Now what we've learned kids is that this is the moment where you find out who you're dealing with. Are you dealing with honest folks? Are you dealing with violent folks? Are you dealing with the desperate or the kind? The real… or the fake?
Right then the little walkies we've been using pipe up and Bud in the back truck with the horse trailer says a group of ATVs is heading up the road to our backside. No backing up for us now without running over folk. Which sometimes, you just gotta do.
Bullhorn man lifts the bullhorn and starts talking again. "For the good of the people of the First Virginia Republic, I am seizing all property in your vehicles. You are welcome to remain here as citizens, pending due process. Please put down any arms you have and surrender peacefully." Then the prick adds, "We don't want to see anyone hurt."
Now kids, pop quiz time. What's the one word you DO NOT suggest to a Texan that idjit said to us? I'll give you a hint; it ain't vehicles.
Oooh. That's right Nathan. He said the magic word that makes all Texas pull out their guns.
Surrender.
Your daddy didn't have to tell us what to do next. There would be no seizure. There would be no citizenship, and there sure as heck wouldn’t be no surrender. I couldn't see it from where I was at, but I imagine Adam sat his bullhorn down on the floor of the Peterbuilt and picked up his AK. The next time your daddy leaned out that truck door it was with his rifle at his shoulder.
Of course just appearing with that weapon sent them into a tizzy, and the whole group of Republic shooters opened up on us.
Your daddy got off about ten shots before he took a round in the side and fell back into the truck. I watched as one of his last shots smashed the bullhorn right out of the hand of their leader man. Sad for leader man he still held it near his face. Right after the plastic shattered in his hands the top of his head exploded. Looked like a kid sneezed at the dinner table with a mouthful of spaghetti, cauliflower and red sauce.
I leaned out the window of my truck as your daddy fired and plugged seven pretty fast shots at the redhead on the roof of the vacuum repair place. My first five shots redecorated the brick right below her pretty good, and startled her. Bad for redhead though, instead of getting down she got up and looked my way, giving me a big old target. I took half a breath and put one right through her at the gut. She fell forward and hit her head on the edge of the building, and that was the last I saw of her. I slapped a new mag in and threw my truck in reverse.
The expression all hell broke loose describes what happened next. You gotta understand how loud it gets when two dozen people all start shooting guns at the same time. Then there comes the crying as people get shot. The screaming for help, for mom, for Jesus. Someone had the presence of mind to holler out, "Back up!" on the walkies and that's what came next, under heavy fire of course.
Bud in the truck at the back end with the horses tossed his into reverse and just about drove over two of the sumbitches -pardon my French, we ain't in France kids- two of them sumbitches in the four wheelers, and he made a path for the rest of us to start backing up. Now if you've ever seen several cars or trucks trying to back in a coordinated fashion you already know it's a plate of soup being eaten with a whisk. Now add being shot at like it's Viet-fucking-Nam -there's that French again boys, I apologize- and it's like trying to ride a unicycle during a hurricane after being told your girlfriend's pregnant.
It’s a dang mess. Bud's wife Donna had her AR up and out the window and as the rearguard on the fourwheelers tried like a one armed wallpaper hanger to get the shit out the way she lit them up and sent them into the woods and the yards of the houses nearby. With Bud and Donna hightailing it and her shooting like it was the Alamo our whole column of vehicles started to inch backwards out of the firefight.
Bullets was pinging off the hoods and grills and doors all over the place and I watched as three holes appeared in my windshield right above where I'd ducked. I still got three holes there that look like little glass flowers. Little reminders of why prayers are important I say.
It was about two tenths of a mile before Bud was able to get his vehicle spun around in a side street, and we had to slow to let him pull back out heading south and away. One by one we turned around and those of us waiting patiently shot back at the Republic dickheads who were shooting at us. I pissed through all three of my magazines keeping their heads down as your daddy somehow managed to pull himself together and reverse the Wedge to catch up with us. He had to get away from those guns.
