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.
Logan straightened the car and began to slow. He pulled the shotgun from the gunman’s hand as the car’s speed dropped under thirty. Logan slammed on the brakes and let go of the arm.
The rider fell to the ground and rolled to the front wheel. Shredded clothes and bruised knees did little to slow the rider. Rising to hands and knees, he dug his hand into his jacket, reaching for another weapon.
Logan was quicker. He drove his shoulder into the door and crashed it into the rider’s helmet.
The shell cracked down the center and forced the rider back to the ground.
Logan jumped from the car and pulled the man to his feet.
“How much time do we have?”
The rider said nothing.
Ripping the visor from the helmet, Logan stared into the frightened eyes and drove his fist into the man’s stomach.
Even through the helmet the girl could hear the wind escape the man’s lungs. The rider doubled over.
“Where is the truck?”
He couldn’t tell whether the rider had been feigning or was desperate. The rider bolted upright with surprising force and drove the helmet into Logan’s chin.
He stumbled back on his heels trying to catch his balance.
The rider dove at the stumbling warrior. Flashes of light bounced off a knife in his right hand.
Sarah screamed.
Now, seemingly unfazed by his fall, the rider moved with quick and polished movements. The silver blade now moved too fast for reflections to catch. He sliced, stabbed, and hacked at Logan as the warrior struggled to regain his footing.
Whistling as it sliced through the air, the blade’s tone changed as it caught Logan’s leather jacket with various strikes. Every few slashes were followed by a kick intended to keep Logan off balance. They worked.
Logan threw his body in impossible directions to avoid the blade and the boots that came at him. A low slash caused Logan to double over as he pulled his stomach out of the path of the knife. This left his face exposed to the full force of the rider’s boot.
He crashed to the ground. The rider’s silhouette blocked out the sun, but he could see the blade raised above his head. It was about to plunge into his chest.
Sarah screamed as she tackled the rider to the ground. Clawing and kicking, she stayed on top of him. Padding prevented her attack from doing much good, but it gave Logan time to get to his feet.
The rider grabbed Sarah by the back of the neck and pulled her face into the top of the helmet.
Sarah fell backwards against the Mustang.
The rider was up, standing in front of her.
But so was Logan. He put himself between the blade and the girl and stood his ground.
The rider persisted with thrusts and slices, but this time each was blocked and answered with a strike.
The helmet forced Logan to work the body. He focused the blows at the rider’s sternum, where the jacket hung open. These strikes, combined with the earlier dragging, tired the rider; his attacks slowed.
The rider turned and ran.
Logan turned to Sarah. Blood ran from her nose. He leaned down and kissed her. “I can’t let him get away.”
The warrior turned to give chase. The rider wasn’t far, but his head still rang from the kick and blood seeped from the stabs. He started to run.
The rider jerked as a gunshot exploded behind Logan. Several more shots rang out and the rider spun around as the slugs tore into him. The helmet cracked in two as a final shot entered through its side.
Logan stared as the figure fell face first to the ground. There was no movement from the rider. He turned back to the girl. She still lay on the ground with her back to the car. In her right hand, she held a revolver. Smoke rose from the barrel.
He walked back to her. “What did you do?”
Sarah looked at the gun in her hands. She let it drop to the road, “It was under the seat.”
“I, we needed to talk to him.”
“He tried to kill us.”
“But we still don’t know how far away the truck is.”
Sarah stood and placed her arm around him. “But they don’t know that we have you. You did it. And we’re both safe.” She pulled her hand back slowly. It was covered in red.
“Oh, no. You’re bleeding.”
“It isn’t bad.”
“We’ve got to get you home.”
“Home?”
“Home.”
She helped him back into the Mustang. She spoke softly to him as they drove back to New Hope.
TWENTY
“What is it, Dick?”
On top of the Silver Lining, Jerry held a powerful pair of binoculars to his eyes. He mused that he had never spent so much time on top of the coach as he had in the last few days. Still, it made the perfect perch.
Even with the hum of the tires on the road and the whining of Erica’s voice in the cab, they had all heard the work of the wrecking crew miles down the road. The sound had concerned him enough to stop the coach and climb up for a look.
“Yeah, Dick, what is it?” Austin asked.
“Dude,” his older brother, Trent, slapped him on the arm. “His name is not Dick. That’s just what she calls him.”
“That seems mean.” Austin was confused.
“It is,” Trent said.
“But, why is she being mean? Isn’t he saving her?”
“I don’t know why she’s being mean.”
“Don’t keep us in suspense, oh mighty warrior.” Erica had climbed to the top of the ladder and watched him watch the distance.
Jerry said nothing she could hear.
“Lady, why are you so mean to him?” Austin shouted up from the base of the ladder. “He’s helping us.”
“Shut up, Boo Boo.” She climbed onto the roof.
“What’s Boo Boo?” asked the boy in the bear suit.
Trent just shrugged. “I think it means poop.”
“Oh,” Austin’s feelings were hurt, but he smiled after a moment’s thought. “At least she didn’t call me dick.”
