Aftermath (Book 2): Aftermath

by Donovan, J. S.

  At sunrise on the fourth day, Naomi put her hair into a loose but practical ponytail. She winced and glanced down at her wrapped knuckles, reminiscent of boxing tape. Purple and yellow bruises spilled out of the tight white cloth. Grabbing Allen’s rifle, she signaled to her party eating breakfast from the cans looted from the chariots they’d acquired.

  They went to the same place in the road they’d always gone. The last few days had been free of snow. The crusty grass hid their footprints.

  As per usual Naomi, Ms. Banks, and Calvin were on one side of the road and Guy and Richard were on the other. From their loot, they were able to get more weapons and utility items, including a few pairs of binoculars. Unlike the first day of the raid, they’d fallen into a comfortable rhythm. It was no longer a question of if Logan’s men would show up but when. Keeping low, Naomi scanned the road with her binoculars.

  Before the sun had reached high noon, she saw incoming traffic. It was the earliest they’d seen intruders come. Naomi glanced Guy’s way, and he flashed the mirror twice, confirming he saw the people as well.

  Naomi counted nine people, the largest squad yet. They were heavily armed, with semi-auto shotguns, a machine pistol, an Uzi, and more. Their camouflage army fatigues bunched up under their Kevlar vests. A few of them wore SWAT helmets. They all had individual bicycles with metal plates mounted across the handlebars like shields. It slowed them down but protected them from straight-on projectiles.

  “Pssst. Naomi,” Calvin said as he scurried her way.

  Naomi looked at him with a peeved expression. “Get back to hiding.”

  “We should fall back. These guys aren’t like the rest.” He pointed at them. “They’re a death squad.”

  Naomi pressed the binoculars back against her face and studied the enemy. They didn’t have chariots or supply carts. Calvin was right. These guys were after blood.

  She turned to Guy’s tree. He flashed the mirror three times.

  “He wants to fight them,” Naomi whispered.

  “He’s crazy, Naomi,” Calvin replied. “We can’t take them. Not without bloodshed.”

  With the targets still two hundred and fifty feet away, Naomi turned to Ms. Banks. “What do you think?”

  “Cal’s right. If we stay, things might get bloody.”

  “But if we leave, they could release the prisoners,” Naomi argued.

  Calvin and Ms. Banks quieted.

  The incoming Scrapers were biking in pairs with about twenty feet between them.

  About two hundred feet away, the Scrapers slowed down.

  Naomi lowered herself behind the tree. “Why are they stopping?”

  One of the Scrapers in the second row of twos dismounted from his bike, walked to a nearby tree, and lowered his zipper to relieve himself.

  Staying low, Calvin put a hand on Naomi’s shoulder. “If we want to retreat, this is the time to do it.”

  Naomi looked over at Guy. He flashed the mirror another three times. Richard didn’t signal her at all.

  She glanced back to the armed men as they waited for the teammate to finish urinating. Naomi’s heart thumped out of anticipation. It was one thing to disarm a man before he drew his weapon; it was completely different when they were on their guard.

  Taking a deep breath, Naomi grabbed her mirror from the nearby ground and got ready to signal a retreat. Something caught her eye. Four rows of bikes down, she saw a thick fox fur coat--red as fire--over heavy body armor. She quickly pulled up her binoculars, seeing the familiar face of the man with multi-colored eyes, a chipped buzz cut, and an intense tattoo of Dante’s Inferno crawling up his neck and behind his ears.

  “Ink,” Naomi mumbled.

  Calvin adjusted his glasses and squinted. “What?”

  “I think he’s one of Logan’s lieutenants Guy mentioned. If there’s anyone who knows how to infiltrate the scrapyard…”

  The peeing man had already returned to his bike.

  “Naomi,” Calvin warned. “I’m telling you this will get messy.”

  Naomi picked up her mirror and flashed it three times at Guy’s tree. “Get in position. We’re taking him alive.”

  Sucking in his air, Calvin gave a worried look before crawling back to his mark.

  “You ready?” Naomi asked Ms. Banks.

  The grey-haired minister had already traded out her .22 for a standard bolt-action hunting rifle. “I imagine with all their protection, we’ll have to aim for the exposed parts.”

