Florida Man Meets His Maker
Of the 135 people that had started out from Salt Lake City, over 100 had been lost in attacks, abandoned the gang, or died of starvation, sickness, or cold in the crossing. As they neared Portland and the promise of secure food sources, they stopped for a moment along the Columbia River. A small raft was constructed and a few bodies of the fallen were lain on top of it. The rest of the gang pushed it out into the river, and several members fired off their guns in salute. Florida Man watched with tears in his eyes as the raft slowly floated away.
"Well, I guess we made it," muttered Adams with a sigh.
"Not sure if it really was worth it, you know," Florida Man said glumly.
"Don't be so hard on yourself," added Cecile. "You're doing a good job with this group. And you're saving your country."
"Speaking of which, I think it's time you got us into the GUB," broke in Dr. Trotier. "It was a high price to pay, making this crossing in winter." He stared off at the boat, now a dot on the broad river. "Surprising just how hard it really is now that things have... changed."
"But we'll be making it better," chimed in Dr. Mills next to him.
"Well, you'll sure be happier to get in that lab than staying out on the road with me," commented Florida Man as he headed into the Gator Mobile.
Near Portland they discovered a farm cooperative that was willing to trade with them, and they got as much food as they could. For the first time in weeks, everyone went to bed with full stomachs.
The next day, they crossed over the Columbia River on the road back up to the GUB. A fair number of people from Oregon were even willing to come along with the gang, so they now had just about enough to fill out the vehicles if a fight became necessary.
Just outside of Tacoma, the gang hit another stroke of luck when they found an abandoned high school with a large supply of dried and canned food stored up in the cafeteria. There was a bus repair facility on the campus as well.
The GUB, thankfully, was intact. The people there had so far only heard rumors of the bombing of Colorado Springs and were sorry to hear the news.
The research of Trotier, Mills, and Washington was quickly loaded into the databases at the laboratory and all the doctors got to work right away on it. With more than just one researcher, they expected rapid progress. The GUB director said he was very grateful for Florida Man's perseverance in making it to the site even in winter.
Florida Man considered the successful exploits of the Gator Goons, and looked at where they hadn't ventured yet. California seemed the next logical choice, as anywhere else would likely be unreachable before the spring thaw.
Even getting through the state of Washington in late January proved difficult, as a snowstorm came in that delayed their movement southward.
[
This was a lucky catch of the 'bad weather' message, which pops up on every move in the winter when you're far enough north. ]
Upon return to Portland, they ensured that the city leaders would set aside a reserve of food and other supplies for them, just in case the gang was in trouble again.
A little south of the Portland and Salem area, they discovered that the Invaders were attempting to make a grab for control of central Oregon. While the Gator Goons' numbers had swelled back to a more respectable size, Florida Man decided to pass on engaging with this enemy at the time. He could only hope that the gang's stronghold in Salem would hold out, and instead headed straight on to California.
Getting over the snowy mountains in southern Oregon proved to be trickier than expected in winter, which resulted in a longer, roundabout route southward. By the time they had reached the Sacramento Valley in California, the vehicles were almost out of fuel, and there didn't seem to be many places to stock up.
To make things worse, a wave of mutants struck them that night, claiming more than a dozen victims.
After the attack, Jack asked Florida Man, "What do you make of these mutants showing up here? Another city got bombed nearby?"
"I don't know, man," the gang's leader replied. "We just have to keep fighting them off."
"Kind of wish we still had Dr. Washington's Geiger counter with us. Wouldn't be surprised if they had nuked San Francisco as well."
California's state capital turned out to be under the thumb of the Invaders. Florida Man was nervous just hanging out in the city. But with no fuel left, the gang was forced to stick around for a day searching every last corner for enough gas to get them going.
Eventually they located some barrels of it on an abandoned farm outside of the city. It was just enough to get the vehicles out and away from Sacramento. They headed westward, and after crossing over into the Napa Valley, decided to make a stop to look for more fuel.
"We're in Napa?" asked Dr. Kassabian when they stopped. "This is Wine Country! I was out here about eight years back. They got a lot of good wine. Hopefully there's some still around."
"So, doc? If they got a lot of it, think we could use it for fuel or something? I know alcohol burns real good," said Florida Man. "Of course, I know
that's not the only thing we'll be doing with the wine. Hell, I bet we could sell it off to people if we had enough of it."
