Duncan pulled the car to a hard stop - nearly skidding - on the far side of the freeway and opened one of the gull wing doors, grabbing a set of military grade binoculars.

The movement Duncan had seen came from a girl standing next to a car with black smoke billowing out. He knew every inch of the highway for about 20 miles in either direction by now and that car had not been there yesterday. But it wasn’t the car that was moving. It was … it was … a … girl. There was no mistaking the shape even at this distance. He brought up his binoculars just to be sure. And despite himself a slow wolfish smile tugged at his lips.

Now Duncan had never really noticed girls much that way.  Truth to tell he had mostly homeschooled himself. Then his parents had decided he needed to mainstream so he could be with kids his own age. And even though he had technically graduated already, he had been forced to go back to school. He had learned one thing from kids his own age. They were complete idiots most of the time. They usually drove him nuts. There was one thing that he had failed to learn to deal with.

And he was looking at one right now.

Girls had been one mystery he hadn’t figured out. Most of the girls who spoke to him wanted one thing - better grades. Or rather someone to get the better grades for them. There had been that cheerleader. She’d been clueless. But what geek in his right mind says no to sitting next to the prettiest damned girl in class?

He watched as the girl cupped her hand to shield her eyes from the sun to the East.  She was sort of short he guessed - not that he was much taller. He had noticed his height starting to change. He already wore size 12 shoes, his feet being first to sprout in size. He had gone through a new pair of shoes every couple months in the past year. He had yet to notice that his pants were starting to get a little short. He would have been entering his senior year and about to grow a full foot if the Plague hadn’t hit. Most teenage boys finish the biggest growth spurt by around age 16. Duncan had only just started and was nearly 17.

Duncan realized he was busy reflecting on his size while the first living human being he had seen in nearly a year was standing there looking at him - a very pretty human being at that.  He tried to fight down the hormones that even now were making it hard to think straight. Instead he tapped his horn a couple times, made a few wild arm gestures, and revved the engine. Then he gunned the engine and took off like a shot … westbound to the next exit … where he pulled a U turn. If he had timed himself he might have realized that he had approached 0 -100kmh in just a little over 3 seconds. He got to the girl and car in about 2 minutes flat and actually skidded - unintentionally - to a halt when he arrived.

His face reddened a little. He hadn’t meant to nearly overshoot the girl or be so obvious in his excitement. For nearly half a minute he just sat there trying to get up the nerve to get out. Finally he worked up the courage, opened the gull wing door and stepped out.

“Hi,” he said awkwardly. “I’m .. uhm .. Duncan. Uhm … broke down?” He could have kicked himself. Of course she was. “Uhm … gas? I mean does it run on gas? Gasoline is starting to go bad by now.” He blinked as he realized he had a working car behind him. “Mine is a hybrid. And I figured out how to make pure ethanol and my own E85. I was just testing out the new fuel mix.”

Part of him just wanted to offer her a ride. Mostly he saw someone to talk to - a smoking hot someone. But the pragmatic side of him took over and he decided to see what she wanted first. “If it is the fuel, I can’t really fix it with what I have on hand. But I could convert it to run on alcohol maybe. Problem is you can’t use regular alcohol. You have to purify if with a molecular sieve. It isn’t that hard. Just have to know what you are doing and how pure the alcohol is you are starting with. Anything under 190 proof and you are wasting your time. I heard there was a way to make 194 proof, but I don’t have the equipment for that.

He looked back at her car. “Well, I can’t fix that here. But I can get a tow truck.  Diesel is even going to go bad.  Most fuels are mixtures.  The volatile parts evaporate.  Other parts autooxidize. I can check real quick to see if it is obviously the fuel. Just a minute.” He walked over and struggled with the gas cap before getting it off.  He then went into his trunk to pull out a hose and a baby food jar. Then he walked back over to her truck to draw a sample with the hose.

“I tried searching for people. Drove all over the US. But … nothing. You are the first person I have seen since … “ his voice dropped away for a minute before starting over. “I missed most of the Plague. My foster parents sent me to live in a cabin when they got sick. When I finally came out … the world was pretty much a void. Part of me is wondering if you are real or just some dream.” He glanced over and tried not to smile, but failed. His jaw worked but all that came out was a short laugh.

“Sorry … but this is like …,” he stopped. Then his voice jumped up an octave and in volume for an instant before settling down. “SO! How to recognize bad fuel 101.” He paused. “You know why guys like cars? Because it is easier to talk about them than people.” He shrugged. “Bad gasoline smells sour. And I hate to say this, but this car probably isn’t worth fixing - at least not with my skills. The bad fuel has probably damaged the fuel lines. And adding good fuel won’t help as the lines are going to be clogged. Think of all the fuel as food that is turning into bad cholesterol in a body. Plaque forms and you get clogged arteries. You can do more harm draining the tanks and lines than good.” He paused and drained some of the fuel into the baby jar. “Yep … see how the fuel is dark? That’s the result of what I was talking about.

”The black smoke isn’t good either.  My guess is bad oil, or no oil.  Not worth fixing.  That would mean the rubber in the transmission is gone.  That’s a soft rebuild by itself.  

“Tell you what, grab your vital supplies and I’ll give you a lift back.” He grinned and flushed a little.  “I have a repair facility for a base of operations.  If I am weirding you out, I can probably fix you up some way to continue on your journey.  But I also have plenty of space.  I’ve stocked up a little over the past year.”

He ran over and moved his military assault rifle (AR15) and spare clips out of the way.  The Barrett Light 50 (50 cal sniper rifle) he pushed to behind the passenger seat, but pointed away.  There was a hiker’s backpack in the back - probably his go bag. Even for a test run the guy took no chances of being stranded without supplies. He had covered the seats with plastic - probably trying to keep grease off them.

He adjusted his Ray Bans a grin breaking out on his face. Then he stopped, realizing he was being rude. Subconsciously his muscles flexed. He didn’t even realize he had any muscles. He still thought of himself as the 98 pound weakling. “Anything you need help with? Not much space. It isn’t likely that someone is going to steal anything. And if they do, we should count that as a good thing.  It means more people.”

Duncan seemed unaffected by solitude.  Perhaps he was a little overeager.  But then any average teenage boy might be.  Definitely a geek, and not shy about it or even defensive.  He clearly accepted that role.  But he also seemed a bit athletic. He showed signs of being accustomed to very strenuous work.  He walked with a slight limp in his right leg, suggesting an old injury.