by Schow, Ryan
“Light ‘em up,” Gator said.
Colt fired on them, dropping three, then chasing down a fourth until he put three rounds in his back.
Garrity couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Bodies fell in the streets. Gator ran over one of them, then Colt fired at three more. They had popped out of another car and started shooting back. All three died quickly and violently.
Gator pulled up in front of the station. “You want us to help you inside?” he asked.
“No, just cover me.”
Gator nodded and said, “When this is over, if there’s anything left standing, I’ll let you buy me a beer.”
“I’ll buy you two,” Garrity said, getting out painfully, slowly.
Before Garrity headed inside, Gator rolled down his window and said, “If this thing gets too out of hand, if it all gets hot and goes to shit, head up to my place in the hills. You remember where it’s at?”
“Yeah.”
“Faith and I are taking off ASAP,” Colt added. “If you have any issue with Gator’s place, feel free to use mine.”
“Thanks, guys,” Garrity said, the burned flesh now feeling like acid had been poured on his skin.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Colt McDaniel
Gator managed to get them out of town and back on US-27/Danville Rd, but as they closed in on Sugar Creek Pike, they saw a bunch of guys setting up a checkpoint. By then, it was sprinkling again, the iron-colored sky refusing to let up. Half of these clowns quickly turned their guns on the Jeep when they heard it coming.
“You got any more ammo?” Colt asked.
“I’ve got plenty at home,” he said, not nervous, but emotionally dug in, “but I’m out right now.”
“Me, too,” Colt said.
Gator reached down for the windshield wipers, found them, and turned them on. They then pulled to a stop in front of about eight guys, one of them rather large and unsightly. It wasn’t just his jet black hair, his pasty skin, or his black clothes that were intimidating, it was the sheer size of him. He was at least six-foot-eight and heavy.
“Look at this big bitch,” Gator muttered out of the side of his mouth. “He looks like he listens to devil music and draws pictures of dead hookers in his spare time.”
“He’s got to be pushing three bills,” Colt said, thinking three-hundred pounds was about right.
Colt had a really bad feeling. It wasn’t just the look of the big one, it was that there were too many of them. If he and Gator were stopped, they’d be out-manned and out-gunned. Gator pulled to a stop, then waited. The beast motioned for him to roll down his window. He did so, but with a knife in hand as the guy approached.
“Why is there blood on the grill of the Jeep?” the big boy asked.
“That’s pig’s blood, bro,” Gator said.
The guy eyed him suspiciously. Up close, he had acne on his cheeks, a pierced eyebrow, and Superman black hair. Except he was no superhero, unless a dumpster sloth with the power to just be big and ghastly was a thing.
“No, it’s not,” he challenged.
“Yes, it is,” Colt said from the passenger seat. “Law enforcement can suck my ass. What you guys are doing is right.”
“And what exactly do you think we’re doing?” the behemoth asked.
He leaned down to look across the cabin at Colt. He glanced down at the M4, but Colt’s hands were off it and it looked harmless the way it was laying. Outside the Jeep, three of the eight guys had guns aimed at them. Through the dirt and rain-speckled glass, it was an intimidating sight.
Colt and Gator glanced at each other, then Gator said, “Burning this bitch down, of course. I mean, that is what you’re doing right?”
The guy’s face relaxed.
“It is.”
“Good, we’re going back for gas and ammo. You know where the P.D. is on North Main Street?”
“We’re new here,” he said, almost like he wasn’t expecting any of this conversation.
“Yeah, well, on North Main, Nicholasville P.D. shares a building with the Fire Department, which means this is a two-for-one deal.”
“Who are you with?” he asked, still suspicious. “Because you don’t look like the kind of guys who would be hip to the cause.”
“We’re with ourselves, Goliath. In case you can’t tell, we’ve been hit by an EMP. Everything is fried. That means it’s every man for himself. You want to join our crew? We’re starting it right now and we could use someone tall. What do you say?”
“Why would I join your ‘almost’ crew? There’s two of you and eight of us, not to mention all the other guys we’re with.”
“We’re getting gas and weapons,” Colt said. “When we come back, you want to maybe join forces, take out all of Nicholasville’s law enforcement in one fell swoop?”
“Maybe?” he said, shaking his head as if he’d bitten into a bad piece of fruit. It was hard to tell what he meant having given such a noncommittal answer.
“We’ll smoke that joint,” Gator said, “and roast marshmallows over their corpses.” The way he said this, half-psychotic, even Colt believed he wanted to kill the cops and burn down the fire department.
Instead of further conversation, the big guy stood up straight and motioned for his guys to let them through. The guys lowered their weapons and stepped back.
“We’ll see you on the way back,” Gator said. “Think about what you want to do.”
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” he said sarcastically.
When they drove through, Colt said, “I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
“Yeah, well, you’re going to need to think like these idiots if you’re going to survive them. And there’s a lot of them it seems.”
“Yeah, but we’re experienced in war.”
“I’m experienced in war, you did one tour about a billion years ago,” Gator said, ribbing him.
They drove up to the house where Trixie and Faith were eating sandwiches and sharing a bag of chips. Outside, it was starting to pour again.
