Knights of the Apocalypse (A Duck & Cover Adventure Post-Apocalyptic Series Book 2)

by Benjamin Wallace

  Running into old friends and vague acquaintances, on the other hand, was almost always dangerous. Though a person’s natural instinct was to embrace the familiar, few things remained unchanged when the world ended. Friends were hardly the same people one remembered. There was no telling who they had become to survive the harsh, new world, but it was rarely the person you had shared a beer or two with on the patio of a Mexican restaurant. People had always grown apart when separated by time, distance and circumstance. Now that those distances included mutants, super smart bears or, occasionally, being forced to eat a loved one, a friend was nothing more than a dangerous foe cloaked in love and trust. They had to be approached with caution.

  This girl didn’t look dangerous, but Erica didn’t like her all the same. She spoke to Jerry through clenched teeth. “Who the hell is this?”

  Jerry kept his gaze on the platform and spoke under his breath. “I have no idea. Maybe if we ignore her she’ll go away.”

  The woman stepped in front of them and looked Jerry in the eyes. “Oh my God! It is you.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jerry put out his hand. “Have we met?”

  “Have we met?” She laughed and slapped his hand away. “It’s me, Brae!” She threw her arms around Jerry and giggled.

  Erica did her best to appear as if she was looking at the girl, but her eyes scanned the crowd in hopes that no one was paying attention to this woman that was now hugging her husband.

  “Oh my. Nice to meet you, Brae. My name is Mike. This is …”

  “His wife, Jennifer,” Erica finished.

  Brae let go of Jerry and took a step back to study the couple. “Mike? And Jennifer?”

  Erica watched the girl’s reaction. Brae looked deep in his eyes. Brae’s eyes narrowed and Erica saw realization dawn on her face. To her credit, she didn’t miss a step.

  Brae unclasped her arms and backed away. “Oh, I’m sorry. You looked so much like someone I knew from before everything went to hell. And you know what that’s like. You just want to jump all over them. I’m sorry. I am so embarrassed.”

  “It’s okay,” Erica said.

  The girl stuck out her hand and shook Erica’s. “It’s nice to meet you, Jennifer. And Mike. I’m Brae.” The smile grew back to its original size. “What brings you guys to the castle?”

  Erica smiled, “An armed escort.”

  Jerry laughed. “She’s kidding. We want to be citizens.”

  “You’re going on the quest?” Brae’s smile faded. “But, you just got here.”

  “Quest? What do you mean?” Erica asked.

  Brae didn’t answer. Her gaze moved over Erica’s shoulder as a familiar and annoying laugh began. The couple turned to see Tommy more delighted than ever.

  The knight laughed. “So ewe drew the short straw. Eye was worried the king would jest have ewe killed. This is much better.”

  “The king asked for my help,” Jerry said.

  “Help?” Tommy laughed again. “Ewe’ve been drafted, dummy.”

  “Drafted?” Erica asked.

  “No, wait. Not drafted. The other one.” Tommy turned to Brae. “Was it called?”

  All joy faded from the girl’s voice and she looked away. “Conscripted.”

  Tommy snapped his fingers and spoke. “Dat’s it. Ewe’ve been conscripted.”

  “Conscripted?” Erica repeated.

  “Right. It’s like being drafted but with more punching and threatening language.” The smile faded from his lips but the delight stayed in his voice. “But, lucky for ewe, service is the only way to become a citizen. If ewe live.”

  Brae cocked her head. “Tell us how you served again, Tommy.”

  The knight’s horrible accent disappeared. “Sir Thomas to you, Brae. And my service is no one’s business by mine and the king’s.”

  “Right,” she said. “Sir Tommy, the big tough knight.”

  Anger flared in Tommy’s eyes for a brief moment. It faded quickly as his smile grew back into place. “Why don’t you tell them what you do for the kingdom, Brae?” Pleased with himself, Tommy turned and left the trio with the question hanging in the air.

  “What’s he talking about?” Jerry asked.

