Pursuit of the Apocalypse (6 page)

Mr. Christopher chuckled at this. It never ceased to amaze him how many stupid people survived the end of the world while so many sensible ones had perished. It was a numbers game, he supposed. Going into the apocalypse the intelligent had been vastly outnumbered. It was only common sense they’d be a minority on the other side of it as well.

The Librarian himself was an anomaly. The man clearly wasn’t stupid. He had eluded the bounty hunter countless times. Escaped every trap. Foiled every plan.

When he began the hunt, Christopher didn’t believe half of what he’d heard about the man. How could he? The stories that spread from town to town were preposterous. They were stories of heroics and rebellion against evil that seemed crafted only to inspire others, like he was some poster child for selfless sacrifice. They were too perfect tales of a compassionate champion that stood for right against wrong, and occasionally bears. Every one sounded as if they had been borne of bards instead of facts.

In each, the man was an underdog. He appears from nowhere to help the oppressed in their most desperate hour. He turns the meek and defeated into an army that stands against a superior foe. And in the end—triumph. Always triumph.

Fairy tales. They could be nothing but fairy tales.

But now, after chasing him for a year, even he, the skeptic, was beginning to believe more and more of these stories. And his legend continued to grow. Somehow the tale of what happened out west only days before had beaten Christopher to Bomb City. And that was one tale he knew to be true.

Regardless of the truth, his bounty was a hero to many. But he had upset the wrong people in Alasis, and that made him the right target for a nice payday. No one paid as well for vengeance as the Great Lord Invictus.

Mr. Christopher turned away from the road and walked back through the warehouse dismissing the incident with the two morons.

The time for pawns was done. The game was drawing to a close and it would take someone smarter to handle the Librarian. He would have to face him himself.

Mr. Christopher reached the Jeep where he had parked it in a dark corner of the building. He moved to the vehicle’s rear gate and inserted the key.

He would face the Librarian, but he would still have the edge. Already he had turned the tide of the chase, and as long as he had his captive, his bounty would grow more and more desperate. And desperate men always made mistakes.

He turned the key in the gate.

As long as he had the girl, he had control of his enemy’s thoughts.

He lifted the Jeep’s gate and said, “Shit.”

The girl was gone.

SIX

Erica ran.

Down a ditch, up the other side and into the woods. Her feet slipped through the wet leaf litter as she struggled to maintain her balance with bound hands. She had managed to free her feet after hours of struggling, but the ropes on her hands were too well tied.

Free of a gag for the first time in days, she took large breaths. The cold stung at her lungs, but the pain didn’t stop her from gasping every time she stumbled.

She had no idea where she was. They weren’t in Texas any more. The trees were too big and the land in front of her rolled too much for it to be what used to be Texas. And, though it was unfamiliar, she was relieved that they were no longer in the desert.

She had worked out her escape days ago. But, running away into the barren wasteland was no escape at all. What good would escape be if she died of thirst?

Here there would be streams and lakes at the very least. Perhaps even a settlement and someone to lean on for help.

She pushed through a growth of brush and tumbled into another ditch. She swallowed the startled scream that rose within her. Her reflexes demanded that she put her arms out to catch herself, but she fought them back knowing that such an action would result in broken wrists or fingers. Instead she rolled onto her shoulder as she hit the ground and slid to a stop.

Then she got up and kept running.

Her legs cramped. Her ribs ached as she fought for breath. She had been folded over in the same position since that bastard had grabbed her in the mountains. Just straightening her legs had been painful enough. Running hurt even more. Her captor had let her out only for necessity and never for more than two minutes at a time. She couldn’t wait to kill the man, but, before she did, she planned on yelling at him while he tried to pee. Just to see how he liked it.

And she would make him where a hood like he did. And she would put him on a leash like he did. And she would make him stand in an anthill while he went. He had never made her do that, but fuck him, she thought. He deserved to piss blindfolded in an anthill if anyone ever had. A fire anthill.

