Red Robin: Post-Apocalyptic America

by R. B. Tetro

The old lady and Poet took up positions behind a barricade, firing arrows as fast as they could into the wall of invaders. More Fortress fighters joined them, killing one berserker after another, until the pile of dead and dying stopped up the breach.

  They looked at each other and shuddered as they listened to the sounds of the insane cannibals literally eating their way into Fortress. A giant, wild-looking man came up and ordered them to return to the tower.

  The old woman shrugged her shoulders and she and Poet made their way back over to their assigned tower and started the long climb up the narrow wooden stairs. After they reached the top, they looked over at the wall. The man that had given them orders was tying three propane tanks together.

  While he dragged them over into the hole, several sharpshooters covered him, picking off anything that came near him. After he put the propane tanks in place, and was clear of them, he gave a signal to one of the snipers who immediately shot the tanks, ripping the hole and everything around it with a violent explosion, sending baked and burning cannibal parts flying every which way.

  Poet and the old lady cheered, giving each other a weary fist bump.

  The man who’d placed the propane tanks led a counter attack with forty, heavily armed men and women, leading them directly into the breach in the wall. The carnage was considerable as they hacked and shot their way through the opening and back, leaving stacks of berserker bodies in their path.

  The engineers came next, with plenty of help, pulling several long lengths of cut down trees in front of the breach until it was closed off. The man that had placed the tanks left several soldiers to watch the blocked off wall, hurrying off to countless other things that needed to be attended to before the attack began in earnest.

  Poet smiled while he watched the man. He took out a notebook, scribbling in it before closing it and putting it back in his vest.

  “That boys a fighter just like his daddy…” observed the old lady. She’d been watching the same man as Poet.

  “He’s a born killer… just like his daddy, that’s for sure,” Poet agreed.

  The man they were talking about was, Brad “Junior” Ford; Larry “Pops” Fords’ oldest son. At only twenty- six, he was a head taller than any other man in the fortress, and looked just like his father, tall, thick and powerful with long, black wooly hair, coal black skin and intense green eyes.

  In his father’s absence, Junior had been left in charge of security and so far, his daddy would have been real proud.

  The old lady heard her friend light up the other half of the joint and smiled. He grinned, raising his eyebrows at her and handing it to her, after taking a long hit.

  She nodded, shrugging her bony shoulders- like always- before taking a long toke and handing it back to her friend.

  She pulled out her prized possession, her time dulled and dented whiskey flask, opening it and handing it to him, before taking a drink for herself.

  Poet took the flask and smiled; the gesture not lost on him.

  For a moment, they tried to relax and imagine being in a place that was safe. They’d almost managed to fool themselves into believing that everything was going to be all right… when all hell broke loose.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Siros woke screaming, drenched in sweat, heart hammering in his frail, scab covered chest. He shook his head to clear the unwanted memory of his horrifying nightmare. In his dream, the Keep had been under attack. He and Magnus were surrounded by enemies on the tallest tower. They were both injured and bleeding badly, their soldiers lay piled at their feet and still the enemy was pressing them back.

  Magnus was fighting a soldier man wielding an ancient looking, double bladed battle axe, with crew-cut, silver hair and the most intense, bluest eyes that Siros had ever seen. He shuddered, remembering the rage on the man’s face and what happened soon after.

  He’d been standing on the edge of the tower when the sky was darkened behind him. He turned and watched a huge flock of giant vultures; his vultures, speeding toward him and then they were all over him. They screeched so loud his ear drums burst while they ripped and tore at his flesh. He screamed for help, but there was no help coming. The vultures lifted him high off the ground and flew with him, away from his nephew and the Keep. Then they were tearing at him again, with their impossibly long beaks and Siros’s puss covered body was coming apart.

