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entered, not
surprised at the frigid air inside. He poked around the aisles in
search of a hose of some kind but had no luck. He then located a
maintenance closet across from the restrooms and spotted a length
of garden hose hanging from a hook. Removing the hose, he headed
outside and walked over to a massive Ford pickup parked off to the
side. He was elated to find a gas can in the bed of the truck,
suggesting that the driver had run out during the storm. He lifted
out the can, which was empty, and placed it on the ground beside
the truck.
    Luckily, the truck’s fuel cap was not locked. He
unscrewed the cap and stuck the garden hose in as far as it would
go.
    Tom brought the open end of the hose to his mouth.
Taking a deep breath, he placed his lips around the hose and
started sucking. It had been decades since he’d siphoned anything
and the first time he’d ever siphoned gasoline. The smell nearly
knocked him out by the time he got his first mouthful of the
burning wet fuel. Nearly gagging, he quickly plunged the hose into
the gas can, spilling several ounces along the way.
    Tom siphoned enough gas to fill the two-gallon can a
half dozen times. When he’d emptied the last of the gas into the
Jeep, he tossed the can along with the hose into the cargo section
and got back behind the wheel.
    Tom backtracked to the I-71 south access road.
Radiant sun was coming from the southeast as he drove along at a
brisk speed. In another ten minutes, he pulled off onto the Broad
Street exit and began his search for signs of life in downtown
Columbus.
    As expected, there were cars parked along the
streets, no working traffic lights and not a glimmer of life. He
swung by the Columbus Police Department, double-parked and ran up
to the door. He went inside and glanced around the darkened
reception area. Not a single soul. It looked just like the
Worthington P.D. but a lot bigger.
    Columbus, Ohio was absolutely shut down and totally
evacuated-save for one solitary soul. And it looked like that soul
would be abandoning the city as well.
    With a shrug, Tom hopped back into the Jeep, drove
east to the I-71 entrance ramp and headed north to New York
City.
     
     

CHAPTER 7
     
     
    By the time he reached Akron, Tom was totally lost in
thought. He thought back to the last time he’d been in New York,
which was nearly twenty years ago. He had lived in The Big Apple
for over five years in search of his idea of the American Dream:
becoming a self employed, successful artist.
    After graduating cum laude from Ohio University with
a B.F.A. to his credit, Tom had returned to his hometown of
Smithtown long enough to realize that he was going to have to get
out of there pronto if he had any aspirations of making a living at
his chosen career. Not only was the tiny town economically
challenged, as was the case of virtually every other Appalachian
town in southern Ohio, it was absolutely depressing. He had enjoyed
his childhood there but it was time to spread his wings and go
somewhere that had a future.
    After several weeks of serious deliberation, he opted
for New York. After all, he figured, if you’re going to be serious
about a career in art, you may as well go to the art capital of the
country. And besides that, he knew of a friend living there who had
offered to put him up until he was able to get on his feet.
    So it was off to a new city and a new life. After
several agonizing weeks of pounding the streets, he had finally
found a job with a salary decent enough to allow him his own loft
space in Soho. Although the nine-to-five gig as an archive photo
intern at the Museum of Modern Art was interesting and fairly
prestigious, Tom would much rather have been creating his own art
instead of preserving others.’
    But it was a job nonetheless. And in addition to a
generous salary, it offered him a great opportunity for
establishing connections in the art community. Tom had dove into
his new job with a positive attitude and worked on his art in