Adams spoke up. "Now, I'm not in favor of letting the troops have some time here, but we need really need to find some gas. And if it's not here, we need to move on."
Jack added, "Yeah, I don't think it's worth it to try and run the cars on wine or something. We should just enjoy it!"
Harold interjected, "Where we really ought to go is L.A. That place is practically paved over. Cars everywhere, and there must still be a lot of gas that's still good. Or at the very least someone will have brought some in from the oilfields."
The search for 'fuel' was a bit of a bust. On the other hand, it was a more pleasant spot to be stuck. The weather had definitely been improving; clouds often gathered and it rained sometimes, but temperatures were warm. This gave them a moment to relax and enjoy the wine. Unfortunately, a lot of the new recruits saw no point in sticking with the gang once they discovered how nice the region was.
Eventually they did discover a little more fuel; enough to get them to San Francisco, at least, and maybe beyond.
They crossed into the city from the north by passing through a misty fog. Luckily for them the Golden Gate Bridge was still standing, although they noted that the paint was peeling and it was unclear for how long the bridge would remain usable if neglected.
The city itself showed more activity than they'd seen in a while. Rival gangs held sway in various quarters of the town, and clashed when trespassing on each other's territory, which seemed to happen frequently.
The Gator Goons were at their temporary base in a block of ruined old houses near the beach when a disheveled woman arrived asking to speak urgently with Florida Man. She passed on that she had met Myron Smidlapp a while ago, when he was traveling east and she was going west. Then she added that she hoped he had fared better than her, since coming out to San Francisco had turned out to be a 'great mistake'. Florida Man offered to let her ride along, but she said she was sick of traveling across the country, and maybe she'd be heading up north along the coast somewhere.
Instead of any useful supplies such as fuel or even food, the most plentifully available thing in the city was more guns. It almost seemed as if feeding the constant violence was a better business for some than trying to stop it, or helping the few scared residents rebuild.
Florida Man was worried that if they stayed for too long, they'd become targets themselves, or possibly lose members who wanted to get in on the local action. He had had enough of fighting over cities. He ordered the gang to head out.
They made their way southward from San Francisco on a highway that was fairly clogged with wrecked cars. It was slow going, but they encountered no threatening gangs on the way. A few dozen miles south of the city Harold pulled alongside the Gatormobile and honked his horn. He pointed off the highway and called out, "Hey look, it's SSI!"
"Who the heck is that?" asked Florida Man. "Some government office, like the GUB?"
"No," replied the old bus driver, "but I think you should check it out."
Florida Man signalled the gang to take the exit and they circled around toward the building. Jack pulled up near the Gator Mobile and shouted, "Rengstorff Avenue? What's here, buddy? You hear of a spot for fuel?"
"Naw, just that Harold said there was something here to check out," responded Florida Man.
The cars stopped out front of a office building with a plain wooden roof and brick columns near the entrance. The sign near the door read 'Strategic Simulations, Inc.'
Florida Man got out of the Gatormobile and Jack and Cecile hopped out to go with him. Army Ranger Simms started barking loudly, and Florida Man patted him to calm him down. Then he looked over at Harold, who gave him a half-hearted wave to go in the building.
"I guess we'll just check this out," he said as he stepped to the front door and pressed the intercom button. The receptionist indicated that only Florida Man was allowed inside, for 'security reasons'. "We can't let everyone see this," she commented. Florida Man told Army Ranger Simms to stay with Jack and hesitantly went inside.
Florida Man followed the curious figure up the stairs and was led to the man's computer.
When Mr. Johnson first presented the computer screen to him, Florida Man was confused. "What the heck is this you're showing me? You've been tracking us or something? Looks like you've got all the details of the gang on that machine!"
Mr. Johnson chuckled. "Well, let's just say that you are, in a way, both here," he said, gesturing to the room around them, "and in here, in the world of the electron and the switch." He tapped the computer monitor lightly.
"Not sure what you mean, man," responded a still-perplexed Florida Man.
"Well, look, I saw the food trouble you were having up in Oregon—"
"I knew it! You are tracking us! Are you with the GUB or what?"
"Don't worry about it much," drawled Mr. Johnson. "All you need to know is that we can help you out. Fix things up a bit. Even give you some new skilled leaders."
"Help us out? You've got trained people here?"
"Something like that. Now for one, you could use a better doctor."
