Red Robin: Post-Apocalyptic America

by R. B. Tetro

  “I’m afraid my part in this macabre play we call life has come to a conclusion, my friends,” Tinker managed. He favored them with a grin, weakly fumbling at his jacket pocket. Daniel helped him pull out the detonator; it was dented and scratched, but otherwise intact.

  Outside, they could hear the boulder start to move. “I can carry you… come on,” offered Daniel.

  Tinker looked at him, then down at his torso. “What, and miss all this?” he chuckled. He fumbled clumsily for the button of the detonator and finding it, finally he gave them a wink. “Go now. Someone must tell my story…” he muttered weakly.

  Scout was bawling like a pin-pricked baby. Daniel shook Tinker’s hand before grabbing Scout and carrying him down the tunnel. As they made their escape, Daniel could hear the sound of the boulder being moved away from the tunnel entrance.

  “For my country and my family and my friends!” they heard Tinker shout. Snogs screeched and an explosion sent them both pitching forward down the tunnel, head over heels.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  That night, deep in the hidden tunnels of Over Watch, the battle-weary survivors huddled together for warmth and comfort. No one felt like eating or talking, so they sat in silence while they waited for the evening’s radio broadcast.

  It was almost nine and the heartbroken survivors had all but given up on the Red Robin when the radio crackled and sputtered to life. The sounds of Taps filled the tunnel with its oddly comforting tribute to all the fallen true Americans that now lay dead and buried in the rubble of what used to be the great hall of Over Watch. The crowd could hear the Red Robin, clearing his emotion filled throat.

  “This is the Red Robin. Tonight I come before you, broken as you all are, desperate for something positive, anything to hold on to in this time of hell on earth. My thoughts go out to all the badass survivors. You took everything they had and you threw it right back in their faces.

  My son and grandson, I love you. I love all…”

  The Red Robin’s voice broke and for a moment, he and all of his loyal listeners cried and suffered together. No words were necessary, no morale lifting speeches seemed appropriate here, so he suffered with his listeners and mourned with them, and they loved him for it. After a few minutes he cleared his throat and continued.

  “True Americans, gather yourselves and prepare to cross the Griddle. Come at last to the safety of the Star Towers. There we will all be united. There we will be strong enough to face the terrible forces that threaten to annihilate our very existence.

  You say you have lost your home, my friends… I say come home, all of you who would make the perilous journey…come home and be a part of the old way of life, the free way of life that used to be America.

  I’m sending some rowdy friends to show you the way. Stay together and head toward me. You will meet them on the way.

  Last but not least… my freedom loving friends, my heart is broken over the news of the loss of one of my dearest friends, Tinker. Tinker, wherever you are and wherever your soul is creating contraptions, I know you can see us and if you could speak to us, you would call on us to stay the course and continue to fight. I’ll miss…you my friend…until my dying day when we are united in our savior’s presence.

  Good night, true Americans. Hold on, stay strong and for God’s sakes…fight on!

  There was silence for a moment, then “Proud to be an American” by Lee Greenwood filled the tunnel, nudging at everyone’s heart and frazzled emotions. The rest of the night they lay staring at each other and the ceiling wondering if the rest of the mountain was going to fall in on them while they tried to get some much needed rest.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  The following morning was wicked cold, matching the mood of all the survivors of the Over Watch wedding massacre. What was left of the true American rebel army were gathered at the mouth of the draw, waiting for their walk through hell to get to the Star Towers.

  Daniel and his men were saying good-bye to the others, each knowing the chances of seeing each other again were not even good enough to quantify. “We’ll have to travel slow, Pops, with all the wounded and elderly. After you kill Magnus you should be able to catch up with us easily,” Jessie said to Pops.

  Pops stood with one of his arms around him and the other arm around Lucas. Both of them had fought bravely and survived and proven themselves worthy of the position of leaders. “Shouldn’t be long, there’s really not enough of them to put up much of a fight,” Pops chuckled.

  Both boys looked at him and swallowed hard. The last message the hawk had brought them numbered Magnus’ personal guard somewhere around a thousand. Add that to the fact he also controlled the snogs and the rock demons and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out this would be their last good-bye. Not one of them wanted to let go of the other, but finally Pops pushed them gently away, patting each of them on their shoulders.

  “I love you boys. In you, I have found my life,” he said and then he was walking away from them, and the two boys were crying without sound or tears because both of them were out of tears.

  Daniel and Chloe stood together off to the side. Chloe was feverishly rummaging through her ragged back-pack, pulling out her tattered and faded American flag bandana and handing it to Daniel with a kiss. “I know you still love your wife, but I love you too. When you get back to her I just want you to know that I won’t make things hard for you, and that I will love you forever, from afar.”

  Daniel softened at that and took her in his arms. They stood there holding each other as time slipped away from them, clinging desperately to their desperate love.

  “I don’t think I will come back. Where I’m going is not somewhere people come back from. And if I did make it back, I would be with my family. Thank you for that, but I will have to love you from afar, as well.” He kissed her one last time, long and tenderly and passionately, until he could take no more. Turning swiftly, he walked away from her, catching up to the rest of his group before he looked back and waved goodbye to the woman he’d started to love more than his wife.

