by Ryan Schow
“What about the motorcycle?” Constanza asked.
“Won’t ride four, so we don’t take it,” Colt said. “I want us all together.”
“What if we get the new battery but the car won’t start?” Faith asked.
“That’s where prayer matters,” Constanza said.
“Exactly,” Colt replied.
“Where’s this car you found?” Faith asked.
“Half a mile up the street.”
“How does your face feel?” she asked, touching him lightly.
He flinched, unwilling to really discuss it. “It hurts like a son of a biscuit,” he said. “The last I checked, there’s a healthy swelling, but it doesn’t feel infected.”
Faith looked at it closer, studying the damage. She ran her fingers over the ragged flesh. Finally, she withdrew her hand and asked, “What kind of car is it?”
“El Camino, old as hell,” he said, clearing his throat. “Can I have that apple?” Faith handed him the apple. He gave it a solid polishing. “I’m pretty sure it’s late fifties, early sixties.”
He took a big bite of the fruit then handed it back to Faith. She took a bite as well, then handed it to Constanza.
“Community apple,” he said.
“So you found the car then?” Faith said. “Because seeing it and finding it doesn’t mean we can just get to it.”
With a knowing look, he held up the keys, gave them a dangle.
“You stole it?” Faith asked.
“Well, I intended to steal the whole car, but instead all I took were these dainty little commemorative keys.”
“What about the power problem?” Constanza asked.
“The EMP?” he asked.
She nodded. “Do you think it did something to the El Camino?”
“That’s why I didn’t come back here bragging about getting a Camry,” he said. “I was looking for really, really old. Something that won’t be affected by the pulse.”
“So what happened?” Faith asked. “How did you get it?”
“It hurts to talk, Faith,” he said.
“Who did you steal it from?” Constanza asked.
He turned to Constanza, looked at the beautiful girl, and wondered what Rowan was thinking right now. He had to be missing her like crazy. He drew a deep breath, then let it out and said, “Some guy who’s asleep in his bed.”
“How asleep?” Faith asked.
Rose started to cry; Constanza pulled her close, rocked her and shushed her. “It’s okay, sweet child. We’re okay.” She kissed her little forehead, adjusted the infant’s beanie.
Colt watched tears form in Constanza’s eyes. These were scared tears. Helpless tears.
Looking back at Faith, he said, “Not forever asleep. Good Lord, Faith. I’m not going to just kill someone over a stupid car.”
“Right now that car’s our life,” Faith said. “I’d expect that if you needed to do something like that you would. And you have, which is why I asked.”
“Well, if we get there and he becomes a problem, I’ll put a bullet in his head right here,” he said, taking his finger and poking her in the forehead, right between the eyes.
She swatted his hand away, then leaned forward and said, “If you want to poke me, Colt, try it in private next time and maybe I’ll say ‘yes.’”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, beaming.
Colt had hoped the good news would lift her spirits. Seeing her playfulness confirmed he’d done just that. Grinning, he felt the pull on his scabbed flesh, which caused him to temper his smile so as not to tear the new skin any more than he’d done already.
Chapter Eleven
Colt McDaniel
Colt did not want to leave Faith behind to get a car, and Faith didn’t want to leave Constanza behind to go with Colt, but Constanza said she was a big girl and she’d do just fine while they were gone.
“We won’t be gone long,” Colt said. “Unless we run into trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” Constanza asked.
“Car trouble, mostly,” Colt said. “If this beast doesn’t start, we’ll have to find another alternative. I personally think the El Camino’s problem is the battery, but if not, we’ll have to go to Plan B.”
“Which is?” Constanza asked. She was gently rocking Rose, who hadn’t cried much during the night, but was getting fussy enough to maybe start then.
“I’m just praying Plan A will work and we won’t need a Plan B, because at this point, everything needs a Plan B, a Plan C, everything from here to a Plan Z lately.”
