Amy was immediately hit with disappointment. Why had he not tried to be with her? Maybe he was just old fashioned? Maybe he was concerned about her shoulder wound? Maybe it was that their friend was in the other room. She certainly wasn’t one to ever move fast herself, but things were different with Tak. She had known him for almost a decade and truly loved him like she never had another, even though their relationship had only taken a romantic turn over the last few days. But damn… he didn’t even kiss her. Well, not on the lips anyway. “All things will come at the right time”, she told herself as she wiped a tear before it could fall.
CHAPTER 3: RINGO
2:15AM, day four of the new world
T heir rest didn't last long. A few hours later they were woken by the sound of gunfire. Tak ran from the bed in the rear to the middle of the RV and looked out the passenger side large window that overlooked the dinette table. Red and blue lights were flashing somewhere out of sight past the nearest semi that blocked his view of the main building. He saw a uniformed police officer briefly run past in front of their RV as he chased someone towards the rest stop's main building; a visitor's center. He yelled to the others as he quickly dressed, "A cop’s out there chasing someone; I'm gonna go back him up." He threw on his jeans, boots and police badge that hung on a neck chain, grabbed his pistol, unlocked the side door and ran out giving chase. He rounded the corner of the nearest semi-truck and saw the tail end of the cop enter the glass doors of the visitor's center a good 30 yards ahead of him. He heard someone yell "FREEZE, POLICE!” just before more gunfire erupted from inside the building.
Tak ran to the doors and then tactically entered with his pistol aimed in ahead where he was looking as more rounds blasted from somewhere inside, and very close. Suddenly a man fell backwards from left to right just in front of him. As he hit the floor Tak could see several smoking bullet holes in his chest. Tak quickly but carefully rounded the corner to his left, "slicing the pie" as he kept the sites of his pistol lined up with each new degree of angle he saw while he continued to shift to his right and aiming in towards the left side of the room. The left side of an early 20's white man with brown hair, a dirty white t-shirt and a smoking revolver came into his view about 10 feet in front of him. Tak had him dead to rights. The man was aiming at someone else directly in front of him, which was around the corner to Tak's left. Tak approached him tactically in a Groucho stance where he kept his pistol aimed in. He walked with his knees slightly bent without rising up and down with his steps in order to maintain balance and the ability to accurately shoot while moving. As he got closer he heard the police officer yelling in a panicky voice further around the corner as he was being beaten. Tak continued shifting right and another man and the downed officer came into Tak’s peripheral view around the left corner. This man had a tire iron and was working the officer over, taking huge swings at the cop’s head which were being blocked by an already badly broken arm. The first man, upon seeing Tak enter the building, wheeled his revolver around towards Tak's direction. Tak's adrenaline was pumping and he focused on that weapon. As had happened countless times with him and his blessed ancestors before, he became Hoshoku. The neurons in his brain began firing at a seemingly impossible rate, thrusting his senses into hyperactivity. Time slowed down according to his perspective as his irises expanded as his pupils narrowed to thin blue slivers. They became so bright they seemed to shine. The barrel of the revolver practically stopped in midair, creeping along now at only about an inch per second. Smells suddenly flooded Tak's nostrils. He could smell every man in the room and the chocolate in the candy bars in a vending machine to his right, and even differentiate between half a dozen different types. He heard the man with the tire iron giving out a slow, drawn out grunt as he started a big swing, preparing to come down on the officer's head for a final killing blow. He became away of the sound of almost a dozen semi-truck engines, a few which had their radios on; separated from him by a concrete wall and glass doors. He could hear the hammer of the man's gun moving to the rear; its metal ever so slightly scraping against the frame of the old revolver. He read the writing on the side of the slightly rusty barrel, "SMITH & WESSON 38 SPECIAL". He took his time and carefully lined up his sights with the center of the revolver wielding man's ocular cavity; the playing card sized rectangular area that was comprised of his eyes and the area just below them to his nose. A hit there from any caliber round should stop any man in his tracks, no matter what drug he was on. Tak steadied his breathing and slowly squeezed the trigger. The 45 