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

  “Yes, sir, it is old. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, I’ve always said. I haven’t even bothered to upgrade the pumps. It don’t affect the bottom line one bit.”

  “No doubt,” Nico replied.

  “That’ll be $21.98.”

  Nico pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “I’ve only got twenties. Can you make change?”

  “Nah, don’t worry about it,” Wade said waving him off. “A twenty will do. You’ll probably need the rest of the money for your trip.”

  “I appreciate it.” Nico handed the twenty over.

  “It’s nothing.” Wade paused, thinking. “You can pay me the balance next time you’re back this way.” He put the items in a plastic bag.

  “I’ll take you up on that,” Nico said. “I can’t thank you enough.” He unscrewed the top of the orange soda and took a long pull. Several gulps later, he set the empty glass bottle on the counter. “That hit the spot.”

  “Have another one,” Wade said. “When you’re finished, come on out with me and sit a spell while I fix the tire. I need to get a few things then I’ll meet you out front.”

  Popping the top off another Orange Crush, Nico figured he could humor the old man while he fixed the flat. He could use the rest, and the old man would probably do most of the talking. Nico would nod his head every so often or say, “uh huh,” pretending to listen.

  Nico started for the door, then remembered he had put a five dollar bill in his shirt pocket. Since the old guy had given him a break, Nico decided to return the hospitality by leaving the five on the glass counter as a surprise tip for the friendly old guy. A gust of wind blew into the store, so Nico searched for something to anchor the five with. Spying a stapler, he leaned over the counter, reaching for it.

  A look of shock overcame him and he wasn’t sure he was seeing correctly. A body was laying lengthwise face down on the floor behind the wooden base of the glass case. Nico grimaced at the pool of brownish dried blood surrounding the dead man’s head. He had on work clothes and a red rag stuffed in his back pocket. He was probably the gas station owner.

  Nico needed to get out of here.

  He looked to the front of the store to confirm the Winchester was still where he last saw it.

  It was gone.

  Crap. When did that happen?

  The old man wasn’t as laid back or as dotty as he pretended to be. He must have stealthily swiped the rifle on his way out.

  Whatever was going on here, Nico wanted no part of this fight.

  The best thing for him to do would be to walk away and pretend he hadn’t seen the body. Nico chose which battles to fight and he didn’t plan on fighting anyone else’s.

  He cursed himself. He should have listened to his sixth sense. This place was bad and he needed to get out of there fast.

  When Nico turned to leave, he grunted then stumbled from a hard blow from a rifle butt to his head. It was like someone was using his brain for a ping pong table. He reached for his Glock, but his hands went limp at another skull-cracking hit to his head. Lights exploded in front of his eyes and he sensed an immediate foreboding that if he came out of this alive, it would only be because of his determination to live and to see Kate again.

  “Kate,” he mouthed.

  He took a big breath, his eyelids fluttered, and as his eyes rolled into his head he glimpsed Wade. “You bastard.”

  Nico tried heroically to stay on his feet, but another rifle butt to his forehead caused the lights to go out. His body went limp and he crumpled to the floor with a thud.

  Chapter 19

  Nico woke to a throbbing head and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He opened one eye a slit. He blinked and waited for his fuzzy head to clear. Instinct directed him to be quiet and still in case he was being observed. Taking in his surroundings, he realized his face was mashed into a floor, dirty and cracked from years of use. The rack of chips and candy looked familiar, and his peripheral vision told him he was still in the gas station.

  The setting sun created the last long shadows of the day, and Nico figured he had been knocked out for hours. He moved his head and was immediately struck with intense throbbing in his head, a result of the wicked blows he had sustained.

  He looked at his arms to find his forearms were duct taped together from wrist to elbow, while his legs were likewise bound from the knees to the ankles. Nico concentrated on his senses and realized his gun and knife were gone.

