Jerry sat back down in the driver’s seat. Erica sat next to him, where there were no questions being asked about her boobs. “Wow.”
“I know,” Jerry pulled the lever into drive. “Just imagine when I tell them I have a TV back there.”
“You’ve got a TV back there?”
“Well, yeah, it’s …”
She wasn’t there. She had bounced quickly to the back and located the remote.
SEVENTEEN
Despite its rough appearance, the Mustang rode smoothly over the abandoned roads of post-apocalyptic Texas. The engine was loud and throaty, and as Logan shifted through the gears it was apparent that the drive train had been tenderly maintained.
“Okay, it’s fast.” Sarah, having abandoned looking stern, grinned broadly as eroded mile markers whizzed by. She had her hand out the window playing with the wind as the pony car muscled it way down the road.
Logan beamed, “I haven’t seen anything faster. Only motorcycles have given her a run for her money.”
“So why not drive a motorcycle, big bad warrior?”
“A motorcycle doesn’t offer much protection.”
“Protection from what? As long as you can ‘outrun trouble?’” She smiled as she mocked his earlier comment. The exhilarating ride had robbed her of the ability to frown.
“You can’t outrun the rain.”
“The rain?”
“In some parts, the rain will kill you faster than a mutant. Plenty of the junk from the war is still floating around. The rain brings it down.”
“We haven’t seen that here.”
“It’s out there. And, when it hits, you’ve just got to hunker down and ride it out. Sometimes it can last for days.”
“I think you’d want something bigger then. Something with some room.”
“Space would be great. But having the speed is more important.”
“I don’t know. There’s got to be a few motor homes lying around. That’s how I’d like to explore the new world.”
“You wouldn’t want one.”
“Why not?”
“When choosing a wasteland vehicle you want something right in the middle, like my car. It’s fast, not nearly as thirsty as a tank, and it’s built solid.” He punched the roof of the car. A dull thud responded. “That will keep the rain off and the mutants out.”
“I think you just like looking cool.”
“Well, there’s that too.” He smiled at her and she smiled back. Not from the rush of the drive but in a direct response to his flirtation.
“Besides,” he continued, “a motor home has its drawbacks.”
“Like what?”
EIGHTEEN
“What do you mean it’s stuck?” Erica shouted out the passenger window.
“I mean it’s stuck,” he shouted down from the roof. “If we try to go any further, we’re not going to be able to get it out.”
“Well, that’s just stupid.”
He knew he was doing the right thing by taking her and the boys to a safe town. Constant reminders were needed though, and he kept telling himself that it would be wrong to leave her on the side of the road.
“Okay. It’s stupid.” He dropped to the ground and walked back to the front of the motor coach where the boys had gathered to see what a stuck motor home looked like. Chewy stood with them and seemed to be examining the problem as well.
Austin pulled at the collar of his bear suit to make his voice heard. “Who would build a bridge that a car couldn’t go under?”
“Don’t be stupid. Of course they built it so cars can go under,” Trent snapped at his younger brother.
“It was fine two days ago. The rain washed out the hill.” The nomad couldn’t tell if it had anything to do with the content of the metal rain, or if it was just general erosion caused by the apocalypse, but mudslides had been commonplace in his wanderings. The sight of entire hillsides that had swallowed neighborhoods, while once a rampant danger on the west coast, was now a nightmare shared by survivors of the entire country.
“Or, better yet, who would drive a car that couldn’t fit under a bridge? I’m looking at you, road warrior.” Erica added.
“I said it was the rain.”
“Whatever. Your big truck is stuck.” Erica laughed at her own comment and withdrew back into the coach.
“Is there another road we could take?” Alex asked.
“There’s always another road. But there’s no telling what we’d run into. This road is relatively safe. Everything else on the map looked risky.” Jerry had consulted the torn atlas page before getting out of the motor home. The truth was, there was no information regarding other paths. This route was the quickest, and the sooner he got back to New Hope, the sooner he could continue on without the constant criticism from Erica.
“It’s too bad there’s not a way to make the bridge taller,” said Trent.
“Or the truck shorter,” Austin added.
“That’s stupid,” his older brother shot back.
“You’re stupid!”
“I am not!”
Austin asked. “How is making the truck shorter dumber than making a bridge taller?”
“It just is, okay. You can’t make the truck shorter.”
“Stop it, both of you.” This silenced the bickering brothers. “The little bear is right.”
Trent asked, “About the truck being shorter, or me being stupid?”
“Probably both, but certainly about the truck.” The nomad walked under the bridge. The rubble had been isolated to the outside of the bridge; under and beyond was clear. There might be enough room.
He went to each tire and let out several pounds of pressure. The Silver Lining settled a few inches lower to the ground. Erica jumped as the balance of the coach shifted for the first time.
“What are you doing?” she screamed from the window.
“We’re making the truck shorter,” Austin beamed as he answered.
Jerry pocketed the cap from the last tire, and walked back to the coach’s door. “You boys stay out here and watch for clearance.”
Austin and Trent took a few steps back. Alex crossed in front of the vehicle to watch the other side.