caliber XDS barked in his hand, the slide beginning its rearward travel as a chunk of hollow pointed lead erupted from the barrel through a ring of fire. Before the round was more than a foot away from the pistol Tak had turned and began running towards the man with the tire iron. As the spinning projectile bore through his target’s nose and began shredding the frontal lobe of his brain, Tak jammed his pistol down the front of his waistband and reached up to intercept the tire-iron wielder’s right arm in its downward swing. He grabbed the man’s slow moving right wrist with his left hand as he simultaneously reached under the man's bicep with his right hand to come back up and around to grab his own left wrist securely; which made the entanglement of their arms look like the number 4. He maintained his focus for a moment longer as he began to drive the figure-4 lock he had on the arm forward and down with his arms as he used his right forearm as a lever, forcing the man’s arm to twist up, back and over at an horribly unnatural angle. He relaxed his focus and let his senses, and time, return to normal. As he ripped the man’s arm backward with the joint lock, the man’s shoulder rotated up and back way past the breaking point. The muscles and tendons in his shoulder and all around his rotator cuff ripped apart with a grotesque series of quick ripping pops. Completely surprised and thrown off balance, the man’s right fist pointed straight down at the ground behind him with his elbow pointed straight up after his arm had been forced over backwards the wrong way, which caused his feet to fly out from under him into the air. He yelped for only a moment before the back of his head cracked into the concrete floor, splitting his skull and silencing him forever.
Nathan and Amy burst into the room, both half dressed. They surveyed the area and saw that there were no more threats. Tak went to the downed officer, who was looking at him in surprise and pain. He’d been hit a couple times in his protective vest, but a round had caught him on his right side just under the armpit where the vest didn’t cover, and bright red blood was pouring out of the wound. He obviously didn’t have long to live. Tak put his hand on his shoulder, “Relax, we’re police officers too. I’ll get you some help right away.” The officer; a short, late 20’s white man with a nametag that read “Clark” spit out blood as he shook his head left and right. He labored through shallow breaths as he strained to accomplish some seemingly important task. He reached down to his side with his unbroken arm and took a set of car keys off of a clip on his belt. He put them in Tak’s hand and squeezed it tightly as he forced out his last words. Sincerity burned in his eyes as he locked them with Tak’s and whispered, “Please… take care of Ringo.” His gaze didn’t falter as he waited for confirmation. Not completely understanding his request, Tak knew that this man, a fellow brother in blue, was not long for this world. He knew this request must be very important to him. Not wanting to disappoint him in his last moments of life, he put his other hand over Clark’s as they locked eyes and he spoke honestly, “I will; don’t worry brother, I will.” Comfort found its ways into Clark’s eyes and it remained there as he passed from this world to the next. The thought that Tak might have just agreed to take care of the man’s son crossed his mind… but it was too late not; he’s agreed to it and would stand by his word.
Tak tried to use the officer’s radio to at least inform his command of what had happened, but he was only answered with static. He holstered the officer’s pistol and took his duty belt; knowing they couldn’t leave it where just anyone could grab it. Nathan grabbed the revolver from the fir
st man Tak had killed and they all went out to the officer’s patrol car. They noticed the side of his cruiser read;
Bowling Green KY
Service - Integrity - Respect
When Amy read it she exclaimed, “Bowling Green?! That’s way north… this is out of his jurisdiction. I wonder what he was doing down here.” Tak unlocked the cruiser and turned off the flashing lights. He was about to reply to Amy, but then he saw and heard Ringo; a 75 pound black German shepherd with a tan belly who stood in the caged back seat. Ringo began barking furiously at seeing someone besides his master open and enter the police car. Tak spoke calmly to the big dog, “Shh, its ok boy. I’m a friend. Good boy.” The dog cocked his head at Tak curiously. Tak immediately noticed the dog’s intelligent eyes. He went to the rear of the car and put his hand on the door handle. Nathan spoke up quickly, “Hey man… that might not be a good idea…” but Tak opened the door. Ringo jumped out of the cruiser and moved towards Tak. Tak had remembered the training his department’s K9 officer had given him and the other officers. He knew that nationwide many police K9’s were often taught commands in German, so that just