  “Never mind. He’s just a little man trying to act big.” She waved her hand at the platform. “This is actually a good thing. The chance for citizenship doesn’t come up often. My husband’s here. We try every time. It’s the only chance Shane has to get out of the mines.”

  “We heard about the mines,” Erica said.

  “Sure. All of the peasant men work in the mines. They’re hell. I don’t know how you stayed out of them, but you’re timing must have been perfect. Any other time and you’d be digging down there, too. It’s how things work around here. They put you in the ground and you literally have to dig your way out.”

  Erica’s stomach twisted again and she looked at Jerry. He was thinking something. Something stupid, no doubt. He had a certain intolerance for injustice like that and he was probably thinking of how to set things right.

  Brae must have read the concern in her face because the girl quickly continued. “But you didn’t. And that’s great. You’ll do your service. Shane will do his service. We’ll all become citizens and great friends. It will be just like old times.” Brae caught herself and added, “If there were old times.”

  Erica studied Jerry’s face. How did he know this girl?

  “Tell me more about the mines,” Jerry asked.

  There it was. He was already working on a plan. That plan would lead to a revolution. And that always led to more angry people hunting them.

  Brae shrugged. “If you’re not a citizen you either work for the king or you leave his kingdom. That’s really about it.”

  Erica breathed a sigh of relief. If they weren’t slaves, they were fools. Their freedom hadn’t been taken from them. They had given it willingly. Jerry wouldn’t blow their cover for fools, she thought. Then she thought again. Jerry probably wouldn’t blow their cover for fools.

  Jerry asked Brae, “How many people work in the mines?”

  A large figure stepped onto the platform before the girl could answer. What conversation had built in the crowd died more with every step he took across the stage. The giant wasn’t dressed like the knights. His tunic was a dark gray and it bore a unique insignia. A fierce black bear on the gray field with glowing red eyes and the blood of a kill on its lips. There was no purple. The peak of his hood fell over his face to the bridge of the nose. Only a black bearded chin and long dark locks left the shadows it created. He dressed head to toe in matte black leather that reflected nothing. Every inch of him killed light. The light that was reflected came from the silver hilt of a massive broadsword slung across his back. It was a weapon for a giant. The blade was a hand’s width and, though it hung at his shoulder, it nearly scraped the ground as he walked. The handle extended above his head to such a length that even his massive hands would not cover it.

  This man in black stepped to the front of the stage and looked over the crowd without speaking a word. The crowd rippled wherever his gaze set as the men beneath it turned their eyes away, shrunk down or tried to hide behind the person next to them. More than one pretended that their shoe needed to be tied and ducked his gaze.

  Satisfied with what he saw, he turned to the back of the platform and nodded. He stepped aside to the right most edge of the stage where he knelt and continued to make everyone nervous.

  The next man on the stage was everything the man in black was not. Dressed in rich colors and groomed well beyond apocalyptic standards, the young man walked with his chin in the air. His skin radiated above the throng of soot-stained mineworkers and, though his stature was far less imposing than the giant, the crowd knelt before him when he raised his arm to wave.

  Erica and Jerry looked around to find that they were the only two left standing.

  Brae tugged at Erica’s pant leg and waved her to the ground.

  Erica watched Jerry. The man she knew
would never kneel, but, apparently, Mike had no issue with it and he took a knee in the snow of the town square. Jennifer kneeled next to him. Chewy laid down and closed her eyes.

  She whispered out the side of her mouth. “I think they’re taking this Renaissance fair shit a little too far.”

  Brae shushed her.

  So did Jerry.

  Erica felt a rush of red to her cheeks as she realized she was doing exactly what she’d warned Jerry not to do. She was already finding a reason to start an uprising. She had to be smarter than that. If she started making stupid jokes, Jerry would, too. And that never ended well.

  “Please, please, everyone. There’s no time for that.” The young man raised his arms and the crowd stood. “I stand before you not as your prince, but as a friend that needs your help.” He was silent for a moment before adding, “But, also as your prince.”

