Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors (22 page)

The soldier screamed ferociously and dropped to his knees. Twisting his body, he attempted to move with the major to lessen the pain.

“I gave you shelter, food, purpose, and you reward me with failure!”

Crewmembers stopped their tasks and turned their attention to watch the reprimand.

“You’re weak.” The major tugged on the arm again, exposing more bone. “My command is no place for the weak. This world is no place for the weak. The weak will only suffer. Only the strong will prosper.”

He released the soldier’s arm and shoved him back against the truck. There he leaned, doubled over, cradling his mangled limb.

“Stand up, soldier! Stand at attention when you stand before me.”

The soldier grit his teeth and stood, painful as it was, with his arms at his side.

“Be strong.”

The soldier winced.

“Chin up!”

The soldier buried his pain and complied by raising his chin and standing at complete attention.

“There you go,” said the major.

With one fluid movement, the major drew his knife and sliced open the soldier’s trachea.

Blood erupted from the slashed jugular and screams gurgled with air rushed from the soldier’s lungs as they expelled their final breath. He fell dead at the major’s feet.

The prisoners gasped at the sight.

He wiped the blood from the knife on a rag and called to one of the guards. “Send a group to retrieve their equipment.”

“And the bodies, sir?”

“Let the wasteland have them.”

TWENTY-FOUR

“I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for my behavior when you first arrived.” Roy Tinner shifted from foot to foot. He spoke without hesitation as if he had practiced the spontaneous apology in a mirror. Which he had.

“Don’t mention it, sir.” Logan instructed the townspeople as they strung barbed wire across the top of the walls of New Hope. Sarah worked next to him. Her smile could light the town.

“You have shown through your actions to be an honorable and capable …”

“Really.” Logan placed his hand on the councilman’s shoulder. “You were looking out for your town’s best interests. That is what these people elected you to do. And you did it well.”

Tinner wasn’t used to apologizing and even less accustomed to his apology being refused.

“I … I have to be sus …”

“Yes, you have to be suspicious. There’s no shortage of con men out there.”

“Yes. Like the charlatan that showed up before you.”

Charlatan? This guy was trying too hard, thought Logan. “You mean Jerry?”

“Yes. A con man if I’ve ever seen one.”

Logan laughed. “Jerry is no con man. Delusional maybe. But he’s no con man. He’s a harmless bookworm.”

The puzzled look on the councilman’s face led Logan to explain.

“Jerry was a librarian. He was stacking books in a storage room when the bombs hit. Lucky for him, the storage was in an old bomb shelter. He rode out the aftermath with tinned meat and seventy-year-old Cokes.”

Logan turned to instruct a woman on how to fasten the wire to the support rods.

“And there he stayed. A time lock on the door held him prisoner for a year. So what did he do?”

The councilman shook his head.

“He read. And read and read. He must have read every book in the place. The books made him smart. Too smart for his own good. When the door finally opened, he was convinced that he could help people.”

“That kind of knowledge would be helpful.”

Logan looked at the ground and his voice became distant. “They say that a little bit of knowledge can be a dangerous thing. And, whoever they were, are right.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Jerry and I were partners out west. I thought the same as you. This guy was so smart. We could make a difference anywhere. And for a while we did. We traveled from town to town. He taught the folks how to purify water, how to build generators … that kind of thing. We were making a difference.

“But, then there was Eternal Hope. A small town in Colorado. They had a different kind of problem. One that couldn’t be fixed with wells or crop rotations.”

Logan looked off into the distance that he assumed to be west.

“Jerry convinced me and the town that he could defend them from a gang of ruthless bandits. He prepared defenses that he claimed were based on sound military tactics.”

“They didn’t work?”

“They came right in the front gate and we were overwhelmed. Jerry disappeared. I did what I could. A few of us got away. No one else survived.”

Roy turned red; the reverence disappeared. “We should have strung him up!”

“No. I don’t know how a man can live with that kind of failure. But it can’t be easy. The screams are his burden to carry. That blood is on his hands.”

“It’s dangerous that he offers to help people.”

“From what I hear he doesn’t offer protection anymore. He’ll offer to run for supplies, solve various problems, find missing persons. He can’t offer protection. How could he? How could anyone after that?”