“Let’s stay focused on what can go right, not what has gone wrong,” Faith said, trying to stay positive, which Colt appreciated.
They both hugged Constanza, then asked again if she’d be okay before they left to get the El Camino.
“I’m fine,” Constanza said. “Seriously.”
On the way to the residence where the El Camino was located, Colt and Faith went from car to car—where it was safe—looking for a battery that might fit the El Camino. It wasn’t long before Faith found one and Colt confirmed that would work.
Rather than getting the battery from a car, they managed to find one inside an old RV parked outside a not-so-nice looking home. The vehicle looked like a backyard-mechanic special, like maybe someone pulled the battery from a car to work in an RV before the EMP hit. Colt used the sockets he’d taken from the house where he found the El Camino, then removed the bolts and the metal housing. He was praying the battery wasn’t leaky or too old.
Before he could check, an older man with wild, white hair stepped out of the house with a bat and a bad attitude. “You need to step away from the RV or we’re going to do the kind of dance that leaves your old lady widowed.”
“Who are you calling old?” Faith asked.
Colt sat the tools down, picked up the gun he’d set beside him, then said, “Do you really want to die over a battery?”
This gave the man pause.
“Look at me, man,” Colt said, highlighting the trail up the side of his face where the bullet had cut a clean line. “Does it look like putting a bullet in a stranger is something that bears a second’s consideration?”
The man shook his head, lowered his bat, then turned around. He went back inside without another word. Colt handed the gun to Faith and said, “If he comes out again, armed or otherwise, shoot him.”
“What if he’s bringing us milk and cookies?” she challenged.
“Don’t get blood on the cookies.”
When he managed to wrestle the battery out of the engine bay, he looked it over and said, “This should do fine.”
While walking away, Colt checked over his shoulder more than a few times, his eye on the RV man’s front door.
“You never know what people are going to do these days,” he said. “It’s not uncommon for smart people to make stupid decisions in times of great pressure. It’s also possible for good people to commit the foulest of deeds thinking they’re doing it for the right reasons. You’ve seen what we’ve done, what we’re capable of, and we’re good people.”
“We’ve definitely made mistakes,” she said. “Some bigger than others.”
“Well, we’re human, and anyone who thinks smart people won’t do dumb things here and there under the weight of all of this is either inexperienced in life or truly foolish.”
“Says the guy humping a stolen battery down the street,” Faith joked.
They had only gone a few blocks when Colt sensed trouble. He cast a glance over his shoulder, saw they were being followed by a man who was trying to look innocent but put off vibes that were anything but that.
“I think we may have an issue,” he said to Faith. “Don’t look now, but we’ve got a bogey on our six.”
She perked up with a spot of fear. “There are people out and about, Colt. Maybe he just happens to be heading in the same direction as us?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” he asked.
“I’m just saying it’s pos
sible.”
“Perhaps.”
“How are we on ammo?” she asked.
“I guess that all depends on the threat,” he said, cryptic.
“Meaning?”
“At the base level, true warriors would say, if there are two of us and we have at least two bullets, we’re okay.”
“A bullet for each of us if things get too bad?” she asked.
“I always knew you were smart,” he smiled, glancing over his shoulder again and seeing the man watching them.
The creeper had cut the distance between them in half.
Colt’s worry elevated.
What he was reluctant to tell Faith was that he was a little nervous about what little ammo he had. He was also nervous about Faith. She didn’t exactly blend in.
“So how are we on ammo?” she asked again.
“Not good, Faith. Which means if we have to use it, we have to be convincing or we need to be strategic in who we take out.”
“Excuse me!” the man behind them said.
“Dammit,” Colt muttered under his breath. He put the battery down, then turned around and pulled his gun out of the inside of his jacket. He then spoke to the man in the kind of tone smart people run from. “No offense, brother, but I’m a little jumpy right now so it would be best if you don’t get too close.”