anyone couldn’t come up and confuse the dogs by ordering them to sit, stop, attack or do anything else. He believed this dog would recognize him as a fellow officer. With a firm voice he ordered “SITZEN!”; the German word for “sit”. The word stopped Ringo in his tracks, and while he seemed unsure for a moment, he hesitantly sat down in front of Tak and gave out a small whine. Tak knelt down and slowly held his right hand out with his fist closed, about a foot in front of Ringo’s face. Ringo leaned forward and sniffed Tak’s hand carefully, his wet nose touching Tak’s knuckles. Tak softly spoke to Ringo, “freund”, the German word for friend, and it seemed to relax the dog even more. He then spoke softly in an almost sing-song voice, “braffer hoont… braffer hoont” and began petting Ringo. The dog allowed it, understanding that he was being praised for being a “good dog”. He seemed to sense that this man before him was one of the good guys, but he still seemed a bit uneasy with the whole situation. Tak knew what he had to do. Ringo would need closure. He grabbed a leash from the storage space at the bottom of the front door and attached it to Ringo’s collar. He then walked Ringo to the inside of the visitor’s center. When Ringo saw Officer Clark lying down in a pool of blood, he ran to him. Tak let go of the leash and allowed him to go. Ringo went to Clark’s face and licked it lovingly and nudged him with his nose for some time. After a few minutes he looked back at Tak and his friends, and true sadness was obvious in the dog’s eyes. Ringo knew his master was dead. A mournful cry escaped him before he lay down next to Clark and put his head on his chest. Tak sat down on the floor next to them and just waited, giving Ringo this time he needed to grieve. He spoke quietly to his friends, “If ya’ll don’t mind, head to the RV. I’m going to give Ringo some time to get closure. We’ll be there in a bit.” His friends nodded understandably and walked out.
About 15 minutes later Tak got up from where he sat next to Ringo and his dead master. The sun would be up in a few hours and they needed to get on the road. Tak spoke softly to him, “It’s time to go boy.” Ringo looked at Tak for a moment and then laid his head back on Clark’s chest. Tak stood up and grabbed Ringo’s leash and began to give him a nudge for the door. Ringo resisted… he didn’t want to leave Clark’s side. Tak gave a long stroke from Ringo’s neck to his tail. “Braffer hoont… braffer hoont. You have to let him go Ringo. We have to move on.” Ringo whined but went with Tak reluctantly, almost being dragged away. He spun a circle to try and get back to his master; not aggressively but persistently as he looked back the whole time until Clark was out of his sight.
They went outside and Tak searched Officer Clark’s cruiser as Nathan and Amy rejoined them. A pump action Mossberg 12 gauge shotgun was locked in the vertical position in the middle of the front floorboard. In the trunk Clark had a suitcase packed full of his personal belongings, a large bag of dog food, a bag of dog supplies, a case of water, a cooler packed with food and a box of 20 double-aught buck shotgun shells. Clark had obviously been going somewhere; most likely leaving his department back in Bowling Green for good, the friends guessed. Next to his cruiser was what appeared to be a stolen older model sedan with several bullet holes in it and a screwdriver stuck in the ignition. They checked the trunk and found a ghostly pale young lady there; her hands bound behind her back and duct tape around her mouth and nose. She couldn’t have been out of her teenage years. Her clothes had been mostly ripped off and a trail of dried blood ran from her crotch down past her knees. Tak checked her pulse and it confirmed what he already knew... she was dead. It seemed like she had suffocated, but they couldn’t be sure just then. They didn’t know the story of what had happened with the criminals and Officer Clark. Tak unlocked the shotgun with the keys Clark had given him and took it. He checked the action and verified that it was fully loaded. They took the supplies in the trunk to their RV and Tak wrote a note explaining who they were and what had happened. He put it on Officer Clark’s chest and put him in the rear of his squad car and clipped the keys back to his belt. He left his phone number in case they ever worked again, and gave the name and address of a friend of his at the Marion Illinois National Guard armory who could contact him on the radio in case anyone had any questions in the future when this situation was investigated. He doubted that would ever even happen. He could only hope that Officer Clark’s and the dead woman’s friends and families would someday learn the truth of what had happened to them. They deserved better than this, but the friends didn’t have time to go off on those side journeys right now. They turned and went back to their RV, which now carried four passengers.