“It’s time to go,” Colt said to Faith as he climbed the stairs to the porch.
“To pick up the kids?” she asked, perking up.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“When do we leave?”
It looked to Colt like Trixie was starting to panic. He suspected she was wanting to ask about where she should go, but she kept her mouth shut. He glanced over at Gator, who was watching her with furrowed brows as well.
“We’ll leave tonight if this weather eases up,” Colt said. Then to Trixie, he said, “How would you feel about staying here?”
Inside, he hoped to God he wouldn’t regret making the offer.
“Really?” she asked.
“We have the guns and ammo from the douchebags across the street, but you can’t be in the house. You’ll need to stay in the man-cave.”
Now she frowned. “I’m not gonna ruin your house or steal your stuff,” Trixie said.
“It’s not that,” Gator replied. “He’s worried about people trying to find him there and us getting hurt. We’ll stay in Colt’s man-cave, but we can keep watch on the house, just in case anyone tries to ransack the place. I can stand guard from there.”
“Wait a minute,” Trixie said, “you’re staying?”
“He’s right,” Colt said. “None of these guys know about Gator, or where to find him. His house is way off the beaten path.”
“But this place isn’t,” Gator said. “That’s why I’m gonna stay here until you and Faith get back with the kids.”
“I don’t know about this weather,” Faith said, looking up.
Colt looked up at the sky, at the thunderheads building. Already there was a significant drop in the temperature.
To Gator, he said, “Why don’t you grab your gear and a sleeping mat, then head back here.”
“I’ll get going now,” Gator said.
Trixie looked at them and said, “So, what’s happening then?”
“I’m going to
get some ammo, my rifle, and a few essentials. Then I’ll come back here and stay with you.”
“So you’re going to sleep with me?” she asked, coy.
He looked at her funny. Was that a double entendre? “Literally, no. I’m house-sitting. You can stay if you want.”
She said, “I’ll think about it.”
The hard patter of rain on the gravel driveway had them looking out to the horizon. Lighting flashed, and a moment later, the heart-shocking crash of thunder shook the earth.
“Let me see your heels,” Gator said to Trixie. She frowned at him. Rolling his eyes, he said, “Come on, let’s see.”
“No.”
“Yeah,” Gator said to Colt and Faith, “she’s going to stay here with me. You just need to figure out about Roscoe.”
“He’s coming with us,” Faith said.
“That’s not smart,” Gator argued. “It’s going to be a nightmare out there. He’ll only distract you, and slow you down.”
Faith looked at Colt and he nodded, agreeing with Gator.
“Well then,” Colt said, “we need to get ready.”
Gator looked at what had become the community four-wheeler and said, “When the rain breaks, I’ll get my stuff and settle in with Trixie. You guys taking off tomorrow, then? Because that would be the smart play.”
Colt said, “I really want to go tonight.”
Motioning to the weather, looking up at the skies, Gator said, “That’s not a good idea.”
“First thing in the morning then.”
“I’ll sleep with one eye open until it’s time to go. You can leave Roscoe with Trixie and me in the morning. We’ll take good care of him.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Colt McDaniel
The next morning, Colt woke at the crack of dawn. Faith picked up Roscoe, kissed him relentlessly, let him lick her face. She then handed him to Colt who handed him to Gator and said, “This is like our new kid. Act accordingly.”
Gator let the pup sniff him; Gator sniffed him back, then let him nuzzle against him.
“See?” he said, handing the pup back. “We’re like old friends.”
Roscoe barked, which caused Faith to laugh.
Last night, the weather never let up, leaving Colt to wonder if Gator had spent the night in the man-cave with Trixie, or if he’d gone home.
“Did you sleep here, or did you just get here?” Colt asked.
“Slept here,” he said.
“Trixie?”
“She’s still asleep,” Gator said. “I gassed up the Jeep and put your tac gear in the back seat.”
“Thanks, brother,” he replied.
When they were set, he and Faith hopped in the Jeep, said good-bye to both Gator and Roscoe, and then they got on the road.
On Sugar Creek Pike, he glanced over his shoulder and saw the M82 in the backseat. He didn’t think he’d need that canon, but he was glad to have it. In a way, having the Barret with him was like having his brother as backup.
It made no logical sense, but to him, it made perfect sense.
On the highway, he saw the group he and Gator had run into yesterday. He was prepared for them.
“You’re seeing this, right?” Faith asked.
He nodded.
All around the checkpoint, a handful of tents had been set up. The guys were out, though, all of them huddled over a fire they’d made on the highway.
Hearing them, Goliath stopped warming his hands and stood up to face them. He grabbed his gun, stood on the road like a sentry. From this distance, Colt only saw a hint of the big kid, which meant Goliath only saw a hint of him.
“Binoculars,” he said to Faith.
She reached into the back seat, grabbed the binos, handed them to Colt. Looking through the glasses, he saw Goliath staring at him while giving orders to his guys. A couple of the minions scrambled to their tents, fetched their guns, then came out armed.
“It’s fine,” he said to Faith.
