SurviRal (19 page)

“Mom!” Jimmie yelled. He turned and grabbed at Zane’s pistol. Zane wasn’t ready for it. The kid almost had it pointed back at Zane when another shot fired. Jimmie was thrown forward to the ground. He moved no more.

Tommy shrugged as a faint wisp of smoke rose from the barrel of his revolver. “Poor kid.”

“Right,” Zane said. “We better check out the house.”

The former residents ended up having a disappointingly short supply of shells for the shotgun. Unless there were more hidden somewhere. But there was an impressive stock of non-perishable food in the house.

The real score, however, was in the barn. And it wasn’t the truck or the ATV’s. It was what was inside the still.

“Gas?” Zane asked when they had all re-gathered there. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Skinny said. “And it’s nearly full. This is the score of the century. We have a new car and enough gas for it and all our bikes to last maybe a year.”

“Wow!” Everyone began slapping hands and laughing. One guy pulled out a joint. Zane kept forgetting his name, too—so decided to refer to him as Stoner.

“Don’t light that in here,” Zane said.

Stoner glared in response, but then looked back at the still and laughed. “Yeah, man. We might get really high. Kaboom. What should we do with the bodies?”

Zane scratched his goatee. “We have enough gas. Give them a good dousing, and burn them in a shallow grave before covering it.”

Stoner took the joint out of his mouth and looked around at everybody before making eye contact with Zane again.

“So, like, you’re in charge, now?”

“Didn’t say that. You asked for a suggestion and I gave one. Why does anyone need to be in charge? We all get an equal share, right?”

Most of them responded positively. A couple grumbled.

“Tommy, what do you think?” Stoner asked.

Tommy stepped closer to Zane. “Whatever Zane says is good with me.”

Several of them muttered agreements.

“All right,” Stoner said. “All right. I’ll look for a shovel. Somebody grab that gas can.”

Zane and Tommy left the barn.

“Did you hear what the woman called us?” Tommy said.

“What?”

“Savages.”

Zane only stared back at the smirk on Tommy’s face.

Chapter Fourteen

“Hard to believe we’ve been here four nights,” Clint said.

“You’re welcome to stay over again,” Celia replied. “Seeing as our other expected guests are MIA.”

“We greatly appreciate that offer. But I’m unable to get in contact with my brother, and need to make sure he’s okay.”

“I understand, sweetie.”

“Of course we understand,” James said glancing at Todd. “And wish you the best of luck in finding him.”

“Thanks. So how should we settle our bill? I have a credit and a debit card, but only a little cash. The power is on right now…”

“Credit cards don’t work,” Todd said from across the room. “Not from any of the major banks, anyway. They’ve turned them all off.”

“I didn’t know that.” Clint opened his wallet again and switched cards. “This one’s debit.”

Harold stepped forward and opened his wallet as well.

Celia shook her head. “Oh, don’t worry about it.” She smiled at Jenny. “You folks have earned your keep.”

“You sure?” Clint asked.

“Wouldn’t know what to charge you,” Stephen said coming out of the office.

“Whatever the standard room rate is would be fine,” Jenny answered.

Stephen laughed. “I’d have to recalculate that, darling. God only knows how. That’s why all the businesses are closed. Don’t know what money’s worth anymore. Heck, when we were at Parker’s range the other day someone was selling tins of peanuts for $200 each. Saw somebody actually buy one, too. No, you folks have blessed us. My computer’s working again, the kitchen’s cleaner than it’s ever been, and I even learned how to properly handle ole’ Betsy here. Sorry to see y’all go. Be sure to stop by whenever you’re coming through town.”

“Yes,” Celia added. “You’ll always be welcome at the Hollow Trunk.”

“In Aurora, too,” James chimed in. “If things get back to normal. I mean when...”

After saying their final goodbyes, Jenny wiped the tears from her eyes and the three of them got moving. It felt strange to resume the journey after an unanticipated four-day delay. The roads had all dried by now, and Clint’s legs were in good shape. He had even taken a short spin around the city streets yesterday.

The land plots became bigger as they rode eastward out of town. Many were full of vibrant green crops—chili peppers mostly, but there was also an occasional corn field. Every block consisted of two or three mini-farms that stretched in depth all the way back to the next block. Pueblo is famous for its chilies of all types, and there was no shortage of them growing this year.

Several military vehicles were parked at one of the smaller lots. A handful of soldiers stood in the front yard talking with the farmer. The farmer seemed upset, judging by his animated arm motions. It reminded Clint of the scene at the jewelry store in Colorado Springs.

This was a nice area. Clint found himself wishing his second home was here, just east of Pueblo. But he knew the hunting was better down his way.

Santa Fe Drive eventually took them on a wide arc through a dry gorge before turning into Business Loop 50. Then there was another town, the small community of Avondale, before the business loop dumped them onto the main highway again. Back to navigating past abandoned vehicles and darting out of the path of an occasional crazy driver. The conspicuous absence of state troopers on the highway was discouraging, but the winding Arkansas River on the left provided pleasant scenery.

They only advanced a couple of miles farther before incurring the first flat tire of the trip. Jenny’s back wheel hissed its death song and then she was on rubber and rim.

 “Here’s a good spot off the road where we can fix it,” Harold said. “Only a few yards from the pullout, down this little trail.”

Harold was handy with the tube patching kit. He found the leak and had a patch glued on within a matter of minutes. As he squatted there holding it, a voice suddenly spoke from above.

“Flat tire?”

Startled, Clint turned around. A twenty-something year old male, holding what looked like a school book pack, stood over them on the pullout.

“Yes. We got it, though.”

“Need any help?” He began walking down the short trail towards them.

“Clint, come hold this,” Harold said.