I took my turn backing around and headed south slow until Adam caught up to me. Over the walkies we started to make a plan and assess who had been hurt. Your daddy was shot up pretty good, and we needed to get pulled over somewhere safe to get Penny to him so she could get working on him. Thank God for nurses.
As your daddy told us -don't cry Nathan, he's okay, you know that. Your daddy ain't killable- as your daddy told us he was bleeding good, what was left of the four wheelers started riding up alongside us, and the jackasses started taking potshots at our tires. I remember looking out the window and seeing how angry one of those dudes looked. He had this face that said 'I hate you people' and that made me very uncomfortable. This ran on for about two more miles -BANG BANG- until they managed to shoot out enough tires to force me and Bud to stop. Granted that wasn't a lot of downed vehicles, but we couldn't risk crashing and losing the fuel or crashing and losing the horses. We made the call to stop, and boys… we let 'em have it.
I switched off to the 12 gauge I had on the passenger seat. I jumped down out of the rig and just racked 'em up until I was dry. I don't like killing people boys, but when you cross my kin or those who call me kin I will do what I must to protect what is mine. I shot two of the wheeler-men, and I know a few of the others took some down as well. I had to shoot the man with the angry face. One of the ATVs caught afire on account of taking a few rounds to the gas tank plus a spark, but for the most part, once we stopped, it was only a minute before the shooting ended.
Penny got to your daddy and started to patch him up, and we moved to Bud's truck and got his wheel off. Course you gotta understand at this time, we was worried the Virginia people were coming up on us for round two. We had to move, and move fast.
Felt like NASCAR.
Jack out, jack up, wheel off, wheel on, all tight, jack down, double tight, move on.
It's like a military march. Now changing a big rig tire is a much more involved process. It takes an hour, and all kinds of work and like many tasks, it goes better with beer, and a few friends who know what the hell they're doing. We caught a little bit of a lucky break on my truck in that the two tires I lost were on the same side, side by each. That meant we could limp further away after swapping but one tire instead of two or three, which would've cost us too much time.
I enlisted some help, and we got to changing it out. Lube up the rim, pry 'er off, pry the new one on after soaping it… It's all good. Took us twenty minutes, give or take with three of us posting guard to make sure we wasn't snuck up on while a few of us made sure the dead stayed dead, and dug them some shallow graves. A few heavy rifle shots came our way in the distance, but didn't hit us. I chalk that up to them being pissed off.
If you remember, they never came after us.
We got one tire switched out, drove south until we found a route that'd take us far and wide away from the First Virginia Republic, and we drove on for a few more hours until we reached a good spot to pull off, get the other tire fixed up right, and make sure your daddy was alright.
It was dumb luck and providence that we only had the one person hurt, and while bad, not bad enough to kill him. He's still not quite right, and if we can find a real doctor, I'm sure there's some work that could be done. Penny saved his life for sure, but a little more expertise would be a welcome gift.
Sure am tired.
How is it energy is wasted on the young, when you need so much more of it as the days pass? That's not a condemnation, boys. That's just the observation of
an aging man who wishes he could run and jump and play like he did when he was your age.
So, I do hope that entertained. And yes, I'm still sitting here thinking about why all the dead are now dead. Funny isn't it? We spent so long thinking up the reason as to why they'd gotten up and started walking around that it's strange to think about them not being that way. Is this temporary? Is it over?
Really over? Or are we just at the center of the storm, and everything is swirling around us like a hurricane?
Maybe that Adrian character knows.
We got another day or two north and then we'll be near where we gotta be. Lord knows it'll be a challenge to find his exact location. Near a city, but in a small town. The directions Angie and Raef gave us aren't lining up on any map we've got. We'll have to scrounge for local maps somewhere. Supposed to be looking for some private school in the hills. With a big old dirt and wood wall around it.
And three people who may know why this is all happening.
Sounds like home to me. Still frigging cold though.
Go to bed kids.