Jerry settled into the cockpit and inched the Silver Lining forward. The ride was mushy and the wheel response was sluggish, but the massive truck pulled itself through the mud.
“Do you really think this will work? Dick.” Erica peered up through the windshield as the coach moved forward.
“It’s always worked before.”
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”
“I’d never say that. I just read a lot.”
He listened for warnings from the boys, but they gave only shouts of excitement as the roofline cleared the overpass. Sharp squeals were heard as the luggage rack intermittently met with concrete. The younger boys gasped, but Alex waved him on.
A rough bump signaled that he had cleared the mound of mud and rock. The coach was back on the road.
Alex and his brothers cheered along as the coach rolled through the underpass and emerged on the other side.
Back in the sunlight, Jerry smiled at Erica.
“Okay, so you did it. Now you’ve got four flat tires, genius.”
He stood from his seat and climbed from the Silver Lining. Behind an exterior access panel was an emergency compressor. Ten minutes later the four tires we’re filled and capped. The boys boarded the coach and he took his seat behind the wheel.
Erica noted his smirk. “You’re luckier than you are smart.”
“I’ll take either one.”
“Shut up, Dick.”
“I’m so glad I rescued you.”
“You didn’t rescue anybody, I was …”
Chewy barked.
“You’re in her seat. Chewy rides shotgun.”
Erica began to protest but decided to give in to the dog. She was about to step back into the cabin when her face lit up.
“Oh, my God. I just got it. S
he’s your sidekick. Your copilot. You think she’s your Chewbacca. You’re a nerd.”
“No, I’m not. I …”
“Yes you are, Chewy, Chewbacca,” she laughed, “nerd!”
“That’s not why I called her Chewy.”
“Sure it is. Why else?”
“She chews shit.”
Erica laughed, “Whatever.”
Chewy barked again.
“Fine, you can have your seat, Chewbacca.” She laughed as she left the seat. “Hey, boys, guess what?”
Chewy took her seat; Jerry leaned over and scratched her head. “Good girl.”
From the back of the motor coach she tried to explain herself to the three boys. “It’s a movie. It’s … oh, what do you know? You’re young and stupid.”
Then she shouted, “Let’s go, Solo.”
Jerry whispered to Chewy, “When she’s not looking, eat her rifle.”
Chewy snorted and put her head out the window.
The Silver Lining’s motor purred and the massive vehicle moved on down the road.
NINETEEN
“What do you think of that?”
“Wow,” Sarah leapt from the car and stared in amazement. “Where are we?”
“That was Dallas.”
The skyline of the once great city spread out before them. Massive buildings and overpasses, once buzzing with life and power, stood desolate and covered with vines. The Trinity River had filled and rushed the levees long ago, fueling the lush vegetation’s growth.
There were few elevated areas in Dallas, but Logan had managed to find a hilltop with a view of the city. Erica leapt from the car.
“I’ve never seen anything so green. It’s beautiful.” Plant life crawled from the ground and dropped from windowless buildings to weave a veritable rain forest in the middle of the former metropolis.
“It wasn’t always green. Before the war, it was gray and brown. Nothing but concrete and dry grass.”
“Uh, I remember Dallas. But I haven’t seen it since the apocalypse. How did it get this way?”
Logan shrugged. “Who knows what they put in all the bombs? Whatever hit here caused the plants to grow like crazy.”
“Can we go down there?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not safe.”
“Oh, but I’ll be fine. I’ve got a rough and tough road warrior to keep me safe from the big bad plants. C’mon,” she jumped back into the car, “let’s get closer.”
Logan didn’t move. He stood outside his car, staring at the green city.
Sarah stood up. “It’s not the plants, is it?”
Logan shook his head.
“What’s out there?”
Logan hesitated, “Not all mutants are animals, Sarah. A lot of people died instantly when the bombs hit. But a lot weren’t so lucky. There were those that survived, and those that chose to stay behind. They became something else. Something not human.”
“Will they hurt you?”
“They’ll eat you.”
The girl shuttered and asked, “Why did you want to show me this?”
“Like you said, it’s beautiful. Charming, even. But, you can’t trust it. Also, I didn’t have any problem taking a drive with a beautiful woman.”
She forced a sigh and smiled. He smiled back.
“So, what’s your plan now, Romeo? You’ve got me out here. But I still don’t trust you.”
“Would you believe I’ve got a picnic basket in the trunk?”
“You don’t,” she laughed. “Though maybe you do, because I can’t think of a cheesier move.”
Logan pulled the keys from the mustang and moved towards the back of the car. He smiled at her again and reached for the trunk release.
Sparks flew from the trunk of the car as a bullet drove itself through the pony logo. The report sounded a moment later.
Logan dove for the passenger side of the car and tackled Sarah to the ground.
“Stay down!”
Another report cracked and filled the silent wasteland with the echo of the gunshot.
Moving quickly, Logan grabbed Sarah by the arm and tossed her into the car. With one fluid motion, he shut the door and brought his rifle to his shoulder.
He ducked behind the fender as another shot sounded. It went wide and buried itself in the dirt just beyond the Mustang. Spotting movement behind a tree fifty yards out, he opened fire and emptied the clip of his assault rifle into the dirt at the shooter’s feet.
