Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors (12 page)

A furry mass burst from the growth and swept across the trail enfolding Chewy within its mass. The two beasts disappeared into the reeds and weeds of the overgrown field. Vicious barks and ferocious growls from both made Jerry nervous.

The rage of the Super Smart Bears was evident in their roar. It was tremendous and it reverberated through the brush as if amplified. The roar swallowed Chewy’s growls and barks.

The warrior rushed into the tall grass shoving stalks aside with the barrel of the shotgun. “Chewy!”

Large shocks of growth rustled around him as the two creatures wrestled unseen. He began ripping handfuls of grass in a desperate attempt to find his friend.

“Chewy! Come here!” He stepped left, then right, trying to locate the ever-moving struggle. The thought of losing the motor coach worried him. The thought of losing his best friend terrified him.

With reckless abandon, he chased after each crash and shuttering patch of growth.

Then the roaring stopped. The crashing faded. The grass in front of him rustled.

With trembling arms, he gripped the shotgun tight. Gasping for breath, he tried to see through the reeds. He tried to determine what was shadow and what was animal. Something moved.

A mass of brown fur burst from the bushes and rushed towards him. Despite being a massive dog, there was no mistaking her for a bear. Chewy appeared to be smiling as blood dripped from her muzzle. Her tail whipped back and forth as she trotted, knowing that she had done well.

The grass behind her was still.

“Chewy,” he rushed forward to embrace the dog. She licked at his hands and face. He pushed her away, “Gross, dog. Sit.”

Chewy obeyed as he pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood and dog slobber from his face and hands.

“What kind of post-apocalyptic nomadic warrior carries a hanky?” Erica stood behind him, her rifle aimed at the wall of brush.

“The kind that used to be a boy scout.” He placed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “Besides, you have no idea how much this dog drools. She gets it on the steering wheel and you could be in the ditch in a split second.”

She looked around. “What do you think happened?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Chewy ate the bear.”

She snuffed. “Don’t you think it’s a little stupid to keep going?”

“What do you mean? We’ve got Chewy.” He scratched the dog behind the ears.

“Let me rephrase that. Don’t you think you’re a little stupid to keep going?”

“To travel without the truck would be suicide.”

“And this isn’t?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m less worried now than I was before.”

“Well, that answers my question. You are stupid.”

“Hardly. Odds are in our favor now. Every single time we’ve run into a Super Smart Bear, everything has been okay.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“That makes less sense.”

“Look, Super Smart Bears are feared for their aggressiveness. I always heard that once provoked they were all but unstoppable. That apparently isn’t the case.”

“It’s still crazy. Surely there’s more than one.”

“I don’t doubt it. Now they know that we’re coming. And, if they’re so smart, they’re waiting right at the end of the trail.”

“You’re not selling me on this idea.”

“They can wait at the end. We’ve got a new trail to follow.” He pulled back the reeds in front of him. Bright crimson marked the path of the fleeing bear.

TWELVE

Logan had left the children pulling apart strands of cable. He had made a joke about tetanus that they didn’t understand, and went to find the town’s gadget man.

The mayor had not described him. No one had told him the man’s name. Regardless, Logan knew whom to look for. Whether he was tall or short, the man would be round and a little grizzled. The man in charge of keeping the town running would have a lame sense of humor and a personality that many tolerated only because he maintained the machinery and invented things that the people needed most: water pumps, steam engines, and more. If not for these vital skills, the gadget man of any post-apocalyptic town would be friendless and, more than likely, left in the wilderness.

Logan found Carl Parker chatting to several men. Each had one foot out of the conversation waiting for the short round man to take a breath so they could excuse themselves. They had been waiting for a while.

Carl was regaling them with a series of jokes about the difference between men and women when Logan interrupted.

“Are you the gadget man?”

Carl turned to Logan and smiled.

The crowd scattered, each tossing a weak excuse over the shoulder as they moved away. The men split. Each went a separate direction as if they were being pursued by an axe murderer or the forces of the undead and were trying to lose their hunters.

“Howdy, stranger. Do you know the difference between men and women?”

Logan did and the answer was, “Vaginas.”

“Well, yeah but that’s …”

“Are you the gadget man?”

Carl’s round face lit up, he stood a little taller, which wasn’t much because he was barely five foot five. “Around here they call me the Gadgeteer.”

Carl pulled a four-pound sledge from his belt and held it triumphantly above his head. His grease rag rippled like a cape from his back pocket.

“The Gadgeteer. Really?”

