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

by Benjamin Wallace

“They don’t need one.”

  “Why not?”

  Shane tapped on the window indicating a road sign. The sun, sand and nuclear fallout had rusted a good portion of it, but it still served its purpose. Jerry read the faded paint. Welcome to Aztec. 6378 friendly people & 6 old soreheads. “Cute.”

  “Get up, peasants! It’s time to earn your king’s respect.” The knights kicked the conscripts to the front of the bus and shoved them out the door where they gathered on the asphalt. The air was dry and bit at their skin with cold and sand.

  The prince stepped to the door and spoke. “It would normally be beneath me to wish people like you luck. But for the sake of my princess and my kingdom, I must. So … good luck. I hope most of you don’t get eaten.” The bus door swooshed shut and the prince disappeared.

  “That was kind of sweet,” Jerry said. “Don’t you think?”

  “Enough out of you,” Sir Dominic shouted as he handed out the rusty weapons from the duffel bag.

  The conscripts groaned. “These again?”

  “You want to be citizens? You want to be knights? You fight like a knight.” Sir Dom handed Jerry a machete as he explained the plan. “Our sources say the kidnappers ran with the princess down the Animas. In town, there is the perfect place for an ambush. You will hide and wait for the kidnappers there. When they show up, you kill them. Then rescue the princess.”

  “In Aztec?” The conscript’s voice broke with fear.

  “Yeah, in Aztec,” Dominic answered as he shoved an ax into the man’s hands.

  “But there’re Aztecs in … Aztec.”

  Sir Dominic got in the man’s face and whispered, “So think about how the princess must feel. Why are you making this all about you?”

  “That’s enough crying,” Sir Erik interjected. “Get her and bring her back here. If you don’t save her, you might as well stay and let the beasts eat you.”

  Jerry rolled his eyes and started toward the town.

  Shane followed closely behind while the others considered their options. The bus door opened once more and the man in black snarled at them all. They rushed to catch up to the two men.

  The bus had stopped short of a collapsed bridge. The entire span had fallen into a dry ravine and a suspension bridge of questionable engineering had been put up in its place. The fall wasn’t but a few feet because the desert was as flat as it was boring. But the chasm was enough to stop a bus. Each man crossed the bridge with careful steps and continued on down the road.

  It wasn’t long before boredom drove some of them to talk. “This isn’t worth it. It isn’t worth it.”

  “Why did I volunteer for this?”

  “At least you volunteered for this. I’m going to get eaten for nothing.”

  “I heard they can’t be killed by man.”

  “I heard the same thing. We should have sent the women.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I meant they’re immortal.”

  “That’s just stupid.”

  “It is not. It makes perfect sense if you think about it.”

  “They’re mutants. How could being turned into a monster make you immortal?”

  “They’re not mutants. They’re demons. Big difference.”

  Jerry sighed and quickened his pace. The faster he walked, the less bickering he would hear.

  Shane kept pace with him and didn’t speak until Jerry asked him a question.

  “What’s all this Aztec nonsense?”

  “The town isn’t far from something called the Aztec ruins. It used to be a national monument. Some people—like these morons behind us—say the war disturbed the ruins and awoke ancient Aztec demons and that the men and women in town became possessed. They say the spirit finds you when you sleep and possesses you through your dreams. You experience visions of rage and murder before it consumes your body leaving your spirit intact and powerless. They say that’s why they wail like men but kill like animals.”

  “What do you think?” Jerry asked.

  “I think people are stupid.”

  “So you don’t believe it then?”

  Shane shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “The ruins are Pueblo. And I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure there aren’t a lot of Aztec demons in a Pueblo site.”

  Jerry laughed. “So why do they call them the Aztec ruins?”

  “Because people have been stupid for a really long time. The end of the world didn’t change that.”

  Jerry laughed and nodded.

  Shane continued. “We were getting dumber by the day towards the end there. I blame the rise of electric house music. I mean, people were paying concert prices to see a man operate a computer. If you ask me, I’d say we were just begging for extinction.”