She made the top of the hill and looked around while she took several deep breaths. They hurt, but it felt good to have the gag out of her mouth. The moment she pulled it free, she had felt almost human again. She could close her mouth. She could swallow comfortably. And, she wasn’t drooling on herself anymore, which was nice.

The view from the hill told her nothing, but any direction was better than back, so she took off through the trees again. Branches whipped at her face and the roots did their best to trip up her feet. But trees meant cover. Roots meant water. And water meant food was at least a possibility. It all added up to a chance to survive. If she could just get away.

A root caught her toe and sent her to the ground again. She landed hard on her hand and drove the wind from her chest. Convinced her wrist was broken, she rolled over and gave into a whimper.

Her breath slowed after nearly a minute and she raised her hands in front of closed eyes expecting to see any number of fingers pointing at any number of angles. She grit her teeth and looked at her hands. Somehow they had survived the fall. She decided to risk moving slower. It would be safer and her lead had to be considerable at this point. There had been shooting back at the warehouse after her escape, but the sound had been all but swallowed by distance and the trees.

She thought for a moment that Mr. Christopher was dead and it was a thought that made her happy. It was possible that whoever he was meeting had shot first. But she also knew it was unlikely. He was too cautious. He was too cautious, too lucky, and too slippery of a slimy bastard to be caught off guard by anyone stupid enough to work for him.

Erica stood and started walking towards what felt like south. She could get her exact bearings later. For now she needed to generate more space between her and her kidnapper.

She took lighter, surer steps and listened to the woods around her. It was dead quiet. Winter had put most of the insects to sleep. The birds had flown south. Very little stirred around her.

The silence was comforting. The thought of being alone normally terrified her, but now it was reassuring. If all went well, she should be able to walk a hundred miles without hearing a sound. That’s why she jumped when she heard voices.

They came from nearby.

It wasn’t him. There were several different voices. None that she recognized.

Erica stepped behind a tree and listened. There were men and women discussing something. She couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, so she risked moving closer. But, only a few trees closer.

She stopped behind a pine and listened. The conversation was nothing remarkable. It was a small group of men and women discussing where they should go next. Erica’s heart beat faster. They could help her. Maybe.

Judging people was more difficult in the apocalypse than it had been before. They could very well be decent people. But decent was never far from desperate, and desperation meant danger. This group of strangers could be a bigger threat than Mr. Christopher. At least he needed her alive as bait.

She looked about and saw a path that could take her safely around the group. They’d never even know she had been there. Then she took a deep breath and walked straight toward the voices. She needed help and she, herself, was desperate.

An important part of approaching strangers in the wasteland was not to startle them. An unexpected “hello” at close range could easily be met with the bark of a gun blast. Erica called ahead of her approach. “Hello? Can you help me, please?”

The group’s conversation stopped and she heard the sound of people shuffling about. There were whispers. Frantic whispers. And then there was silence.

“Hello?” Erica pleaded. “Please.”

There was a throng of whispers that finally ended up with someone shouting, “Come out slow.”

Erica held her bound hands above her head and stepped from behind a tree. She walked slowly to the middle of the group’s clearing, keeping her hands where they could see them.

The woman and two men had been sitting around a campfire. They now stood with weapons trained on the intruder.

One of the men spoke. “Who are you?”

It was all she could do to not burst into tears. But in holding back the flood she spilled a rapid-fire explanation of her predicament. “Please, I’ve been kidnapped. I ... I just escaped.” She held her bound hands forward as proof. “You’ve got to help me.”

The group didn’t move. They kept their weapons aimed at her.

“Please,” Erica said. “He’s still out there.”

The woman lowered her weapon first. “You poor thing.” She leaned her rifle against a log she had been using as a seat and rushed toward Erica.

“Careful, Jillian,” one of the men cautioned.

“Oh, stop it, Mike. Can’t you see she’s in trouble?” The woman reached her and helped her across to the fire. She sat Erica down on the log next to the rifle and started working on the ropes. The two men refused to lower their guns.