Trent nodded and watched Erica disappear over the top of the Silver Lining.
When she reached his side, Jerry was no longer looking through the binoculars, but staring off into the distance, deep in thought.
“What’s the hold up?” She followed his gaze. It was hard to make out what was happening.
He handed her the binoculars.
She placed them to her eyes. Her face went white and she began to stammer. “Oh, my God. Oh, God.”
“It’s them, isn’t it?” he asked.
She sat down, hard, on the roof of the coach. The binoculars fell from her hand. She nodded, her face a twisted expression of hate, anger, and fear. Tears filled her eyes, but they refused to fall.
Squeezing her hand gently, he sat down next to her. He picked up the binoculars and peered at the rig in the distance.
He had seen the armed guards surrounding the perimeter of the truck. This was not uncommon. Everyone on the road was armed. It could have been a caravan. Trade had started to resurface a couple of years ago. Anyone could believe that a guarded rig was nothing more than a group of honest traders.
There was constant activity as the wrecking crew cleared the road. Looking closer he noted not only the scene, but also the people surrounding the rig.
One man leaned against the truck, a cigarette burned in his lips. Jerry had used the apocalypse as an excuse to give up the habit. Having figured that tobacco would be impossible to come by after the world blew up, he was surprised that it was one of first industries t
o bounce back. Originally scrounged and repacked from pre-apocalyptic smokes, the process had evolved to newly sewn tobacco plants.
At first glance, the smoker appeared to be on break. Looking back at him now, knowing the true nature of the rig, he noticed that the man was bound.
A man with white hair and a red face stepped out of the rig and turned to survey the progress of the road crew. He yelled and pointed instructions, then turned and walked to the bound man. The smoker tried to stand at attention as best he could with his hands fastened behind him.
The white-haired man struck him across the face. The cigarette flew from his lips along with what Jerry could only guess were teeth and a spray of blood.
He recovered only to be struck again. The white-haired man yelled. Jerry could not hear what was said over the sounds of the road crew.
After several strikes, the bound man collapsed. His face was a mess.
The white-haired man yelled to two of the guards. They responded by picking the man off the ground. Supporting him by the shoulders, the guards held the bound man as he slumped. Slight movements from his head were the only indications that he was still conscious.
The white-haired man pulled something from his belt.
There was a flash of light and blood began to spurt from the bound man’s throat. The white-haired executioner walked away as the guards pulled the body to a wrecked sedan. They placed the body in the trunk and rolled the sedan down the embankment. “We can’t, we can’t, we can’t ... please.” Erica had pulled her knees to her chest and pleaded through tears that had finally begun to fall.
He dropped to his knee and held her. “We’ll go around.”
“No. Let’s go back. Somewhere else.”
“Erica,” his voice was soft, but strong, “we can’t. That thing is headed to New Hope. We have to warn them.”
She sobbed and shook her head frantically.
“We can’t let what happened to you happen to them.”
She controlled her sobbing. “They can’t be stopped. Don’t you see? We tried.”
“But I’ll be there to help.”
She tried to laugh at him, to mock him, but everything came out as sobs. “You? What can you do?”
“Me? I’m a big bad road warrior, remember?” She saw no humor in his mocking.
“Erica,” he spoke with a confidence she needed to hear. “This is what I do.” It was not a confidence he possessed.
“Bullshit. That’s what the other guy said.”
“What other guy?”
“The ‘post-apocalyptic nomadic warrior’ that promised he’d help us. He had a plan, too. It failed. And he’s dead now. Just like everyone I ever knew.”
He wanted to hang his head. Instead, he looked her in the eye, “Erica. You will be safe with me. I’m different.”
“That’s what he said. And he was way better than you.”
“Erica, I’m ashamed to say, but the world is full of frauds claiming to do what I do. They look the part. They promise to help. Then they take advantage of people. Good people like your family and friends. Chances are he snuck off as soon as the truck showed up.”
“No, I saw him. He was dragged into the truck. He screamed louder than the others. They must have tortured him. He was real and he couldn’t help. No one could. They walked right through the defenses and destroyed everything.”
He held her tighter as she began to sob again. Was this her? The real Erica? He felt as if this was the girl worth saving, not the one who lashed out in self-defense. She was vulnerable and hurt. How could he put her in harm’s way? And the boys? They didn’t deserve to be pulled from a basic, but safe existence only to be placed in a town that was in the crosshairs of merciless killers.
Jerry thought of Logan. He didn’t like the man, but at least New Hope stood a chance if he was still there. Maybe they had an even better chance with him than if he was aiding the people.
He placed his hand on Erica’s cheek and guided her gaze to meet his own. “Erica, we can go somewhere else. We can. The town is a ways off the road and there’s a good chance help is already there.”
She looked at him, smiled and sputtered through the tears. She put her hand on his.
“We’ll turn around,” he said. “We’ll go somewhere else.”