  Pops was lost. For the first time in a very long time he was entirely alone, without his sons. It was overwhelming. Someone nudged his shoulder… it was Juggernaut. He stood towering over him, handing him a half- full whiskey bottle. Pops almost told him thanks, but no thanks, but as he watched his last two sons walk away, he grabbed the bottle and took a strong healthy pull on it before grimacing and handing it back to Juggernaut with a nod of thanks.

  It was time to say goodbye, maybe forever. Well… probably forever.

  PART III

  THE KEEP

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  Two days of heads down, grunting and climbing later, the doomed party was starting to make some time. Now, with each step bringing them closer to the Keep, Daniel was starting to push them harder and harder. None of them complained, although some of them were concerned that by the time they reached their destination, they’d be too exhausted to fight.

  While they trudged forward, Pops decided to talk with Daniel about his concerns. “Figure about a week and we’ll be at the Keep’s front gates,” Pops started the ball rolling.

  Daniel’s face was blank. He’d been thinking about the day that he and his wife were married. He blinked and looked at Pops. “…bout a week.”

  “I know you’re military and all, but if we keep pushing ourselves this hard, by the time we reach the Keep, were not gonna be worth piss in a plastic cup.”

  Daniel stopped; his eyes flashing dangerously. “If you can’t keep up, stay behind.”

  Pops thought about smacking him but he didn’t. “…just saying,” he spoke with his hands held up.

  Daniel blinked again, frowning at Pops before looking at the rest of the men. They were obviously exhausted, but doggedly stumbling forward. All of them had been wounded in one way or another at the battle of Over Watch. He raised his hand wearily, calling for a halt. He pointed at a cluster of boulders off to his right. “Le
t’s camp there tonight, all night. We need some rest.”

  The men perked up immediately, making their way over to the boulders, carefully scouting around them and behind them before making camp and preparing dinner. After they ate, and Scout and Juggernaut were perched up high as lookouts, Pops made his way over to Daniel, sitting down quietly beside him.

  “Thanks for reminding me we needed some rest,” Daniel mumbled suddenly.

  Pops looked at him and smiled. “Had to, got a blister on my foot the size of Rhode Island, well, before the bombs.”

  Daniel looked at him and smiled. “I know what you mean. You handle yourself pretty well in a fight. What did you do before the war?”

  Pops stared off in the distance, seeing a place that he would never see again. “We were farmers. We had 700 acres of prime bottom-land, east of the Mississippi, outside of Memphis.”

  Daniel nodded, looking at Pops. He could picture the man, up before dawn, plowing and planting, watching over his crops and his family with a vigilant eye. “That must have been something, you and your boys with your own land to raise them on. I envy you that, you know, having a home and being home with your family.”

  Pops blinked, clearing the vision of his wife and sons gathered around the picnic table by the back porch for dinner time. Back then, no matter how busy they were, they came together at dinner time to celebrate what God had blessed them with and their love for each other. “You’ll see your family again, Daniel. You have to believe,” said Pops.

  Daniel looked off in the distance.

  Pops noticed that he was looking back the way they had come and not toward the Keep. “I can tell that you miss Chloe. It’s okay you know…the world’s upside-down and everything in it. We all need someone to lean on.”

  Daniel was surprised at being figured out so easily. “Is it that obvious?”

  Pops chuckled, handing Daniel a bottle of unopened whiskey. “I’m afraid so…friend.”

  Daniel chuckled. He opened the bottle, taking a measured sip, before handing it back to Pops. “I hate myself for caring about her with my wife going through… God only knows what.”

  Pops could see Daniel fighting against himself, inside of himself. “Don’t be so damn hard on yourself. Things aren’t always black and white. Hell… in this world, everything’s mostly bloody grey. Things will work out the way they’re supposed to.”

  Daniel looked at him, thankful for the kind words. “Maybe your right. Who knows…we’re probably too late anyway.”

  It was Pop’s turn to get mad. “I left my sons to come with you because I consider you my friend but if you expect us to follow you into that torture chamber, you better be a little more positive,” he said, getting up to move away from Daniel.

  Daniel stopped him with an outstretched hand. “Wait! I’m sorry…you’re right. I will be more positive, besides, even if we’re too late to save my wife and son, at least we can kill those responsible.”

  Pops nodded, smiling grimly, taking the whiskey bottle after Daniel offered it to him. He sat down beside him, taking a long deep breath, blowing it out slowly. “If we can kill those murdering bastards then all of this will be worth it.”

  Daniel looked at him, lighting a smoke. He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. “If my wife and son are still alive, I want you to promise me you’ll get them out of there to safety. I need you to promise me that.”

  Pops looked at Daniel’s desperate eyes. He understood what he was being asked to do, and how important it was. “If they’re in there, I promise to get them out…or die trying.”

  They sat in silence for a while, both lost in a whirlwind of thoughts.

  “Thank you,” Daniel said finally.

  “Thank me when it’s over,” growled Pops.

