Easing off the gas, he coasted to a stop twenty-feet away and lifted his hands off the steering wheel in a gesture of obedience. A voice hollered at him, but he couldn’t make it out through the glass, so he lowered his hand and began rolling down the window, his eyes not missing the slight lift of one of the rifles as they prepared to fire. Once it was down, he slowly raised his hand once more and yelled, “I didn’t catch that!”
“The casinos are closed white man, turn around, go home.”
He didn’t see the source of the voice, as either man with the rifles seemed more focused on killing him than talking about it, and knew that it had to be coming from within the RV.
“I am trying to go home! I am not here for any other reason than passing through. Please, my family needs me,” he yelled, trying to be heard and not sure if anyone was even listening. It felt like he’d been trapped in some god-awful western flick, the Native-American men using rifles instead of bows, trucks instead of horses, and large brimmed hats instead of feathers, yet the tension was the same. Even after all this time, the distrust between their two peoples were strong, and mistakes of people he’d never known might end up costing him his life.
“I want nothing from you but passage through. I can’t go the other way and if you turn me around, I will simply park and start walking south. It’s a death sentence, but so is turning around and going back!” he pushed, the men unwavering, their eyes cold as they focused on him.
In his mind he imagined the line of cars back on the highway heading this way, looked at the two men in the trucks, the RV, and knew that this would end up being a losing battle should they try to push back the tide. He was only the first of many, they had to know that, and though they might be able to stop him, they wouldn’t be able to rebuff their advances it forever. Sooner or later it would give; his death would mean nothing.
He tried to prepare himself for his fate, but how did one truly prepare for death? You might know its coming, you might tell yourself you accept it, but what did you know of what came after, if anything? You could never truly be ready to meet the unknown.
To his surprise, an older man appeared between the passenger window of the RV and the rusty green Ford pressed against its grill. He had gray hair, deep lines, and a round face. His dark skin glistened in the afternoon sun, and the white collared shirt looked sweat-stained and old. He said something to the gentleman on the truck above him, then began walking around the rear end of the vehicle until he was visible, the man’s gait showing the man’s confidence and good-natured spirit.
The older man was exposing himself, and five more guns appeared within the windows of the RV and on the roof, showing that there were more warriors available to fight than he originally thought.
“You can put your hands down,” the older man told him in a softer voice as he approached the driver’s side of his SUV. The blue jeans looked stained as well and the brown boots were slowly kicking up dirt as a small smile began to draw his attention and give him hope. “If you reach for a gun, you will be sent to dine with your ancestors in the next world.”
He nodded in understanding, slowly lowering his hands.
“Yá'át'ééh,” the older man said with a nod of his own, his aged hands falling on the edge of his open window, brown eyes looking at and through him.
“Grandfather, we should just kill him and be done with it,” a younger man’s voice exclaimed, the wind trying to rip it away before he could hear it.
“Patience is a trait that very few of the young share. Only long lives and wisdom can show its value,” the man told him. “I see that wisdom within your heart, but I am responsible for the lives of my people and you are asking me to take a chance that they will not appreciate or understand.” He paused, his face turning to look east, then his cracked lips opened, and he spoke once more, “Coyote is always out there waiting, and Coyote is always hungry.”
“I mean your people no harm. I am truly just looking for a way home. I have a wife and two kids that need me, that are waiting just on the other side of those mountains, and I will do whatever you ask of me if it means I get to hold them once more. Don’t ask me to abandon them to this new world dawning around us; you have power over my and their lives,” he responded, trying to let his good intentions flow through his words. “You are right, there are plenty that will come here with the purpose of thievery, hearts filled with savage intent, and they are just hovering on the horizon awaiting a reason to come in this direction. The highways are full, the cities overflowing with death and destruction, and it won’t be long before they discover this route west as all other roads become blocked to them. Gallup is either being overrun by refugees or is already lost to this plague; you will need more than what you have here if you plan on keeping them from tearing through your land as well.”
“In my heart I know you speak the truth, but not many believe this. My people have lived through the many crises your people have invented and they believe that the Navajo will weather this one as well. Yet, I have seen the hawk upon the wind, heard the rattle of the snake’s tail, and know that this is a storm that will sweep us from the Earth once and for all,” the older man replied, his face thoughtful as he looked to the men watching their exchange with apprehension. Then the man’s hand padded the window ledge and his mouth compressed upon itself. “I cannot allow you to go unescorted through our land, yet I know that turning you around would mean your death. We are not a heartless people, despite the bad blood nurtured within the hearts of our young, and I do not wish to add your death to my conscience. You are right, more warriors are needed, and I think a compromise can be reached. I will send Ahiga with you to Window Rock. You will leave him there to muster more of our guns to protect this highway, and you will continue south out of our lands without delay. You can either agree to this pact or drive away, the choice is yours.”
He wouldn’t have to turn around, he’d get to where he was going, and they weren’t going to kill him, sounded like a win to him. “Whatever you need and thank you.”
