Red Robin: Post-Apocalyptic America

by R. B. Tetro

  Daniel and Pops didn’t argue, although neither one was looking forward to going down the narrow ledge again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Junior left earlier than the sun woke up. He couldn’t help feeling that he was probably too late, but he had to at least try. He moved as fast as he dared through the many trails and goat paths, back to where they’d been the previous day. He stopped to rest and get his bearings under the shade of an overhanging rock. He’d just lit a smoke when he heard an ominous growl and saw a blur of fur go by him. He was surrounded by a vicious pack of wolves! He put his back to a large boulder, readying his war hammers.

  “Please don’t hurt them!” he heard a familiar voice shout.

  He kept his hammers at the ready as two humans walked right through the wolves; as if they were friends or something. One was the most beautiful woman Junior had ever seen.

  The other figure had a familiar way about him, but his face was so heavily bandaged, he could not see who he was. “They won’t hurt you. I promise…” the familiar sounding voice spoke once again.

  “Poet, is that you, man?” Junior asked, trying to see through the fellow’s bandages.

  “Junior? Oh my God man… we thought you were dead,” Poet exclaimed. He and Junior hugged each other awkwardly.

  Junior was taking care not to touch Poet’s damaged face. “Wow, that looks pretty bad…are you okay?”

  “I am now. Oh! Please…forgive my manners,” Poet muttered through his bandages. “Brad, this is Angel. Angel, this is Brad, but most folks call him Junior.”

  Junior offered his hand to the stunning young lady. She made no move to take it. Instead, she cocked her head to one side; as if she were waiting on something. He lowered his hand carefully. A soot black wolf, the size of a Honda Goldwing approached him, sizing him up while he held his breath. His hands tightened on the grips of his war hammers, as the monstrous black wolf sniffed him and walked around him.

  “Onyx says you’re a great warrior, with a brave heart and a kind soul,” the woman said, looking in his general direction.

  Junior suddenly realized that she was blind, but he did not know that she could see him through the wolves’ eyes. “He said all that, did he…?”

  Poet smiled while he watched Onyx checking Brad out. He remembered the first time he’d met Angel’s four-legged protector and the rest of the deadly pack and how terrified he’d been.

  Satisfied that Junior was not a threat, Onyx returned to his charge’s side.

  Junior was ready to get back to his friends. “You and your friends should travel with us. There is strength in numbers,” he suggested.

  Poet’s heart skipped a beat. He held his breath while he waited for Angel to think about giving up the free life of a wide-ranging wolf to re-join what was left of the civilized human race.

  “What about my friends…people will be scared of them and people destroy what they are scared of.”

  Poet and Junior looked at each other; both knowing all too well the destructive power of humanities’ fears. “You have my word no harm will come to them,” Junior promised.

  No one spoke for a moment. Angel cocked her head and seemed to be somehow communicating with her nearby friends. “We will travel with you to the Cavern of the Light, after that… we will see,” she said finally.

  Poet smiled at her; immediately relieved. Up until Junior asked her to join them on their journey for survival he hadn’t prepared himself to say goodbye to the stunning woman of the wild.

  She smiled back at him, making his heart ache, not only because she was so lovely, but also because whenever he was around her, he couldn’t help but feel a little more hope and a little less fear. Besides- his heart had already turned toward her. She seemed to sense all of this inside of him and nodded, whistling softly as the wolves came into view one by one.

  Twenty strong, they led the way back to the cave where the rest of the Fortress survivors were anxiously awaiting their return. The reunion between Poet and the old lady was warm and tearful, the two of them had been through a lot together and to be reunited lifted both of their spirits immeasurably.

  Angel was presented to the group and, of course, everyone commented on how beautiful she was and took to her immediately. Poet and she had decided to leave her wolf friends back up the trail, because they didn’t want to panic the group, but Onyx insisted he come anyway, causing no small amount of fear when he walked into the cave beside them. Poet loved that the great wolf would not leave the young woman’s side.