The guy was dressed in uncomfortable looking clothes with uneasy eyes. It was like he stole clothes and shoes from three different men, then took a few too many tabs of acid before deciding to go out and make friends in the apocalypse.
The guy licked his lips, looking a little too long at Faith. “You look like you’re on a mission and I’m just wondering what that mission is.”
Colt held the gun at his side, finger on the trigger guard. “I’m taking an old car, and after that, my wife and I are skipping town.”
“I like that idea,” he purred.
“Yeah, and why’s that?” Colt asked.
“Interactions like this,” he grinned. “Watching her go is about as calming a thing as I’ve seen since all this kicked off.”
“If you’ll excuse us,” Colt said, “we need to get going.”
The guy was like a Cheshire cat as he looked Faith up and down. Colt was annoyed. It was like he was being disrespectful for the sake of being disrespectful.
“How’s your aim?” the guy asked.
This guy could be fifty, or a hard forty. His hands looked used, like he had the rough touch if needed. If pushed to guess the man’s weight, Colt might put him at around one-eighty, maybe even one-ninety. He could take him on his feet, save the rounds for later.
“His aim is just fine,” Faith said, seemingly bothered that the man wasn’t taking them seriously.
“If his aim is good,” he said to Faith, “is his heart so dark that he could put a stranger down with nothing but a worry?” He actually put his hands over his heart, as if he was a saint and not some nuisance stalking them through the streets.
“Survival of the fittest isn’t about dark hearts or the idea of right and wrong,” Colt said. “Morality doesn’t enter into this equation.”
Looking at Faith, the cretin smiled bright, then tilted his head sideways. “Awww…that’s some philosopher you have there.”
“Shoot him if you want,” Faith said to Colt. To the guy, she said, “It would be best for you to stop following us.”
“What if I like following you?” he asked, his eyes now taking on a new kind of shine.
“Don’t do that, man,” Colt said.
“You can’t stop the nature of man, brother. God gave us instincts that lawyers and judges tried to take away with silly laws and unjust rules, but I’ll tell you what, this don’t change nothing. Not the loss of power, the lack of law enforcement, the fears of men over the fate of their wives. You don’t own her, fella. She’s her own woman, free to do what she wants with who she wants.”
“Let’s go,” Faith said.
Colt slid the gun back inside his jacket, picked up the battery, and they started walking again. He heard the man’s footfalls behind him. Irritated, he turned to the man who was still following them and said, “The only thing stopping me from ventilating your skull is the tiniest little thread of humanity. You’re about to snap that thread in half.”
He did a little dance and twirl, waving his hands around and making a face like he was scared. “Oh baby, I’m sh-sh-shaking in my boots.”
Faith asked, “Why are you following us? We don’t have anything, we can’t do anything for you, and you’re not man enough to do anything but keep your distance.”
Shifting the battery to one hand, Colt grabbed her by the arm with the other and pulled her along. “Let’s keep going. Forget him.”
“I like walking behind her,” the guy said, still on their six.
Faith broke free of Colt’s grip, spun around, and all but charged the man. Getting up in his face, she said, “Take a good look, Mister. Really let it soak in.”
Colt sat the battery down, hustled back to his wife. “Faith, forget him.”
“She can’t forget me, bro,” he sneered. “That’s why she left you to flirt with me.”
“That’s not flirting,” Faith hissed.
He gave her a slight sniff, then said, “I’m unforgettable, but baby so are you.”
“Faith, I’m not kidding,” Colt said, getting really pissed off at her for taking the man’s bait. Not only was it stupid, it was dangerous.
“My heart burns with envy for you,” the creep taunted. “This firecracker of a little lady you have is something else. Kinda stirs the loins, really gets that cauldron boiling.”
This time when he grabbed Faith, he did something he’d never done before. He tightened his grip and started to pull.
“Ow,” she said.
“I’m done playing,” Colt snapped. Looking in the guy’s eyes, hotter than Hades, he said, “We’re going to keep walking, and I’m going to count to thirty. When I turn around, if you’re still there, I’m going to shoot you right here.” He poked the man’s head with force.
