Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors (17 page)

But, after three hours on the road, sitting with the boys in the back, she was ready to jump out the door herself if she couldn’t persuade them to go first.

Trent shrugged off the comment about his manners and went back to looking out the window. His eyes had been glued to the road whenever they weren’t focused on her chest.

Alex leaned in and said something to his brother that she couldn’t hear and turned to her.

“He’ll try not to bother you. It’s just that you’re the first girl we’ve seen since our mom died.”

Erica looked away. His staring had made her uncomfortable, but her lack of empathy embarrassed her even more. The loss of her town, her family, had numbed her to the pain of others. There were few alive in the world that had not suffered loss. These boys may have suffered more than most. Not only had they lost their parents, they had been cut off from the world.

“Why didn’t you boys ask for help?”

Alex turned out the window. Sadness crept into his voice. “We did.”

“But, I’m sure that …”

Alex snapped back, “They didn’t. They told my dad that they couldn’t feed five more.”

It was Erica’s turn to look away. Ashamed, she wondered who would have turned a family away from Vita Nova. Tears filled her eyes as it dawned on her that had the family been welcome at Vita Nova, the boys would not have lost their parents.

They rode in silence for the next few miles before she could pull herself away from the passing scenery.

Austin, the youngest of the three bears, was looking at her. Even the bear costume was too big for him. He sat on the floor, his knees drawn to his chest. This forced the shoulders of the pelt higher. All she could see were the large brown eyes of the boy.

These eyes didn’t shy from her gaze. They held steady, not sure what to make of the woman.

“Do you like dogs?” Erica tried to introduce a calm into her voice that she just didn’t feel.

The young boy nodded and looked at Chewy.

“What’s your favorite thing about dogs?”

“They’re nice, and fun, and don’t try to eat you.”

Chewy sighed deep as the boy rubbed her chest.

“Did you have a dog? You know, before?”

Austin shook his head.

“Did you have any pets?”

The boy nodded.

“Fish.”

Erica felt a sense of accomplishment. The boy had said little since getting on the coach. Trying to make amends for her earlier coldness, she smiled big and asked, “What were their names?”

The boy looked puzzled, “Why would you name a fish?”

Now, Erica was puzzled. “I guess so you can talk to it?”

“What are you going to tell a fish?”

The boy had asked a better question than she wanted to admit. “Swim?” was all she could think to say.

The boy looked back at the dog and began to scratch behind her ears. “Yeah, but they already do that.”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s just fun to name your fish.”

“You’ve got a weird way of having fun, lady.”

Embarrassment returned, she dropped the conversation and went back to staring out the window.

“Alex! Look!” Trent shot upright and started tapping the window. His older brother turned and followed his gaze.

“It’s a McDonald’s, Alex!” The grin on his face was caused by unmistakable glee.

Alex nodded and a smile crept across his face. “Look, Austin. Remember McDonald’s?”

Austin did not respond; he stroked Chewy’s head with long slow strokes that ended on her back. The dog’s tail wagged on occasion, but deep sighs were the more obvious sign of her contentment.

Trent jumped from his seat and made his way to the cab holding the waistline of his borrowed pants to prevent them from falling. He worked against the rocking of the vehicle and stepped into the cockpit.

“Mister. Hey, dude,” he began to shout as he approached the driver seat. “We’ve got to pull over.”

“What’s wrong?” Jerry asked, assuming the worst.

“Nothing, you just gotta pull over.”

“Use the toilet in the back.”

“I don’t wanna pee. I wanna Happy Meal.” He thrust his arm across Jerry’s vision and pointed at the former fast food building.

Jerry ducked and weaved trying to see past the youth’s arm. The coach responded by diving and weaving across the road.

“Move your arm, kid!”

The swaying of the coach became more violent as Jerry struggled to see the road. Alex and Erica were rocked from the benches. Trent was thrown across the driver’s seat. Only Austin and Chewy remained unfazed.

Jerry slammed on the brakes—tossing everyone forward. “What is going on?” He pulled the boy back to his feet and jammed the shifter into park.

Trent ran to the back and burst through the door. Alex was close behind him, pausing only to tell Austin to “c’mon.” The youngest boy sat still in his bear suit, petting the dog.

Jerry scrambled after them and ran into the closing door of the coach. He bounced off the door and lost his balance. Grabbing wildly, his hands found the curtains. The rod snapped under his weight. He fell to the floor of the cabin and the curtains settled slowly over his face. Enshrouded in the fabric, he sat up and felt to see if his nose was bleeding. Somehow the impact had not brought forth any blood. He was a little unbalanced when he stood and rushed out the door and he fought the curtains the entire way.

