“Who wants to know?” I asked.
“I do. I’m Emma.” She flashed the million-watt smile.
I wondered, what was this girl up to? Being that she was just in the company of a couple of jackasses whose butts I’d kicked, I had my suspicions. I studied her. Finally I asked, “What do you want?”
“I just wanted to know your name.” She looked down at her feet.
“Steen O’Mannon.”
“Oh.” She smiled again. “That’s a nice name.”
“Thank you. Well, you have a nice day. Sorry about your friend’s pants. I was— Well, anyway. Sorry.” I turned to go.
I took a few steps and she said, “They look good on you.”
I stopped. “What?”
“The pants. They look good on you.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Was this some kind of trap? I looked around for her friends. I didn’t see anyone. I asked, “How old are you?”
“Eighteen.” She smiled again.
“You live around here?”
“Yeah, I live with my mom. Her boyfriend lives with us, too. My mom doesn’t really have much to do with me. She wants me out. She’s told me that. ‘You can move out anytime now, you’re eighteen.’ The bitch. And her boyfriend – he’s a real winner. He’s never had a job the whole time I’ve known him. And he stays drunk most of the time.”
“Sorry to hear about that. Who were those guys you were with?”
“Oh, just some friends. We hang out sometimes. It was funny what you did to Ian.”
“Is he the pants guy?”
She laughed. “Yeah. Bones is the other.” She turned serious for a minute and took a couple of steps toward me. “Look, I’m sorry I followed you.” She moved closer still. Looking up at me she said, “Steen, I’ve been wanting to get out of here real bad. It’s a mess at home and nobody has anything to eat. When I saw how you kicked Ian’s ass, I was like, damn! You’re a badass. A girl could use a tough guy sometimes, you know what I mean?” She inched closer. “I know I could.”
“Look, Emma,” I said. “I’d like to help. Really I would. But you’re a young girl living at home with your parents—”
“Mother,” she corrected.
“Right. Still, I don’t think—”
She drew closer still, then she reached down and gently cupped my manhood. She started rubbing and suddenly my pants got tighter. She said in a low, breathy voice, “I could make it worth your while.” She rubbed a little more. “Looks like you like it, big boy.”
I took a step back. “Um, Emma. I, uh, okay— Wow, I wasn’t expecting—”
She laughed, “Look at your face!” She laughed harder. “I was just messing with you, man.”
“Alright.” I cleared my throat. “So…” I straightened my vest and hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “I’d, uh— I’d probably should be—”
“Look,” she said, “just let me come with you for a couple of blocks. We’re just hanging out, walking down the street. No big deal. Come on.” She started walking.
I stared at her for a moment. I couldn’t help but notice her long tan legs and her perfect ass in those skintight shorts. I caught up to her.
Neither of us said anything for a minute. Then Emma asked, “So, how long have you been a scavenger?”
I said, “I don’t really consider myself a scavenger.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said. I’m more of a survivalist.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Well,” I began, “to the casual observer there probably isn’t much difference. We both use available resources in order to survive.”
“‘Available resources,’” she repeated. “You sound smart.”
I gave her a look and continued. “Scavengers are just reacting to a situation. There is no forethought or planning on their part. The bomb hits, they survive and they figure they’d like to go on living. So they do whatever they can to survive and they become increasingly desperate. When things start running out they get downright dangerous. A lot of them take too many risks and they don’t really know what they’re doing.
“Preppers and survivalists, on the other hand, have typically spent years learning survival skills in order to prepare for any type of disaster. It could be a natural disaster like a hurricane, or a manmade disaster like the bomb. We store up food and water and we prepare. We stockpile weapons and ammunition and we become proficient in how to use them. We practice at the target range. We try to keep ourselves in good physical shape and some of us practice martial arts or other types of hand-to-hand combat and self-defense.”
“Wow,” she said. “I never realized there was so much to it.”