She smiled and nodded. He helped her stand and walked her to the ladder. She took each step with caution; the focus helped her to stop shaking. Looking back up at him, she smiled, “You’re right, you are different than Logan.”
He had matched her smile, but it vanished quickly.
“Logan?”
“That was his name.”
“Get in the coach. We’re going to New Hope.”
He expected anger to return, but it was fear in her eyes.
“But, you just said ...”
“Erica, Logan is alive. The people of that town are going to die if we don’t help.”
She was silent as the truth of the events at Vita Nova sunk in.
“Don’t you see?” Jerry asked. “He let them in.”
She grabbed his wrists and squeezed. She shook him as she began to swear and curse Logan. The violent reaction threatened to pull him from the roof.
“That bastard!”
“Erica, get down.”
“I’m going to kill him!”
“You’re going to make us both fall.”
She stopped shaking his arms but did not relax her grip.
The scuffle drew the boys back to the base of the ladder.
“Is she okay?” Trent yelled up.
“Alex, Trent, help her down and take her inside. Calm her down. Get her a drink. Don’t let her have a gun.”
“Is she that mad at you?” Alex asked.
“Just do it.”
Alex took a step on the ladder and helped pull Erica to the ground. The boys tried to calm her as she swore at each of them.
Jerry turned to study the rig through the binoculars. He scanned the behemoth for weaknesses. He saw a man with white hair looking back.
TWENTY-ONE
“It doesn’t look too serious. The ointment should stave off infection,” said the town doctor as she finished bandaging Logan’s knife wound. “I’m not sure how to treat that, though,” she added, pointing to Sarah’s grasp of Logan’s hand.
Sarah blushed, but did not let go of the warrior’s hand.
The doctor smiled and left the two of them alone.
Logan smiled at Sarah. She smiled back and leaned in close; her lips parted.
The door to the clinic flew open and struck the wall behind it.
“Sarah! Princess! Are you all right?”
Sarah dropped Logan’s hand and hugged her father. “I’m fine, Daddy. Logan protected me.”
“What happened out there?”
Logan pulled his shirt over his bandaged torso. “We ran into a couple of the major’s men.”
“But we stopped them before they could get away. They’re not going to be able to tell him anything.”
“But the major will be suspicious when they don’t report back.” Logan stood with visible pain.
Sarah put her hand on his shoulder to steady him. The mayor noticed the tenderness. He could see what was happening between the two. He approved. “How much time do we have?”
“Not much. We’ll have to work faster.”
“I’ll let the town know. Just tell us what you need and we’ll make it happen.”
The mayor turned to leave, but stopped. “And, Logan. Thank you. You’re a good man.” He smiled at his daughter and left.
Sarah smiled at Logan and put her hand back in his. “I think Daddy approves.”
Logan smiled.
“How hurt are you? Exactly?” Sarah leaned in and kissed him. He kissed back.
TWENTY-TWO
“What are you going to do?”
He shoved past her and hit the home theater switch. A bracket lowered his arsenal. He moved frantically.
“I may be able to stop them h
ere.” He grabbed the largest rifle from the rack and climbed back onto the roof. Red tape marked an ammo clip as tracer rounds; he slapped the clip into the Barrett .50 caliber rifle and propped it up on the bipod.
Peering through the scope, he saw the heightened activity at the rig. The white-haired man barked orders; his men responded.
Striking a fuel tank with a tracer round should cause a critical explosion. The distance was extreme and he questioned whether the .50 caliber round would even penetrate the armor they had placed around it. Plus, the Silver Lining was shaking.
He slapped the roof. “Be still in there!”
“She won’t stop jumping,” was the response.
“Or swearing,” was the other.
“Erica! Please sit down. I’m trying to shoot the bastards.”
The rustling stopped and the coach steadied itself.
Scanning the rest of the truck, he searched for another target. The scope crossed the trailer mounted to the outside rear of the rig. Its plating wasn’t as thick. The walls weren’t even solid. They were grated, like a livestock hauler.
With a whine, like that of a camera flash charging, the thermal scope came alive and displayed the activity at the rig. Men were replaced with splotches of color. They were scattered everywhere. He pointed the scope towards the rear trailer.
Body heat signatures filled the crosshairs. The rear trailer was filled with a mass of people. The density of the heat signatures lit the entire field of the scope.
The murdered people of Vita Nova weren’t dead. They were crammed into the livestock trailer.
He heard the crack of the fiberglass next to him before the crack of the rifle. A second bullet struck even closer.
They had set up their own snipers.
He fired several rounds quickly to force their heads down. He found the tires next. Striking the fuel tank would kill the prisoners. If he couldn’t stop them, he could slow them down.
With each pull of the trigger, a tire erupted. He fired five times and each trailer sank as the air drained from the wheels.
The bullets came at him faster as the entire squad opened up. He scurried backwards and to the side of the roof, trying to get out of their line of sight. He looked through the scope one more time just in time to see the gate on the rear left trailer drop. Several motorcycles burst from the trailer. The riders were armed and they were moving fast.
Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors (A Duck & Cover Adventure) Page 12