  The door to the station squeaked open, the sound of footsteps echoed in the silence. Nico closed his eyes pretending to be unconscious. Whoever it was stopped inches away from him and kneeled. Nico got a whiff of chewing tobacco.

  “You don’t need to worry. I know you’re awake so you don’t need to pretend anymore. You’ve been moaning for the past half hour. Playing possum with me won’t work.”

  Nico opened his eyes and threw an ice cold stare at Wade.

  “Why so surly?”

  Nico continued with the icy stare.

  “When I come back, I’m going to ask you a few questions then I’ll let you go.”

  Right, like Nico believed that for one second.

  “I’ve got a few of my own. Why’d you kill that guy?”

  “Him? That SOB is the grandson of the man who stole my grandpa’s ranch, and ever since we’ve been poor as church mice. My daddy worked himself to death, leaving my mama to clean rich people’s houses to feed us. I swore if I ever got the chance, there’d be payback.”

  “That was two generations ago,” Nico said.

  “It could be ten for all I care,” Wade said. “The result’s the same.”

  “I don’t care about your family feud or murdering that guy, untie me and you’ll never see me again.”

  Wade scoffed at the suggestion. “I may be old, but I ain’t stupid.” He stepped behind the counter, grabbed both feet of the man he had left for dead on the floor, and began the arduous task of dragging dead weight foot by foot across the floor. The old man had to stop midway to take a breather. Nico listened to his wheezing.

  “You know the easiest way to get rid of a body?” the old man asked.

  “I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Nico said.

  “Let the coyotes and buzzards do the work. They can pick a corpse clean in a matter of hours until only bones are left, then the coyotes will drag those back to their dens. The buzzards will clean up the rest. They are nature’s garbage disposal.”

  After the short break, Wade resumed dragging the dead man to the front door. While the old man was obviously evil, he was in poor health and no match for Nico, even if he had a concussion and was duct taped.

  He’d find a way to free himself.

  Nico had been self-sufficient all his life, starting when he was a boy. With his parents working long hours, Nico amused himself by devouring comic books and survival magazines to the point of it being an obsession, much to the chagrin of his parents. He stored away survival tidbits in the recesses of his mind, perhaps thinking one day he might need the knowledge he gained from reading to save his life.

  This was one of those times.

  While the old man was gone, Nico began to formulate a plan. If he acted quickly, he might stand a chance. Nico flexed his arms to test for any wiggle room.

  Zilch.

  The duct tape tear trick only worked if there was enough room for movement to get some leverage, and the old man had taped Nico’s arms tighter than a mummy being prepared for entombment. He looked around for anything he might use as a weapon. He glanced at the glass case and recalled that it already had a crack in it.

  Old style glass, including windshield glass, tended to break into long, sharp pieces. Auto injuries before the 1960s were so horrific that public outcry led to the adoption of safety glass that broke into relatively safe squares of dull glass.

  The same was true for display cases. Too many lawsuits of kids crawling onto glass displays, breaking it, and being cut led to safer glass for retail stores, and if this s
tation hadn’t even upgraded pumps, no way had the owner upgraded the display case.

  Nico inched closer to the display case and swung his bound legs upward toward the glass. The first hit didn’t do much so he repositioned himself then threw his legs harder against the glass. It was more durable than he expected. Undeterred, he tried for a third time. He swung his legs up and with momentum on his side, he smashed them into the case, shattering the glass. Large chunks fell inward into the display case while several shards clanged to the floor.

  Using his bound hands, Nico picked up a razor-sharp glass icicle. He gingerly placed it between his lips and held it firm with his teeth. Sitting on the floor, he brought his hands to his mouth then began sawing through the sticky tape, fiber by sticky fiber until he was able to move his hands. Then with enough momentum, he jerked his hands to tear the rest of the tape from his forearms. Working fast, he made quick work of his leg bonds.

  Now that he was free, he needed a weapon to protect himself. His guns and knife were nowhere in sight.

  Think!