  The crowd rose and Erica studied the young man. He wasn’t much more than twenty but was comfortable in front of the crowd. He stood tall and proud and read from his palm.

  “Today I am a broken man …” the prince paused, looked sad for a brief moment and squinted at his hand. His lips moved silently before he looked back to the crowd and spoke again.

  “My wife, your princess, has been taken by thieves, by cowards, by …” he looked at his hand again. “By those who wish to see our peaceful kingdom fail.” The citizenry that ringed the crowd gasped and booed. The prince stole another look at his hand as the crowd settled down. “But, our kingdom is strong. And our kingdom is true and loyal to its subjects and we shall chase down these villains and …” he rolled back his sleeve to read his forearm, “… rescue the princess.”

  Erica leaned over and whispered to Jerry, “You’re off the hook. It sounds even dumber when he says it.”

  “We’re going after her,” the prince continued. “Just like we would if any of you were taken.”

  One of the men at the front of the stage raised his hand. “Even me?”

  “No, not you. You’re a filthy peasant. I meant proper citizens.” The prince snapped his fingers and said, “That reminds me.” He looked at his other hand. “I need brave men—men of honor and courage—to join this quest to rescue the princess. Those among you that are honorable enough, loyal enough, brave enough, and lucky enough to not get killed shall be made full citizens of the Kingdom of the Five Peaks. And you shall be granted all the rights and privileges due a person of your status and probably a bath.” The prince laughed and looked at the man in black. “I added that last bit.”

  The man in black nodded but did not smile.

  The prince turned and left the stage.

  A knight stepped forward and roared to the crowd, “You heard his Highness. We’re going to save the princess. Save the princess and you can crawl out of that shit hole of a mine. Where are my volunteers?”

  Filthy and calloused hands shot up without hesitation and waved like a child who knew the answer.

  The knight put on a show of deciding whom to choose. He rubbed his chin and paced the stage, occasionally picking a man from the rabble at his feet.

  Jerry started into the crowd.

  Erica looked at him. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “No, it’s okay,” he said. “This is our chance to stop running.”

  “We can just leave,” she said. “We’ll find somewhere else.”

  “If we leave, they’ll just keep chasing us.”

  She followed his gaze out into the crowd. Each man tried to reach higher than the one next to him. Some were pulling the others’ hands down in desperation.

  “No. No, Jer … Mike, you can’t do this.”

  “I love you,” he said and stepped deeper into the crowd.

  EIGHT

  Before the apocalypse, Sir Dominic probably wasn’t much. Not many people were. It was the law of averages. Not everyone could be someone in a world full of people. But with ninety-nine percent of the population out of the game, it was much easier to be someone than it was before.

  Jerry had no idea what the knight did before the world changed, but he could tell the man thought he was somebody now. And he obviously loved every minute of being on a stage.

  The knight paced the stage enjoying the selection process more than anyone should. He slowly pointed to men in the crowd at random and issued his verdict with a laugh the men in the crowd could do nothing about. “You. You. Not you. Not you. Yo … just kidding, not you. You.”

  “Wait,” said the filthy miner. “I wasn’t volunteering, I had a question.”

  The knight rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine, what is it?”

  “Is the quest going to be dangerous?”

  “What? Of course it’s going to be dangerous. It’s a quest. Why wouldn’t it be dangerous? It’s the effin’ wasteland out there. Bandits and beasts behind every rock.”

  “Yeah, I guessed it would be dangerous, but how dangerous? I can handle bandits, but … are there going to be mutants?”

  “Of course there are going to be mutants.” Sir Dominic pointed to the south of the city. “What do you think those walls are for?”

  The man with the questions threw up both hands. “Well, duh, mutants … but, what kind of mutants?”

  A man next to him spoke up. “Yeah. Will it be the slow, ambling kind? I don’t mind the slow, ambling kind.”

  “Well, no one minds those,” the first filthy miner said. “Or the decomposing kind. They’re not too bad.”

