Loose Change

Gareth Cornelius Hale lay motionless on the cold surface of the on-ramp to the Greendale Parkway, tightly gripping his latest invention.

"New Jersey in November. What the Hell am I still doing here? Freezing my ass off, that's what." he whispered the chastisement to only himself.

The first snowfall of winter had fallen only hours before, covering the roads and abandoned vehicles that were strewn all along the motorway, but the familiar crunch of snow under foot could faintly be heard in the distance. Slowly, the soft shuffling sounds grew closer and closer to where the man had intentionally positioned himself.

* I should just pack up and head to Florida. * he thought, his silent reverie cut short by the foreboding task at hand.

* Focus, Man. Focus. * The sounds of dragging feet and guttural moaning were close enough now that he could identify at least four distinct individuals. When he felt they were close enough, the test would begin.

* Fifty feet. Forty. * The shuffling sounds grew closer.

* Thirty. Wait for it. Twenty. Closing in. Ten. Wait for it. Now. * His inner voice screamed inside his head.

Gareth Hale leapt to his feet and took aim with the most uniquely odd mechanical device anyone had never seen. It resembled a steel hand gun but with squared off edges. There was also a hopper of sorts rising from the top of the "Game Changer", as he so named it.

Hale squeezed the trigger which released the high tension tungsten springs holding a lever inside to spin at a super high velocity. The ammunition released from the "barrel" in a flurry, but were the antithesis of bullets. The projectiles that flew through the air, towards the creatures at lightning speed, were silver, flat, circular, objects.

Loose change. Quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies were the choice of ammunition Gareth Hale was now, by all laws of physics, throwing from his weapon at a velocity that caused the coins to pierce and penetrate the flesh of the walking corpses. Limbs falling. Blood spattering. Heads pulled from bodies. As the final corpse fell to the blacktop a slight smile spread across Gareth's face. * It worked. Perfectly. *

"CRACKLE CRACK SSSHHH CRACKLE."

Hale was startled by the sudden burst of radio static coming from one of the big rigs littering the highway. He made his way to the purple tractor, a huge big box store chain emblem decorating the trailer.

* Maybe there are some supplies I can scavenge in there. * He drew the self-forged sword he carried out of its scabbard and silently opened the driver's side door of the cab, pouncing back into an attack stance on preparation to defend against whatever nightmarish creature that might coming pouring out. But there was no one or nothing in the interior of the truck's cab save for the continuing crackle of an old CB set.

Hale wondered how this device could still be being powered, and the answer came, as he climbed up and looked atop the roof of the vehicle. A small, collapsible, solar panel was affixed there, still doing what it was designed to do, drawing energy from the sun. He followed the wire down into the cab and found it was directly connected to the CB set. He sat to the task of carefully taking the panel down and also removing the CB Set. Inspecting the connection he found it looked to have interchangeable ends. After a little investigation, thru the glove box and other compartments, he found a small baggie filled with multiple size adapters, one being the specific adapter which would fit into his daughter's long dead smartphone.

Gareth Hale had lived in a whirlwind of turmoil ever since the battery of the device died four months previous, leaving him with no images or video of his wife or daughter save for the tiny Heart-Shaped Locket he wore which contained the only picture of them as a happy family. He continued to carry the small thin device, in the extremely small chance he would ever find a power source that could re-charge the battery.

Tears began to fall, like rain, from the man's eyes, as a cascade of emotions flooded his mind, with the anticipation of seeing his family again, if only through blurry images and shaky video. The broken man brushed the hope-filled tears from his face, continuing his inspection of the big rig.

Suddenly the radio crackled to life again only this time with the resounding, and eerily creepy, sound of the Emergency Broadcast System, startling Hale making him lose his footing on the truck's step falling back onto the cold, hard, snow-laden highway. As he lay there catching his breath an older man's voice, which was deep and had a southern accent, came booming across the airwaves with an heir of conviction.

"This is a message from the West Coast. Seattle, Washington still stands. We are here. We are surviving. We are one hundred thousand strong. The city is defensible. There is plenty of food and water. If you're hearing this make your way here. Today there is Hope and Together We Will Rebuild America."

In that single word Hope, Hale felt the weight of the world lift, just a little.