“We can’t trust anyone, Jillian,” the other man said.

“And we can’t stop trusting people completely,” Jillian shot back. “You know as well as I do there are horrible people out there. Now give me a knife. These knots are ridiculous.”

Mike looked to the second man for his thoughts and received a shrug. He pulled a knife from his belt and handed it to Jillian. The woman took it and began working the ropes.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The two men spun around to put their weapons on the new voice. Mr. Christopher stood at the edge of the clearing with his hands up.

“Don’t move,” Mike said. “Whoever you are.”

“That’s him,” Erica whispered. “He’s the man that kidnapped me.”

“She’s dangerous, you know?” Mr. Christopher took a step farther into the clearing. “That’s why she’s tied up. I’m really glad you caught her.”

The woman’s voice filled with hatred. “I’ll bet you are, you pervert.”

Mr. Christopher ignored the slight and continued. “She’s a fugitive. And I’m taking her in to answer for her crimes.”

“You’re a lying piece of shit,” Erica said. She wanted to explain it all. She wanted to tell them that he was a bounty hunter and a cold-blooded killer. But she was afraid that her newfound Samaritans would turn into opportunists and try to collect the bounty themselves.

“You three should be commended,” Mr. Christopher continued. “This woman is dangerous and you’ve helped bring her to justice. You’re heroes, really.”

Jillian stopped working on the knot.

“He’s lying.” Erica couldn’t keep the anger out of her voice. “He’s lying,” she screamed at Christopher.

The man named Mike studied her for a moment before turning back to the man in white. “She doesn’t look that dangerous to me.”

Mr. Christopher smiled and lowered his hands. “Now that’s what makes her so dangerous. Do you know not who she is? She doesn’t look familiar to you?”

The other man spit on the ground. “We’ve been out of the loop of late.”

“That right there is the Seductive Strangler. She lures her victims to their death with her ... charms.”

Erica jumped off the log. “You son of a bitch!”

“She’s killed dozens of men. Sometimes two or three at a time.”

“He’s lying. Shoot him. Kill him!”

“Listen to her,” Mr. Christopher smiled. “She lives to kill. She loves to watch men suffer. But not until after.”

Erica tore at her bonds. She wanted to strangle him. She wanted to watch the life drain out of his eyes. The ropes still wouldn’t give.

“She killed one man in front of his wife. She made her watch the whole thing.”

“Will one of you please kill him, he’s lying. I’m not who he says I am.”

“Well, you go by so many names: the Whore of the Wasteland, the Harlot of the Holocaust, the Nuclear Nympho. And, the Heaven to Hell Killer.” Mr. Christopher let his eyes wander all over her. “I’m sure you can imagine why.”

Erica seethed. She stared holes through the bounty hunter while he just smiled at her. She looked to the other members of the group and could see that they were torn. Jillian looked confused. She had been the first to offer help. The two men had an even more frightening look on their faces. Erica could see in their eyes that the words of one of the first wasteland adages were running through their mind: Never get involved.

It was easier to turn the other way than to take any kind of risk. Why should they help a stranger? She could see them weighing the costs, and she was coming up on the losing side.

Mr. Christopher must have caught the look as well. He let his hands drop to his side and stepped across the campsite where he reached for Erica while addressing the group. “I admire your bravery, and I’ll be more than happy to take her off your hands. If you give me your names, I’ll see that you are honored officially.”

The three strangers exchanged glances. Jillian gave a small shrug. The second man gave an almost imperceptible shake.

Mr. Christopher reached for Erica’s arms. Mike grabbed his elbow and pulled him back a step. “You know, you’re the first cop I’ve run into since the Crappening.”

Mr. Christopher smiled. “Isn’t it great? Things are getting back to normal every day.”

“What kind of cop did you say you were?” the other man asked.

“It’s probably best to think of me as kind of like a Marshal. I pursue dangerous fugitives like Little Miss Murder Whore here.”

Erica shrunk. “Please. Please, don’t let him take me.”