  Nico’s gaze fell to the broken glass. He selected the longest glass shard from the pile of broken glass, then taking the duct tape he found behind the counter, he wrapped it around one end of the glass to form a makeshift knife handle. Not exactly a Ka-bar, but i would suffice in a pinch.

  While Nico was busy freeing himself, Wade had dragged the dead man to a pasture behind the gas station and rolled the corpse between clumps of tall grass. He stood back from the dead man and admired his handiwork with morbid curiosity. Buzzards were already circling overhead, and by nightfall the corpse would be covered in squawking vultures, pecking at the softest parts of the face. If anyone saw the buzzards, they’d probably think it was roadkill the buzzards were after.

  Satisfied the corpse couldn’t be seen from the road, Wade headed back to the gas station.

  The soil was dry and clouds of dust puffed up with each step the old man took.

  When Nico heard Wade muttering to himself near the pumps, he scooted to the shadow of a filing cabinet, waiting for an opportunity.

  Shuffling toward the front of the station, Wade held the Winchester Model 94 ready for action with the hammer back over a live round. He peeked in through the door and checked in all directions looking for Nico.

  “Trying to hide or escape is useless,” he bluffed. “Answer a few questions and I’ll let you go.”

  There was no reply.

  Frustrated, Wade racked the lever of his Winchester six times, emptying the shells onto the concrete, knowing that if Nico wrestled the rifle away from him, it could be used against him. He picked up the shells and pocketed them. The old man removed Nico’s Glock from his pocket and held it close to his chest. A pistol worked better in close quarters.

  “Come on, son. Let me cut you loose. This has been a misunderstanding. Here, you can have your gun back.” Wade tightened his grip on the Glock.

  Crouched against the filing cabinet, Nico held his makeshift knife tight in both hands, listening, waiting. A fly buzzed his bloodied head and face, and he shooed it away. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he blinked it away.

  Nico noted the offer of the gun had been completely hollow. He needed a plan to get the old man without getting shot. A bullet wound, even a minor one, could get infected, and in a world where medical treatment was a day away, the wound might not be survivable.

  He’d have to strike without mercy. Nico’s body tensed, ready to pounce like a hungry lion.

  The old man’s eyesight and hearing were failing and he strained to listen for any unusual sound. Taking a chance Nico might have already escaped, Wade stepped around the metal filing cabinet, unaware Nico was hiding in the shadows.

  In the half light of the darkened room, Nico jumped up and shoved the heavy filing cabinet against the old man.

  The force of the cabinet, weighted with hundreds of pounds of receipts and files, slammed into Wade.

  The old man lost his balance and fell to the floor.

  Unbalanced, the cabinet teetered precariously.

  Still gripping the Glock, Wade fired two wild rounds. One hit the ceiling, the other a wall.

  With shaking hands, he maneuvered the gun and pulled the trigger again. The Glock fired, blasting through the metal exterior of the cabinet, and the round ended up driving deep into a thick folder of receipts.

  Nico put his hands in front of him, leaned into the filing cabinet and gave it a forceful coup de grace shove. The massive filing cabinet fell hard on the old man, drawers opened, spilling papers on the floor.

  Nico dove onto the cabinet, adding his weight to the already heavy cabinet, pinning the old man on the floor. Wade grunted under the weight. With the Glock continuing to bark out rounds, Nico jumped onto the old man and jammed his shooting arm to the floor.

  Without hesitation or a second consideration, Nico plunged his makeshift glass knife into the old man’s throat, twisting it to sever major arteries.

  Resistance stopped, and Nico took possession of the now empty Glock. A gun without bullets was about as useful as a car without gas, so Nico searched the old man, looking for the extra magazines.

  Finding them, he took a moment to load the Glock, racked it once, then peered into the chamber to make sure it was loaded properly. He pocketed the extra magazine and the empty one in case he found more 9mm ammo.