  Suddenly, he was falling towards the earth, hundreds of feet in seconds. He remembered screaming, and right before he’d splattered on the jagged rocks, he’d awoken. Siros sat on the edge of his bed for several minutes, trying to calm his ragged breathing and racing heart before getting up and shuffling over to a broad, wooden workbench cluttered with numerous potion filled bottles. Pulling out a copper, blood stained bowl, he went about mixing up a conjuring potion, expertly adding one ingredient after another, finally stirring it with a human finger.

  He nibbled on the end of the basted digit, while he waited for the potion to take effect. A few moments later, a balloon sized, green cloud of smoke rolled off the top of the bowl, and then cleared and the liquid in the bowl became solid; like a blood colored mirror. Siros leaned closer over the bowl and saw an image approaching in the reflection. He jerked back, losing his focus. It was the man with the rage-filled eyes, staring at him in the vision; as if he could see him.

  A cloud of purple smoke billowed up from the bowl and Siros cursed. He picked the bowl up, hurling it across the room. It clanged and clattered off the far wall, coming to a rest upside down.

  So it’s real. He’s coming…

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When Daniel awoke in the middle of the night, he quickly realized two things. The first thing was that Chloe was curled up at his feet, sleeping peacefully. The second thing was that they were not alone in the cave. Gently, he untwined Chloe’s arms from around his boots.

  He picked up his double bladed axe and stood up, peering into the shadowy glow from the fire. He saw nothing but he knew from the way that it was breathing, that whatever it was, it wasn’t human. Kneeling down beside Chloe, he shook her.

  She woke with a frightened yelp, scooting away from him on her backside while she got her bearings.

  Daniel motioned for her to be quiet, pointing back into the cave. Her eyes followed his finger, straining to see something; she knew she didn’t really want to see. She rose. Daniel handed her his Bowie knife, motioning for her to get out of the way. Eager to comply, she moved behind him, craning her neck to see around the width of his back.

  Daniel knew from the sounds, that it was a snog. He could kill one snog, but if it screamed, the rest of the pack would be on them. Snog packs could number as high as fifty. “Look for something to make a torch out of,” he ordered, bracing himself.

  The hideous creature stepped into the firelight. Its body was that of an extra-large, pre-historic dog, with thick, powerful legs and three toes’ apiece with foot-long claws at the end, covered in course black fur. It had a snake-like neck as long as the body, thick at the shoulders, tapering down to the dinner plate- sized head of a viper.

  The snog hissed at him, revealing hundreds of needle like fangs, flicking its lengthy barbed tongue in and out of its mouth.

  Daniel readied himself, trying not to look at its hypnotizing, diamond shaped, puss-colored eyes.

  “Got it…” Chloe shouted, holding up a burning piece of wood.

  The snog hissed louder, before launching its powerful body with its jaws wide open.

  Daniel swung his battle axe, catching the creature on the side of the head. The stunned snog stumbled into the far wall of the cave, spewing blood everywhere… but it wasn’t finished yet. It attacked again, striking at Chloe from behind.

  Daniel barely had time to push her out of the way and bring the torch up, burying the burning branch directly in the creature’s open jaws. The snog screeched, trying to shake the fire off of its face and out of its mouth.

  Daniel stepped forward, bringing his axe down with all of his strength at
the base of its neck. The snog went down in a fountain of blood and gore. An instant before it screamed, Daniel hit it again, in the same spot, severing its head. The snog’s head twitched and hissed in a puddle of its own black blood while the decapitated body convulsed and lurched toward him.

  Daniel felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, as he backed away from the vile creature toward the entrance to the cave. Chloe was already there, standing naked, her blanket left behind. He came up behind her, catching her arm by the wrist as she slashed at him with his bowie knife. “It’s ok, it’s dead.” Carefully taking his knife away from her, he put it back in his belt.

  The air was cold. He couldn’t help but notice Chloe’s body covered with chill bumps; her nipples hard and puckered against the late evening frost. “Wait here.” He went back into the cave to get her blanket and his supplies.