I smiled. I figured she was shining me on, but I continued anyway. “There’s more to being a survivalist than just preparation. It also involves the human spirit – the will to survive. It comes from deep inside of you. You either have it or you don’t. It’s not something you can learn from a book. It’s a steadfast commitment to do whatever it takes to survive. There’s nothing you won’t do. I mean nothing. You will stomp on babies’ heads, you will butt-fuck grandma, you will sacrifice virgins – whatever it takes. That’s what I mean. That’s what it takes to be a survivalist.” I took a deep breath and tried to relax. I hadn’t meant to get myself so worked up.
Emma laughed. “You really get into this shit, don’t you? Butt-fuck grandma?”
“Well, in a manner of speaking. Sorry, I guess I got a little carried away. I shouldn’t have said that.”
She laughed. “It’s cool.”
I spotted a gas station up ahead that looked like a good place to stop and eat breakfast. “Are you hungry?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m okay.”
“Have you eaten anything today?”
“No.”
“Well, let’s stop up here. I have some food we can eat.”
As we drew closer I could see the gas station’s windows were all smashed in and the door was standing partially open. The shelves appeared to have been picked clean. We walked around to the shady side of the building and sat on a ledge. I unclipped the rifle from its sling and leaned it against the wall. Off came the gloves and the helmet and the backpack.
Emma watched me. I handed her a bottled water and some hand sanitizer. Then I located the potassium iodide tablets, vitamins, and some crackers. I explained the purpose of the potassium iodide tablets and she accepted one along with a vitamin.
As we sat and ate, Emma asked, “Are you from here originally?”
I shook my head. “I’m from upstate New York, but I’ve lived here about 25 years. How about you?”
“Yep. Born and raised here.”
“I don’t mean to pry, but what happened to your father?”
She was quiet for a moment. Touchy subject?
She said, “He and my mom were never married. I never knew him.”
“I’m sorry. That’s too bad.”
Her face hardened. “He’s a bastard. Mom says he never gave her any money and he never wanted to see me or have anything to do with me.”
“I’m sorry.”
She faced me, a longing look in her eyes. Needing a father figure?
She said, “Whatever, it’s no big deal. Can’t miss somebody you never knew.”
I decided to change the subject. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Head shake. “No.” Big smile. “Why? You applying for the job? I’m trophy wife material, you know.” She looked down and took her breasts in her hands gently hefting them. “Look at the size of these things.”
I laughed. Oh, I was looking alright. Then my pants began to tighten again.
“What about you?” she asked. “Are you married?”
“No, I’m divorced. No kids.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
We ate in silence for a moment.
Emma asked, “Do you think you’re going to get th
rough this alive?”
I looked at her. “Of course I do. I survived the EMP attack. And I survived the zombie virus. I will survive this. It’s just a matter of staying focused and disciplined.”
“Like how?”
I thought for a minute. “Well, being careful about what you eat and drink. Steering clear of potential contamination. Knowing where radiation gathers, like in puddles and in bodies of water. You’ve got to stay vigilant against predators, always watch your back. And you’ve got to maintain your supplies. No waiting until you’re starving before you resupply.”
She nodded. “That sounds good.” She regarded my rifle. “You ever shoot anybody with that thing?”
“Sometimes. Only when I have to.”
“Were you really going to shoot Ian?”
“No, I was just having a little fun with him.”
“Well, you sure had him fooled. He nearly peed himself. He’s kind of a wimp, you know. Even though he’s a big guy. He cries sometimes when we watch sad movies.”
I chuckled. “That just means he has a heart. You sure he’s not your boyfriend?”
“No! I mean, we might have— Nothing. It doesn’t matter. No, Ian is not my boyfriend. I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t want a boyfriend – don’t need one. If I want to hook up with somebody, I hook up. I don’t want a steady boyfriend.” She scoffed, “Too much drama.”
Just then I saw a couple of people coming down the road. My first thought was Emma’s friends. Had they trailed us? But as the duo drew closer, I could tell it wasn’t them.