  “Should’ve got the man before he pulled up his zipper,” Naomi said, not thinking. Wearing an awkward smile, she looked back at the woman. “Sorry. That was inappropriate.”

  Ms. Banks smiled softly, but the tenseness of her face revealed her anxiety.

  Naomi double-checked her gun’s safety. She ejected and reloaded the half-magazine Allen had left her.

  She supported the barrel on the felled tree while her feet were stretched out behind her. Wet snow and mud had gotten into her beltline. Her cheeks glowed. Her nose leaked. It was probably twenty-six degrees Fahrenheit, and Naomi felt the cold coil around her bones.

  Her finger hovered just over the trigger.

  Her heart rate quickened.

  She tried to release all fear, but it was hard with her mind endlessly racing.

  She took deep breaths, trying to ease herself as the nine armored bikes neared her.

  One hundred feet.

  Guy and her exchanged a few signals.

  Seventy-five feet.

  Relying on the flickering light, they made a plan. Naomi passed it along to those on her side of the road.

  Fifty feet.

  It became evident how spread out the cyclists were. Naomi knew she wouldn’t be able to fully flank them.

  Thirty-five feet.

  Ink wiped crusted blood from his nose as he biked with one hand.

  The cyclists took their time, scanning the road and trees.

  Twenty-five feet.

  Naomi and Ms. Banks dropped their heads.

  The two cyclists in front cruised by Naomi.

  Her whole body trembled.

  As the first two neared Calvin’s position, the second row passed Naomi.

  Like the beat of a war drum, Naomi’s heart pounded. Her hands squeezed her assault weapon tightly.

  She lifted up the mirror slightly. As the third row out of five neared, she quickly flashed three times at Guy.

  The third row got two feet past Naomi’s position before Guy flashed back.

  “Open fire!” Naomi yelled.

  In that very second, chills danced across her body. Instinct took over. She popped her head up from behind the frosted bark, aimed at the nearest target, and fired the assault weapon.

  The stock pounded the inside of her shoulder as she squeezed the trigger in bursts. As the barrel climbed, bullets punctured the nearest man’s wrist, left rib, and his ear.

  Everything that followed moved at lightning-quick pace.

  The man Naomi shot flopped on his handlebars, his front wheel wobbling, and he crashed to the ground a few feet away.

  At the same time, a bullet zipped out of Guy’s tree and hit one of the cyclists in the back row, striking the inch of bare skin between the riot helmet and the collarbone. Richard’s small pistol rounds pelted the back of the vests of the cyclists in the first row while Calvin shot at those in the second. Ms. Banks’s rifle round blew apart the gear on Ink's bike. He flipped over the handlebars and crashed to the dirt.

  A second later, the Scrapers pulled out their weapons and fired haphazardly in every direction.

  The sounds of war--screams, gunfire, the thumping of bodies--echoed through the valley.

  Naomi put two bullets into the thigh of the remaining man in the third row. He tumbled to the ground and fired his machine pistol her way. The rapid-fire bullets zoomed overhead and pelted the trees behind her. He crawled two yards before bleeding out.

  Meanwhile, one of the cyclists in the front row started to bike away while the
second man in the front row crashed his bike into a tree and grimaced at the bullets lodged in his vest.

  Richard quickly snuck up behind him and held him at gunpoint with his little pistol.

  “Calvin! The runner!” Richard shouted.

  Turning back from the two men he’d injured in the second row, Calvin saw the fleeing cyclist heading in the direction of the house where the prisoners were being held.

  Calvin aimed but hesitated. The cyclist got farther away.

  Meanwhile, the surviving man in the back row dropped his bike and fired his semi-auto shotgun at Guy’s tree. Small branches snapped and a body crashed down on a snow-covered bush before rolling out of sight.

  Keeping his head low, Ink drew out his Uzi submachine gun and sent suppressing fire at Naomi as he sought cover behind the first man Naomi had shot.

  The other man in the fourth row ran in a zigzag, shooting his deadly semi-auto shotgun in random directions while releasing a war cry.

  Naomi shot his way. Her bullets missed. Her magazine dried out.

