[OT] Short sci-fi story: The Lifeboat

[dogscoff]

OK, Geo inspired me, although I felt like throwing some discontentment into the mix. Here goes...

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Steve grumbled as he removed the Last of the wheels from his beloved van, which was propped up on four miscellaneous items of approximately equal height. He'd rescued this van from a scrap merchant four years ago and for five months poured all his spare time and money into renovating and decorating it. He'd surfed every beach in Australia from that van, driven it around Tasmania and half way round New Zealand, only for it to come to this. He reckoned he'd covered well over a hundred thousand Ks in it- although he guessed he could add some light-years to that now. He sighed and swore as he pulled the wheel off and laid it aside, then started considering the axles. 'Why am I doing this?' He thought, but dutifully slid underneath and began reaching for the tools to remove them. he'd thrown parties out of that van, even lost his virginity in it. He sighed and grumbled again, then swore loudly as his hand slipped onto a rusty edge and a gash of red appeared along the side of his thumb. He'd have to go and ask that miserable Maggie woman for some bandages and antiseptic or something. She was only a physiotherapist, but along with a trainee pharmacist from the tour group and a few first-aiders she was the closest they had to a doctor. Maybe the other village would have someone better trained, if those two ever got back with the bikes.

Steve slid out from under the van and nursed his hand, sucking away the grease and blood. The engine compartment lay open, empty. It had been his own suggestion to use the trusty old diesel engine to haul timber from the forest at the edges of the bLast area, but he never for a minute meant to remove the engine from the van. He wished he hadn't said anything, but he just had to break the monnotony of everyone else's voices. Those campfire meetings were so boring and self-congratulatory. Steve sometimes wondered if they weren't actually enjoying this nightmare, with all the energy and zeal they put into everything. John was the worst, by far. The humble farmer and self-appointed chairman of the community had soon assumed a kind of mediative supreme authority and ruled with an air of apparent openness and acceptance. However, there was definitely an inner circle in Steve's opinion- a cliquey little enclave consisting of his own extended family, the african elder guy and the Dunfords- and it soon became clear to Steve that anything coming from outside that group was insignificant, or worthy only of consideration after a great deal of debating, debunking and redefinition by the higher-ups. Therefore his own suggestion of turning the van's engine into a winch to drag logs across the scorched ground had mutated into a plan to remove the engine from the van and mounting it to a simple frame of scaffolding poles that could be moved closer to the bLast radius, so that the winching could be done in a series of shorter, easier twenty-metre drags rather than a single drag of several hundred. The fuel remaining in the van would probably be enough to shift a few tonsof what an initial survey had found to be sturdy, heavy plant material that could be cut quite adequately with their saws. There were plans to build a few shelters, since the tents, the vans and the tarpaulin shelters were only barely adequate for their numbers. Since the aliens had incinerated anything within a kilometre or more of the camp and early, cautious explorations had come up with no worthwhile sources of masonry- which would have been just as heavy anyway, Steve supposed- that meant that his van was needed to haul timber.

When the campfire meeting had finished stripping his beloved camper of its wheels and axles to be used in the winch frame, they'd commandeering his surfBoards- nothing was sacred- for the eventual construction of a raft for reaching the other village. It had all been carried by a vote, and the fact that they were Steve's van and Steve's surfBoards simply wasn't a consideration. Now denuded completely and stripped of all dignity- even the custom paint job was gradually disappearing beneath a layer of white ash kicked up frm the surrounding soil- all that was left was to lower the van's bare shell down into its final resting position to serve as maternity ward and post-natal nest for Ruth, who was due to drop any day now.

Ruth was one of the few people here Steve actually liked, although she reminded him painfully of an ex-girlfriend back in Melbourne, either dead by now or waiting for her time to starve under a thick, lightless sky. He choked up just thinking about it- imagining his friends and family looting supermarkets to survive just a few weeks longer, rioting for food- but gulped back the tears. It was fine for John and the Dunfords, they had all managed to bring people they loved. They could sit at the head of the group feeling smug and superior, but Steve had been travelling alone, and he was here alone. Maybe when they got news from the other village, he could be the next to visit. Maybe things were different there. Standing now, he kicked the tyre lying prone upon the floor and made his way over to find Maggie.

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Who's next then? Come on ppl...