"I don't know, Kassabian has been alright."
"Trust me, you need it. Anyway, you'll like the new one way better. Should keep your guys alive longer."
"Well, how about a new politician? Getting a better recruiter ought to help?"
"Yeah, I guess so. Walker's all right, but he's sure not as good as Elpida was."
"Well, I can't, I mean I'm not going to bring her back, but we can hook you up with someone just as good, maybe better." He typed for a bit into the computer, then waited a moment. "And a drill sergeant... hmm, you want someone new to train your men?"
"Well, I think Sgt. Adams is doing a fine job with all the men and women we got," responded Florida Man nervously. "Plus I don't really want to just kick him out now, he can't go back to Colorado."
"Well, you wouldn't have to worry about that so much. Anyway, how's about we soup up your vehicles?"
"We can improve top speed..." said Johnson, typing a bit more, and then moved down a few lines at a time to enter more numbers.
"...give them more acceleration..." he continued, his fingers speeding over the keys.
"...and even more armor."
"Uh, that's cool, but how long is it gonna take? We just got a scoop on someone we're looking for in, uh, you know, somewhere, but we want to get there pretty dang quick. We could use some extra fuel, though. Whatever you got in your garage."
"Well, it's just about done, reloading now. Oh! you wanted fuel, well, too late about that, sorry."
"Just about done? What do you—"
"—mean?"
Florida Man suddenly found himself standing in front the SSI building again. Cecile stared at him. "Well, aren't you going to go inside?"
He jerked his head toward her and muttered, "What?"
"Come on, go check it out! We're waiting."
Florida Man protested, "I just went inside! They had this computer there, said they were going to do a bunch of stuff for us, and then something happened and I was back out here."
She gave him a somewhat concerned look. "No, you haven't set foot in there. We were all wondering why you stopped. It was kind of weird."
Jack interjected, "She's right, you didn't go in there."
Florida Man responded, "But I met this guy, Mr. Johnson? He said they could do stuff for us, like, he said we'd get a new doctor, and Walker would be gone, but I told him Adams had to stay..."
"Walker? George Walker? He is gone... don't you remember? He left, and Mr. Griffin showed up."
"Wait... where's the doc? Did another one just 'show up' too?"
"Dr. Tranh? She has been with us since... I guess since yesterday? I feel like she must have been with us longer. I know Dr. Kassabian went back to the Mayo, but I don't recall when that was, really. Or maybe he just stayed in Napa at the hospital there? Was that when she showed up?"
Jack responded warily, "Yeah, could be... I'm not sure myself."
Army Ranger Simms sat on the ground and cocked his head to the side. He gave out a high, confused howl.
By this time, Florida Man had made his way back to the Gator Mobile. Immediately he sensed something was different and ordered one of the soldiers inside to pop the hood. When he opened it up and saw an even bigger engine had somehow been put in he let out a shocked, "Ha!"
"I knew it! They were aliens, I tell you! They must've been to do all this!"
"To do all what?"
"You know, soup up the cars. Don't it look nice, now." He stroked the upgraded engine lovingly and then dropped the hood. Then he looked around at the rest of the Gator Goons' vehicles. "I bet they fixed up all of them!"
He called over at the bus. "Harold, Harold, just how did you know these guys? What did you have them do?"
Harold had been absent-mindedly swiping flies off the windshield of his bus. He simply responded, "I don't think they've done anything. It all looks okay to me."
"Oh, come on, you see it, right? Even your bus looks like it'll run better now."
"Maybe there were some aliens, and they probed you and wiped your memories or something. You sure you didn't just save a few extra bottles of that wine in Napa?"
Florida Man sighed and said, "Well, it all looks nice anyway. Let's just get out of here." He gave a suspicious look at the SSI building and climbed into the Gatormobile.
The gang made a stop a little farther south, in San Jose. They found the town to be relatively safe and secure, thanks to a local militia that had control of the city center. The militia made regular patrols of the surrounding streets and kept an orderly, if somewhat sterile, peace.
Florida Man learned that their political recruiter was named Lionel Griffin, an Oakland native who had been a lawyer before everything 'went crazy', as he put it. He started talking around and managed to bring in a fair number of new members before they left town.
Continuing south from the S. F. Bay Area, the highway led them toward the coast. In Monterey, they stopped at the old army base overlooking the seaside community. Initially the guards were suspicious, until Sgt. Adams had a chat with them. He was able to convince them that the Gator Goons were legitimately serving the cause of finding a cure.
