Unwanted World: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Survival Fiction Series (The EMP Survivor Series Book 4) (The EMP Survivor Series (5 Book Series))

by Chris Pike

  Nico mentally patted himself for making it this far.

  On the flat expanses he gained speed only to be beaten back by a slow and torturous climb when he came to a hill. Garnering strength he didn’t know he had, he put his head down and leaned into the incline. When the going got tough and when he didn’t think he could go any farther, he told himself all he needed to do was to pedal one more time.

  One more.

  That’s all. Just do it.

  Over and over until he crested the hill.

  With a final push, he took his feet off the pedals, straightened out his legs, and glided down the hill.

  The glorious wind cooled him.

  He was free, liberated by the struggle.

  He had driven these roads many times in the comfort of a car while listening to his favorite CD to pass the time. He had promised himself he would reach San Antonio by early morning on the day he had told Kate he would be back. Nico was a man of his word, and unless he was dead, he was determined to keep that promise.

  * * *

  The sun slid beneath the horizon, casting long shadows on the land, offering a cool breeze to the weary, hot traveler, and the night came swift and fast, gobbling the last bit of daylight.

  Clouds rolled in, obscuring the moon and stars, and without any ambient light, Nico squinted. He nearly fell when his bike hit a branch blown onto the road, and fortunately he was able to keep his balance. A fall resulting in a broken bone could be the death of him.

  He desperately needed sleep.

  A mile back, he had noticed a sign for a rest stop and was tempted to stop there, ultimately deciding against it. Drunk with fatigue, he’d be an easy target if he fell asleep.

  He decided stopping on the far side of the rest stop was the safest thing to do right now, so after a mile or so past it, he glided the bike to the side of the road. Putting the kickstand down, he surveyed the spot.

  It was a diminutive valley nestled between rolling hills. Scrub brush and mesquite dotted the dry land. A coyote howled long and lonely in the distance then fell silent, waiting. Soon another one joined in until a chorus of yips and barks filled the bleak silence.

  Twenty feet from the road, an oak tree loomed dark in the low light, branches spread out into an even canopy, one magnificent enough for a wilderness painting. Nico decided it would be a safe spot to call home for the night.

  From the road he wasn’t visible and he had some protection from the tree in case of a sudden shower.

  He hopped the fence and lifted the bike over. Like a true professional, he’d staged his pack so the first things needed were at the top of the main compartment or in one of the outer pockets.

  He gathered dry, dead wood for a small fire, taking care not to select green or wet wood which could produce smoke that could be seen for miles. Staying undetected was a main priority. He wanted a few coals near him in case the night became cold, but he would extinguish the main fire so that he wouldn’t be spotted.

  He spread out the bedroll, sat down, and quickly ate the MRE. Although it wasn’t that bad, a candlelight dinner at a white tablecloth restaurant it would never be. He licked the container clean then dug a hole in the ground to bury it. Leaving the countryside littered with trash around indicted the person was trashy.

  Nico licked the fork, wiped it with the bottom of his shirt, and put it in his backpack for later use. He spied the package that had originally sent him on the mission to the Rio Grande. Picking it up, he held it in his hand, trying to gauge the weight. Too light for drugs or gold, so what exactly would be so valuable to test his loyalty to Santiago? Santiago was perhaps branching out into diamond smuggling. Nico reached in his pocket and flicked open his clip-it knife. He held the knife to the package and thought about ripping into it to find out. If he did, he’d lose the trust of Santiago, so he flicked the knife shut and put it back into his pocket.

  Still hungry, he dug around in the goody bag Vanessa had packed him and found a packet of instant coffee. Using his teeth, he tore off a corner, emptied it into a bottle of water, and shook it. While not exactly Starbucks worthy, it did the trick to satisfy his caffeine craving. He polished off half of the bottle then decided to save the rest for in the morning. After the day he had, he knew he’d need a jolt of caffeine for the last leg of his trip. Considering how tired he was, he had no doubt the caffeine wouldn’t interrupt his sleep.

