Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors

by Benjamin Wallace

  “Just keep it pointed through that hole in the window. And shoot at anything that moves.”

  “What if it’s a person?”

  “Especially if it’s a person.”

  Alex’s grip on the gun caused it to tremble. The clattering of the weapon’s action drew Jerry’s attention. He saw the fear in Alex’s eyes. He wondered if his looked the same.

  “It’ll be okay, kid. We shouldn’t have a problem with the highways.”

  “Look out!”

  Jerry turned back to the road and slammed on the brakes. Ahead, the road dipped to pass beneath the deck park that had been built across the highway shortly before the world blew up.

  It had collapsed.

  “Dammit.”

  “What do we do now?”

  There was an exit on his right that led downtown. Chest heaving, he struggled to calm his breathing. Fear soured his stomach. His arms didn’t want to respond.

  Down those roads were the memories of his rebirth into the ravaged world. Terrifying memories.

  A breeze blew the rank stench of the jungle’s rotting undergrowth through the busted windscreen. He inhaled it deeply, refusing to choke on it. It smelled like him—Jerry’s first nightmare in the new world. His raspy voice echoed in his head with dull thuds that repeated in a constant rhythm.

  Chewy whimpered. She remembered the smell.

  “What is it, Jerry?” Erica’s voice shook.

  The sound of her not calling him a dick stopped his breath short. A moment later his breathing returned to normal. The shaking stopped.

  “It’s nothing. Everyone hold tight. We’re going to make this quick.”

  Jerry cranked the wheel and pointed the massive vehicle into the overgrown streets of downtown Dallas.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Beneath the pileup was a layer of clear blacktop that had been protected from the ravages of time. The sun reflected off of the oily surface and threw up a scent that reminded the major of time spent in theme parks and on walking trails.

  Twisted piles of former cars stretched for half of a mile down both shoulders of the road to create an iron canyon. The next traveler to find the site might see it as a sign of hope. Perhaps thinking that a reconstituted government had reorganized to the point of assigning road crews.

  The major knew better. There was no hope. Whatever optimism he had once had in a new world had faded with the passing of his wife and grandson. Since then, life had been only a brutal struggle to survive. Often, he questioned his own persistence. He had lost two sons and a daughter-in-law during the apocalypse. The passing of his wife and grandson a year later removed from him all personal interest in living.

  He supposed he had a new family to protect, but they were no substitute. In the end, he always attributed his pursuit of survival to his stubborn nature. His wife used to tease him about it. It looked like she was right.

  “We found a rig a few miles down the road, sir. The tires should be here soon.” The runner’s voice pulled him from his musings and back to the road before him.

  “The path is clear?”

  The runner nodded, “We’ve scouted to within sight of the town. The road is clear all the way to the gates.”

  “What’s the status of the town?”

  “It looks like they’re ready for us, sir.”

  The major smiled, “Wake them up.”

  The runner saluted and dashed ahead of the major to the prison car. Striking a crowbar against the slats of the livestock trailer sent a clatter through the cage that the prisoners could not ignore. The captives awoke in a panic. Those near the slats sprang back, trying to save or comfort bashed fingers and ringing ears.

  The runner slid the crowbar back into his belt. “The major will now speak!”

  The major strode to the midpoint of the trailer and surveyed his audience. In some eyes he still saw rage, but generally it was fear. Fear was necessary, but he had hoped to alleviate some of it. He had replaced the shredded eye patch to hide his disfigurement, but there was little he could do to hide the healing wound on his face. They stared in disgust and terror.

  The raspy voice did less to soothe them. Wheezes and squeaks like the final gasp of the dying brought his message to the prisoners.

  “Ladies, gentlemen, and children, welcome. You are guests of the mighty nation of Alasis, the most powerful nation in the former United States. The power you see before you is a fraction of our empire. It is a vast nation, and you have been selected to become citizens.