They even got a few recruits for the gang from among the soldiers stationed there. More importantly, they were told that someone had been waiting for an outfit like theirs. After a few minutes, a stocky white man in his forties strolled out of one of the buildings. He was wearing a bright yellow Hawaiian shirt and short pants. He introduced himself as Donny Dade.
"I've been doing some research here. The virus hit here pretty hard at first, but it didn't stick around as long. And there have been hardly any of that new strain I heard of. Honestly, there hasn't been that much to do. Got some surfing in now and then even," he smiled faintly.
"We aim to take you back to the GUB," announced Florida Man. "But we might explore a bit more of the state first. Can we get down to Southern California from here?"
"It'd sure be nice to see the coastline," added Cecile.
Dade responded, "Well, I heard Highway 1 is blocked. Probably a landslide or something. I wouldn't try it."
"Any other roads that head to L.A.?" questioned Cecile.
"What do you wanna go there for anyway?" asked Dade. "You got someone else to pick up? Dr. Washington down there?"
"Actually, no, we already got him. But what we really need is fuel. It's been pretty hard to come by."
Dade grimaced and responded, "Well, that's something you might well find there. If anyone's figured out how to still get gas pumping in this situation, it'll be L.A. They got enough cars to fill up the whole desert down there.
"You got enough to make it all the way? You're probably better off avoiding the coast if not. Head down the Valley, that's where the main highway goes. I wouldn't trust 101 to have any along the way either, and like I said, Highway 1 is closed."
Leaving the coast behind, they headed inland over the roads that were still open, and ended up in Stockton. The city had a certain amount of calm, but that seemed to be only because it was a stronghold for the Mafia.
They managed to stay clear of the mobsters in the city, and at a local high school, found a large cache of food as well as a place to fix up their vehicles. Lionel was out every day pulling in more recruits, and the gang's numbers were way up. Fuel, however, was still nearly impossible to come by. Florida Man said they needed to keep heading south.
As they headed down the Central Valley, they discovered the small town of Modesto, another populated oasis that seemed mostly crime-free. A number of admirers came to check out the Gatormobile, and Florida Man proudly cruised around the town all day.
Further south, they came to the larger city of Fresno. Luckily, there were still a few places willing to sell them some gasoline. It was only just enough to get them out of the city. Nevertheless, Florida Man was eager to move on, as the scouts had reported that the Invaders controlled this town as well. Even with a higher number of gang members, most of them were untested and he was concerned about how well they might perform in a real fight.
The gang stayed on the road from Fresno until they reached the next sizable town, Visalia. Despite rumors that it, too, was under the sway of the Invader army, the town seemed relatively quiet, and the gang stopped for the day to search for more fuel.
"We've got to cross over some more mountains to get to Los Angeles. I don't think we'll make it at this rate unless we can get more gas."
At that point, Harold stepped in with a thoughtful look on his face. "You know what, if I remember, I think I've seen oil wells down along this stretch of freeway somewhere. That's gonna be where they produce it around here. Maybe we can get it at the source."
Unfortunately a small group of Invaders attacked that night, leaving four dead. The Gator Goons left town early, before more reinforcements could catch them. They headed out in the direction Harold suggested might lead to an oilfield.
By mid-afternoon, they spotted some abandoned oil pumps on a broad, dusty plain. It was an encouraging sign, and the gang sped up to see if they could find any that might still be working. As they did, they saw a small cloud of dust rising up and moving quickly across the fields in their direction. It could only be a rival gang, or perhaps guardians of the wells.
Florida Man signalled the gang to hold up and have their guns at the ready. The opposing vehicles approached in a tight formation, and then skidded sideways into a stop in perfect synchronization, almost as if wanting to line up their cars for show. They had a 1969 Mustang convertible and a 1970 Dodge Dart with a supercharger, with two Harleys with sidecars next to them. Both cars and cycles were painted a deep black, with elaborate designs in a skeletal white depicting grinning skulls with a swirling vaporous trail around them. The cars also were decked out all over with perfectly polished chrome, including prominent shiny metal skulls as hood ornaments and on the helmets of the bikers.
The motorcycles began to slowly circle around the cars in a figure-eight pattern. The riders were all dressed in black leather, and on the back of each jacket could be seen yet another death's head, with the world 'Skulls' in flowing script above it.