  They sat together for the rest of the evening, both of them thankful for each other’s company; neither of them sure how to say it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  The game was simple… outdraw anyone unlucky enough to draw your name. The contest was a mainstay of Saturday night’s entertainment for as far back as Butcher could remember. He usually didn’t participate, but tonight was special. He’d been challenged by a visiting bike gang’s president.

  As he watched the undercard shooters killing each other, he cleaned and polished his favorite speed draw pistol. A shot rang out and one of his favorite club members lay dead in the middle of the dust choked street. His gang members where hollering and pushing the other club members. It was their opinion that the other guy pulled his pistol and went to shooting long before the bell went off.

  Butcher stood. Immediately, his members went silent, turning to him for his opinion of the proceedings. “The fight was fair. The other guy drew with the bell… he was just a whole hell of a lot faster than Perez…case closed.”

  There were a few disgruntled groans from his club members, but most of them took him for his word and continued to bet on the upcoming matches while a couple of burly bikers dragged the body off to bury later. Two matches and two more dead bodies later, Butcher stood facing the president of the Rodents outlaw motorcycle gang in the middle of the street.

  Razor, Butcher’s second in command, came over and whispered into his ear. “He’s never been beat before Prez…listen for the bell. Don’t worry about him, he’s all mouth… listen for the bell to chime, pull first and kill his ugly ass.”

  Butcher winked at him, smiled and nodded. Gently pushing his long time, loyal friend out of his way, he shook his gun hand, keeping it loose while the president of the Rodents ran his mouth like a street-ball playing thug. He stayed in the zone, concentrating all of his attention on the bell in the center of the street. It was on a timer, set to go off every fifteen minutes, and those fifteen minutes were almost up. Five, four, three… Butcher counted, dropping his gun hand down to the grips of his Taurus model 608, eight shot .357.

  His loud- mouthed opponent was enjoying his own bragging so much he was not watching or listening for the bell. The bell rang.

  Butcher pulled his pistol, firing twice and reholstering before the other man had a chance to touch his pistol grips. He was back in his chair on the edge of the street before the twice-shot man fell face down, dead in the dust.

  A couple of fights broke out.

  Butcher was taking a long pull off his whisky bottle when a rider came into town, stopping directly in front of him. Before he could blink the lone rider was looking down the barrel of several loaded firearms. “Wait… please…the Red Robin sent me.”

  Instantly, all the weapons disappeared and the frightened rider was plucked off of his bike good-naturedly and set down next to Butcher. The messenger swallowed hard as he got his first glimpse of Butcher.

  He wasn’t overly big, but the way his yellow eyes stared at him made him want to wet his pants. Butcher was rail thin and taller than most with slate colored skin, long jet-black hair and a beard all the way to his belt in which were tucked two long handled butcher cleavers and his pearl handled revolver.

  The messenger’s hands shook as he handed Butcher the message, handwritten by the Red Robin himself. “I’m sorry I was robbed and my greeting card was taken but I did manage to save the letter.”

  Butcher nodded, patting him on his shoulder before opening the letter, and reading it. It didn’t take him long. The letter was short and to the point. He looked up for Razor who was standing right beside him, as always. He was short and stocky with wavy black hair and a full dark beard. “Get everyone ready to ride immediately.” He said. “ Send fifty riders with the women and children to the caves under the Star Towers. Tell the fifty, once there to ride after us. We’re going to need every fighter we can get.”

  As one, without questions, his members came alive, getting ready to move out. Butcher, the messenger, and Razor watched them for a while.

  “Where are we going boss?” asked Razor.

  Butcher shook his head slowly. “We’re going to save some survivors. Over Watch has fallen.”

/>   CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  There were at least thirty of them. More than Scout had ever seen at one time, in one place. The rock demons were in heaven as they rolled around in an expansive pit of dust and rubble. They spun and around and dove into the debris, popping up in different places pushing and screaming at each other.

  Scout cursed quietly under his breath as he watched the blood-colored, rock skinned, mutant monsters. There were way too many of them to go through, but through them they would have to go to get to the Keep. He shuddered as he watched two, ten-feet- tall rock demons fighting. They were ripping handfuls chunks of flesh from each other until one of them went down and the other ripped its head off and took it away, drilling itself down into the earth.

  Scooting backwards, he pulled his friend Mr. Mean out of his back-pack, standing him up in front of him. “I don’t know what to do, my friend! It seems were in trouble yet again.”

  Mr. Mean was silently scowling at him. Scout could tell that he was saying, Find another way around! Mr. Mean was as tough as they came, but no one wanted to tangle with one rock demon, let alone that many of them. “I want to go around as well, but this is the only way out of this hell...”

  Again, Mr. Mean made it perfectly clear with his withering stare that he thought they should find another way around. Scout was about to argue with his plastic friend some more when his mouth was completely covered by a strong, battle- scarred hand. “It’s me…Daniel,” he heard a voice whisper in his ear.

  Hoping he hadn’t shit in his pants, Scout looked at Daniel with a huge look of relief on his face, then, remembering the rock demons, he pointed sadly up the trail.

  Daniel crept forward and looked down at the only passage off the mountain. “Shit…” was all he said, before turning and taking Scout by the arm and leading him far enough away from the creatures to talk softly without being heard.