  Seeing the cyclist getting closer to the house, Calvin grabbed a felled bike.

  The war crier shot at Calvin’s way, but missed.

  Cursing up a storm, Calvin mounted the bicycle and chased after the fleeing man.

  The war crier grouped up with two injured men from the second row in a ditch on Richard’s side of the road.

  Ink leaned up from behind a corpse and shot Naomi’s way. She ducked behind the trees as bark and wood chips fragmented in front of her.

  Cowering nearby, Ms. Banks’ shaking hand struggled to load the rifle. “...Arise, O Lord. Save me, O my God…”

  Naomi snatched the rifle and the bullets from her hand. She quickly fed the long bullet into the chamber and primed it for the kill. She twisted back to Ink’s way and fired at the body he cowered behind. The bullet thumped into the cadaver's side.

  Ms. Banks handed her another round.

  Naomi loaded it with a satisfying Ca-Chink.

  “Stand down!” She shouted Ink’s way.

  Pop-pop-pop!

  More bullets whizzed by. One came dangerously close to shaving the top of Naomi’s head.

  She found her voice again. “Lay down your weapons! Last warning!”

  One of the men in the opposite ditch popped up and shot Naomi’s way.

  Naomi gritted her teeth. She went to aim when Ink sent another deadly burst of gunfire her way. With her cover compromised, she army-crawled across the dirt and snow. The coarse earth scraped against her belly and belt line. Ms. Banks followed her trail.

  They moved to where Calvin had been. It was only then that Naomi saw that he was missing. Naomi lifted her head to see the road as Ink barked orders.

  “Pin her down,” he said in a slightly drowsy voice.

  The three men in the ditch traded looks and took deep breaths, readying themselves to rise.

  Naomi had one shot in the rifle. Changing to the pistol seemed too risky.

  She took a breath.

  The war crier clenched his shotgun and dashed out of the ditch before the others.

  Boom! Boom!

  Two large rounds hit his back and sent him face first into the road.

  Standing a few yards back from the ditch was Guy. Blood poured down the side of his cheek. He held the repeater rifle nestled against his shoulder. The other two thugs turned back to him with horrified faces.

  Ink rolled to aim at him when Naomi dashed out the road and aimed the rifle at Ink. Aiming at Guy, his eyes darted back to Naomi.

  The two men in the ditch aimed Naomi’s way. If anyone fired, it would spark a chain reaction that would cause them to shoot each other.

  Holding a gun to the back of one once-flying cyclists, Richard marched out of the tree line. “Put down your weapons, gentlemen.”

  Ms. Banks rose next, wielding her side pistol. She kept her gun trained on Ink. “Tell your people to stand down.”

  Ink bounced his widened eyes between the four of them. Sighing, he pressed the button near the Uzi’s trigger. The ammo magazine slipped out. He tossed aside the weapon, which skidded across the road.

  The two men in the ditch dropped.

  Ink rolled on his back and spread his arms wide. Naomi stepped casually toward him, keeping the bolt action aimed.

  “Aren’t you the little killer?” Ink remarked drowsily.

  Naomi ran her tongue behind her lip as she thought of the man’s fate. “Bind them up. Start with this one.”

  Bodies, bicycles, and shell casings littered the road. The firefight had only lasted a minute, but most of Ink’s people were dead. In a few minutes, the remaining four men were bound, blindfolded, and heading toward the house.

  They decided to leave the bodies. Staying in the farm wasn’t viable anymore.

  As they approached the house, Naomi noticed two bikes in the front yard. The front door was open. She gestured for everyone to stop. She gave her rifle back to Ms. Banks and pulled out her side pistol.

  Moving silently, Naomi kept the gun close and pointed as she stalked into the house.

  The rug across the floor was scrunched. A few books from the shelf had been shaken loose. A ceramic lamp was shattered on the floor. Sunlight streamed through curtains, creating lines on Naomi’s terror-filled eyes. She turned into the kitchen.

  Calvin’s glasses rested on the laminate floor tile.

  A few feet away, Calvin sat with his back against the bottom of the sink. A body rested next to him with a handle of a kitchen knife jutting from his back.

