looks bad!” Curtis says, handing the helmet to Rick. “I got it for when I was gonna ride. And you need a jacket. It gets colder than you think while riding, even in the desert,” Curtis explains as he dumps a jacket into Rick’s arms.
“Thanks, Curtis.”
Rick pulls the jacket on. “How does it look?”
“It’s classic. You look like a European military officer from the Second World War,” Jin remarks.
Curtis checks the fit on Rick. “It’s called a Duster. It’s a hundred percent leather. It fits you just right. I bought it when I was on a diet. I was sure it would fit me one day. Oh well. It’s yours now.”
Rick pulls the helmet over his head and poses for his friends.
“Wow! You look badass,” says Jin.
Curtis disappears into the house again.
A few moments later he reappears carrying a pistol grip compact shotgun and several bags and boxes. “I know you have that dart gun from New Zion. Take this just in case you need something more powerful in the real world. It could get dangerous out there.”
Jin gasps. “What is it?”
“It’s a Mossberg 500 Chainsaw six-shot pump-action shotgun. Take it, just in case.” The Mossberg 500 has an unusual feature. It has a large handle mounted on the fore end.
“You pull this handle to load a shotgun shell,” Curtis says, as he pulls the handle.
Rick eyes the weapon. “I’m not sure I’ll need it. What’s with the neon green ZMB logo?”
“Oh, it’s the Zombie killer edition,” Curtis says, with an embarrassed laugh.
Curtis hands the weapon to Rick. “It’s got a nice heft to it. Zombies, huh? Well, you never know what I’ll find out there. Thanks, Curtis. Are you sure? This is too much.”
“It’s... it’s just stuff. I love my stuff, but stuff means nothing compared to friends and family.”
Rick loads the shotgun with slugs and holsters it to the side of the Indian Scout. “I put a box of shells, bottled water, and a first aid kit in the saddlebags for you,” says Curtis. Rick pulls his backpack on over the jacket and cinches down the straps.
Jin steps to Rick with his hand extended. “Thanks for getting us to Curtis. We couldn’t have made it without you.”
Rick pulls Jin close, giving him a big hug, then hugs Curtis. Last-minute goodbyes are said, and tears shed.
Rick mounts the Indian Scout and kick starts the bike, bringing the twin four stroke 440 CC engine roaring to life. He twists the throttle, revving the engine, puts it in gear and slowly pulls out of the garage. As he rides onto Parawan Street, he holds up his left hand, waving a last goodbye.