  The old lady was the first one to figure out that Angel and Onyx were somehow connected. Poet knew that she would know, she seemed to always have a way of knowing things. The old lady kept staring at his face, obviously curious as to how the terrible wound was doing under the bandages.

  “Please…sit,” she asked him finally, and he did. The two friends smiled at each other while she carefully removed the bandages. She was delightfully surprised with the job that Angel had done stitching his terribly sliced face together. The stitches were perfect and there seemed to be no signs of infection. The wound, although still horrific, was obviously on the mend. “Well done… younger sister,” the old lady complimented Angel.

  Thank you… sister,” the young lady replied humbly.

  The old lady was actually more than impressed. Truth be told, Poet’s wound should have killed him by now because of the primitive conditions they were trying to survive in, and the more she looked at the wound, the more she thought to herself that there was obviously a lot more to Angel than her apparent beauty and formidable travelling companion.

  Only once in her long, trouble- riddled life had the old lady ever run into someone with comparable healing skills, and that had been a full-blooded Native American medicine man named Red Feather. “Where did you learn the art of healing, little sister?” she asked Angel.

  Angel pursed her lips and her violet eyes filled with sadness. “When I was little…before my parents were killed, and I was taken by another couple, my mother used to teach me the ways of healing. She often told me I had a glow for the gift.”

  The old lady reached out and touched Angel’s hand, jerking her hand back in surprise at the energy that she felt coursing through her. She wanted to question the girl further about the subject but was interrupted by a man with dark skin, pecan colored hair and a chubby, friendly face.

  He handed the old lady and Poet each a small, paper-wrapped package. They thanked him and he left smiling; stumbling over his own feet, he was so busy looking at Angel. The man’s name was Teddy, but everyone called him Teddy Bear, because he was always warm and friendly. Teddy was a botanist before the end. He could and did grow just about anything better than anybody else and also grew the best homegrown weed in the Territory. Each package he’d given them contained an eighth ounce of his newest strain.

  The old lady and Poet were like kids on Christmas as they opened their gifts and rolled one. Angel cocked her head curiously and Onyx sniffed the air and whimpered as they followed the old lady and Poet outside and lit the powerful joint.

  “I thought you and I’d smoked our last one together,” the old lady chuckled.

  Poet took a deep drag, relaxing as the potent, natural grown plant took the edge off the intense pain in his face. “Not hardly, old friend…we’re too damn unlucky to die that easy,” he laughed, handing the joint to Angel, who nodded her thanks, taking a tentative hit, while Onyx looked at her disapprovingly, before passing it on to the old lady.

  Onyx shook his head and snorted while Angel coughed on the smoke; as if he were getting buzzed along with her. He yipped a little, chasing his tail in a tight circle before whining softly and settling back down. They laughed as they watched the giant wolf.

  Junior came and let them know there would be a ceremony held to honor those lost at Fortress, after the evenings radio broadcast, of course. There were just over twenty of them now, not counting the wolves. They huddled and waited in silence while some of them kept
watch outside. There was no sound until eight p.m. Then, one by one, a handful of radios began to crackle and hum and come to life.

  “This is the Red Robin. Listen up all you wasteland walkers and Blood- eye stalkers. The day is done and for all you stubborn ass survivors out there in the rocks I say, good show. It’s hard to kill something you can’t see, so stay hidden, you patriotic cock-roaches and come daybreak… make your way to the Cavern of the Light.

  Remember people, the rebellion lives… and there’s not a damn thing they can do about it. Freedom doesn’t sleep and oppression will not go unanswered.

  I call again for a leader to take us to battle. You know who you are. Step up and accept your destiny. Our very existence depends on you…wherever you are…whoever you are. Step up…it’s time to step up and lead.

  Oh… here’s one more piece of gristle for you rebels to chew on. The Cavern of the Light will soon have some surprise visitors, some rowdy voices in the darkness, but loyal and true to the cause. You can trust them Over Watch, because I sent them tohelp you with your… problems.