Logan pulled on the taut wire. “Good job, everyone.”

“You’re a good man, Logan. Thank you for saving Sarah. And for helping us protect New Hope.”

Logan nodded without a word. The painful memories were written on his face.
 

The councilman, his apology offered and thanks delivered, turned and walked back to the town hall barn. There was a list in the cabinet that named Personas Non Grata in the town. He had a name to add.

Sarah turned to Logan. “You said people don’t come out of Dallas.”


“What I know about Dallas, I know from Jerry.”

“What’s in Dallas?”

“The bombs grew more than a jungle there.”

“How did he get out?”

“Luck.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Dallas had always sweltered. Summer heat mixed with the reflective properties of concrete and drove temperatures to miserable degrees. Even at night, the heat did little to dissipate.

Since the world blew up, the concrete jungle of Big D had been consumed by an actual jungle and added humidity to the already uncomfortable atmosphere. Agent-filled warheads had mixed in unpredictable ways. The resulting compound had caused what little vegetation there was in the Metroplex to mutate and grow at accelerated rates.

Elevated roads had remained relatively clear of the growth. The Silver Lining bounced on the occasional vine but made its way over the surface with a lumbering ease.

Moving up 35 into the city, across Woodall Rodgers and down 45 would keep their path well above the undergrowth. Jerry quietly prayed that the trip would be uneventful, but his eyes darted constantly through the shattered windows of the cab.

Erica watched him grow less and less comfortable the further they moved up 35.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Where’s your rifle?”

“It’s in the back.”

“Get it, would you?”

She stepped into the rear of the home, picked up her rifle and gave the three boys a look that spread her panic to them. She returned to the cabin.

“Here it is.”

“Keep it close. And get in the back.”

“What’s out there? Why are you so nervous?”

“I’m not.”

“You can hardly sit still.”

“Just get in the back. And send Alex up here.”

She made no argument as she moved into the cabin and told the oldest boy to step up front.

He hesitated and looked to his siblings. They, too, had picked up on Jerry’s nervous actions. Alex clutched a beaten hunting rifle for comfort, not defense. Austin had placed his bear head back on and gripped Chewy tight around the neck. Trent could hear him weeping.

Alex buried his own nerves and stood. He looked Trent in the eye, patted Austin on the bear head, and moved to the front.

“Yes, sir?”

“Alex, I need you to ride shotgun.”

“Yes, sir.” The teenager sat in the passenger seat.

“Alex.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Grab a shotgun.”

“Yes, sir.”

The coach swayed as he steered around rubble in the road. Alex was tossed back and forth as he struggled to get to the gun rack. He pulled a semiautomatic 12 gauge from the former TV mount and climbed back into the passenger seat.
 

Little traffic clogged the highways. Dallas had been one of the few cities to receive an evacuation notice during the apocalypse. Almost everyone complied. The joke in the wasteland was that everyone in the city had been waiting for a reason to get out of Dallas.

“Just keep it pointed through that hole in the window. And shoot at anything that moves.”

“What if it’s a person?”

“Especially if it’s a person.”

Alex’s grip on the gun caused it to tremble. The clattering of the weapon’s action drew Jerry’s attention. He saw the fear in Alex’s eyes. He wondered if his looked the same.

“It’ll be okay, kid. We shouldn’t have a problem with the highways.”

“Look out!”

Jerry turned back to the road and slammed on the brakes. Ahead, the road dipped to pass beneath the deck park that had been built across the highway shortly before the world blew up.

It had collapsed.

“Dammit.”

“What do we do now?”

There was an exit on his right that led downtown. Chest heaving, he struggled to calm his breathing. Fear soured his stomach. His arms didn’t want to respond.

Down those roads were the memories of his rebirth into the ravaged world. Terrifying memories.

A breeze blew the rank stench of the jungle’s rotting undergrowth through the busted windscreen. He inhaled it deeply, refusing to choke on it. It smelled like him—Jerry’s first nightmare in the new world. His raspy voice echoed in his head with dull thuds that repeated in a constant rhythm.

Chewy whimpered. She remembered the smell.

“What is it, Jerry?” Erica’s voice shook.

The sound of her not calling him a dick stopped his breath short. A moment later his breathing returned to normal. The shaking stopped.