Driver 8: A Post-Apocalyptic Novel

by G. Michael Hopf

  “Yeah, but it tastes like shit,” Crusher joked shoveling a large amount of the stew into his mouth.

  “It’s my specialty,” another man said. He went by the name, Chef, primarily because that had been his occupation before the war and due to the fact he was the team’s cook. He stirred the contents and continued, “I call it Whatever Stew.”

  “Hmm, why do you call it that?” Portia asked.

  “Because I make it with whatever ingredients I have available,” Chef said his thick New York accent showing through.

  Portia smiled.

  “Would you like some?” Chef asked.

  Portia nodded.

  “I introduced myself last night, but I didn’t get your name,” Jacob interjected as he stirred his bowl of stew with a spoon.

  “Portia,” she answered.

  “Nice to meet you, Portia, again my name is Jacob, and going around from my left, you have Leigh, who you met last night, Crusher, Chef and Gunny over their on watch.”

  In earshot, Gunny turned and waved.

  “Some interesting names,” Portia said taking a bowl of stew from Chef.

  “They think they’re super heroes or something,” Leigh quipped.

  Portia gave Crusher a cautious look and said, “I can assume you crush things.” She nodded to Chef and said, “And yours is simple, you’re a chef.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Chef said.

  “And Gunny because he likes guns?” Portia asked.

  “No, on the account he was a Gunnery Sergeant in the Marines,” Jacob said.

  “Oh,” Portia said. She took a spoonful of stew and brought it to her lips. She blew on it and sipped it. “Hmm, has a meaty, wait, it tastes like corned beef hash.”

  “Close, its a couple cans of dog food, mixed with potatoes, canned corn, powdered garlic and onion.”

  A look of revulsion swept over her face as she put the bowl down.

  “Now why did you have to tell her about the dog food?” Jacob said smacking Chef on the arm.

  “I’ll have you know that those old cans of dog food are decent. It was made with decent ingredients. Hell, a can of dog food is a better meal than what you can get at any roadside slop house in the Republic.”

  “But now you’ve got the lady all upset,” Jacob said.

  Portis wiped her mouth and looked for a bottle of water.

  Sensing her needs, Leigh pulled out a canteen and offered it to Portia.

  Portia took it, swished the water in her mouth and spit it out.

  “Give me the water back,” Leigh snapped unexpectedly.

  “But I didn’t take a drink yet,” Portia said surprised by Leigh’s abrupt change in tone.

  “You spit out a precious resource. I won’t have you wasting anymore water. I get you didn’t like the taste of the stew but we don’t waste,” Leigh barked. She looked at Jacob and said, “She must be from The Collective.”

  Portia handed the canteen back and said, “I’m sorry.”

  Leigh snatched it back. “If you’re going to run with us, rule number one, don’t waste resources.”

  “I’m sorry,” Portia again said.

  Jacob jumped in, “She didn’t know.”

  “Jacob, what are we doing? This little side job cost us two days, we could’ve been in Puerto Penasco by now and on our way,” Leigh complained.

  “I made a promise, you know that,” Jacob said.

  “But you made a promise to your team first,” Leigh countered.

  Portia watched the back and forth. Leigh was a strong women by all counts. She looked tough, but her persona screamed, “Don’t fuck with me.” She was impressive looking with her war paint, intricate braids and leather clothes.

  “My team is my top priority,” Jacob said defending himself.

  “I don’t even want to go, but we voted as a team and the majority wants to go. I say fuck everyone, let’s go kick ass and at least go out fighting,” Leigh said.

  “I agree with Leigh,” Crusher said nodding.

  “I love ya’ girl, but I’m over this shit, I’ve been fighting for my entire life. If there is a place called Paradise, I want to see it,” Chef chimed in.

  “Cause you’re a pussy,” Leigh growled at Chef.

  “I am what I eat,” Chef countered with a devilish smile.

  “Team, enough, we voted and it was three to two. And as always we do things as a team,” Jacob said.

  “Dumbest thing ever,” Leigh said.