CHAPTER 4: SARAH VADE
B eautiful Sarah Vade sang and played her guitar masterfully. Raised as a nomadic gypsy, she had given Vegas a try for a few years, but just never gotten the lucky break she’d needed to make it to the big time, and it was not for lack of ability. Now in her early 30’s, she had grown more gorgeous with each passing year. Her deep ebony eyes matched her raven black hair, which hung down just to the top of her ample cleavage. She wore a dark red V-neck t-shirt with a pair of cut-off jean shorts and black and white Converse All-star shoes. Each of her lithe fingers wore a different ring on them; each with some special meaning to her. She wore a red bandana in her hair, which seemed to highlight her perfectly proportioned facial features. Her skin showed the bronze tan of many hours spent in the sun.
Currently she played at a rest area just north of Nashville Tennessee for an audience of just two. Charlie and Rosa Hamilton had been heading north in their packed red sedan, trying to get away from the city of Nashville out to the relative safety of a friend’s house in the countryside. The mid-50’s couple had pulled in for a bathroom break and had emerged to find Sarah playing on a bench just outside the exit. Her strumming and angelic voice was mesmerizing. She was playing a romantic old melody, “Killing Me Softly”. As she sang she met eyes with the couple, nodded and smiled warmly, which revealed her perfectly straight and white teeth. She was a vision of warmth and beauty who made the couple feel welcome to sit down at the table across from her and enjoy the performance. The chords of the melody drifted up from her worn wooden guitar as she sang and played each note with heartbreaking beauty;
♪ Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song ♪
Hers was the voice of an angel; every note was perfect and heartbreaking… the Hamiltons wondered if this woman before them was famous and perhaps they just hadn’t heard of her. They read the professionally painted cursive writing on the body of her guitar, “Sarah Vade”. “Wow, she’s amazing”, Rosa whispered to Charlie as Sarah continued.
♪ I heard he sang a good song
I heard he had a style
And so I c
ame to see him to listen for a while
And there he was this young boy, a stranger to my eyes… ♪
They were mesmerized by the enchanting performance. Charlie squeezed his wife’s hand as he whispered back with tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat, “Ya, she’s really somethin’. I love ya babe.” He closed his eyes and was taken back in time to his younger years. Thoughts of when he first fell in love with Rosa filled his mind, and he was overcome with emotion as he reminisced.
Such was the enchanting power of Sarah Vade. Suddenly a flash of silver flew through the space from Sarah’s left hand to Charlie’s throat. A dark crimson spray covered Rosa’s face and chest. She looked over at Charlie; both of them unsure of what had just happened. The music had stopped and Sarah was watching them in amusement with a bloody pearl handled straight razor now resting in her left hand. Charlie reached up to feel his throat with both hands only to realize that his carotid arteries and larynx had been neatly sliced in two. As he fell backward to the ground with blood spurting from his neck to the rhythm of his heartbeat, Rosa ran to her husband’s aid, trying futily to stop the fountain coming out of his neck with her hands. Sarah stood from the table and nonchalantly walked around behind her. She grabbed the back of Rosa’s hair and jerked her head back as she ripped the blade across her throat from right to left. Rosa’s sobs for her husband turned into a gurgling, bubbling noise as Sarah dropped her down on top of Charlie, where their blood mixed together as they lay in their final embrace. She spoke in her slow, sweet southern voice, “Ya’ll really shouldn’t interrupt while I’m playin.” She wiped the bloody blade on the outer right sleeve of her dark red t-shirt, and the stain was hardly noticeable next to several other’s there just like it. Sarah closed and slid the straight razor back in its concealed leather sleeve on the back of the neck of her guitar. She fished the car keys from Charlie’s pocket and took off in their sedan… in her new red sedan.
ROAD TRIP THROUGH THE APOCALYPSE Page 2