  Keep your heads up and remember… the message in the music is all that really matters. Goodnight true Americans. Don’t forget to hold on… stay strong…and fight on.”

  There was a long, low tone and then the cave was filled with Metallica’s soul soothing and thoughtful “Nothing Else Matters”.

  After the song was long over, and each radio had been put safely away, the small group of survivors honored their dead friends and family with a somber ceremony. There were a few tears shed but not many. They were getting used to losing their friends and loved ones. It had become their way of life.

  PART II

  THE CAVERN OF THE LIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Tinker stayed up all night preparing for the testing of his new weapon. He was exhausted but cautiously optimistic as he made the final preparations for launch. His work area was cluttered with rolled up plans, half- eaten food platters, and an impressive collection of mechanical and electrical parts of all shapes and sizes. He busied himself, tightening and checking the parts on his latest project while he waited for the sun to make its raging appearance.

  “How long can it stay up?” a familiar, deep voice startled him.

  “Not sure, ten… maybe twenty minutes before refueling,” Tinker answered, without turning from his creation.

  Tom nodded enthusiastically; anxious to see if it would work. “Wicked looking device…” he remarked.

  “I hope it works. We could use some positive news around here,” answered Tinker. The two men stood side by side in the cramped and cluttered work area; as far apart in appearance as they were close together in friendship.

  Tom was taller and athletic; built like a healthy volleyball player, with long brown hair and intelligent grey eyes. Tinker was his opposite, short and slight, bent over in a permanent hunch, with wisps of salt and pepper hair poking out from underneath his ever present, faded green, Calloway golf hat. His dark brown eyes strained to see his project through the half-inch thick lenses of his homemade spectacles.

  Tom put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Maybe you should get some rest. We can try it out tomorrow,” he suggested.

  Tinker looked at him; obviously perturbed, shrugging Tom’s hand off of his shoulder.

  Tom smiled while Tinker muttered to himself and rummaged through a collection of all sorts of parts until coming up with what looked like a giant TV remote control device with several complicated- looking dials and buttons on it. “We go now,” he said, pointing at the cruel looking invention as he made his way over to and up a long steel ladder leading out of the work shop and up to the parapets of Over Watch.

  Tom chuckled and shook his head. He went over to the weapon and picked it up gingerly, trying not to slice himself open while he carried it over to the bottom rung of the ladder.

  “Tie it in this!” Tinker yelled down to him from the open hatch at the top.

  Tom stepped back as Tinker threw down a long coil of sturdy rope with a mesh basket attached to the end. He put the dangerous looking device in the basket and secured it with the rope. While Tinker pulled up the basket, Tom climbed up after it, keeping it from hanging up on the ladder. It was slow going and he was sweating when he reached the top.

  Tinker looked the worse for wear. The long pull on the heavy rope with the weapon attached had taking most of the steam out of him.

  Tom took out a flask, raising a toast to his friend’s latest diabolical invention. “To the slicer,” he cheered, taking a careful sip before handing it to his friend.

  Tinker took the flask, raising it as Tom had done, before taking his own respectful sip and handing it back. “Bon Voyage,” he joined in, punching a code into the large hand- held remote.

  For a few moments nothing happened, then there was a spark and the slicer came buzzing to life. It was a simple machine, and aptly named. Tinker had taken the motor out of a junked-out weed eater and attached it to a simple metal box with a smaller metal box attached to the side and landing skids on the bottom. On top of the box were two, razor sharp, lawn mower blades…

  Tinker mumbled to himself - as he was prone to do- and fussed over the controls as his pet project took to air.

  Tom clapped his hands softly, doing his best golf clap imitation. It didn’t go unnoticed by Tinker, as Tom and Tinker had been avid golfers before the world burned. He smiled and nodded at his friend while the slicer hovered over the sheer drop off in front of them.

