Story #263 - Recharged

Recharged

The hum of the engine told Bret Mallory that he didn’t have too far to go before his power ran out.

The twenty desperate men running alongside him on the dirt road meant he had to stretch his batteries as far as he could – they’d take the car if he stopped, but wouldn’t spare him.

Most of them wore ratty suits of some kind, ties and shirts that had seen better days and which were ill-suited for the scrub and brush. There was no point remaining in the desiccated shell of the city; everything of value had been picked over long ago, and there was no fuel to be had in fifty miles. Millions were dead, and the fat, lazy upper class had been forced into the wilderness, sweating off the pounds they’d put on and trying desperately to learn the basic skills they needed to survive in the wild.

A protest from the engine told Bret the batteries were finally giving out, so he let off the accelerator, slowing the car just enough to allow the lead pursuer time to catch up. The fools were too tired and too stupid to know the difference between an electric and a gas-powered car, but the saggy-jowled man to his right would find out quickly enough. Jamming a large button on the dash, he felt a tingle of electricity as his modifications took hold. He wasn’t a technical guru, but it hadn’t taken too much know-how to modify the power core of the car to be not only rechargeable, but cover the exterior in a crackling blue death. It meant he had to slow down; the recharging process left him less power available for speed, but hopefully a few of their fellows dying in the road would convince his pursuers that a fat rabbit or spindly deer would be a better choice for their limited energies.

Swerving hard, he jammed the front corner of the car into the side of the closest man’s leg and was rewarded with the blue arc of electricity and a piercing scream. The man staggered away, and Bret could see a large hole in the side of his pants, marked out by a black and crispening edge, along with an angry red wound where pale skin had once been. The man’s face was locked in a rictus of pain, but he didn’t slow his step. It appeared he would not be so easily deterred.

Four more hits and Bret drove over the body on the ground, its limbs still twitching from the excess juice it had absorbed. Behind him, he could see the others in the pack falling back, fear and the exhaustion finally overwhelming their desire. Another push of the button gave him a jolt of speed, and he tore along the dirt road, leaving the group in his dusty wake. Distance was his friend, now.

…

Night brought a small campsite next to a stream, in what Bret was sure had been a national park. He’d never taken the time to visit any of the local landmarks, and while he had to admit it was beautiful, its majesty was somewhat tainted by the fact that the trees could easily contain large groups of men and women looking to take what he owned. His blood didn’t matter to them – they’d kill him or cripple him just as easily – it was the technology he possessed, the potential for power that didn’t die.

It was no surprise that the fossil fuel crisis had come on harder and faster than experts predicted. They were often in the pay of large corporations, trained to make things sound less dire than they actually were. There was no gradual scaling back of fuel, no rationing; one day, fuel trucks simply stopped arriving at gas stations, and within two weeks, there was no gas to be found in a fifty mile radius. The few who’d stockpiled fuel and were stupid enough to take their vehicles out in public had been swarmed, their cars taken by mobs and torn apart on the spot.

Bret had endured quietly, pleased he taken the plunge and bought and electric car, but not stupid enough to flaunt it. Before the ‘net went down, he’d been able to piece together enough information and done some modifications on the car, and once his neighborhood has been abandoned, had taken to the streets at night.

Three weeks of running and he was still seeing the same kind of packs, the same desperate faces and torn clothing. He’d been sure they would taper off the further he got into the forest, but many were proving to be far more resilient than he’d given them credit for.

A sound in the bushes had him standing, moving toward the hood of his car, key fob in hand.

“Who’s out there?” He called. There was no point in being coy.

“Master.” A sonorous voice floated into the clearing, followed by the gaunt form of a man in a long robe. Two presses of his key fob and the car’s headlights came on. The man stumbled back, hand going across his eyes, and Bret saw that his “robe” was in fact crudely-sewn pieces of hide, most of which had not been properly cleaned.

“Stay back!” He yelled. The man stopped in the middle of the clearing, then knelt in the dirt.

“We have heard of you, oh great one,” the man said, refusing to raise his head, his voice muffled by the spongy loam beneath him.

“Great one?” Bret stepped forward. “What are you on about, man?”

“Your vehicle,” the low voice went on, “it bears the marks of the maker. It carries the power of magic!”

“Magic?” He started to laugh. “It’s electricity, you idiot. Remember? Turns on your lights, powers your computer?

“No!” The man called out, finally raising his head to meet Bret’s eyes from under heavy brows. “It is far more than that. My heart has been opened to the true power of the universe. You wield this power. You are its Master.” Bret could see the intensity, the wildness that marked the man as no longer entirely sane.

“You are my Master, now.”


- D