Read Online A Different Alchemy by Chris Dietzel - Free Book Online Page B

thousands drowning each lane.
    What genius designated a major highway as the dumping ground for fully functioning automobiles? Why not some place where the remaining people weren’t inconvenienced, like Fairmount Park? He knew the reason. Everyone did: people were, by their very nature, inconsiderate and selfish. They wanted to feel like they were doing something good by leaving their cars for whoever else needed them, but instead of taking them someplace out of the way, they were in a hurry to get further south and resettle ahead of everyone else. They didn’t care that their shitty little car was blocking the middle lane of the goddamn highway, they were just happy to be able to say “Well, that was my good deed of the day!” before driving south and leaving the state forever.
    The reserve of available cars, along with the lack of any meaningful police force, also meant there were as many traffic accidents as there had been when the city’s population was at one hundred percent, even though only half the city was occupied. With backup cars readily available and no fear of receiving a ticket or getting a higher insurance premium, drivers used their vehicles like bumper cars. One night on his way home from work, Jeffrey saw an old woman side swipe a middle-aged man for no better reason than she didn’t feel like using her turn signal. Another time, he saw two drivers caught up in a bout of road rage trying to drive each other off the highway on their way home from work. If any of their cars became damaged too badly, they could just get out and get in any other car they wanted.
    Only a month earlier, a black Lamborghini had pulled into the Becksten’s driveway across from Jeffrey and Katherine’s house. Charlie Becksten got out, saw Jeffrey, and waved to him. The week before he had been driving a white sedan.
    “I’ve always wanted one of these,” Becksten called across the street, a dumb grin plastered to his face. “Found it out on 295. Figured I might as well upgrade.”
    Becksten was the one man dumb enough not to realize the Great De-evolution made the deteriorating roads a nightmare for luxury cars. Jeffrey was sure he would find a white sedan parked in the middle of 295 the next day, sitting in one of the lanes where the black sports car had been previously. Everyone was doing the same thing. Hopper, the lieutenant who worked down the hall from Jeffrey, had shown up to work the week before riding a Harley Davidson that he had found in an abandoned shopping center.
    “Always wanted one of these,” the man had said to Jeffrey with a smile so big he had a hard time pronouncing his consonants. It was the happiest Jeffrey had ever seen the other man.
    Jeffrey’s eyes opened. It was easy to fall asleep these days, even at work. He missed the days when he would get to the base with a list of too many things to get done. Those were the days that would fly by—it would be time to go home to Katherine before he knew it. Now, there was never a day when he actually had to do anything. Not that day, that week, or, really, ever.
    Officers were sneaking away one by one. No one was going to care if an Airman First Class reported for duty or not. One day, Jeffrey and five other officers had gone to the supply room and catalogued every piece of clothing that still existed on base, doing so for no better reason than they were bored. The six men spent the day checking off boxes for boots, belts, shirts, and pants, by color, size, and camouflage pattern. It only took them ninety minutes. The rest of the day they stayed in the storage room and took bets on when they thought the base would close down permanently.
    One of the men had thrown his hands in the air and said, “Whatever. No one cares about this place anymore.” Another man chipped in: “There was a day when every base probably had a Russian spy. You couldn’t pay the Russians to care about this place now.”
    Previously, before the Blocks appeared, the same chore