He approached the checkpoint slowly, trying to look calm even though he was anything but calm. When Goliath started for the Jeep, Faith said, “I don’t feel right about this.”
“It’s fine,” he said again.
He rolled the window down when he got there. “Where’s your partner?” he asked, eyeing Faith.
“Getting his own vehicle gassed up.”
“You can’t go through.”
“Why not?” Faith asked, leaning across the seat to see up at him.
“Because I said so!” he barked. “Now turn around, go back where you came from, and don’t come through this road again or we’ll kill you.”
“What happened to last night?” Colt asked.
“We took a vote, and none of us wanted to join your stupid gang. Now get bent or get dead. Your choice.”
Colt knew the score. Nodding, he turned around and headed back, completely flummoxed.
Faith said, “If we have any hope of getting our kids, you can’t just run away from a confrontation like this.”
“I’m not running,” he snapped.
Gator told him to think like them. He wouldn’t do that now. He needed to think like his old self, which wasn’t that hard because he never shoved the beast back in its cage.
He drove about five-hundred yards then slowed down and turned around. He parked the Jeep sideways on the highway, his side facing Goliath and his crew of ingrates.
He reached over the seat, grabbed his and Faith’s earmuffs. He handed her a set, then he snugged his on. He then wrangled the M82 over the seat, lined up a shot, and felt the uncertainty of not having this thing on a bipod.
He lined up the sights on Goliath, who was looking at him with squinted eyes, like he was trying to see what was going on.
Colt fired the weapon, watched the kid’s head burst open like a punched watermelon.
Everyone else scrambled for cover, jumping on their motorcycles, getting into their old cars. He fired at a guy on the back of his motorcycle, blew his spine in two. The others made haste getting out of there.
Faith took the binos from the seat, appraised the scene, then looked at him and said, “Wow, I don’t know what to say.”
He started the Jeep, then got back on the road, heading toward the checkpoint. When they cruised past Goliath, now just a fallen sack of tainted meat, Colt said, “The war’s upon us, Faith.”
“Walker warned of this.”
“I know.”
“How are we going to get through Lexington?” she asked.
“I have no idea. We’ll try Man O War Boulevard and hope to God we don’t have to take the long way around.”
On US-27, when they were nearing Man O War Blvd, they saw two vehicles approaching—an old motorcycle and a beat-up pickup truck.
“Give me a pistol,” he said to Faith, who slipped one in his hand in no time flat.
He slowed for the caravan of two, and they slowed for him. He watched the biker closely, saw a pistol in his left hand. Riding on the back of the bike was a girl with flaming red hair. She had one arm around him, but he couldn’t see the other. Neither the biker nor his passenger had weapons aimed at them, but Colt knew that could change on a dime.
Colt was ready. Faith was ready.
“If he draws, get down when they pass by,” he warned Faith. She was already slinking down in the seat, her Smith & Wesson in hand.
Behind the motorcycle, in a beat-up single-cab pickup, were what looked like a stout kid in a cowboy hat and a raven-haired girl.
“If they start shooting,” he told Faith, “slide out the window and fire over the roof.”
“Okay,” she said, sounding nervous.
When the vehicles passed each other, the guy on the motorcycle nodded, and Colt nodded. There was fear in the redhead’s eyes, but she wasn’t firing on them.
In the beater truck, the country boy and his little raven minx were looking at him. There were bullet holes and bloodstains all over the truck, a busted headlight, and steam coming from the grill.
The license plate read PRESHUS.
Colt and Faith passed them safely, but the second they cleared the caravan, Colt’s eyes were on the side-view mirror.
“Did you see their truck?” Faith asked, turning around to look at them. The biker and the truck picked up speed, as did Colt. Horrified, she said, “Do you see what they’re dragging behind them?”
“I see it.”
In the bed of the truck was a blond-haired woman with blood down half her face. She was sitting in back with a small boy. They had a blanket wrapped around them, their heads down, almost like she didn’t want either of them to be seen. To her credit, speed and distance were on her side. He focused his aging eyes on the girl and her son, but they were moving away from each other too fast to get a better look.
What he didn’t miss, though—what Faith was reeling over—were the three bodies being dragged behind the truck. Well, he assumed they had started out as bodies. Now they were just road-worn torsos, the flesh and bones eaten away, nothing left from the torsos down but exposed, scraped bone.
“Looks like a ragged group,” Colt said.
He was thinking, that poor mother, but his mouth said, “My God, what’s wrong with people?”
Faith risked another glance over her shoulder at the truck. She said, “I’d hate to be out in this with a toddler.”
“Don’t feel sorry for those murderers,” Colt said. “We have to focus on finding Leighton.
“That’s all I’m worried about.”
He took her hand and said, “It’s okay, babe, we’ll find her.”
She thought about this for a moment, then said, “Who would name their truck Precious?”
He slowly shook his head, then said, “I honestly don’t know.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Gator
After Colt and Faith left to find their kids, Gator woke up Trixie, which caused her to sit up and let out a deep yawn. Gator took a deep breath, fought his desire to look her up and down—because she was smoking hot in his mind—then he said, “You’re going to have to do exactly what I tell you.”