  “Each of you will enjoy a security that your former home could not provide you. Our nation will provide you with comfort, food, and a steady economy. You, in turn, will pledge your loyalty, your labor, and your love to Alasis.

  “We don’t wish to harm you. We wish to welcome you, with open arms, into our family. We have one more community to liberate from the brutalities of the wasteland; then we will return to your home.

  “I hope that in the time we have left on the road you will reflect on your good fortune. You’ve been accepted into a wondrous new beginning, a chance to rebuild the world that man’s gluttony and greed destroyed.

  “Alasis is mankind’s best chance at building a world that can survive.

  “Thank you for your time.”

  With this, the major stepped away from the trailer full of prisoners, wondering if even he believed a word he had said. Alasis was the most powerful and organized city-state on the continent. Whether acceptance into its walls was a blessing or a curse, however, even he couldn’t be certain.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  A belief in the power of concrete and modernization had caused the Downtown district of Dallas to pave over most things green or old. It wasn’t until the renaissance trends of the late 2000s that the planners decided to develop green spaces within the city. This exceptional lack of plant life worked in the post-apocalyptic travelers’ favor.

  The growth accelerant had few large trees or park space to affect. This left only office plants and landscape shrubbery to absorb the agent. Had more green space been available, the growth would have made Dallas streets impassable. Instead, lucky bamboo, bonsai trees, and ivy vines that had been abandoned on desktops and windowsills absorbed the chemical. These office plants erupted from their planters and burst through skyscraper windows to drape a canopy of green over the former business district.

  It was also unfortunate that the apocalypse occurred on Valentine’s Day. Massive rose bushes had shattered ornate vases, plummeted from office buildings, and taken root in the city’s storm drains. Stems as thick as trees rose from crumbled sidewalks and bloomed with massive roses that tinted the sunlight hues of red and yellow.

  The Silver Lining crashed through the creeping vines. Snapping like gunfire, the vines left sap and pulp across the body of the motor coach. Leaves and spores poured through the open windshield covering the dash.

  Alex flinched as branches and vines jutted in and out of the shattered windshield. He brushed the seedlings from his eyes quickly, struggling to keep both hands on the shotgun.

  Small vines snapped away at the mass of the coach, while the thicker ones caused the vehicle to lurch and bounce as it made its way down the street.

  Jerry fought the wheel, wrestling the coach from their grasp. He marveled at the growth. It was much thicker than he had last seen it. The canopy had lowered and threatened to touch the ground in several places.

  Inside the coach, the passengers were thrown from their seats during a hard left. Jerry demanded everything from the engine as he maneuvered deftly through the streets. Though it seemed random to his passengers, the route he took through the city kept the vehicle clear of the few parks and patches of grass in the area.

  He hadn’t forgotten the streets. Despite the frantic steering, he kept his bearings, always moving south and east to reach a ramp up on the elevated safety of highway 45.

  “What was that?” Alex sat up, his grip on the shotgun tightened.

  Jerry followed the barrel and looke
d into the street.

  “What?”

  Alex peered into the dense growth coming from the lobby of one of Dallas’s many nondescript office buildings. “I guess it was nothing.”

  “Keep watching.” Jerry sped up.

  A chorus of faint, high-pitched whines penetrated the truck as countless vines scratched against its skin. Those heavier with water slapped against the truck, splattering the moisture across the body and in through the bullet holes.

  “There!” Alex pointed with the shotgun.

  Jerry saw the movement. It moved quickly, blending into the shadows of the jungle. He didn’t see it clearly, but its shape was human.

  “Shit.”

  The figure had disappeared to the left. He turned right on Harwood Street and out from under the skyscrapers. The properties along this road had been concrete lots and low-rise buildings. Few plants took root in the deserted parking lots. Soon, the only vegetation in sight was the grass growing between the seams of the pavement.