  “What can we test it on?” asked Tom. He pulled a worn pair of folding binoculars out of his backpack and studied the canyon floor far below their mountain hideout.

  “You mean what should we kill?” Tinker chuckled. He put the slicer through a series of basic flight maneuvers while Tom found him a suitable target.

  “There…” Tom exclaimed, pointing to the far side of the canyon far below them where two young snogs scavenging for something to devour. The Tinker followed his gaze and after spotting the dangerous duo, sent his creation rocketing toward them with a flick of his thumb. The maniacal device sped through the canyon, bobbing awkwardly at first, and then steadying itself, as Tinker got a feel for the controls.

  The snogs never saw it coming. The first one it hit was decapitated immediately as the razor sharp blades struck it full speed, slicing the middle of its hideous neck. There was a brilliant burst of blood and tissue. The unlucky snog staggered forward headless; not realizing it was dead yet. The remaining snog shrieked, turned and ran. Tinker let it go, toying with the frightened creature, enjoying his new invention.

  Tom’s eyes were wide and he realized he was holding his breath. The slicer easily closed the distance, ripping a long, deep gash down the flank of the snog, showering blood and ground bones on the rocks around it. The badly injured snog screamed and turned on the slicer.

  Tinker kept it hovering, just out of reach of the striking creature. He smiled and winked at Tom. Suddenly, the enraged snog leapt high into the air and struck, hitting the slicer broadside, sending it crashing to the ground.

  “Damn….” Tom swore, but Tinker remained unfazed, as he punched in a new sequence on the remote. In two leaps the snog reached the downed machine. Its powerful head swayed from side to side on its long neck while it approached Tinker’s contraption cautiously.

  “That’s ok…guess you’ll just have to build another one- maybe a lot of them…” Tom mused.

  But Tinker’s contraption wasn’t out of tricks. He flipped the cover off a small red button, on the underside of the remote, mashing it right as the snog struck. The slicer blew apart in the snog’s unsuspecting face, killing it instantly.

  “Son of a bitch!” Tom shouted, clapping his long-time best friend on the back.

  “And then some,” Tinker replied, smiling as he dusted off the remote.

  “Even though we lost the slicer, I think we could still call that a huge success,” Tom reasoned, looking through his binoculars at the shredded snog
bodies.

  “Almost a success…almost,” Tinker muttered and hit several buttons on the remote. Suddenly the downed killing machine, or what was left of it, hovered up and out of the hole it had been knocked into and rocketed towards them.

  “What the…how did you manage that?” Tom asked.

  “That’s the way it was designed. It plays possum if it’s struck down, and detaches itself from a small explosive carrier which the remote detonates.” Tinker laughed as the slicer came up to them, eye level, and nestled in a perfect landing at the ground in front of Tom’s feet. It was scratched and dented from its run in with the snogs, but it remained functional.

  Tom and Tinker awkwardly high fived each other as their minds raced with the endless applications this new weapon could be used for. “I’m impressed, my friend,” Tom said seriously.

  “Oh… let’s not get all soupy, it’s just a prototype,” Tinker muttered humbly as he bent to examine the returned weapon.

  “Prototype my ass… this is a game-changer!” said Tom as he continued to scan the canyon floor through his binoculars. “Have you heard from our friend the hawk today?” he asked.

  Tinker waited a little before answering his question. Finally, he looked at Tom; who was anxiously looking at him. “I’m afraid our winged ally did not bring good tidings. Fortress has been destroyed… and all our friends with it.”

  For a while…only the wind spoke. There was nothing left to say.

  They climbed back down into Over Watch, neither of them sure how to tell the rest of the people that all of their friends and families who were at Fortress were now gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Chains, Basher and Fury roared through the canyon on their highly- tuned, post-apocalyptic motorcycles, loud and proud and flat unconcerned with drawing attention to themselves. They hadn’t killed anything for two days, and it was gnawing at them as they rolled to a rip-roaring stop; hungry for altercation.