  The sun set behind the city of Aztec half an hour later. The group approached with complete silence and scanned the shadows and the fading light looking for any sign of movement.

  “Of course we’d have to go into the spooky ghost town inhabited by cannibals at dusk,” Shane said. “What do we do now?”

  “We wait in the spooky ghost town,” Jerry said. “And we try to be as quiet as possible.”

  The wailing began an hour later. The screams were unlike any he had ever heard. He had to give Shane credit; the man had described them perfectly. They were screams of torment and pain—human and animal alike. The bulk of the group hid from the possibility of discovery in a dilapidated restaurant across from the bridge while another two kept watch from the shadows of the overpass.

  “This isn’t worth it.” The youngest conscript began to pace the room. “I’d rather be in the mines. The mines are better than this.”

  Shane snapped at him. “You can go if you want. No one is keeping you here.”

  A long wail from an unseen Aztec came from somewhere nearby.

  “They’re keeping me here,” the conscript said. “You’re trying to get me killed.”

  “Stay or go,” Shane said. “I don’t care what you do as long as you shut up while you do it.”

  Another conscript laughed.

  “What’s so funny, Cody?” Shane asked.

  “You, Shane. All of a sudden you’re a tough guy. You’ve been in the mines for months. Hardly said a word to any of us. Now you’re best buds with the new guy. Makes me think you think you’re too good for us. Is that it, Shane? You too good for all of us?’

  “Not all of you, Cody. Just you.”

  A few of the conscripts snickered.

  “I’m going to be really surprised if you make it back to the castle alive, Shane,” Cody said. “But I’ll be sure to tell Brae how brave you were while I console her.”

  Shane was on him before anyone could react. He’d struck Cody three times in the face before Jerry could pull him off. Cody’s nose was bloodied but he was still smiling.

  Jerry pushed Shane towards the door. “Take a walk.”

  “You’re a lucky man, Cody,” Shane said and stepped outside.

  “You’re making the wrong friends, new guy.” Cody spat a wad of blood on to the floor.

  “Just keep it quiet in here.” Jerry turned and walked out the door after Shane.

  The air was cold, still and impossibly dry. Taking it in hurt if it was drawn too sharply. Jerry took slow easy breaths to prevent the sting. He looked for Shane, but the man had apparently taken the advice and gone for a walk.

  A soft and gentle whistle rose up from the bridge and a waving hand caught Jerry’s eye. He waved back and the conscript moved down the hill. Jerry crossed the street and made his way down the embankment to where the three men were stationed under the bridge.

  There was no one there. The conscripts had disappeared.

  The blow came from behind and caught him behind the ear. There was a bounce to it that sounded like wood. Jerry stumbled and fell into the fist of one of the other men. A third conscript came at him from above and Jerry tumbled out of the way. He got to his feet but found Cody behind him. The conscript grabbed him
around the chest and held him tight as the others regrouped.

  Jerry stomped at the ground trying to put a heel in the man’s foot, but that first strike had hit him hard and he could barely stand. If Cody hadn’t been holding him up, Jerry was sure he would have collapsed to the ground.

  “Why are you guys being so gentle?” the conscript that had waved him over asked. “We don’t need him alive.” He held up a Japanese-style sword most likely made in China. The cross guard rattled as it moved and the material around the grip dangled from between the man’s fingers. “We just need his head.”

  Cody wasn’t large, but years in the mine had turned his muscles to iron cables. The other conscript approached and grabbed Jerry by the hair. Together they brought him to his knees and stretched him out across the ground. He could feel the blade of the katana on the back of his neck. It was dull and nicked in a hundred places. He could smell the rust. He closed his eyes. It was going to hurt.

  The conscript brought the sword back above his head and there was a sickening thud and a warm spray across Jerry’s neck. He opened his eyes, surprised to discover he wasn’t dead. Cody released him and Jerry did his best to roll away. He didn’t stop until he hit the river. The cold water snapped his focus back into place and he looked for his attackers.