Rose
Wendi Haegle
The day before the world went to shit, Rose Gendron celebrated her 64th birthday. Well, celebrated may not exactly be the right word; Rose very rarely 'celebrated' anything beyond the sheer joy of being miserable on a daily basis. Oh, yes, Rose knew just what an uptight bitch she was, and quite frankly, fully embraced being just that. Of course, it hadn’t always been that way. No, she’d be more than happy to tell you that marrying that useless turd of a husband had been the impetus of her downward spiral. In fact, it just that uselessness that Rose was pondering as she and her cart wobbled their way forcefully through chaos of the grocery store aisles.
“Useless bastard,” she muttered. “I told that God damn son of a whore to just leave the God damn windows alone. Didn’t I?” After all, she thought, only a dipshit like Walter Randall Gendron could manage to drop a sheet of plywood smack on the top of his foot.
Rose angrily snatched a handful of items off the nearest shelf, not even looking at what they were… concerned with nothing but wallowing in her own rank pool of loathing and self-pity. Today, that pool was fairly boiling at the fact her husband was sitting at home, perfectly comfortable in his ratty-ass La-Z-Boy with his poor widdle foot elevated. Rose couldn’t help but think her foot planted in his ass just might have served to fix his little 'owie' in no short order.
“But, I can’t WALK, Rosie,” he’d whined.
Pussy. Useless, 62 year old, good for nothing turd. She’d told him as much, and then told him that he’d better hope the world was ending or she’d surely kill him herself before the week was out. Oh, yes, Wally was convinced the world was coming to an end after listening to all those bullshit news reports about weird people and weird goings on.
Of course, Wally believed the world was coming to an end every other God damn day. Just so happens that THIS day he decided to haul his ignorant ass out to the garage, pull out his useless little tools and his useless little plywood and board up the house. Board up the house like some paranoid, delusional freak; like the neighbors needed something else to talk about. Oh, yes, and she’d told him THAT, too. Just before he started bitching that they needed 'supplies' to 'tide them over.'
“Tide us over?” she’d sputtered. “And how long will we need tiding, oh wise one? Eh? How long before...”
“I don’t know,” he’d snapped; interrupting her. He’d fucking interrupted her. Rose opened her mouth to respond, but Wally cut her off again.
“Just please go to the damn store and get us some things, Rosie; and not Simpson’s on the corner. Go down the road to the big market.” He’d shifted in the chair then, to look directly into Rose’s eyes.
“Then, when you get back, you’re going to help me board up the last window.”
Rose had gaped at him for a moment; partly because Wally never looked her in the eye and partly because, if it were any other day, his old balls would be too shriveled and puny for him to dare to tell her what to do. Rose liked it that way; this way? Not so much.
“Really, Wally? Really,” she spat, venomously. “Or when I get back you could just… oh, I don’t know… go shit in your hat maybe? How ‘bout that, Wally?”
But, still, she’d grabbed her purse and her keys and driven down the God damn road to the next God damn town to get Wally his God damn supplies.
*****
Leaving the snack aisle, still muttering, Rose levered her cart around and into the canned goods where her progress was promptly halted by a wall of people and carts. No one was moving, primarily because the store was full of 30-something pissant soccer moms and yuppie dads who, clearly, wouldn’t be able to fight their way out of a God damn paper bag.
“Stupid shit heads,” Rose grumbled, wedging her cart firmly against the back of the man blocking her progress. If she had to suffer being stuck amidst these ignorant shits, then someone else was damn well going to suffer with her. As the man turned to glare at her, Rose sneered at him and leaned even heavier on her cart. When he finally turned away, with a snort of disgust, Rose reached out and randomly swept an arm’s worth of cans from the nearest shelf straight into her cart. As the last can clattered atop the pile, she suddenly sensed someone looming behind her.
“Ma’am,” the voice said quietly, “can you please back away a little so the folks in front of you can get out of our way?”