“Fair enough,” he said, standing back and putting his hands in the air. Then, to Faith, he said, “Just so you know, I’m going to watch you walk until Mr. Party-Pooper here hits twenty-eight. Then I’m going to run, so walk slowly please.”
She shook her head and said, “Even in the apocalypse.”
He grinned that Cheshire cat grin again, nodding his head. “Hell yes. Even in the apocalypse.”
As they started walking, Faith said, “You’re not going to waste a round on that guy are you?”
“I wasn’t at first, but after that crap you just pulled,” he said, “I’m most definitely going to waste a round.”
When he and Faith were not twenty feet up the street, a handful of men stepped out in the road in front of them. Colt wasn’t sure if they were Hayseed Rebellion or just a handful of opportunists. He stopped and said to Faith, “Back up, but keep your eyes on them.” He slipped her the gun and said, “You see a weapon come out, you shoot the guy taking it out.”
“You’re a better shot,” she said, pushing the gun back his way.
“I’m also a better fighter,” he said refusing the gun. “Take it and do what I say, Faith. This is the time to listen and do what I say.”
She took the gun.
Behind them, they heard that grating, familiar voice. “You counted to thirty, but I’m still here. Are you going to shoot me now?”
He looked over his shoulder, saw the scumbag who had been tracking them was now with five guys just like him. Ahead of them, there were six or seven men closing in. After a quick look, he counted seven.
“Two on twelve is hardly fair,” Colt muttered, his heart thundering in his chest, his hands balling into fists. Faith had never been in a fistfight before, but she was about to be in the fight of her life.
“Whatever you need,” Colt called out to the two groups, “unless it’s an old battery or a gun that’s going to be without rounds i
n no time flat, we don’t have it.”
“Surely you have something,” one of the men from the gang of seven said.
Colt took the gun from Faith and said, “Unless you want a mouthy blonde telling you where to stick your head, whatever the price you’ll have to pay won’t be worth it.”
“I want that mouthy blonde,” the scumbag who’d been stalking them said from behind.
“You have two things,” the head of the seven said. “You have a dozen men closing in on you. You have a good-looking woman in tough times. And you have a gun that surely has less than a dozen rounds in it, which means when you’re done shooting, there will still be more of us than you have bullets.”
These men carried bats, a tire iron, other improvised weapons. One of the guys suddenly stepped out of line of the others and threw a fastball right at Faith. The baseball hit her in the abdomen, folding her over with a pained oof.
The big man with the bat charged them. Aiming for center mass, Colt fired, hitting him slightly off center. To the right, the baseball guy wound up again, threw a fastball at Colt. He ducked but couldn’t move fast enough. He took a glancing blow to the side of the head, staggered a bit, then turned with the momentum and managed to shoot the creeper with the wandering eyes right in the cheek. He’d been aiming for his chest, but the shot hit, so he wasn’t upset. The stalker fell to his knees, gulping for air.
Grabbing Faith as best as he could, he pulled her close. Another baseball drilled him in the arm, making it numb. By the time he could self-correct, the entire mob attacked. Colt shot the biggest of the men first, but before he knew it, he’d run the mag dry. Another baseball hit him in the chest, followed by the final surge.
He punched several of the guys, but they punched him more. Backing up into more bodies, he heard the screaming sounds of Faith being grabbed by several men. She raked one of their faces with her nails, kneed one in the nuts. There were too many of them. They had a hold of her and were trying to drag her off.
He turned and grabbed her jacket, but someone cracked him in the back of the head, and then a big fist swung around and hammered him in the jaw. He felt his face open up where he’d been shot, but he was already a beat behind everything. Fists crushed his ribs, sunk into his stomach, made mince-meat of his already damaged face. The bodies then moved back, parting actually. He saw the baseball guy winding up.