  Portia loudly cleared her throat and asked, “What’s Paradise?”

  “There’s been rumors floating around for years that an island exists, not far off the coast of Central America. It’s untouched by the ravages of war; no radiation, no Generates, no conflict. Anyway, up until recently I thought it was just a rumor until a map came into my possession. The coordinates point to an island exactly where all the rumors say it is, seven hundred plus nautical miles west of Costa Rica.”

  “That map is bullshit,” Leigh said.

  “Let me finish,” Jacob said. “My team has decided to leave this God forsaken place and sail there.”

  “Half of your team is going in protest,” Leigh blurted out.

  “The reason this is even an issue with our team is because over the past year, The Republic, The Collective, and other countries or territories have aligned under one cause, to wipe out all Leviathan. They’re afraid of us, so they want us all dead,” Crusher said.

  “I think my husband mentioned your group to me; I think he told me he killed someone from Leviathan,” Portia said.

  The group grew silent and all eyes stared at her.

  Noticing the awkward silence, Portia asked, “Did I say something?”

  “Your husband killed one of ours?” Leigh asked, her back stiffening.

  Noticing everyone’s reaction, Portia said, “He didn’t murder him, it was a fair fight.”

  “Give us a moment in private,” Jacob said motioning for everyone to leave the fire.

  The three got up and walked away, Leigh giving Portia a hard stare as she walked off.

  “How did you husband get into an altercation with a Leviathan?” Jacob asked.

  “My husband was…is a driver for The Collective. It was years ago, that’s all I know,” Portia explained.

  “He wasn’t operating under orders to kill Leviathan was he?”

  “No, not that I’m aware. Like I said, this was a long time ago,” Portia said, fear began to creep in as she realized she might have said the wrong thing.

  “Do you recall the Leviathan’s name?”

  “No, my husband doesn’t talk to me much about what he does on the road. Listen, I don’t want trouble. I was placed into slavery less than a week ago. I’ve seen horrible stuff and all I want is to find my husband if he’s alive and from there, go somewhere safe.”

  Jacob raised his right brow and asked, “Drivers are highly respected. What did you or your husband do?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’m all ears, I think you have time. We’re not going anywhere until nightfall,” Jacob said crossing his arms.

  “Are you going to hurt me?” Portia asked thinking she might as well ask and wanting to steer the conversation away from the current topic.

  “No. If we wanted you dead you’d be dead.”

  “What do you plan on doing with me?” she asked.

  “Don’t know yet, but I can tell you that we’re not heading anywhere close to The Collective. You’re more than welcome to walk out of here now, otherwise you’re coming with us. Unless we can drop you off on our way south.”

  “You’re really leaving. You think this place is real?” Portia asked.

  “I don’t know, but if we stay we’ll all end up dead. Everyone’s gunning for us now,” Jacob said.

  “Why?”

  “Because we aren’t beholden to anyone and we’ve been known to cause some problems for the elite. My team has caused quite a stir with our attacks against slavers. The powers that be don�
�t like that, hence why they’ve all joined a pact to have us all killed.”

  “Do you have family?” Portia asked.

  Jacob paused. He picked up a stick and began to poke the wood in the fire.

  Sensing it was a sensitive question, Portia shifted the topic again. “I need to make contact with someone I know in The Collective, how can I do that?”

  “I have a sat phone. You can make a call, you’ll need a clearing as this hillside and the heavy canopy cover will make it difficult to get a signal.”

  “Jacob, Gunny here, we’ve got tangos to the north, I count fourteen. They look like Marshals,” Gunny radioed.

  Jacob jumped to his feet and cried out, “Team up, grab your shit, we’re outta here in two.” He keyed his radio and replied to Gunny. “Estimated time to contact?”

  “Ten to fifteen mikes, over,” Gunny answered.

  “Copy. Get your ass down here Gunny, we’re leaving.”

  “Roger that,” Gunny said and started down the hill towards them.

  “Fuck this, I’m so tired of running. Can’t we just make a deal with these guys? I’m so over this shit!” Chef hollered as he raced to the truck.