  Sweating profusely and with his head bleeding, Nico headed to the restroom to assess his injuries. Looking in the mirror, he was unrecognizable. His face was swollen, lips bloodied, his hair matted with dried blood.

  He had been so jacked up on adrenaline he didn’t realize he had cut his lips with the glass shard that freed him. He thoroughly scrubbed his hands and rinsed them until the day’s dirt and grime had been washed away. He wet a paper towel and gingerly dabbed the blood from his lips. Bending over, he gently splashed water over his head to rinse away the blood. He slipped his hand inside his back pocket and retrieved a comb. A few swipes through his hair and he was good to go.

  On his way out, he’d grab alcohol and other medicine he might need.

  Advil was at the top of the list for his throbbing head, and Vaseline was needed for his bleeding and parched lips.

  Nico exited the bathroom and searched the drawers of the counter looking for ammo. In the bottom one he found a box of .30-30 softpoints. He also found a hidden Smith & Wesson 686 .357 Magnum revolver. He put the 686 and the extra .357 ammo in a plastic bag.

  A quick search of the station produced a short range 12 gauge stacked with a mop in the broom closet.

  Holding the shotgun, he ran a hand over the stubble on his chin thinking about the practicality of carrying two long guns on a bike. He decided a long range response might be more useful in the country, so he placed the shotgun back into the broom closet, then loaded the Winchester to full capacity.

  He swiped rubbing alcohol, Advil, and Vaseline. On a lark, he grabbed two cans of Spam and stuffed those in his pockets. He popped two Advil in his mouth and gulped an entire bottle of water. He smeared a copious amount of Vaseline on his lips and decided it was time to leave, except he had forgotten one thing.

  The flat tire.

  Mumbling, he searched the station for a bicycle tire repair kit. Finding it, he worked in the waning light and patched the tire. He pumped up both tires and decided he’d better go before he encountered any more problems.

  He’d had enough excitement for one day.

  It was time to finish the last leg of his trip.

  Gathering his gear, he turned onto the highway and headed east. The night came swiftly and with it a welcome chill. Taking a chance, Nico rode the entire night, keeping an eye open for trouble. He stopped once when it was necessary to take a breather and to rest his legs. He allowed ten minutes to eat a quick meal and to take care of necessities. The time for sleep could come later because he was worried if he laid down he’d fall asleep, so he mounted the bike and pedaled onward.

  At last, he crested a hill and t
he darkened city of San Antonio came into view. The downtown skyline loomed gray and quiet above the trees and houses of the west side of the city, and nestled among the buildings would be the Minor Hotel, where Kate was.

  Where she waited for him.

  Chapter 20

  “Kate,” Dan said, “why do you keep going to the front door? Are you looking for someone?”

  Dan had made his rounds for the morning, checking rooms for a headcount of the number of guests still in the hotel. All the guests had left except for the Tombstone gang.

  Kate was standing near the revolving doors which opened to the street.

  Reload stood like a shadow by her side. He had sensed her rising anxiety level and had observed her gazing out the front of the hotel. He knew not what she was looking for, yet sensed a longing in her he had not observed before. Ever since the man had left, Reload had stayed close to her to the point she had nearly tripped over him several times. She opened her mouth to admonish him then changed her mind, talking to him in soothing words.

  “He should’ve been here by now,” Kate said.

  “Who should’ve been here?”

  “One of the guests who was here last week.”

  “Which guest?”

  Kate didn’t answer the question nor did she look to her manager. She kept scanning the street, looking for Nico. Worry spread across her face. “He said he’d be back.”

  “When?”

  “Today.”

  “Kate, what’s going on? Who are you talking about?” Dan asked. “I didn’t even know you were seeing someone.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I don’t understand. Then why are you so worried?”

  Kate turned to face Dan. “Because he’s worth worrying about, that’s why. He said he’d be back, and if he doesn’t come back, then something terrible must’ve happened.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “I know him enough. When he said he’d be back I believed him.”

  “You have a boyfriend? You never told me.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Kate said.