  The rush of the tires on the road hushed as he sped down the grass-covered street. The steering wheel felt loose and the tires plowed down the long blades, but the ride inside the coach had improved. The highway was just ahead and he allowed himself a thought of relief.

  The shadowy figure had not been alone. There was a flurry of motion on the street. Vague forms dashed about the field beside the coach. Soon, the dashing stopped and the creatures began to stand up.

  They were everywhere.

  As tall as a man, hundreds of them began to appear. They looked identical; each had a sickly green complexion and a haunted look in their eyes. Their dead gaze did not follow the coach.

  “What are they?” Alex began to panic. “They aren’t human.”

  “Not anymore.” Jerry pressed the pedal harder and wished that he had spent more time souping up the Silver Lining’s engine.

  The creatures stood their ground; their only movement was a gentle sway as if blown by a breeze. More creatures appeared as the coach sped south down Harwood.

  “What are they doing?” Erica screamed from the back.

  “Scaring us.”

  “It’s working,” she had her arm around Austin. Pulling the costume’s head down tight with both hands, the young boy shook in his bear suit.

  “Oh my God!” Alex pointed to the right.

  The old mason hall had stood empty for years, even before the evacuation of the Metroplex. The art deco building was massive. Twin steel doors, two stories tall, had burst open. More of the creatures rushed down the stairs into the sunlight.

  Buds protruded from their skin. Vines drooped from the backs and arms of some.

  They rushed into the street as the coach flew by the ornate steps of the Shriner hall. They gave chase.

  “What are they?”

  “They’re plants. Mean ones. Keep that gun in the window!”

  The mob of altered plant life didn’t chatter or roar. It screeched. Each creature emitted a sound that caused the passengers to cover their ears. Jerry had always associated the sound with spring. As they shrieked, he envisioned himself with a blade of grass to his lips—gently blowing to make it whistle.

  But the creatures’ sound was louder and more intense than any blade of grass.

  The off ramp he planned to use to get on the highway wasn’t far now. He blew through dormant intersections and kept his eye on the service road ahead.

  A green wall descended in the coach’s path. Hundreds of the creatures fell into place behind one another to form a field of green.

  “Hold on!” He didn’t slow; his foot never left the pedal.

  The shrieks became unbearable as the coach plowed into the creatures. They splattered and smeared on the motor coach. They flew in all directions from the impact. Green ooze splattered through the broken windshield.

  Alex recoiled into his seat.

  “Alex! Shoot!”

  The boy opened his eyes to see living vines reaching for him. He screamed and began to fire. Each shot spread more green pulp into the cab.

  He fired until the gun was empty. A hand reached forward and pulled the shotgun from his grip and set another in its place. Erica and Trent reloaded the empty shotgun as Alex emptied the replacement.

  The truck slowed from the resistance of the crowd. The tires lost traction as they slipped on the pulp of the crushed monsters.

  All forward motion stopped.

  Alex continued to blast any creatures that tried to climb the hood. Jerry cranked the wheel left and spun the tires until they burned through the shrieking mass and touched the road again. The vehicle lurched under the canopy of the old Farmer’s Market.

  Here the surface of the road was exposed; he could get solid traction and build some momentum.

  But there was no time. The mob of living plants surrounded them. The creatures amassed on all sides of the home and began to rock the coach.

  Alex fired another shotgun dry. Erica handed him a fresh one.

  Jerry drew the .45s and emptied a clip from each, picking off a creature with each shot.

  “Do something!” Erica screamed.

  He risked a glance to the back of the cab. Erica’s fingers bled. He couldn’t tell if she had been hit or worn the flesh from her hands feeding shells into shotguns.

  Trent had grabbed a weapon of his own and was firing at the creatures as they began to shatter the windows. Chewy barked ferociously and snapped at any vines that made their way into the interior. She snatched one in her teeth and thrashed her head until the vine detached from its host.

  Jerry emptied another clip and grabbed for the iPod. He held the button until it chimed ready for a voice command. He yelled into the device, but it didn’t register over the growing peel of shrieks.