  “Right,” the man began to laugh. “I knew a guy that pulled an arm off one of them and beat the thing with its own arm.”

  The crowd laughed so good and deep that dust from the mine rose from their lungs. The fit of laughter turned to a coughing fit.

  Sir Dominic laughed, too. “That is pretty funny. I have to hand it to that guy.”

  The pun silenced the laughing, coughing fit and the crowd returned to silence.

  “Oh, to hell with you people,” said Sir Dominic.

  The miner who started the line of questioning spoke again, “Look, as long as they’re not the vampire kind. Those things freak me out.”

  “And the zombie kind are the worst,” another added.

  “Oh. I don’t know if they’re worse than the vampire kind.”

  “I think they are.”

  “Well, who the hell are you? Some kind of mutant expert?”

  “That’s not even a real thing people can be.”

  The man in black stomped on the platform. A bang rolled through the crowd leaving silence in its wake. The sound had startled them but it was his voice that ensured silence. “Enough.” His voice was nothing more than a whisper, but it was the kind of whisper that came from under the bed and dark of night. It was a horrible whisper that promised hurt and pain. He raised his voice only slightly. It was like the dull thud of a fist smacking wet sand and shredded from too many swallowed nails. “Where we’re going there’s only one kind of mutant—Aztecs.”

  The hands in the audience dropped.

  “What?” Sir Dominic asked. “You’re not afraid of a few Aztecs, are you? Get your hands back up.”

  The hands stayed down.

  “You’re all cowards. You’re a disgrace. You’re not fit to be in the king’s service. ” Sir Dominic stomped back and forth across the front of the stage casting insults into the crowd. Maybe it was how he motivated others. “We should get the women in here. They’ve probably got more balls than you.”

  The miner in the front was full of questions. “Well, what else do we get?”

  “What do you mean, what else do you get? You get citizenship. You get to leave the mine. You get to call yourself a man. You get to carry yourself with dignity.”

  “Yeah, but what else? I mean, if it’s Aztecs, we should get a little something extra.”

  There was general agreement from the crowd. It was the bravest they had been.

  Sir Dominic looked to the man in black and got a slight shrug in response. “What do you want?”


  “Well, I think we should at least get a song written about us. All the great quests get songs.”

  “Okay,” the knight said. “You get to call yourself a man, carry yourself with dignity and we’ll have someone write a song about it.”

  “Who?” someone asked.

  “What do you mean, who. One of the bards, of course.”

  “Which one?” This question came from the back of the crowd.

  Sir Dominic shrugged. “We’ll get Arno to write it.”

  Another voice chimed in. “Eddie sucks. We want Christian.”

  The knight chuckled, “Yeah, in your dreams.”

  “Why can’t Christian do it?”

  “You honestly think your quest is worthy of Christian? The man who wrote the Ballad of Sir Timothy and the Big Breasted Wench?”

  The crowd cheered.

  “No.” Sir Dominic shook his head. “Eddie will be just fine.”

  A challenge came from the crowd. “Name one thing he’s written.”

  “He did that one, what’s it, the Tragedy of Too Much Mead and he wrote that one before the war, that one about the shoes at Christmas.”

  “That song sucks.”

  “Look, it doesn’t matter. We’ll get you your damn song, if you’re not horribly killed by Aztecs. What’s it matter, anyway? You’re all too cowardly to volunteer.”

  Jerry reached the front of the platform and raised his hand.

  Sir Dominic spotted it quickly and pointed to him. “You, the idiot with his hand up. No more questions. You’re going.” The knight scanned the crowd and spit when he saw no other volunteers. “No one else? Fine. These three up front. You’re in too.”

  One of the newly conscripted asked, “So we all get to be citizens?”

  “Sure. Sure, you do. All you have to do is rescue the princess,” Sir Dominic smiled, “and not die.”

  A tall man with sandy blonde hair had been one of the first to raise his hand. “What about our families?”