“I’ll need a minute to persuade my nephews not to kill you. Keep still and do not reach for that weapon on that seat next to you. It might just be a hammer, but my men won’t wait to see that,” the man told him in warning, then padded the window one more time and walked away.
The weapons aimed at him steadied as they awaited the order to fire, and he could tell that the man holding the rifle on the left was eager to put an end to the conversation, but the rifle did lift as the old man spoke, his words lost but his intent clear.
As the man disappeared around the back of the RV he let out a sigh of relief, the guns from within had withdrawn as well. He might be getting through here after all. He didn’t know if he had a God to thank, but it hurt nothing to do so, so he sent his prayers of thanks towards the heavens and focused on appearing non-threatening, keeping his hands on the wheel; his face passive.
More than a minute had passed, but he didn’t dare say a word. If he pushed, they might take it as aggression, and no words the old man said would be able to stop the bullets that would rain down upon him. He glanced at his rear-view mirror apprehensively, thought of the pile up in Gallup, and hoped that the people trapped there wouldn’t feel adventurous as he had, or this might get ugly fast.
A young man, more than likely not free of his teenage years came around the back of the green pick-up wearing a Deadpool shirt, blue denim shorts, and short black hair. He had a pistol in hand but didn’t look like he knew how to use it. His face was full of innocence and irritation at being sent away. The gun was pulled around the boy’s back as he walked towards the passenger door, and he knew that it was being stowed in the boy’s waistband.
He unlocked the door and briefly thought of his last passenger; hopefully he’d left that behind and this boy didn’t share her fate.
The door opened, and the youth hopped in, his irritation unreserved as he snorted at the bloodied interior.
It wasn’t like he could stop to wash the
blood out, there were far more pressing matters. “Sorry,” he managed, and got a disgusted look in response.
“Whatever man. Look, my grandfather might trust you, but I don’t. If you try anything, if you try to leave the highway, I will shoot you,” the boy told him, pulling his gun from behind his back and laying it on his lap. “I’m not a fool like that old man and only my love for him is going to keep me from killing you and stealing your ride.”
“I understand,” he replied as calmly as he could manage, feeling like he was being hi-jacked rather than escorted through friendly territory. Had this been a mistake after all? “I mean your people no harm. I have a son, not much younger than you, who is expecting me home. I’ll do anything you ask as long as I get to see him again.”
“What makes you think that’s a good thing?” the boy asked, pointing to the right and indicating that they should drive around the parked trucks, the shoulder just large enough to let them pass without entering the fringes of the desert. “Maybe they are better off dead. Maybe we all are. You have any idea what is going on out there, man? What we are facing? It’s Zombieland, and I don’t need to tell you how horrible that world will be, despite the overabundance of snowballs.”
That movie always seemed to be the fallback zombie flick. Didn’t anyone even remember Return of the Living Dead anymore?
“If that’s what you really think, then why protect the road at all? Why not just give up and let it happen?” he returned instantly, not for a second believing that suicide was the best option.
“Our people have survived living off the land without the white man’s help. Tell me, how long will you last without your Wal-Marts and Circle K’s? You are used to being fed, with food being available anywhere you go, you have no chance at surviving without them,” the teenager answered, sounding confident in his abilities.
“Oh yeah?” he countered, unable to help the defensiveness that rose as he pulled back onto the highway and started to leave the RV behind. “Been out hunting deer and growing vegetables in the fields, have you? You look to have gamer hands. How will you survive without your X-Box or Fortnite? Maybe you overestimate your own chances at survival.”
The boy snorted, “X-Box sucks balls. It’s all about Playstation. And not the point. I may not know much, but my parents do, my grandfather does, and I’m not stupid, I will learn. But who will teach your boy? Who will teach you? When the power goes off, when the gas runs out, what will you have left? Will you even know what to do? I’ll tell you. You will take from others. You will kill if they resist you, whatever it takes to help your own family live, no matter how evil it will be. Your people, they are incapable of working together, it’s going to be a free-for-all. All we need to do is protect our own and wait it out. We will survive, and the land taken from us will be returned once more.”
He sighed. “You know, I have Cherokee in my blood. So does my wife. It may be a few generations removed, but it’s there all the same.”
“And you think that buys you what?”
“Maybe a little bit of common ground? You know what? I’m tired of this shit. I’m tired of always being blamed for things that I had nothing to do with. Okay, I get it, when the white people arrived from Europe, they took anything they wanted. They did anything they wanted. And they persecuted your people and threw them on the crappiest lands they could find just to shut you up. I understand that. Just like I understand what the black people went through at the hands of the slave holders in the South; the discrimination they suffered. The humiliation, the torture, all at the whim of lighter skin. I understand all these things, because I was raised to know those horrors, to see them unfiltered for what they are. But you know what? I’m not them. I have never hurt anyone, never held a weapon until yesterday, and I hold no grudges against anyone based on color. I’m tired of being blamed for shit I had nothing to do with,” he finished with an exasperated tone.
“Oh look, the privileged white man is bitching about racism,” Ahiga sneered.