  Chloe didn’t wait. She followed him closely instead, her cold, naked body trembling beside him as they re-entered the cave. Daniel tried not to think about her next to him. He busied himself packing up supplies, while she went about trying to cover her well- proportioned body with the blanket. She caught him staring at her and smiled. “The snog didn’t scream. We should be okay here until, daybreak,” she suggested hopefully.

  Daniel nodded that he’d heard her, but he wasn’t so sure staying in this particular cave was such a good idea. The snog had gotten in some other way than the front entrance. The odds were pretty good there would be more visitors and soon. He picked up the torch and began to look over every niche and cranny for the snog’s entry point. He’d almost given up, when Chloe screamed and pointed to the far shadows of the cave.

  A huge snog, twice as big as the one Daniel just killed, slipped out of a hole in the cave ceiling onto the blood-spattered ground beside them. Daniel kicked out, catching the creature in the eye. The snog was stunned, giving him enough time to raise his axe and bring it down with a wet crunch in the middle of its back. This time there was no stopping the screams. The crippled creature flailed about, striking out at Daniel and Chloe as they backed once again toward the cave entrance.

  “We have to go!” Daniel shouted. He pushed Chloe out of the cave in front of him, checking behind them. The creature was still screaming the screech of a banshee, blood curling and unsettling. They slid and stumbled their way down the rocky slope to the canyon floor below. In the distance, Daniel could hear the snogs screaming back to their injured pack member, letting it know they were on the way.

  They’d only gone a short distance when Daniel pushed Chloe into a narrow crevice in the canyon wall, motioning for her to stay. “I’m going to lead them away from you. Head west for half a day, then head north. You should come to Fortress, by late afternoon. You’ll be safe there,” Daniel said. He handed his knife back to her.

  “Don’t leave me…please, don’t leave me,” she cried, holding onto Daniel with an iron grip.

  “I can move faster alone. You’ll be fine, just wait for morning and go.” He smiled at her and nodded, turning to go as the snogs screams grew closer.

  She grabbed him, kissing him deeply before he could pull away.

  He forgot about everything for an instant. All that he knew was that he wanted her. He kissed her back, both of them, terrified and aroused. Finally, he pushed her away from him. “I have to go… it’s the only way.” He turned and was gone before she could react.

  The screams were at the top of the cliffs now, echoing madly throughout the canyon. Chloe covered her ears, trying to force herself further back into the niche in the rocks. She heard Daniel yell, a snog screech; as if wounded … then nothing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Journal Entry ~

  Listen well my son and grandson, to my words. Don’t forget, or let the people forget, that America used to be founded on the belief that every man is created equal with certain inalienable rights given to us by God. These ideas must not be buried in the dust and the rubble of our past.

  Tell and re-tell the history of America, my son and grand- son. Make sure the children learn it, and cherish it from an early age.

  To not pass on our history, would be to dishonor the thousands upon thousands who died for the freedom of America.

  Our history must not be lost in time’s hellish passage. It’s what holds us together and makes us what, and who we are.

  Soon I will no longer be able to broadcast my message of freedom. Siros has seen to that. Through his dark magic he has cursed me with a sickness that only death can cure. The time is fast approaching, that there will be no voice to guide the wasteland wanderers, no moral lifting ‘give em hell’ speeches for the true American rebels.

  So I’ve decided to write you these letters, in order to prepare you, my son, to prepare my grandson for life. Take what you will from them. I’m no authority on life… as it is unexplainable and thus hard to prepare for.

  Always give freely of yourself. Never hold back the talents that the good Lord gave you. It’s going to take all of us, each with their own individual talents, to turn this once great country around and rebuild and recreate the freedom and way of life that was once taken for granted by us all.

  Never ever give up the fight for freedom. It has been my life’s work to carry on that fight.

  My greatest wish… is that you continue to fight on as well, and bring it to the enemy.

  My days on earth are almost over.

