by Ryan Schow
“What about them?” Isaiah asked, pulling out of there.
“They’re attacking anyone and everyone at this point,” the kid said. “We need to stay off the main roads.”
“You obviously don’t know who you’re catching a ride with,” Marley said.
The boy looked at the man with him, a man old enough and similar-looking enough to be his father. The two of them looked back at Marley.
“Those guys are bumper bait to people like us,” Marley said.
The older man said, “You can’t just run them over. They’re human, too.”
Marley and Isaiah broke into laughter at the same time, causing the remaining passengers—including Adi—to look at them funny.
“That’s not right,” the older man said.
“Neither is making us stand in cages together, telling us we’ll get food, showers, and safety while getting none of that.”
“They kept their promise,” the man said. “We weren’t harmed.”
Tell that to my power-washed colon, he thought. Isaiah pulled to the side of the road and stopped the vehicle. “Get out,” he said.
“What?” the father and son asked in unison.
“Take your Stockholm Syndrome BS and get the hell out. There’s no room for apologists and pansies here. GET OUT!”
Instead of dragging them from the rig by their nutsacks, he handed his AK-47 to Marley and said, “If they’re not out in three seconds, turn ‘em into meat soup.”
Marley took the submachine gun, pulled the charging handle—making that sound—then pointed it at the son. “You wear his brains before the street wears yours,” she said.
The two men got out quickly, cursing them all the way. Marley handed the weapon back to Isaiah, then leaned over and pulled the door closed. Isaiah took his foot off the brake and they continued on, picking up speed where they could, moving around—and sometimes through—other vehicles when it was necessary.
Kennicot was the first to break the silence. “Did you really have to kick them out?” she asked.
“If you don’t know the answer to that question, you’re probably going to starve to death or be killed.”
“I feel like I’ve already starved to death and died,” Adi said.
“Same here,” Marley said.
The COVID center’s pig-slop meals had only come for a few more days before the guards said they ran out of “food.” People didn’t believe them, but then the guard staff appeared to shrink a little at a time. Then the guards pulled their “shower privileges,” revoking them without explanation.
“When we lose our humanity,” Kennicot said, “we’ve lost everything.”
“Shut up, Althea,” Isaiah said.
“Yeah, you sound like you’re on the pulpit,” Marley said. “We’re not voters, so seriously, just do as Isaiah says and shut up.”
Isaiah found a canteen, shook it, then said, “There’s some water. Althea, give it a sniff, see if its fresh.”
She opened the cap, smelled it, then smelled it again. She handed it to Isaiah and said, “You give it a try. I haven’t been able to smell to my fullest since my nose job.”
“Which one?” Marley muttered under her breath.
“The second one,” she answered, unashamed.
Isaiah took a sniff, then a sip, and then he smacked his lips like he was trying to pull the taste from such a small sample.
“I think it’s good,” he said. “Let’s split it evenly.”
Kennicot went first, handed the canteen to Isaiah—who took the sip—and then he handed it to Marley because he didn’t trust the kid not to finish it off and leave Marley with nothing.
“Why are we going to D.C. again?” Marley asked.
“We’re going back to where you and I went, where you did that thing to that guy with my…you-know-what.”
He was referring to Marley’s murder of Farol Walsh.
“Why there?” she asked.
“We’re getting out of town, heading west, but they have food, supplies, some weapons, and a couple of guys who would kill to make this trip with us.”
“Where are we going?” Kennicot asked.
“I already told you we’re heading to West Virginia,” Isaiah said. “The better question is, why are we going to West Virginia?”
“Okay, fine,” Kennicot said, her lips so dry they were splitting. “Why are we going to West Virginia?”
“I’ll tell you if we actually make it out of town,” Isaiah said.
They navigated their way through traffic, avoided some Hayseed Rebellion, then plowed through a crowd of about forty of these maggots who refused to move. They took ample fire, but then one of these kids got stuck under the rear wheel until he…came apart and was kicked out the back.
All in all, it was about what Isaiah had planned on, but not what he’d hoped for. Any time they encountered the HR, they ran the risk that those bought-and-paid-for Muppets would finally grow a collective brain and do more than just stand there like pins in a bowling alley. Then again, using that same analogy, Isaiah didn’t mind being the bowling ball that smashed the pins into the ball pit.
When they arrived at the familiar alleyway, he took the AK-47, told everyone to sit tight, then went inside. He was gone a long time, long enough for them to start worrying—he imagined—but when he emerged into the daylight with a bundle of goodies, he saw the relief on their faces.
He opened the Humvee’s door, shoved the supplies inside the vehicle.
“Where are the others?” Kennicot asked.
Was she was referring to the other guys?
Adi was busy opening a pepperoni stick because he was that hungry. He got his open, took two bites, then offered it to Marley, who seemed impressed that he’d share while being so hungry.
“I thought you were going to gobble that whole thing down on your own,” she said as she took a bite and passed it up to Kennicot.
“I wanted to,” he said. He pulled out another, grinned, then said, “But wait…there’s more!”