  The man with the sword was dead. His head collapsed from an aluminum baseball bat.

  Shane held the bat in his hand and was swinging it at the man who had grabbed Jerry’s head. Cody was disappearing over the top of the hill.

  The conscript put up his hands to block the baseball bat but it did little to stop the force of the swing. There was another wet thwack and the man went down hard. He wasn’t getting up.

  Shane turned and found Jerry on the riverbank. He ran down the bank and stuck out a hand.

  Jerry took it and pulled himself to his feet. They were still unsteady but he managed to find his balance. “Thanks again. That’s twice today.”

  Shane smiled. “I’ve got you.”

  Jerry sat down hard on the concrete beneath the bridge and tried to shake off the confusion while Shane retrieved the sword and scabbard.

  He dropped the bat and asked, “So you want to tell me why they were trying to chop your head off?”

  He couldn’t think. He only shrugged. “I guess they weren’t fans of my plan.”

  “Seems a pretty extreme way to offer criticism,” Shane said.

  Jerry nodded, but as his head cleared his mind filled with questions. Christopher had gotten to these men. But how? Dominic was the only one that had left the party when they passed through Durango. Had Christopher made it to the castle? Was Erica safe? Was there someone beside Christopher and the king that knew who they were?

  There were too many possible answers and he didn’t like any of them. He had to get back to the castle. He looked up river hoping to see the princess’s boat. The sooner she was rescued, the sooner he could get back to Erica.

  TWELVE

  Night fell quickly over the valley town as the sun ducked away behind the western peaks. As the light faded, torchbearers appeared and walked the streets igniting braziers hung from the old streetlights. The brick buildings were that much warmer in the firelight as Erica and Chewy finished up their house-hunting stroll and she mused how the glow of these fires transformed the town into a scene from a Dickens’s tale.

  House-hunting in the apocalypse wasn’t that much different than it had been before. Though one’s wish list had changed considerably. Crown molding fell lower on the list of priorities as an accessible sniper’s nest moved closer to the top. And who cared about granite countertops as long as it had room for a moat?

  Location was still the most important thing. While school districts and airport access were no longer a part of the criteria, you wanted to make sure the home wasn’t located too close to unexploded ordinance or an eternal burning hellfire—a fairly common feature in any neighborhood located near a gas well.

  Anything that glowed in the dark was best avoided, as were poisonous streams, man-eating flora, mutant populations and that place up north infested with aggressive squirrels.

  Of course, the closing process was much different from before. Instead of securing a loan and signing a stack of papers one tree thick, the buyer simply moved in, sat down and said, “I’ll take it.” Putting up a “home sweet home” or “live laugh love” plaque was a purely ceremonial step and often skipped.

  Here in the Kingdom of the Five Peaks, however, things were a little more traditional. Haggling would be involved and it was, without a doubt, a seller’s market. There were no listings. The most someone could do was knock on the door of a home they were interested in and hope the occupants were either interested in selling or dying from something that worked quickly.

  With the reward Jerry had been promised, Erica doubted they would have trouble finding a place should they decide to stay. She smiled at how fast the town had grown on her. The quirky medieval bit would be easy enough to overlook if they were living in a warm home in a safe town, hidden from the world by their assumed names.

  There was a squeal. Not one that arose her suspicions, but a delighted squeak. It was a child that had spotted Chewy and ran across the street to pet the dog. Children were always attracted to the mastiff and often rushed to pet her, but they were always followed by a panicked parent trying to protect their kid from a potential monster, or worse, the strangers that accompanied the dog.

  “Puppy!” The shriek was followed by the pat of little feet in the snow.

  Chewy knew the child was coming for her and eagerly met her halfway for a furious petting and scruffing of fur.

  Erica smiled and walked into the street. She scanned the area looking for the frantic mother, but couldn’t find any sign of her. She turned around thinking maybe she was behind her. There was only the girl.