Emma followed my stare and saw them, too. “What should we do?” she asked nervously.
I placed a hand on her thigh and whispered, “Just hold tight. Let’s see what they do.”
I put my helmet back on and picked up the rifle, my eyes never leaving the two men. Just as I glanced down to check the safety on the rifle, the men disappeared behind an abandoned car.
I began barking orders. “Alright, that’s it. Get behind the building and stay down. This doesn’t look good.”
Emma ran around back. A second later somebody fired a shot.
Chapter 21
The bullet made a high-pitched sound as it ricocheted off the building.
“Get down!” I yelled to Emma.
I dove to the ground in the prone position. That left only the top of my helmet as a target. I worked at finding the men in my scope. Finally they came into view. “Now I’ve got you fuckers,” I muttered under my breath.
I saw a thug with a stainless steel semi-automatic. The gun was pointing right at me. He had one eye closed, taking aim. I quickly put the crosshairs on his head and fired. I saw a fine pink mist and then watched as his body slumped to the ground.
I waited.
“Come on, you son of a bitch,” I breathed. “Show yourself.”
“Steen?” Emma called. “Are you alright? Did you get them?”
“One of them,” I replied. “Stay down.”
I moved the scope along the outline of the car. The other man was not showing himself. I waited. After a couple of minutes there was still no sign of him.
I pulled myself up off the ground and called, “Emma?”
“Yeah?”
“Stay here. I’m going after him.”
Another shot.
“God damn!” I dove back to the ground. Alright, I thought to myself. If this fucker wants a gunfight, he’s going to get it. I set the rifle to safety and placed it on the ground. Then I jumped to my feet and pulled the 9mm. I sprinted toward the car just as fast as I could, firing several rounds for cover along the way. When I closed half the distance I saw the shooter looking through the car windows. I fired off another couple of rounds and he returned fire. He obviously had the advantage. It was impossible for me to hit anything while I was running. I figured worst case I might take a bullet to the vest. Not a pleasant experience, as I had learned in the past, but it wouldn’t kill me. I made it to the car without getting shot and slammed my hand against the fender. Breathing hard, I crouched low and was careful to keep my feet behind the tire. I put the pistol under the car and randomly fired three times.
I heard a sharp intake of breath, and then, “Ah, fuck! Ahh! Ahh!”
I quickly ran around to the front of the car.
I heard once again, “Ah, fuck. Fuck me. God damn.”
Leading with the pistol I emerged on the other side of the car. Before me sat a young black man holding his foot in his hands, blood seeping through the hole in his shoe.
The man looked up at me. “Goddamn! Shot me in the goddamn foot.” He sucked air through clenched teeth. “Fuck. It hurts.”
I moved closer, the 9mm trained on his head.
“Why did you go and have to do that?” he asked.
“Why were you shooting at me?”
“Fuck, I don’t know, man. Tee just say let’s get him.” He winced. “Ahh, fuck.”
I glanced down at the dead body. “Tee was the brains of the operation?”
He ignored me and winced again.
“Here,” I offered. “I’ve got something for the pain. It won’t hurt a bit after this.”
“Really?”
I pulled the trigger. The bullet struck him near his eye and blew out the side of his skull. He crumpled over, eyes still open, blood and brains oozing out of his head. I scanned my surroundings. There was no one in sight. I holstered my pistol and began checking their pockets. The first one had a plastic bag in his front pocket containing some kind of gray rocks or crystals. I tossed it and picked up the pistol. Large caliber .45. The magazine was half full. I ejected the round in the chamber and returned it to the magazine. Then I shoved the gun in my waistband and headed back to the gas station.
Emma saw me and came out from behind the building. “Did you get them?”
“Yeah.” I put the .45 in my bag and picked up my rifle. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”
When we passed the car, Emma stopped and stared. “Are they dead?”
“Very.”
“You killed them?”