  My rebel soul will leave this spell- cursed body soon and pass on to other side of things. My message will echo and fade after I’m gone, leaving only you, my dear son

  and grandson, to cry out to the people and to give them direction in this desolate land that we used to call home.

  Remember that I’m always so very proud of the both of you, and wish we’d been able to spend much more time together and to get to know each other.

  Shake hands like you mean it. Love with everything that you have, no matter how scared you are. To do any less would not be true love.

  Find my friends, wise Tom, brilliant Tinker, and fearless Scout and keep them near and dear to your hearts. They have been invaluable in many ways to me but most of all they have been my friends.

  That’s enough for now. I suppose I could go on, but there is still, yet, a little time, before I am called to judgment, and a new chapter of my soul’s life will begin.

  Until next we meet. My love and spirit travels with you.

  In the meantime, my beloved son and grand-son, hold on… stay strong… and fight on.

  Red Robin

  CHAPTER NINE

  Scout spent almost half the night free-climbing the sheer, towering cliff. After the adrenaline pumping ascent, he sat panting and sweating on the edge, looking down. The night air was cool on his skin; much colder up this high. He took off his back- pack and set it aside. “Won’t be long,” he said to himself, before lighting a cigarette. He watched the smoke from his cig while he waited for his feathered friend to arrive.

  About to light another, he heard something and stood, looking behind him. The air around him was sucked inward, toward great whooshing wings. A massive, radiation scarred, red-tailed hawk hovered above him, its wingspan 10- feet wide. Scout waved cautiously and watched it settle on the edge of the drop off.

  The hawk looked at him with its head cocked and its intense, golden fire eyes staring at him. Scout swallowed hard as he looked at its nearly two- foot- long, curved beak, and long saber like talons. It seemed on edge and upset. Scout was starting to get more than a little nervous, thinking maybe he should come back another time.

  He was about to leave, when it suddenly bowed low. Scout nodded and took a deep breath. Slowly, carefully he bent forward, reaching down to a hand length, tube- shaped copper canister strapped to the hawk’s leg. He opened it, taking out a rolled up piece of heavy white paper, and replacing it with another one from the inside pocket of his camouflage jacket, before closing it and stepping back.

  I wonder if he knows I’m his friend?

  The
noble bird seemed to be able to read his mind. It spread its wings slowly, brushing Scouts shoulder with one of them before, screeching and rocketing out and away from the edge of the cliff and off into the star sprinkled night.

  Sitting down, he lit another smoke and read the note. It was simple and to the point. It said: Fortress has fallen, fall back to the Cavern of the Light. Scout stood and looked toward Fortress with tears running down his face. He had friends there.

  He’d just finished mashing out his cigarette, when the hawk returned, dropping gracefully from a passing cloud, coming to rest not five feet from him. Scout clapped his hands softly, smiling sadly at his friend. “I’m afraid it’s terrible news.”

  The hawk bobbed his head up and down, flapping his wings before bowing low. Then it shook the leg with the canister attached making sure it was secure, nodding twice at Scout before silently taking flight.

  Scout watched him go, until he could no longer see him. He and the hawk had been together since the beginning of the end. Scout had found the hawk injured and close to death at the bottom of a wash. He’d saved the hawk and they’d been friends ever since. It was the hawk that completed the vital chain of communication from the Keep to Fortress, then Over Watch and on to Star Towers, from where the Red Robin broadcasted his message.

  Scout was tired. After looking down he decided he would stay on the cliff and rest for a while and wait until daylight to climb down. He’d been up many cliffs since the men that helped him escape death in the Keep, brought him with them to Over Watch. Scout was a great addition to the mountain strong- hold. He knew ways to get edible food, he was fast and most of all- loyal, in a time were most everybody had to choose to be a cannibal or end up on the wrong side of the dinner table.

  He, Tinker and Tom, had escaped the Keep and lived to tell about it; a fact that drove Magnus mad with rage. There was rumored to be a thousand silver bar bounty on each of their heads.