  He tried again, this time cupping his hand to block out everything but his voice.

  “Play sequence, Ring of Fire!”

  A chime rang through the coach’s surround system and the device’s voice replayed the command.

  “Playing songs by The Muppets.”

  “What? No! No!” He mashed the button harder to reset the voice prompt as Mahna, Mahna began to play.

  The song filled the cabin as the Silver Lining shook violently. Cracks began to appear in the shell. Curtain rods crashed down. Kitchen drawers rattled open and spilled their contents onto the floor.

  The iPod chimed again and Jerry spoke the command once more, “Play sequence, Ring of Fire.”

  Responding with a positive beep, the iPod displayed a picture of the legendary singer and Johnny Cash came over the stereo speakers. External speakers popped to life and the trumpets began to play. Soon, the Man-in-Black’s voice boomed under the metal roof of the Farmer’s Market.

  “This isn’t helping!” Erica began to cry. Her reloads were slowing.

  “Wait for it.” Jerry fired several more rounds through the windshield.

  The chorus quickly approached.

  “Everyone get away from the windows. Don’t touch the walls.” He dove to the back, dragging Alex with him.

  The chorus erupted over the speakers.

  On the exterior of the coach, spring loaded nozzles revealed themselves, each extending exactly twenty-eight degrees. Propane shot through pipes from the rear mounted tanks and hissed as it primed the system.

  With a tremendous whoosh, the gas ignited. The nozzles spewed flames in a cyclone of fire around the Silver Lining as Johnny Cash went down, down, down.

  The shrieks changed from blood lust to pain as the creatures ignited and burned. The odor of charred flesh and burning cedar filled the air as the fire spread throughout the mob of creatures.

  The flamethrower went cold, but the Man-in-Black kept singing.

  Jerry slapped Alex on the back. “Get back on the window.”

  Alex leapt back in the passenger seat and shoved away two burning creatures that had chosen the hood of the coach to perform their death throws.

  Jerry jumped back behind the wheel.

  The
majority of the burning creatures fled in no particular direction. Any that had escaped the burn off watched the coach cautiously. Their shrieking stopped and the streets of Dallas were quiet.

  The song reached its second chorus.

  The remaining creatures scattered.

  Johnny Cash continued to fill the former Farmer’s Market. With the mob having dissipated, the overwhelming volume of the song became apparent.

  Erica smiled. The boys darted about the cabin, peering out each window.

  “They’re all gone,” Trent moved from window to window, not quite understanding what had happened.

  “What’s with the music?” Erica screamed to be heard. “What did you do?”

  Jerry smiled. “Learned behavior. They won’t come near us again during the chorus.” Jerry fumbled for the iPod and stopped the music.

  That’s when they heard it.

  “Librarian.” The voice was low, raspy. “Librarian.” It was weak. “Is that you, Librarian?” It sounded like a helpless old man calling for help, and it terrified him more than anything else on the planet.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  A dull thud answered back as he kicked each of the new tires. Two were almost bald and one had been patched, but each now held air and supported the rig and its many trailers.

  Satisfied with the “they’ll do for now” explanation he had received from the engineer, the major ordered to have it noted that armored tires should be a priority project once the men returned to Alasis. The man who had fired on them had been a remarkable marksman, but others in the waste could get lucky. The search for spares had cost them a day. And each day meant that rations and supplies dwindled.

  It was noted and the engineer stepped back to his post in the command center.

  The major gave the tire one more swift kick and looked up at the wall of the trailer. The eyes of a child caught his. The girl was young—young enough to outgrow the memory of the horrors of what he and his men had done to the town of Vita Nova.

  Years ago, the look on her face, like someone had pissed on her pony, would have stirred pangs of guilt. Years ago, there was no way he would have been able to raze a town or incarcerate innocent women and children. But, times had changed. He was not the man he was years ago.