Page 39 of Leveling

“Pull it together, Stanford, you have five days, the twenty-third, but you need to be ready to work. Sandbags won’t fill themselves.” She scribbled on a card and shoved it toward him.

“Yes, of course.”What had Anna meant?He shoved the card into his pocket.

The woman looked at him for a second and turned down the hall.

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Beckett’s trunk was in the storage locker where he had left it almost five months ago. It contained a backpack. He shoved his great-great-great-great-grandmother’s quilt in the bottom and filled the rest with clothes, tees and fatigues, the Calvin and Hobbes book, and his boots.

It was hot, not enough breeze coming in at the windows, and he guessed the AC wasn’t working. Or maybe the power was being sanctioned. It was all kind of the same thing. He dressed in his sandals, dark green shorts with cargo pockets, and a light green t-shirt. He put his wallet in his back pocket and happily turned his cycle key over in his fingers. It would be good to ride it again.

Stepping out of the front door of the base’s hospital meant every sense was accosted. Heat was stifling. People were crowded around the front steps. He pushed through to the immense parking lot. It took a while to find his cycle amid the hundreds of tarp-covered cycles, lined up in rows with more crammed in between.

He pulled the tarp off and lovingly ran his finger down the curve of the gas tank. He would need to go to the bank, then gas, and then...

He strapped the pack to the back of the seat, threw a leg over and sat down, turned the key and felt the machine hum to life. Sitting on the hum, he hit the throttle a few times, revving it, leaned on his arms, enjoying the power. Not much in the past five months had seemed familiar, or comfortable, or even logical, but this...was good. He tore out of the parking lot, his back wheel kicking up a giant cloud of dust.

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