The sniper pulled back behind the tree, giving Logan the mere moments he needed.
The warrior stood and slid across the hood of his Mustang. Bouncing off the ground, his feet barely touched earth before he changed directions and leapt behind the rear fender. He opened the door and jumped into the seat.
“Put your seatbelt on!” he yelled as he turned the ignition. His hand free of the key, he reached under his seat and retrieved a Glock. He raked the slide and pulled the t-grip shifter into reverse.
The Mustang spun and turned 180 degrees, tearing up the turf beneath its tires. Sod flew and the engine roared as Logan jammed the transmission into first. The Mustang leapt forward and he pointed it at the shooter.
The car bounced across the field. Shocks built for the street struggled to smooth out the ride, but the passengers inside were tossed further than their seat belts would allow. Sarah felt the bite of the fabric against her shoulder and groped for the handle to steady herself.
Another shooter emerged further down the road and fired three rounds. Each missed the Mustang.
Logan stayed focused on the first gunman. He had emerged from behind the tree and was running through a sparsely wooded field. Clad in black, the gunman dodged in and out of the trees, making his way to the road.
Logan swung wide around the edge of the woods. The back tires lost traction and began to slide, but the girl in the passenger seat could tell that, no matter how much it may seem, the car was never out of control. The warrior worked the wheel with precision. His feet worked the clutch, gas, and brake without effort as the engine revved and slowed on command.
The Mustang reached the road and entered it sideways down from where the gunman had emerged. The tires screeched as they took hold on the asphalt. Sarah was thrown against the passenger door.
“Why don’t you just let him go?” Sarah was excited and terrified. Her fingernails dug into her own hand as it wrapped around the grip above the door.
Logan rolled down his window, “Those aren’t scavengers. They’re scouts. And if they report back to the truck that I’m here, things will get bad fast.”
The gunman burst from the woods and ran hard for a motorcycle that had been hidden away on the side of the road. He jumped on and kicked the engine to life. The whine of the v-twin engine screamed across the open road.
“You said motorcycles are faster than your car.”
“Only if he’s riding it. Plug your ears.”
Logan cranked the wheel of the Mustang and pulled the handle that sat between the seats. The rear wheels locked and broke free of the road and the car began to spin. He let go of the lever and crushed the gas pedal. White smoke filled the air as the pony car pulled up next to the man on the motorcycle, backwards.
Logan thrust the Glock through the window and fired several times. The Glock bounced in his hand as each pull of the trigger cycled another round into the chamber. Empty casings clattered as they fell to the ground.
The smoke hid the gore of a half dozen gunshots, but Sarah saw the gunman shudder with each pull of the trigger and fall to the ground. The running bike collapsed on top of him.
Sarah gasped and pointed down the road, “There’s another one.”
The Mustang was eager to please the demands of a wide-open throttle. Sarah felt herself pulled deep into the leather seat as the powerful V-8 drove them forward.
They quickly passed the skid marks they had made near the field and rounded a turn in the road. The second rider pinned
the throttle and the cruiser responded. His head start wasn’t great, but it could be enough.
“You’re not going to catch him.”
“We have to. If they expect resistance when they arrive our plan won’t work.”
“But, you said motorcycles were faster.”
“Not always.” With the flick of his thumb the warrior exposed a red button at the end of the shifter’s t-grip. He jammed the red button and was rewarded with a hiss and a tremendous boost from the engine. Its roar turned to a scream as nitrous flooded the fuel lines.
Sarah couldn’t move if she wanted to. The brute force of acceleration kept her pinned to her seat. She felt as though she was about to tear the handle off the frame.
Logan dropped the Glock into his lap and gripped the wheel with both hands, letting go only to shift to the top gear. Every bounce seemed to coax the car into leaving the ground. The tires protested every turn; the rubber chirped with each bounce and wheel correction. The motorcycle grew in the windshield.
The tachometer needle bounced as Logan worked through the six-speed transmission; the speedometer climbed steadily, and the Mustang pulled along side of the Harley.
Logan grabbed the Glock and extended his arm out the window.
The rider was quick. He leaned the bike closer to the car and closed the distance.
Before he could pull the trigger, a leather boot struck Logan’s hand. Logan grunted and the Glock rattled to the ground.
He pulled his hand back in pain. He gnashed his teeth.
“Look out!” Sarah screamed. The excitement was gone. There was only horror in her voice now.
The rider had pulled a sawed-off shotgun from the far side of the bike and was drawing a bead on the warrior.
Logan pulled left and brought the shotgun in through the window. With his left arm he locked the rider’s wrist. He veered right and dragged the rider from his bike. The bike toppled and flipped, end over end, as a shower of sparks and shattered fiberglass rained down on the road.
The screaming from the helmet was intense.
Logan held the driver to the side of the car as he sped along the road. The rider’s feet and knees bounced off of the asphalt as he tried to establish a footing that was impossible. Every scrape against the road left tracts of leather from his gear on the road behind him. It wouldn’t be long before the protective gear was eroded away, exposing skin and bone to the road’s surface.
Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors Page 11
