– Web?

I pulled my hoodie tighter around my body the morning air still carrying a chill.

– Yeah.

The driver tilted his head at the passenger seat.

– Lets get rollin.

His window zipped up and I walked around the car. He pushed the door open and took a black suit coat from the passenger seat so I could sit. I climbed in, glancing at the rear of the cruiser where the back seats had been removed to make room for a gurney. And stashed just behind the front seats, a tightly packed bedroll and three milk crates filled with various pieces of camp gear tucked neatly on the floorboards. Coleman stove and lantern, hand generator emergency band radio, tent bag, ground tarp, a coffee can of rattling iron stakes, four small red fuel bottles, shrink-wrapped bundle of flares, boxes of waterproof matches, a hatchet with a well-worn leather handle, binoculars, a large plastic canteen, an Army surplus mess kit in a nylon pouch, a black cast-iron skillet with a heat-warped bottom. And more.

I pulled the door closed.

– Going on a trip this weekend?

He dug a finger behind one lens of his glasses and rubbed an eye.

– Do me a favor and buckle up, OK?

I pulled the seatbelt over my shoulder and lap and clipped the silver tongue into the buckle.

He stuck out his hand.

– Gabe.

I took his hand, calluses on his palm scratching my skin.

– Web.

He loosened his black tie and undid the top button of his white short sleeve shirt.

– Some coffee there if you want it.

I took the large white cardboard cup from the holder clipped to the dash.

– Thanks.

He put the car in drive and pulled from the curb.