She could feel the breath of his words on her neck, which only heightened Rose’s annoyance at the big set of un-Wally-like brass balls this fucker had to even speak to her. Without even looking in his direction, an unnecessary expense of energy because she knew he’d just be another yuppie cocksucker, Rose politely told him to go fuck himself, buddy.
“Ma’am, I am NOT your fucking buddy.” Rose froze even as he continued speaking. “And if you don’t put some of those cans back you just scooped up, and get the hell out of the way for everyone else, I will see to it both your hips get busted right here in this aisle.”
Who the fuck… Rose thought; tightening her grip on the cart and feeling that familiar surge of adrenaline that usually preceded her succumbing to a full blown conniption. Fully planning to lodge Mr. Yuppie’s testicles in his throat, Rose half turned to face the idiot who was determined to make her day even more unpleasant than usual… as if a useless lump of a husband and the apparent end of the world weren’t enough.
What she saw over her shoulder, however, fairly pinned her would-be testicle launchers to the floor. He was enormous. A tattooed freak that looked, for all the world, like he could squash her like a gnat. To make matters worse, he was smiling at her as if he would enjoy doing just that. Uncharacteristically, Rose hesitated, hastily weighing her odds of winning this particular battle, before deciding that this hulking brute would probably not be as easy to smack down as Wally “Uselessturd” Gendron of La-Z-Boy Land.
Forced to swallow an altogether unfamiliar lump, which had suddenly taken up residence in her throat, Rose returned several of the now dented cans to the shelf and removed herself from the aisle. As the aisle cleared, Rose caught many a snicker and smirk from the surrounding patrons. With that, whatever small, uncharacteristic wave of shame and submission that had overtaken Rose in confrontation with the huge, tattooed man quickly dissipated. In its place, Rose’s ire returned two-fold.
"Oh, just wait. Wait until I get home, Walter Gendron," she fumed. "You and I are going to have a fucking talk about you and your foot and me being in this shit hole right now instead of you."
*****
The tattooed man had, to her amazement, allowed Rose to return to the canned goods aisle ahead of him. Not that Rose cared that he was suddenly all ass-kissy. No, she simply, again, randomly swept cans into her cart; daring him to say something else. To Rose’s disappointment, he didn’t. He had been utterly disinterested in her since she complied, and she quickly lost track of him in the mayhem.
Leaving the aisle, Rose realized how heavy her
cart had become, and a renewed burst of fury swelled within her. Uselessturd had better be ready to gimp his lazy ass out to hump all this shit in, she thought. Because I sure as shit am not lifting it twice.
As Rose eventually made her way into the final aisle, a sudden commotion at the front of the store erupted. She turned to watch as shoppers rushed from the checkout lines to gaze into the parking lot. Crazy fuckers, she thought with a derisive snort. As Rose leaned into the weighted cart to resume her trek, a sharp crack resounded through the store, followed by screams.
“What the…” she muttered, thinking it had sounded remarkably like a gun shot.
True to form, however, Rose couldn’t be bothered to actually care what was happening. Instead, she simply moved forward to gather the rest of Wally’s 'tidings' before making her way to the cashier. Forty-five minutes later, as she finally reached the register, Rose was fairly certain her fury could not escalate any further. Until…
“$313.69,” said the pimply girl, tiredly.
“Are you shitting me?” Rose growled; fumbling for her wallet. “It ain’t gold, for fuck’s sake, it’s food! God Damn highway…”
“For fuck’s sake, Lady, just quit bitching and pay for your shit would you please?” blurted the gangly, yuppie puke behind her. “Some of us have people waiting for us!”
“Is that so?” Rose quipped with a sneer. She then, very slowly and very meticulously, counted out fifteen twenty dollar bills, two fives, two ones, four quarters, five dimes, and three nickels while yuppie boy went positively apoplectic with frustration.
“Well, they can just bite my ass,” Rose said gleefully, sliding the last four pennies to the cashier.
Unhappy Endings Page 20