  Calvin’s soaked fingers pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Naomi swallowed hard as she scanned the blood spilled across the floor.

  Calvin, splashed with dark crimson, looked up to her. Tears streamed down the blood on his cheeks. “He… I…”

  Naomi holstered her pistol and extended her hands.

  After a moment of hesitation, he accepted.

  Naomi wrapped both her cold hands around his bloody hand and pulled him up. When he got to his feet, he downcast his eyes. Shame flickered behind his gloomy expression. Naomi put her forehead against his, not caring about the blood. She locked eyes with his.

  “Survive,” she whispered gently.

  “I’m trying.”

  Richard cleared his throat behind them.

  Naomi lingered before she turned back. “Put Ink on the sofa. The rest of them can go into the basement.”

  Limping, Guy led the injured Scrapers down the basement before quickly returning to lock the door.

  The rest of the party stood around Ink, who had his hands bound in front of him along with his ankles.

  Naomi pulled off his blindfold. He looked back at her with his two heavy lid-lidded eyes. One eyes was blue and the other was dark brown.

  “I’ll make this simple,” Naomi said, still feeling adrenaline from the battle. “I want to know everything about Logan.”

  “And if I refuse?” Ink replied

  “I’ll deal with you like the rest,” Naomi bluffed flawlessly.

  Ink masked his emotions behind his heavy-lidded eyes.

  Naomi put the back of her hands on her hips and slightly cocked her head. “Well?”

  Ink shrugged.

  Naomi nonchalantly drew out her pistol.

  Ink watched as she rolled the gun in her hand and aimed at his head.

  A tiny smile curved up the side of Ink’s mouth. He leaned forward and rested the middle of his forehead against the barrel. His eyes locked on Naomi’s. “Go ahead. Do it.”

  Naomi’s facade wavered. The air seemed to leave the room.

  “He’s certainly not shy,” Richard remarked.

  Naomi leaned closer to Ink. “You really want to die?”

  Ink replied. “What do you think?”

  Naomi stared deeply into his eyes, trying to get a glimpse into his soul. “I think it’s been a long while since you’ve been sober. I think you’ve done some despicable things. That you’re a drifter, desensitized to de
ath and violence.” Naomi got closer to him. “You were lost long before the blackout, but now the lawlessness has only proved that your suspicions are right: that this world is a cesspit and there is no meaning.”

  Ink’s eyes widened just a little.

  “It’s a lie,” Naomi pulled her gun from his head.

  He leaned back and shut his eyes.

  “This world can be something beautiful. It’s not too late to do the right thing,” Naomi said.

  Ink smiled at that. “Says the woman that shot a group of unsuspecting men.”

  Naomi pointed. “I have your friends downstairs. All of them are alive. If I thought I could take you without extreme measures, I would’ve, but saving my daughter and the rest of the women you’ve captured is something worth fighting for. If it was your daughter that they had at the scrapyard, what would you do?”

  Ink frowned in disgust. “I’d kill them all.”

  “Believe me, I want to,” Naomi admitted. She stopped herself before saying how empowered she felt putting his men down. “But I only need to strike the shepherd.”

  “Logan,” Ink said.

  “Help me and you’ll get a second chance at life,” Naomi promised. “When electricity comes back, there will be judgment on all of us for what we’ve done. Choose to do something with your life and help me save my daughter.”

  Ink took a deep breath. He scanned the rest of the members of Naomi’s posse. “You really think you’re doing the right thing?”

  “God help me if I’m not,” Ms. Banks answered.

  Naomi nodded and awaited Ink’s response.

  After a long stretch of silence, Ink looked at them with heavy-lidded eyes. “What do you need to know?”

  Naomi couldn’t help but smile. For the first time since she captured the Scrapers, one actually voluntarily wanted to help. She rewarded him with food and water. He told her about Logan’s plans first, starting with the towns he would attack to the amount of supplies he brought in from various settlements/farms. He also had a few “safe houses,” as Logan called the places where the chariots dropped off their supplies. Naomi showed Ink the map and had him point out the locations of these places. He talked about the scrapyard as well. Naomi inquired about Trinity’s wellbeing.