by Ryan Schow
And that’s when the arrow buried itself in his forehead.
Gunderson heard three more arrows hit their marks and all four men fell, leaving the whole sky above him open and flooding with sunlight.
A second later, a very pretty girl and a good looking guy walked over to where he was now uncurling himself and laying down. He didn’t care that he was lying on the pavement. Or that there were four dead men around him.
He was trying to decide if he was mad at these kids for not letting him die, or if he was grateful that someone actually cared enough to help him live.
“You okay?” the guy asked. He was tall, good looking, his hair cut like someone did it with a buck knife, his beard long but brushed out clean.
“Depends,” Gunderson said. “Not sure what’s broken, if anything.”
Slowly, gingerly, he rolled over and coughed out a bunch of blood. His lip was split open and still bleeding, half of it feeling swollen, and his right eye was tight with the same type of pain.
Sitting up, he flexed his fingers but something was wrong. He looked down, saw his pinkie and ring finger going the wrong way.
No wonder he couldn’t keep hold of the gun.
From where he stood, the guy said, “Here, let me see them. I think they’re just dislocated. Can I?”
“Be my guest,” Gunderson said, surrendering his hand.
“I’m Rex by the way,” he said, pulling the pinkie out, then straightening it. It didn’t hurt beyond the usual discomfort. Then again, Gunderson had been stabbed half a dozen times in his life, shot three times and tortured twice—once with a baseball bat in a basement that left his arm and three ribs broken, and once when he had to take his daughter to a Justin Bieber concert to prove he could still be a good father.
Rex did the other finger as well, fixing it too, but the pain he was feeling had nothing on the pains in his kicked head and his spine where he’d taken the bulk of the abuse.
The girl standing over him, the one with the compound bow and arrows, she was deathly silent, her face so pale it looked green. Gunderson couldn’t help but wonder about her. She was cute, yet not anyone to trifle with judging by her proficiency with a bow and arrow and the stalwart look of her.
Rex helped him stand, but the girl took one look at him and ran. She went no more than ten feet before leaning over and retching in the gutter.
Rex went to her. He put his hand on her back, moved a strand of hair off her face and around her ear. It was a long affair that Gunderson didn’t understand. All he knew was that Rex cared for the girl. It made him think of his own life, and what he’d missed being so soulless and so cruel.
He heard Rex say to her, “What’s going on with you?”
“Must’ve ate something bad.”
“You been eating that same bad thing every day? Because this is becoming a thing.”
Still bent over, still spitting out bile, she said, “Maybe.”
“Stop with the bs, Indy, tell me what’s what.”
“I think you’re going to be a father,” she said with a fair amount of both apprehension and remorse. Gunderson watched Rex stand up straight, and then he watched as a grin broke over Rex’s face. She finally stood as well, looking at him, unsmiling and most assuredly measuring his reaction the way expecting women do.
“You’re only happy because this thing isn’t growing in you.”
“I’m happy because I love you as a woman, and now I’ll get to love our little boy, too.”
“It’s a girl,” she said, keeping her voice low. “At least, that’s what I’ll be praying for.”
“Why a girl?”
“My father always wanted a grand daughter. I wish he was here, Rex.”
“I know,” he says, sincere, rubbing her arm.
Gunderson felt like a voyeur in a conversation he shouldn’t be hearing. It was rude of him to stay. As he started to walk off, Rex said, “Yo, hey buddy. Where you going?”
“Obviously you two are having a moment.”
“Yeah, but where are you going?”
“Wherever,” he replied with a weak smile. “Thanks for your help.”
“No man, you have to come with us. You’re pretty messed up. We have a doctor where we’re at. Plus we’re a growing community and there’s plenty of room for you. If you want. I mean, unless you already have a place to stay, or people you care about.”
“I don’t have either,” he said, a painful admission.
Gunderson had been so used to being ejected from communities he hadn’t been asked to join he’d stopped thinking someone would have him. Turning, he looked at the man, and at the girl. There was something steely but desperate in Gunderson’s eyes, he knew this. He’d stopped trying to hide it long ago.
“Alright,” he finally said. “So long as you have room.”
“We do,” the girl replied, some color returning to her face. “Oh, by the way, I’m Indigo.”
Looking at her, he instantly flashed back to the massacre in the elementary school not far from there. In his mind, he saw the word “Indigo” carved on one of his soldier’s bodies. With a sickness in his gut, but a need to belong to something, someone, he swallowed hard and said, “It’s so very nice to meet you, Indigo.”
END OF BOOK 6
Nick, Marcus, Bailey, Corrine, Amber and Abigail join Maria Antoinette, Gunderson, Indigo and the whole gang in the explosive conclusion to this bestselling series in The Terminal Run – coming late July/early August!
Afterword
Savannah Swann. Yes. The girl the AI God/Maria Antoinette met outside Oren’s Hummus shop. That wasn’t planned at all, but for my loyal readers who crossed over from the Swann series novels, I hope you enjoyed the surprise cameo. For those of you who have not read the series, Savannah is a genetically modified teen from my first series (Swann), an Urban Fantasy/SciFi series that’s vastly different from The Last War series. Before you rush out to read it/buy it, please be warned, Savannah’s story is not post-apocalyptic fiction and it should not be read by readers sensitive to more mature themes, including violence, sex and coarse language. In other words, Swann is by no means a “clean” series. However, for those of you anxious souls who have been through the series and were wanting more of Savannah, you’re welcome.
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