Someone in the mustang fired off their rifle in the air, and the battle began as both sides accelerated toward each other. The enemy cars stayed in a tight formation, with each motorcycle acting as a 'wingman' to the custom car near it. Florida Man trusted in the Gatormobile to outperform them and gunned the engine so he was at the lead of the Goons' side.
All four enemy vehicles converged on him as the rest of the Goons started to pull closer from behind to provide fire support.
They skillfully dodged barrages of fire from the Mack truck and Jack's van. Gunshots from the Gatormobile managed to hit one of them, though.
"Looks like these folks aren't just about polishing their cars, they can actually drive," shouted Florida Man.
"You're giving them a good show too, man!" shouted back Griffin from the top of the Freightliner truck, where he'd taken up a position to view the battle.
One of the motorcycles took a fatal hit to the driver and skidded straight into Jack's van. The Mustang then tried to cut him off from the other side. Instead, he slammed on the brakes and pulled off a surprise sharp turn to avoid them.
While Florida Man tangled with the Mustang, the Hyundai got up alongside the other motorcycle and blasted it.
The Dart smacked the Ford's rear bumper. Jack slammed the gas pedal and the wheels kicked up dirt as he pulled away.
The Skulls circled away from the trucks with speed and precision, leading to a battle that was mostly them against Jack and Florida Man.
The Hyundai ended up nearly colliding head-on with the convertible. As they swerved past each other, a Gator Goon leapt down from the top of the car and into the open rear seat. Two more followed after, and a melee ensued for control of the vehicle.
It was a bloody battle, with only one lone Goon victorious in the end. She slowed the convertible to a stop, and then smashed off the chrome skull on its hood.
Before long, the final car was hemmed in by the other vehicles, and its owners surrendered. Florida Man considered keeping it as a prize, given how nice it was, but he knew it would be too fragile in a real fight. It had barely survived the encounter with them.
With the fight over, the Gator Goons were in for a sad surprise. It seemed there wasn't actually any gas in the field to fight over.
They searched for another day across the dead oilfield with no luck. It was not surprising when another detachment of Skulls arrived. They were now facing two classic Camaros and a 1970s Buick Gran Sport, all covered in polished chrome and death-themed black paint jobs.
This group seemed more aggressive; possibly because they'd heard of what happened to their gang brothers and sisters the previous day.
The Gator Goons polished them off easily, though, and yet another pile of chrome skulls was taken as trophies.
Using 'quick combat' with a gang like this that has all small vehicles is an easy win at this point. We have enough extra mass (structure bonus) that none of our cars are in danger, although there will be a bit more damage than if this had been a full tactical fight.
While they'd found a moderate amount of fuel in their two fights with the Skulls, Florida Man was sure there had to be some around, even if the local gang wasn't defending the tanks themselves.
At long last, they found a working oil well, and drained as much fuel as they could. The Gator Goons were ready to roll out again.
Donnie Dade approached the gang leadership as they prepared to head out the next morning. "So, why are you still planning to head to L.A.? I figure you got enough gas to make it up to the GUB, right?"
Florida Man answered, "Well, it's not certain that we'll be driving up there so soon."
"Why not? Don't we need to get back on the job?" asked the scientist.
Jack intervened, "It is still January. Coming down through Oregon was a trial. We can head back up through that mess, but then we'd have to head back down again. And we'd still have to go clear across the country to also find this Dr. Smidlapp."
Griffin asked, "So just where is Smidlapp at, anyway?"
Cecile replied, "We don't know. Maybe in the Southeast."
Adams said, "Where we just were for like, two months. We didn't run into him, so he might not even be there."
Florida Man responded, "That's not totally true. We never went up to Carolina. A lot of places he could be hiding out."
Griffin then said, "Well, it sounds to me like you ought to be heading somewhere in that direction. 'Cause you gotta find this guy and bring him in, right? And you know what?" He pointed up to the east, where a dark line of hills rose up into a haze of snow-capped mountains. "You can't get there from here. Those mountains are way too high. We got to head to L.A. first anyway if we're gonna get to Carolina. Unless you want to head back north."
Cecilia responded, "The man's got a point."
Florida Man gave the order for the cars to start up, and the gang went southward down the highway.
This week's film:
A Boy and His Dog