For the first time, the kid didn’t sound so despondent. They all laughed because he sounded like a German boy imitating an American infomercial. Isaiah felt the odd humor was a result of the nightmare they just escaped.
He didn’t want to get close to the kid, or Marley. He never knew when he’d have to offload one or both of them, but it was bound to happen.
After dropping off the first load of loot, Isaiah headed back inside the militia HQ he knew too well. The smell of blood and death was still thick in the air. He walked past all the guys who were shot to death and lying dead all over the place.
The inside of this building had been set up like a clubhouse, the former business shuttered due to COVID lockdowns. His friend’s grandfather had owned the place and told them they could meet there until the economy opened back up. They never expected the lockdowns to last so long, or in most states, never really end.
Throughout the downturn the makeshift militia had amassed provisions. Much of those same provisions had been stolen by whatever pack of scumbags came in and shot them and the place up last night. He walked by his dead friend, trying to stay calm, to breathe. No matter how hard he’d mentally planned for this, seeing the carnage laid out before him was almost too much.
He found a hammer in the back room, then used it to smash the porcelain toilet tank lids. The lids were affixed to the tanks using an excess of silicon gel. Hiding loot in a toilet tank was obvious, so instead of just leaving the toilets be, the guys had stretched big yellow crosses of caution tape across the tops of the lids. Whoever hit the place had pulled one of the lids open in the raid. There was a big splash of vomit nearby. He laughed to himself. The trap had worked. If he peeked inside the toilet bowl, he’d see turd decay and piss-rich water.
Inside the last two tanks, the rest of the toilet water had been drained and there were several go-bags containing a little bit of money, a Glock 19 with an extra mag, a travel bottle of ibuprofen, medical supplies, toilet paper squa
res, some food, water pouches, a wrap of paracord, and a siphoning straw for starters. There were other smaller things in some of the other bags as well, but that was about it. In all, there were five go-bags, which was barely enough for them to get the three-hundred-and-fifty miles they needed to go to hit the rendezvous point in Charleston, West Virginia. Still, he was glad to have them.
As he walked past his dead friends he’d come to know over the last eight months, he said, “Don’t worry, fellas. I’ll push this boulder uphill for all of us.”
He walked outside, saw a couple of guys approaching the Humvee. He broke into a low trot heading for the vehicle and Kennicot. One of the guys was looking in the front windshield, grinning like he was going to get them. Below the line of the hood, where Kennicot and Marley couldn’t see what he was doing, the goon pulled out a gun. Isaiah saw what was happening. He dropped the go-bags, whipped out a pistol he had collected from one of the dead guys, then fired a rip of lead into the side of this clown.
This guy’s friend opened fire, but he was a lousy shot. Isaiah rushed the vehicle, dropped to his hands and knees, spotted the shooter’s feet just beside the tires on the other side of the Humvee. He put a couple of rounds into one of the ankles, blowing it apart. The guy stumbled back, his foot folded over and he fell. Isaiah shot at center mass, hitting him in the heart. When he counted the rounds spent, he got pissed off.
Standing up, he held back a flurry of curses. These idiots didn’t need to die; he didn’t need to kill them. But then they did something stupid, which was where the saying, “Do stupid things, win stupid prizes,” likely came from.
“Hope it was worth it, you morons,” he grumbled.
He went back for this dropped go-bags, cursing all the way to them, then all the way back to the Humvee. Inside the vehicle, he sat down and took a deep breath. Slowly, he let it out, trying to lower his blood pressure.
“Now, if we can just get the hell out of this city,” Isaiah said, “we’d be good to go.”
“Where exactly are we going again?” Kennicot asked.
“We’re not out yet,” Isaiah said. “But it’s gonna be a minute, so you might as well settle in for the long haul.”
“On these hard seats?” Kennicot scoffed.
“On these hard seats,” Isaiah said.
Chapter Ten
Colt McDaniel
After leaving Rowan’s and Constanza’s new home, Colt and Faith did what they could to protect Rose, and to keep her warm. They were all really worried about Rose, for her breathing had become a bit labored and her skin felt a little cool. Fortunately, they’d all managed to bundle up before escaping, but they didn’t take much else with them when they fled.
“We need a place to stay the night, Colt,” Faith said, shivering. “It’s too cold out here.”
“I know,” he said, pushing the motorcycle.
When they got to a few buildings that offered promise, Colt found a safe place to stash the motorcycle. Constanza said she was going to use the time to feed Rose; Faith wished him luck, told him to be careful, and gave him a longer kiss than normal. He didn’t say anything, but it felt like a last kiss, the kind where you didn’t know if your loved one was coming back or not.
This gave him pause, for he always expected to come back to her. But what if he didn’t? Mentally and emotionally, this instantly sent him down a completely different path, one where he had to do a complete U-turn if he didn’t want to salt his game.
“Don’t kiss me like that again,” he quietly said.
“What?” She asked. “Why not?”
“You’re kissing me like I’m not coming back,” Colt said low enough for only her to hear.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t want to have any regrets, in case…” she whispered, low so Constanza couldn’t hear them speaking.