  Fortunately bugs were at a minimum on this October day, and a hint of cool autumn air dried the day’s sweat. The excitement of the day, and the grueling physical ride added to Nico’s exhaustion. He needed a good night’s sleep.

  He brushed away twigs and rocks on the spot under the tree where he could put his sleeping bag, shook it out, then placed it on the ground. It wasn’t cold enough to get inside the sleeping bag, yet if it did get cold, he’d want to cover up quickly so he unzipped it and laid it out, folding the top to make a pillow. He stretched his legs and his arms, yawned wide, and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t even bother to take off his boots.

  He thought about the day, about Tony and Vanessa, the fire, and soon his thoughts wandered to Kate. What exactly did he know about her, the woman who had occupied his thoughts for the past week, the woman he knew was for him? She was from Austin and had worked at the Minor Hotel. She had a service dog, but for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine why. She hadn’t been in the military, so that wasn’t a reason. Some sort of assault maybe? Nah, that couldn’t be it either.

  There was so much he wanted to know.

  When he got back, he’d make that steak he promised then ask her to go to Padre Island.

  Nico knew all the good beaches and where the best sand dunes were located. He thought about the warm salty water and the waves breaking over him. It was a place that reinvigorated him, away from the problems and stress of the city, of the drug culture and dealers he dealt with. He needed to get away from that and take Kate with him. She’d feel safe with him and forget about whatever tragedy had forced her to rely on a service dog.

  He’d feel the sand between his toes and the sun on his face. He’d dive for sand dollars, show them to Kate, then toss them back into the water where they could grow. So much he wanted to show her.

  His eyes became heavy and the tree above him swayed in the breeze, rustling the leaves. Somewhere a coyote howled at the moon, another one joined from a faraway hill until a chorus filled the night.

  While Nico slept, the stars became brighter in the sky, and the animals of the night emerged from their dens.

  In a nearby pasture an armadillo used its powerful claws to dig for grubs and worms. A raccoon scurried in the brush, searching for insects and crawfish at a nearby creek.

  * * *

  In the tree above where Nico slept, an owl leapt off a branch and glided on silent wings to another tree. Its eyes were large and round as it observed the land of magnificent oaks and rolling hills; of cactus and cows; of a road cutting the land in half.

  Movement caught its eyes and the owl swiveled its head in the direction.

  The object was black, about the size of a field mouse, although the shape was different. It was low to the ground and moved over the land with jerky, yet deliberate ease and caution, navigating rocks and cactus, fallen tree limbs, and other obstacles.

  The owl pushed off its perch and silently glided toward its prey, sharp talons and legs stretched out in position. Looking down on the hapless prey, the owl descended with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel, dispatching the prey in one deft strike.

  Sitting over the crumpled body curled inward, the owl swiveled its head and looked over the gray land, searching for predators. Satisfied it was safe, the owl tore into the soft underbelly, devouring its meal until only fur and other unidentifiable parts were left. Minutes later the owl flew back to the tree it called home. The man sleeping on the ground snored softly. Uninterested in the man, the owl preened its feathers.

  The night became darker and stars moved in the heavens. Clouds r
olled in, obscuring the ambient light of the moon.

  More movement on the ground garnered the owl’s attention, and without wasting any time, the owl swooped in to dispatch its prey. It was of the same species it had dined on before and the owl tore into the flesh with ease.

  Throughout the night, the owl feasted on the plethora of prey until its belly was full.

  Unaware of the cat and mouse game being played out in the pasture, Nico slept soundly and had vivid dreams of Kate. She was splashing in the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico, laughing and twirling in the surf. The sun was high in the sky and Nico squinted through the glare. She called to him and motioned for him to join her in the water. He went to her and splashed through the shallow, foamy water. She bent down and cupped a handful of water and tossed it playfully at him. He took her in his arms, kissed her fully on the lips, and she responded. They kneeled on the sand, letting soft waves wash over them.