  “Who are these Marshal’s?” Portia asked now on her feet but unsure of what to do.

  “They’re the corrupt lawmen of the Republic. While we’ve been tracking your truck and these Generates, they were tracking us. We’ve kept ahead of them by a day but somehow they’ve locked onto us. I thought we were safe in these hills, miles from any improved road,” Jacob explained. “Go get in the SUV, we’re leaving now.”

  Portia ran to the SUV and got in the back.

  Leigh was right behind her and got in the front passenger seat.

  Crusher, Chef and Gunny jumped into an old Chevy pickup.

  Jacob tossed some gear in the back before he got behind the wheel of the SUV. He keyed his radio, “Crusher, you lead us out of here.”

  “Roger that, boss,” Crusher replied.

  Leigh rolled her window down and stuck out her AR platform rifle. “Why are we always running? We should stay and fight. If we dug in we could take them.”

  “There could be more, just keep your eyes open, we don’t need to be racing into an ambush,” Jacob said.

  Leigh grumbled.

  Portia put her seat belt on and stared out the window.

  Jacob caught a glimpse of her in the rear view mirror. A question suddenly came to mind. “You never told me who your husband is. I’m familiar with a few Drivers for The Collective, maybe I know him.”

  She locked eyes with him in the mirror and answered, “My husband is Driver Eight.”

  He looked away for fear she’d see he knew something. He knew that name and had just heard he was dead. Timing was everything and telling her then that Driver Eight was dead was not the right time.

  TWO MILES NORTH OF CIRCLEVILLE, UTAH, ROCKY MOUNTAIN REPUBLIC

  Five hours and forty-three long slow miles later, Jacob and his team pulled off the back roads and onto a long gravel drive.

  “I saw a house, about a half mile in,” Crusher radioed.

  “Copy that,” Jacob replied following closely behind Crusher’s truck.

  The drive gently winded along a dry creek bed until it stopped at an old cattle guard and gate.

  Crusher stopped. He and Chef surveilled the area first before Gunny exited the truck to inspect the gate.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” Leigh asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jacob replied.

  “What’s the problem?” Portia asked.

  “Nothing,” Jacob said.

  Gunny looked at the rusty gate and found it unlocked and pushed it open. The tired metal screamed as it grinded against itself. He looked at Crusher and waved him on through.

  They all passed through the gate with Leigh closing it behind them. Ahead of them sat an old two story house with four outbuildings; one a large barn and the other three were sheds.

  Jacob pulled the SUV alongside the front deck and scanned the house and the surrounding area.

  Leigh didn’t waste any time, she hopped out and went towards the front door. When she placed her full weight on the first step, her foot broke through the dry rotten wood.

  Crusher saw her and began to laugh.

  She glared at him and said, “Fuck you.”

  “Sorry, that shit was just funny,” Crusher said.

  “Your fat ass better watch out then, you’ll fall through the deck,” Leigh shot back. She removed her foot and tried again, this time not breaking through. The house was in bad shape and appeared to have been abandoned for many years.

  The team secured the house and out buildings before unloading their gear.

  “Let’s get everything inside. I don’t want anything of value in the rigs tonight,” Jacob ordered hauling several packs inside.

  Portia approached him and asked, “Can I borrow that phone?”

  “Yeah, but let me make a call first,” Jacob said putting down the packs in the front room and removing the phone from his jacket pocket. He powered it on and waited patiently for a message notification to pop up, but nothing. He hit the green call button and waited. The phone rang and rang then disconnected. “Shit,” he said hitting the green button again, this time it didn’t connect. The phone beeped several times signaling he didn’t have any service. “Nothing, no service. We’re out of range of any sats.”

  “Can I try?” Portia asked.

  “Sure but don’t try too much, I don’t want to run down my battery,” Jacob said offering her the phone.

  She took it and then realized she didn’t know her direct line, in fact, she didn’t know anyone’s direct line at The Collective. The phone service there relied on old phone lines. There were several lines at dispatch that allowed outside calls to come in but she didn’t know those numbers. “Jacob.”

