World on Edge: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (World on Edge Book 1) Chris Pike (drm ebook reader .txt) 📖

The controls were much different than in modern cars. The three pedals on the floor had individual uses. The one on the left was the clutch, the middle pedal was used for reverse, and the right pedal was used as the brake. The hand brake lever, located closer to the seat, needed to be in the neutral position to start the car.

The lever on the right side of the steering wheel where the blinker is located in modern cars, was for the two forward gears.

The key was located on the dashboard.

To start the engine, Tyler needed to prime it. He recalled the YouTube video instructing the driver to use his right hand to turn the crank three times. Not a full rotation, rather about three fourths of the way, return it to the original position, then repeat. This action allowed fuel to flow to the engine.

He looped back to the driver’s side and turned the key to battery, then returned to the front of the car. Leaning over, he steadied himself by placing his right hand on a wheel fender then using his left hand, not right because if the engine backfired, a broken right hand could possibly result, he turned the crank once and the engine roared to life.

By the time Tyler had started the car, the group had joined him.

“I’d need a PhD to start it,” Kinsey said.

“It’s not hard. Dad always said it’s kinda like engineering. Once you learn the basic principles, everything else is a piece of cake.”

“Right. I guess it’s why I’m so smart in engineering,” Kinsey quipped sarcastically.

Tyler slid into the driver’s seat. “I’ll teach you someday.”

“You’re driving?” Kinsey was incredulous.

“Yeah. Got a problem?”

“I guess not.”

“I’ll give driving lessons to anyone who wants one. I’ll warn you it’s not as easy as putting your foot on the brake and pushing the start button. A lot of steps are required to get one of these babies going and to drive it. If you don’t crank it right, you can break your wrist.”

“You drive,” Becca said. “We trust you.”

Once everyone had taken a seat in the Model T, including Oscar who was sitting on Ethan’s lap, Tyler worked the various levers in the car, eased up on the brake, turned the steering wheel, and puttered at the lowest possible speed towards the exit.

“Joe, will you open the door to the street?” Tyler asked.

“Of course,” Joe replied. “Be right back.”

Joe unlocked the garage type door and manually lifted it into place along the ceiling. The metal rollers creaked and grinded against the tracks, sounding like it would collapse at any moment. When the back of the Model T cleared the building, Joe let the door slam back to the ground.

“Damn, that was loud,” Joe said. He squeezed into the backseat, taking his place next to Lexi. Once Joe was situated, Oscar moved to sit next to Joe. “Let’s get outta here before someone sees us.” Joe tapped Tyler on the shoulder to prod him to pick up the pace. “Unless this baby can go fast, we’re a sitting duck.”

Tyler drove the route Joe suggested was best, choosing the back streets through neighborhoods until he reached the exit to the massive 610 Loop.

“Stay on the service road until we reach Westpark Drive. Take a left there, then go straight. It’ll take us directly to the Westpark Tollway. It’s a straight shot out of the city and into the burbs.”

The group puttered along the service road, passing a large home improvement store and other businesses. The group briefly discussed if anything of use could be left in the home improvement store, considering it appeared to be looted. The consensus was to keep going. The car bounced over a hump in the road where a railroad track had been removed to make way for bigger streets. Tyler turned left and proceeded under the 610 Loop underpass where the dank area was notorious for a dumping ground, illegal activities, and a camp for homeless. Sunlight was blocked off, and the banal chitchat of the group ceased.

“Go faster,” Joe said.

“It won’t go any faster. This is as fast as the car goes.”

“Do better,” Joe said.

“I’m telling you,” Tyler said gruffly. “Forty miles per hour is the top speed.”

“I don’t like this place. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

Oscar had travelled in vehicles many times. Cars, trucks, vans, but this one? It was different. It smelled odd, like a hundred shoes with a hundred different stories had climbed in and out of the car. It was old. Regardless of the car’s history, Oscar let his eyes roam over their surroundings. It smelled of a once bustling city, with the hum of cars, and the energy of life. Oscar smelled life was still here. Just different. He lifted his snout towards the air rushing in. An odor, so vague, so faint, just a whisper on the wind, that he had difficulty recognizing its meaning. It was similar to what he had come in contact with before and his mind filed through a million odors filed in the recesses of his brain. It was an odor of hopelessness, of hunger, of danger.

Oscar growled low in his throat.

Joe’s sixth sense or what some would experience as the hairs standing up on the back of their neck, had saved Joe’s hide more than once. He had to think about what he was doing. He didn’t go looking for trouble, yet trouble found him, like filling in for a fellow colleague who should have been working Super Bowl. The guy’s wife had gone into labor early, and since the new dad wanted to be present for the birth, Joe had to be the stand-up guy, cancel his fishing trip, and do his buddy a solid. And what did he achieve by his altruistic offer? A