“I did.” I studied her for a minute, trying to figure out what was going on inside her head. I rarely knew what women were thinking. Then my eyes were drawn to her breasts again. I marveled at the way they strained against the material of her shirt. They were magnificent. After a second I snapped back to reality and said, “Come on, let’s keep moving.”
We walked in silence for a while, then Emma asked, “Do you feel bad when you shoot somebody?”
I thought for a minute. “No,” I said flatly. “Not really. It was self-defense. I don’t feel bad about it. They were trying to kill me.”
“I know it was self-defense, but that was a person, you know? Two of them. They had their whole lives ahead of them. Maybe they might have had wives someday and kids. You don’t know. Now they will never do that. They will never get to see their kids grow up or know what it’s like to grow old.”
I shrugged. “That’s a pisser, Emma. Maybe they should have thought about that before they started shooting at me. I’m not going to just lay down and let somebody kill me.”
We passed by a dry cleaning business. The windows were broken and there were no clothes inside. Like everything else, the place had been savaged by looters.
Emma said, “It’s not fair. You’re good at this, you know what you are doing. You’ve got a helmet and a machinegun and a bulletproof vest. No one can touch you. You’re just like our country. America goes around bombing everybody and we are way bigger than them and they don’t even stand a chance.”
“Is that what you think?” I asked.
“Yeah. I mean, we learned in school how America beat everybody in World War II and every war since. America is like a big bully.”
“Emma, you’re young, and there’s no telling what kind of garbage they’ve been teaching you at school. First of all, as far as me, anybody could have bought a helmet and a gun
and a bulletproof vest. They chose not to. So now if I win and they lose, it’s their own fault for not being better prepared. As far as the country goes, America is a great country, the best in the world. America has stood for freedom and liberty ever since our founding. We are not the world’s bully, we liberate people who are being bullied.”
“Bullied by us, you mean,” she said. “Look at Iraq. We started a war with them just to steal their oil. You can look it up. That’s a fact. We killed all those innocent people and we took their oil just because we could. Because we knew nobody would stop us.”
I shook my head. “Emma, you really have a twisted view of America. I don’t even know where to start.” I looked at her. Such a cute girl, such a mind full of mush. “Look,” I said, “first of all, we didn’t go into Iraq to steal their oil. I don’t know where you heard that but it’s not true. Iraq still has their oil today, and if we want any we have to pay for it just like everybody else. America has always been a force for good. We liberated Europe from the Nazis during World War II. We pushed back against communists in the Korean War. We fought to protect the South Vietnamese from communists in the Vietnam War. We liberated Kuwait from Iraqi aggression during the Gulf War. We beat back terrorism in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. We don’t use our strength to take over countries and steal their land or their oil. On the contrary, we liberate oppressed people and give them back their freedom and their land and their oil. We spend billions of dollars rebuilding those countries and making them better than they were before. America is the best and most generous country in the world. And I think it’s sad that our schools are filled with America-hating liberals who spread lies to their students.”
She was quiet for a minute. “So we didn’t bomb Iraq to steal their oil?”
I laughed. “No! Where did you hear that?”
“I don’t know. I just figured everybody knew it.”
“You probably heard it at school. Let me tell you a little bit about our education system. Back in the late sixties and early seventies, America was involved in the Vietnam War. The war became very unpopular in America and most people just wanted us to quit and get out of there, which we eventually did. Back then there was something called the draft. That’s where men eighteen and older had to sign up and they could get picked at random to join the military. If the government pulls your name, you have to go fight in the war. Most people went along with the system even though they didn’t like it. But there was a provision that if you were in college, the draft was deferred. So people who were either afraid to fight in the war or who were against the war on some moral grounds went off to college. They couldn’t get drafted as long as they stayed in college, so a lot of them never left. The tie-died, dope-smoking, draft-dodging hippies of the sixties and seventies took over our education system and they became the professors and teachers and administrators of today. It’s been a liberal bastion ever since.”
How to Survive a Nuclear War Page 11