  “Yeah,” he replied, his attention on unpacking.

  “Stupid question, but do you know the direct number for The Collective?”

  He laughed. “Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t have them on speed dial.”

  How stupid are you? She thought. I have a phone and I can’t make a call because I don’t know the number.

  Jacob could see she was upset, he walked over and took the phone. “We’ll figure something out.”

  “I need to know if my husband is alive,” she said somberly.

  He lowered his head and said, “You said your husband was Driver Eight.”

  “Yeah.”

  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “What?”

  “It might be best if you sat down,” he said pointing to a dining room table in the next room.

  Leigh was walking in and overheard his last comment. She scrunched her face and walked past, she was curious about what was happening.

  “I don’t need to sit, if you’re going to tell me my husband is dead, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Portia replied standing tall.

  Leigh placed a box in the far room and slowly opened the lid and pretended she was sorting through it, her ear locked on their conversation.

  “Days ago I had contact with Tommy O’Leary, he’s one of ours if I didn’t mention it before. Anyway, he was heading to The Collective for a job when he’d received word that an old friend of his, a driver, was killed. I don’t know how but he told me his name was Driver Eight.”

  “He didn’t mention anything about how?” Portia asked.

  “Like I said, he didn’t say how, just that he was dead.”

  Portia went to the dining table and sat down. She put her head in her hands and began to weep. She had been told of Kyle’s death before and it turned out to be a lie but this time it did make sense. All she had to do was look at her situation. Here she was hundreds of miles away from the one place she could call home. She had been almost sold into slavery and was witness to a Generate blood ceremony. It was conceivable Kyle was dead, a victim of Barry’s.

  Leigh’s hard edge melted away. She
walked over and knelt next to Portia. “I heard, I’m sorry.”

  “I’m alone,” Portia whimpered.

  Jacob came up and said, “You’re not. You’re with us now.”

  “He’s right, you’re with us,” Leigh said softly rubbing Portia’s back.

  It wasn’t often that Jacob witnessed Leigh’s softer side and he liked it. “I’m going to let you all talk, time to get the rest of the gear and secure the vehicles.”

  “I want to go with you,” Portia blurted out to Jacob as he walked away.

  He stopped and turned around, “To Paradise?”

  “Yes, I want to go with you. I don’t know if it’s real but this place doesn’t offer me anything anymore. Whatever I can do, ask of me. I know I’m not Leviathan, but I’ll carry my weight.”

  Jacob glanced at Leigh who returned it with a smile. “Deal, welcome to the team.”

  TEN MILES NORTHEAST OF GRAND JUNCTION, COLORADO, COLLECTIVE PROTECTED ZONE

  Kyle pulled his truck over and fueled up. From his vantage point he had a good view of the city below. He had made the decision right from the start that he was going directly through Grand Junction, regardless of The Generate activity. Anything else would take him another half day or more, something he couldn’t do.

  Driving through Grand Junction was already dangerous but doing so at night made it even more precarious because when the sun set, the Generates came out.

  The glow of numerous fires below told him the city was truly occupied by the heathens. His one saving grace could be if they were preoccupied feasting or performing any number of their known ceremonies. For a group of humans that had devolved to their current state, they very much clung to things uniquely human, such as organized rituals and ceremonies.

  Taking the main road through Grand Junction wasn’t going to work so he planned on driving back roads and side streets. The Generates were many but even with their numbers, they couldn’t man every road.

  Armed with a street map of downtown, he plotted several routes and put them to memory. Part of his plan was to make the drive using only his night vision, he had hoped to have moon glow but his timing was off. He attached the night vision to his helmet, prepared every weapon he had and loaded every magazine. He was ready to go but needed to do one more thing. He took the phone and called the number. All he got was a steady ring. He began to grow concerned that something had happened to this Jacob character. Frustrated, he tossed the phone onto the seat, got behind the wheel, and headed towards the first turn off just a mile ahead.