Clint did as Harold said, grabbing hold of the patch on the tube and squeezing it tight. Harold let go and picked up his backpack.

“No,” Harold said to the kid. “We don’t need any help. Have it patched already. Thanks, anyway.”

“Just trying to be part of the solution,” the kid said. “Here, please take this.” He lifted his hand. It held a piece of paper. Harold reacted only by unzipping his pack and burying his hand in it. The kid looked back and forth between them all and moved his hand towards Jenny.

Jenny took the paper. “Thanks.”

“Great,” the kid said. “Are you headed east?”

“What does it matter to you?” Harold asked.

“Being careful, I see. That’s probably smart. Well, I only wanted to tell you there’s a couple bears on the highway if you’re going east, about four or five miles from here. Rummaging through abandoned cars. Appear to be in a grumpy mood, too.”

“Thanks!” Jenny said. “Thanks a lot.”

“Yes.” Harold relaxed and took his hand out of his pack. “That’s useful information. Much obliged.”

“We all need to help each other out. You guys take care. And remember to help someone else out today. Be part of the solution!”

He climbed back up the trail and vanished beyond the bank.

A few minutes later, Jenny’s tire was inflated again. They all wheeled their bikes back up onto the highway.

“Where’d the kid go?” Harold asked.

“I see him.” Clint pointed west. “Up the road a ways. Pretty sure that’s him. Walks fast.”

“What was that he gave you?” Harold asked Jenny.

Jenny read the flyer and laughed. “It’s a partial reprint of Congressman Bennett’s speech in Colorado Springs last week. Along with some propaganda about people helping people in times of trouble. There’s a logo at the bottom—some group calling themselves the ‘Solution Crusaders.’”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Clint said.

“No. Here.” She handed him the flyer.

“Guess we can trust his report then,” Harold said. He looked at his map. “Glad we found out before we went any farther. We can cross the river on a small road a mile or so up ahead, go over to Boone, and then take the 96 on the other side for a ways. Figures to be less traveled, too.”

“Sounds better than navigating past grumpy bears.” Jenny climbed on her bike. “I’m ready.”

Clint found he liked the road on the north side of the river, despite it being a couple miles out of the way. After leaving the small town of Boone behind, abandoned cars became a relatively rare obstruction over here. And they encountered no live traffic at all, save for the occasional cyclist blowing by them from one direction or the other. Clint also found he was enjoying the view of the river more from this side.

After about six miles, Harold found another small road that crossed back to the south side. They should be past the bears by now, if the crusader kid’s estimate was accurate.

“I’d still rather not get back on the main highway, if possible,” Clint said.

They stopped. Harold consulted his map.

“Looks like I can keep us on side roads all the way through Fowler if we want.”

“Good. Let’s do that.”

So they stayed off the highway for a while. It was less direct, but the rural roads were enjoyable to ride on.

Until Jenny’s tire went flat again.

“Honey, are you keeping your eyes on the road, and steering around debris and small objects?”

“I think I am.” Jenny looked a little sheepish. “My eyes aren’t as good as yours, though. Maybe you should ride in front.”

“Maybe it’s the same puncture,” Harold said, “and I didn’t patch it good enough before. Got distracted by the kid with the flyers. Let me see if I can do a better job this time.”

“Looks like another kid is coming this time, too,” Jenny said.

Clint and Harold lifted their heads. This area was mostly dirt and rock, and a ways between towns. The only thing for miles around was another young man with a school-looking backpack approaching, a couple hundred yards up the street.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Clint said taking his backpack off. “He doesn’t look dangerous. You just fix the flat.”

“All right.” Harold dropped his pack, turned Jenny’s bike upside down, and went to work.

The stranger seemed to pick up his pace. By the time Harold had the source of the new leak identified, he had reached them. Following Harold’s prior example, Clint opened his pack and held his hand inside—although he wouldn’t have time to put the papoose together if there was any trouble. He didn’t think he needed to worry about it. This kid looked a lot like the previous one. Clean cut.

“You folks need any assistance?”

“No thanks,” Clint said.

“You sure? I’d love to help. Helping people is what we all need to be doing now. Being—”

“Part of the solution, I know. It’s nice of you to offer, but fixing a flat really is a one-man job.”

“Well, please let me give you something.”

“We already have a Solution Crusaders flyer, thanks.”

The kid stuck his hand in his pack. “In that case, you can give me something.” His hand reappeared, this time holding a revolver.

Clint was caught off guard.

 “What do you want?”

“I’ll start with that backpack. Toss it near my feet, please.” The kid suddenly pointed the gun to Clint’s left. “Hold it, sir. You’re better off continuing to fix that flat. But as long as you’re up, I’ll take that bag, too.”

“Oh, come on,” Jenny said. “You’re too young to be—”

“Yours too, ma’am. I want all your packs thrown over to me, now.”

“We don’t have anything of value,” Harold said.

“I’ll be the judge of that. The packs. Now.”

Clint and Harold looked at each other—until the gun fired. Then they looked back at the kid. A loud pop followed the sound of the gunshot.

“Now you have two flat tires to fix. If I don’t get these bags from you in three seconds, there’ll be a heck of a lot more that needs fixing—and I doubt you have the skills.”

“Easy there,” Harold said. “Take it easy.”

“Here.” Clint threw the young robber his backpack. It landed next to his Nike Air Jordan sneakers.

“Now yours, old man.”

“Can I please get something out of it first?”

The gun fired again, this time right through Harold’s pack.

“No. Toss it here. Now.”

Harold slowly picked up his pack. Clint saw a look of disgust on his face before he surrendered it. Clint knew what that was. Harold was terribly disappointed in himself.

“Hey!” The kid pointed the gun at Jenny. “What are you doing?”

“Getting my makeup bag.” She had the pack open and her hand inside.