He shook his head and gripped the steering wheel tightly. “There really is no arguing with you, is there? You look at me and you see white. I look at you and I see a teenager that should be in school, not sitting in the car with a gun in his lap ready to kill the man next to him. I’m not your enemy. The undead are. Why can’t we, with the world falling apart, just set all that old shit aside and help each other survive?”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“How would you know? You’re what? Sixteen? You’re a bit young to let hate rule your reason. I don’t think you believe anything that you’re saying, you’re just repeating what you’ve heard others rant about and think that’s the way it has to be, but it doesn’t. I will drive you will you need to go, drop you off so you can get reinforcements for your Grandfather, as promised. Then I will get back on the highway and leave you and yours alone. You won’t ever see me again,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road and edging the speedometer over the seventy. No cops would pull him over for speeding, and the sooner he dropped this kid off and got on his way the better.
“Whatever man. Just drive.”
That’s what I’m doing.
Chapter 10
I
The highway had four lanes, but it was hard to tell where they were, the median and the edge of the asphalt the only indicators what the boundaries were. The stripes that divided both sides were old, faded, and elongated, as if to illustrate that they were on a land different than any other. Vehicles were going about their business as if nothing had happened, and the youth next to him looked more relaxed, casual, even with the pistol held loosely in his lap.
“Looks a bit too normal, all things considered,” he commented, watching as a truck rolled by, a youth in the back with a dog. A big smile was on the boy’s face as the retriever held his head over the side, wind striking the fur and tongue and blowing both back with the force provided by the truck’s speed.
“Our elders are acting on their own, trying to keep everyone from knowing what’s going on. Only a handful of people know there’s a problem,” Ahiga responded.
“How is that possible?” he asked, confused. It seemed impossible that anyone with a television or radio could be ignorant of what was happening; this was not a village in the deep forest of South America. The boy’s PlayStation was evidence enough of that.
“Have you checked your phone? It won’t work,” the boy answered. “When things began, our elders decided it was best to cut all communication to the outside, to isolate ourselves from what was going on in the world, so they disconnected the power to the towers, shutting off our internet, cable, and cell phone networks. Then they held a town meeting and explained that there had been an attack on the east coast, but that everything was all right. That things may be offline for a bit, but they’d be up soon enough, and no one had anything to worry about. Our people trust our leaders and take their word without question. Hence, everyone is at work, people are still laughing, and no one is aware that the undead have risen and are eating their way towards our lands. I’m sure that eventually they’ll have to be told the truth, but until it becomes a problem, why invite it in to play?”
It was weird, seemed wrong, but who was he to say anything against it? If keeping things quiet helped everyone live their lives without fear, then it wasn’t his place to judge. Though, if things did go to shit, they would have no idea what was happening or why until it was too late. There was some truth behind forewarned helping you to be forearmed, but that was someone else’s call; he didn’t need to play hero, he had a family to get to.
“That mean I can gas up, maybe get something to eat?” he pursued, his stomach reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything since leaving the motel that morning.
“I don’t know,” the boy said, unsure of himself. “I was told to have you drop me off, then send you on your way.”
“Wouldn’t do any good if I run out of gas before getting to the highway,” he returned, knowing full well that he was
fine on that for the moment, but wanting to be prepared anyways. Who knew when he’d get a chance to stop again?
“I guess,” the youth replied, then nodded at the Chevron ahead. “Drop me off there. You can gas up and there is a Taco Bell and Pizza Hut behind it. I’ll keep my eyes on you. If you go anywhere but the road out of town after that, I’ll make a phone call. It won’t end well for you.” The boy was gripping the gun again and he could do nothing but nod in answer.
“Got it. Thanks.”
“Whatever,” Ahiga snarked, hand on the passenger door as the SUV rolled to a stop by the open pump, the gas station only looking lightly used, no one realizing trucks may not be headed this way to refuel any time soon. Without a goodbye, the kid jumped out of the SUV and slammed the door.
“It isn’t hard to shut,” he muttered, hearing his father in his voice as he shifted into park and turned off the engine. He went through the motions of getting out and hitting the switch for the fuel door. Then turned to the pump, took out his credit card, and had a brief thought of whether or not it would work. Still, he ran it and found himself pleasantly surprised when after entering his zip code it told him to start pumping gas. The phones might be down, but something out there was still functioning correctly.
After turning the pump on, he decided to venture into the gas station, ignoring the warning look the boy was given him by the nearby payphone and went inside. He went straight to the soda aisle, grabbed a few 2-liters of Coke and a bag of Sunflower seeds, and went up to the clerk waiting nearby. “A carton of Camel Light 99’s.”
“Anything else?”
He almost asked for a lottery ticket, then thought better of it. There wouldn’t be a drawing any time soon and it would prove to be nothing more than a nostalgic part of his past. “Yeah, that’s it, thanks.”
Grabbing the bags, he stepped out, looked right, and noticed that the boy had disappeared. That should have given him a feeling of relief, not having a kid with a gun waiting around to shoot him, but he felt eyes still on him and couldn’t help the gooseflesh that rose on his arms.
The Rotting Souls Series (Book 5): Charon's Vengeance Page 11