  This was how he dreamed of her. This was how life should be.

  He whispered something in her ear then nibbled it, running his hands over her back and shoulders, bringing her closer.

  Another wave washed over them.

  It was warm and tingly.

  He kissed her more, but the dreamy moment was interrupted when his leg began itching. In his sleepy state, he reached down to brush away the irritant. Probably seaweed which was prevalent on Padre Island. “Where were we?” he thought he asked. He kissed Kate again then moved his lips to her neck, but now his arm itched so he pulled back from her.

  His entire body itched and suddenly the dream was over and he popped open his eyes. Drugged from the heady dream and deep sleep, he thought the imagined itching was from the salt water or microorganisms which could result in an allergic reaction.

  But it wasn’t a dream.

  Something crawled up his arm and he casually brushed it away with his hand. In the moment it took for his mind to register what could have bristly fur, Nico’s relaxed expression turned into one of bewilderment. He looked at his hand, and his former expression of bewilderment turned to revulsion. In the dim light he saw a…

  A…

  A tarantula!

  He might have yelled or let out a surprised breath, or said, “What the hell!” but whatever he uttered, Nico shot up like a geyser at the same time he flung the tarantula away.

  He looked down at his pants to find three more crawling toward his chest and frantically swiped them away with the back of his hand.

  Another one was on his other arm.

  One had crawled up on his shirt.

  Like a wild man he stomped on the ground and shook his head. He brushed his chest and backside, and with furious hands, he slapped his head then tore off his outer shirt, flinging it to the low hanging branches of the tree.

  The ground was alive with thousands of black tarantulas crawling over brush and rocks like something out of a horror movie.

  Nico retrieved his shirt and quickly put it on. He grabbed his backpack and slung it over his back, shook out his sleeping bag, and flung it over his shoulder. Taking the handlebars of his bike, he sprinted to the fence. He heaved the bike over, hopped the fence, and navigated the ditch only to find more tarantulas covering the road. The closer ones reared up their front legs in defense while the others scurried across the road. He swore he heard hissing.

  Wherever Nico stepped, he winced at the sickening crunch of a tarantula being reduced to a pile of slimy mush of limbs and organs.

  He shuddered.

  With his sleeping bag over his shoulders, he swung his leg over his bike, pushed forward, and rode through a hundred yard wide swath of tarantulas.

  Sweating profusely and pushing the bike to its limit, Nico finally reached the end of the tarantula crossing.

  He had completely forgotten about the coffee he had saved for in the morning to give him an extra boost.

  He certainly didn’t need it now.

  Chapter 18

  It was late morning and miles away from the tarantula migration. Nico had been riding for hours without breakfast or stopping to take a break.

  The South Texas sun shined hot and bright in the clear sky.

  Asphalt absorbed heat from the sun and released it like a radiator during the day and early evening. Nico became keenly aware of the heat cooking his feet and of the pedals being heated like a barbeque grill.

  He glanced at the sky. There wasn’t a cloud or a hint of one anywhere along the horizon, and he became innately aware of his thirst and fatigue. Determined to ride as far as he could, he trudged on.

  Yards ahead, shimmering heat waves bounced off the road and mirages of puddles of water appeared.

  Sweat formed on his forehead and he wiped it away.

  He sucked on the CamelBak only to find it empty, and he hated the idea of dipping into his reserve of water with miles to go.

  The smooth asphalt road would have been perfect if his journey was on level ground, but Nico was entering the famous Texas Hill Country where each blissful downhill glide was rewarded with an equally leg burning uphill ordeal.

  He recalled his one and only time to volunteer for the MS-150 from Houston to Austin. He finished but was in so much pain he could hardly walk for three days. The potential romance with the girl who talked him into riding had fallen through, and he had not been on a bike since then. It had left a bad taste in his mouth. Like those who quit a hard physical activity then take it up again, he wished he had kept in practice.

  The tops of his aching thighs reminded him of that with each rotation.