He nodded in the dark, nothing left to say about the matter. Then: “I love you, Faith. That isn’t something you give more or less of. You get it all, and I feel like I have all of your love as well.”
“You do,” she said, hugging him.
“That’s why we’re stronger together than separately, but it’s also better than any last good-bye.”
“Okay,” she said.
“I’ll be careful,” Colt replied, kissing her.
When he set out into the night, he did so with his senses on high alert. He went from building to building until he found a way into the back door of one of the vacated office buildings. There was a broken glass panel he could reach through. He opened the door, slipped inside, then went from office to office looking first for squatters, and second for a suitable place to stay. Most of the doors were locked, but some weren’t.
At the top of the stairs, on the second floor, he opened a door to a small but largely empty office. It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold, either. Then again, with a heavy coat, gloves, and a beanie, he wasn’t sure exactly how cold it was. He was thinking about Rose. The fact that she was born early, and into this hellish world, concerned him greatly. He refused, however, to let these fears or concerns overwhelm him.
At the window, he had a good view of the parking lot below. Having eyes to the outside world was critical, which the office provided. The back door was the obvious entry point, so having a way to spot any possible intrusions ahead of time gave him confidence in the location.
Satisfied, he went back for the women, finding them cold but not any colder than they were a little less than an hour ago when he left them.
“I found a place where we can get out of the elements. How’s Rose?”
“She’s good so far,” Constanza said. “A little cold, but she’s breathing okay.” It was too dark to read her expression, but he both heard and felt the concern in her voice.
“What about the motorcycle?” Faith asked.
He had wheeled it to the back lot of a boarded-up restaurant where he left it resting between a brick wall and the big, empty dumpster.
“I’ll tuck it in a little bit more,” he said, “but it should be fine. There’s really no reason for anyone to go back there.”
After getting the motorcycle situated, he and the women took shelter in the office building he’d located earlier.
The night got colder as it drew closer to morning, but as a group, they huddled together to keep the shared heat between them.
The next morning he woke up to Constanza crying. He had no idea how he managed to sleep, but what little sleep he did get clung to him, the weight and fatigue of these last few days never more apparent. In the end, Constanza’s sorrow won out, dragging him out of his slumber and into awareness.
She and Faith were talking. Did Rose die during the night? He sat up fast, then saw Faith consoling the girl. Rose, however, was bundled up tight and awake. The infant was watching her little fingers move. He let out the breath he was holding, then rubbed his eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Faith looked at him, her eyes wet as well.
“I can’t believe we’re just going to leave him here,” Constanza cried.
“He’s a strong man, and resourceful,” Faith said. “Plus he’s got the McDaniel blood in him.”
“Are you talking about Rowan?” Colt asked, sitting up.
Faith took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Yes.”
“I don’t know what that means, that he’s got McDaniel blood in him,” Constanza said.
“I truly believe that when he needs it, he’ll have a deep well of power,” Faith said. “Anyone on the other side of the McDaniel rage is in real danger.”
“He’s never been anything other than kind and caring to me,” she said, pulling her daughter closer. Rose started making little cooing sounds, her breathing regular despite the cold.
“That’s the same with Colt to me,” Faith said.
“He has it, too?”
“Yes.”
“Has he…I mean…have you seen it?”
“I’m right here, Constanza,” Colt said, yawning. “It’s okay t
o ask me these things.”
“I just…it seems like…I don’t want to be rude.”
“Colt is pretty open about things, so it’s not rude,” Faith said. Constanza glanced over at him for validation, which he gave her. Faith continued. “I’ve seen the McDaniels in action. I thought it would scare me at first, but it didn’t. In this nation, where we’ve never really seen war inside our borders, we’re used to these sweet, kind men who are good to us and protect us when we need it. But when things fall apart, it’s the natural cowards who turn into sniveling wimps who can’t even protect themselves, much less their women. But it’s the real men who turn into monsters when the time is right. Just remember, these are our monsters.”
Constanza wiped her eyes, but the sorrow in her face remained. Colt knew that Constanza loved Rowan, but to see her like this, to see how much he meant to her, that touched him in ways he didn’t expect. Looking at Rose, he saw her looking back at him. Her body went still as she studied his features. At that moment, he made that mental commitment to get all of them home safely, no matter the size of the struggle or the animals in the fight.
Faith turned to him and said, “Did you sleep at all?”
“A little,” he said.
“I had a dream you left us last night,” she said.
“Actually, I did. I waited until you were asleep, though. I didn’t want you to worry.”
She looked at him with raised eyebrows. From beside him, he pulled out a few things he’d found. He’d grabbed an apple, two meal bars, and a cheap bottled water that was likely unfiltered.
“Wow, you were serious,” Faith said. The two women were eyeing the food like it was the last food on earth. He handed the bars over, then he gave them the apple and the water.
“I don’t know whether I should be pissed off at you or grateful,” Faith said.
“Do I have a say in that?” he asked.
She opened the bar, took a bite, closed her eyes and grinned. “Grateful,” she said, offering him a bite.
“Good, because I found an old car, too. We just need a new battery, some gas, and a little divine intervention. If we get these things, we’ll have our ride home.”