Austin looked at Erica, “Now that was fun.”

Erica smiled back at the boy. “Yes. Yes, it was.”

Jerry caught the two boys as they stood in silence in front of the McDonald’s. The front of the building was intact, but the entire rear wall was a pile of rubble and rebar. Looking through the windows, they could see through to the barren landscape behind it.

“I’m sorry, boys. You didn’t expect it to be open, did you?”

Trent didn’t say anything.

Alex answered, “No, but it would have been cool to get one more Happy Meal toy. C’mon, Trent.” The oldest boy turned and headed back to the coach.

Trent looked up at the nomad, this man who said he had been all over the country. What had he seen? Had he seen anything at all? “It’s really all gone. Isn’t it?”

Jerry placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “A lot has changed. There isn’t much left of the world we knew. But, there are people out there. Good people. And, when good people get together, good things happen. The world may seem lost now, but in a few years things are going to start to change.”

He believed this. More than anything, Jerry had faith that mankind could make a better world than the one that mankind had blown up.

“Things are going to be good again, Trent. It may not be now, or five years from now, but soon.”

“So, I’ve got to wait five years for a fucking Happy Meal? Thanks, man. Good pep talk.” Trent shook the hand off of his shoulder and walked toward the McDonald’s.

Of all the kids, Jerry liked Trent the least. “I don’t know what to tell you then, kid. If it’ll help, I’ve got some juice boxes in the fridge.”

Trent’s eyes lit up, “You’ve got a fridge in there?”’

“Yes.” He had hoped for less whining, but Jerry had seemed to hit the mother lode of consolation prizes.

“No way!” Trent all but left an imprint of himself in the air as he ran back to the Silver Lining. His feet touched, only lightly, on the steps as he flew in to the cabin.

By the time Jerry had made it back to the coach, the boys were all taking turns opening and closing the miniature fridge door. Each would pop it open and stick their face into it, exhaling vast breaths, trying to watch a fog form in the air.

Jerry sat back down in the driver’s seat. Erica sat next to him, where there were no questions being asked about her boobs. “Wow.”

“I know,” Jerry pulled the lever into drive. “Just imagine when I tell them I have a TV back there.”

“You’ve got a TV back there?”

“Well, yeah, it’s …”

She wasn’t there. She had bounced quickly to the back and located the remote.

SEVENTEEN

Despite its rough appearance, the Mustang rode smoothly over the abandoned roads of post-apocalyptic Texas. The engine was loud and throaty, and as Logan shifted through the gears it was apparent that the drive train had been tenderly maintained.

“Okay, it’s fast.” Sarah, having abandoned looking stern, grinned broadly as eroded mile markers whizzed by. She had her hand out the window playing with the wind as the pony car muscled it way down the road.

Logan beamed, “I haven’t seen anything faster. Only motorcycles have given her a run for her money.”

“So why not drive a motorcycle, big bad warrior?”

“A motorcycle doesn’t offer much protection.”

“Protection from what? As long as you can ‘outrun trouble?’” She smiled as she mocked his earlier comment. The exhilarating ride had robbed her of the ability to frown.

“You can’t outrun the rain.”

“The rain?”

“In some parts, the rain will kill you faster than a mutant. Plenty of the junk from the war is still floating around. The rain brings it down.”

“We haven’t seen that here.”

“It’s out there. And, when it hits, you’ve just got to hunker down and ride it out. Sometimes it can last for days.”

“I think you’d want something bigger then. Something with some room.”

“Space would be great. But having the speed is more important.”

“I don’t know. There’s got to be a few motor homes lying around. That’s how I’d like to explore the new world.”

“You wouldn’t want one.”

“Why not?”

“When choosing a wasteland vehicle you want something right in the middle, like my car. It’s fast, not nearly as thirsty as a tank, and it’s built solid.” He punched the roof of the car. A dull thud responded. “That will keep the rain off and the mutants out.”

“I think you just like looking cool.”

“Well, there’s that too.” He smiled at her and she smiled back. Not from the rush of the drive but in a direct response to his flirtation.

“Besides,” he continued, “a motor home has its drawbacks.”

“Like what?”

EIGHTEEN

“What do you mean it’s stuck?” Erica shouted out the passenger window.

“I mean it’s stuck,” he shouted down from the roof. “If we try to go any further, we’re not going to be able to get it out.”