  The longer he rode, the more difficult it became, like the bike tires were slogging through glue. Slowing down, Nico glanced at the back tire and swore under his breath. It was going flat. With his energy waning, he needed to stop, find water, eat, and also fix the tire.

  So far the trip had been uneventful except for last night’s excitement and he hoped it stayed that way. A flat tire was a minor issue, one that could be easily remedied if he had the right tools and materials.

  As luck would have it, about half a mile ahead, he spied an old gas station. Coming closer, Nico observed it was made of wood and had probably been built at the time Model Ts were still on the road. Like most stations servicing small country towns, it had two pumps of the analog variety which would qualify as genuine antiques. Profits must have been lean judging by the peeling paint and rotting edges of the wood siding. Considering the events of the past couple of days, curb appeal wasn’t a necessity at the moment.

  What he needed was full service, and this station fit the bill.

  “Welcome” was painted in large bold black letters on one of the wooden posts supporting the overhang, while a stamped metal sign in the window indicated the station was open. A handwritten sign saying, “We Fix Tires” caught his attention.

  Excellent.

  Regardless of what Nico had told himself he wouldn’t do unless there was an emergency, he stopped. On a bike ride, a flat tire counted as an emergency.

  He walked the bike toward the gas station. When he got closer an old man sitting in a rocking chair by the front door gave him a curious look then waved him closer.

  “It’s good to see someone on the road,” the old man said. “I’m Wade Greer.” He hocked a mouthful of chewing tobacco into a spittoon. With great difficulty, he got up out of the chair and extended a hand to shake.

  The old man looked harmless enough in his stained blue denim overalls, work boots, and a short sleeved shirt. Nico reciprocated the welcoming gesture, shook hands, and said, “Nico Bell. Nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” the old man said, grinning, showing a mouthful of tobacco stained teeth.

  While shaking hands, that sixth sense Nico had relied on gnawed at his senses. Something wasn’t right. There was hesitation in the handshake, not exactly firm or the kind of handshake an old-timer like this guy would offer. Nico discounted the feeling, trying to tell himself he was jumpy because of the tarantulas.

  He certainly had the right
to be jumpy. Or was there something off about this place?

  Nah, it was the tarantulas.

  It had to be.

  “I was beginning to think I shouldn’t have opened up at all this morning,” Wade said. “What brings you here?”

  “A flat tire. Can you fix it?”

  “Sure. Set it to the side of the building and I’ll take a look at it in a minute or two. Come in and sit down first. You look tired and thirsty.”

  “I am.”

  The old man led Nico into the store, pointing toward the snacks in wire racks. Nico stopped at the beef jerky display to grab half a dozen packages. He picked up a package of pecan sandies for a quick sugar boost when needed, and he selected a two liter bottle of water. He spotted a large bottle of Orange Crush in the cooler being powered by a generator. “I haven’t had one of these in ages. Is it still as good as I remember?”

  “Take anything you need. It’s not like we have any travelers stopping,” Wade said. He stepped behind the counter.

  “Speaking of that,” Nico said, “have you heard anything?”

  “There’s been talk of an EMP from the Russians or North Koreans. Only old stuff works. How about you?”

  “The same.” Nico shrugged. While he didn’t want to be rude, he sure didn’t want to get into a long conversation about conspiracy theories. He was on a mission to get to San Antonio, and shooting the bull with this guy wasn’t part of it.

  Nico placed his haul on the cracked glass display counter. “I hope I can afford this since credit cards aren’t working.”

  “No profiteering at this store.”

  Nico glanced at the corner of the store by the front door. A Winchester .30-30 lever action rifle, once the most common truck accessory in Texas, was leaning against the wall.

  Wade noticed Nico looking at the rifle. “Don’t worry about the rifle, it hasn’t moved from that spot in years.” On the ancient register Wade manually punched in the prices of the items Nico selected.

  “That looks about as old as this place is,” Nico said, referring to the cash register.