  “Your dog is soooo cool,” the girl said and buried her face in Chewy’s.

  “Her name is Hannibal,” Erica said and winced at how it sounded. “But you can call her Hannah.”

  “Hannah. You’re a sweet dog.” The little girl laughed as Chewy licked her face.

  “And what’s your name?” Erica asked. The mother would appear screaming any second now.

  “Emma,” she said.

  “Where’s your mother, Emma?”

  “At home.” The little girl pointed to a building over her shoulder.

  A woman stepped onto the porch of the building Emma had called home and looked around. She called for the girl, “Emma!”

  “Yes, Mom?”

  “Emma. The streetlights are lit. You know what that means.”

  The girl rolled her eyes the way only a little girl could. “That it’s time to come in.” She stood and gave Chewy one last hug. “Good dog, Hannah.” Emma turned and ran home.

  “It was nice meeting you, Emma,” Erica called.

  The girl waved back. “Bye. I like your dog.”

  In every other town she had seen, the day ended at dark. Good nights were wished, dead bolts were engaged, a chair was propped against the door and no one stepped outside until morning.

  Before everything went to hell, the idea of speaking before a crowd was the number one fear in the world. Now, people would gladly address a crowd provided they didn’t have to do it at night. A fear of the dark was no longer just for children and those with vivid imaginations. It was for everyone. True horrors now lived in the dark. Things with teeth, claws and bad intentions haunted the shadows and moved under the cover of night. And though many still denied this fear, more and more people were “turning in early.”

  Streetlights alone weren’t enough to keep the fears away. Many towns had them. There was something more at work in the kingdom. The walls, the knights, the people—everything worked together to put inhabitants at ease.

  The little girl’s curfew stayed on Erica’s mind as she made her way to the address Brae had given her. She didn’t see any more children, but the streets were alive with people. None
of which appeared in a hurry to find a locked door to hide behind.

  There was a knight on every corner. Their appearance still made her chuckle but they greeted the citizens with warm smiles and friendly inquiries. The town crier shouted the hour at a respectable level as he pealed his bell softly through the streets.

  Erica turned onto Brae’s street and the crowds disappeared. No one strolled here and even the crier made a U-turn at the intersection. Erica and Chewy followed the street down to a dirt road and found the address on the corner. A hotel sign hung from one bracket on the corner of the two-story building. It was an older building and had not been given the same love as the rest of the town.

  She double-checked the address and stepped inside. Her nose wasn’t ready for the aromatic assault. Wasteland hooch had a burn that cleared sinuses whether you were drinking it or not, and the lobby of the old hotel was filled with the smell.

  Chewy sneezed several times as they crossed the empty lobby and found the staircase. Brae’s place was on the second floor at the end of the hall. They passed a hallway full of thin doors that did little to muffle conversation, some yelling and a fair amount of what Erica identified as fake moaning.

  She walked slower as she counted the numbers on the doors.

  Brae’s door was at the end of the hall and Erica didn’t want to reach for the handle. She didn’t want to knock.

  The mastiff must have sensed her apprehension and began to growl.

  Erica wanted to turn and walk away. No, she wanted to run from the building. Before she could turn, the chain rattled on the other side of the door. Brae must have known she was coming. Erica sighed and forced a smile as the door opened.

  “Well. Look who it is.” Tommy sweated cheap liquor and buttoned his shirt as he stepped into the hall. “’ad I known ewe were staying ’ere, I would ’ave waited.”

  Erica put a hand on Chewy’s head. The beast was on full alert. “Brae was kind enough to let me stay here while my husband is on his quest.”

  Tommy laughed, coughed a bit and laughed some more. “Ewe really think ’e’s coming back? I don’t think so, sweetheart. Ewe might as well get comfortable ’ere in the ’otel. But don’t ewe worry—Eye’m sure you’ll fit right in ’ere.”