“No,” Carl sheathed the sledge, dug the oily rag out of his pocket and began to wipe his hands and forehead. Nothing was wiped away; the rag just added grease to his hands and forehead. “I’ve asked them to. They say the decision is stuck in committee. But, if you’re asking if I’m the one who keeps this town running, well, yes, that’s me. Mechanic, electrician, plumber, engineer, and umpire for the New Hope kickball league.”

Pivoting like a Weeble, he turned and began to walk across Town Square. Motioning with the oily rag, his tone changed from one of pride to one that was much more bitchy.

Logan followed.

“Yeah, I’m the gadget man, not that you’d know it if you looked in my shop. I don’t have two wrenches to turn together. And the people they send me …” Carl shook his head. “Everyone is sent in rotation, so just the time I’ve got them trained, they leave.”

They reached the open hood of a small blue and white pickup. Carl pulled a wrench from his tool belt and buried his head in the engine compartment.

“I tell you, that Murphy is a sonofabitch.”

“Which one was Murphy?”

Carl laughed loud and hard at Logan’s remark. It was an irritating laugh that sounded like it belonged in the front row of a laugh track. Still, the mechanic was genuine. The round man reached up and slapped Logan on the shoulder with an oil-covered hand.

“No, Murphy the lawyer.”

Logan’s confusion showed on his face.

“My friend, I’m talking about Murphy’s Law that says shit’s gonna happen.”

Logan nodded. This was the town’s gadget man. He took another greasy slap on the shoulder, and watched Carl dive back under the hood to tend to the pickup’s engine.

Metal clattered, tools clanged, but there was no end to the chatting. Carl continued the conversation with Logan, while simultaneously cursing the engine.

“So, now you know who I am … sonofabitch … stranger. And, I know who you are … little turd. You’re the … mother humper … man who’s gonna save New Hope … you bastard. The man with the Mustang.”

For a moment Logan considered closing the hood and walking away. But he needed this man’s help. “I’m going to do my best.”

“And, I’m guessing … little beggar … that you’re going to need something from me … filthy whore.”

“I can come back.”

Carl’s head popped out of the truck’s hood, somehow even dirtier. “Why?”

“You seem to be busy.”

“No, it’s all right. Keep talking. I’ve just got a nut stuck.”

Before Logan could continue, Carl reached out and slapped him again as he began to laugh.
 

“Sounds like a personal problem! Right?”

Logan could only nod and hope that the mechanic would stick his head back in the truck.

“I know, I know, TMI, TMI, too much information,” Carl laughed again and attacked the nut with more vigor. The truck shook, the laughter echoed in the compartment.

“You’re right,” Logan tried to talk over the laughing, swearing, and clanging. “I need your help reinforcing the gate.”

“Well, I only designed it to keep the animals out. We can … crap … always weld some more steel on it … rat bastard. Put a few more inches between us … that’s what she said … and the bad guys, dammit.”

“I had another idea.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that … little bitch?”

Logan knocked on the hood, “I hope that was directed at your nuts.”

Carl emerged again, “Come again?”

“That comment.”

Carl didn’t look any brighter when he was confused. He replayed the conversation in his head and it dawned on him, “Oh, no no no, no, no. Yes, I was swearing at my nuts.”

Logan shook his head, knowing what to expect.

Carl slapped him on the arm—Logan thought he might be starting to bruise—and laughed louder than before. It took him a moment to catch his breath, and still, he chuckled.

“TMI! TMI! Huh? Ha-ha. What’s your idea?”

“I came across an old cement truck, maybe ten miles down the road. It had a hardened load in the back …”

Carl smiled and was about to speak. Logan hurried on before the mechanic could interrupt.

“A little plating and it would make solid gate … if you could get it running.”

“When you said hardened load, I was going to say …”

Logan held up his hand. Carl stopped. Logan smiled and said, “If we go right now, I’ll even call you Gadgeteer.”

Carl smiled, pulled the sledge from his belt and began tapping it in the palm of his hand. “Let’s go get her.”

Across the plains and down a hill, they followed the trail of blood left behind by the super intelligent bear to a tree line.

It had made no attempt to cover its tracks as it fled back to its home. The trio dashed through the brush following snapped reeds and the crimson drops.

The nomad held the shotgun high, ready to fire at the first sight of fur. So far, they had encountered no other bears on the trail.

The growth had led to the edge of a forest. He peered into the trees and saw no movement, but he did see his motor coach. The Silver Lining rocked back and forth.