by Schow, Ryan
“Wow, a man telling me I need to do what he says,” she said with a frown, “I haven’t heard that one before.”
“This used to be Colt’s and Walker’s house. Both men stored weapons here. Colt’s stash is vanilla, but Walker’s stash…not so much. That’s why I said what I said. Not to be that guy, but to keep you from being blown up.”
Now her mood changed. She fixed her hair, straightened her shirt, and said, “I’m sorry, I just thought you were…you know…”
“Whatever,” he said. “Follow me. And keep Roscoe on the leash.”
She looked at the dog and said, “You’re a good puppy, aren’t you? You don’t need a leash, you need to be free.”
“He needs a leash.”
“Do you speak puppy?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said with a frown. “Don’t mess with me.”
In the back of the man-cave/barn, under two stacked wheelbarrows, he lifted a hearty trapdoor then climbed down inside. In the darkness, he struck a lighter, saw what was there, then grabbed the bag he needed.
He climbed out of the hole, walked up to the front porch, then opened the door and went inside. There, Trixie watched him rig two claymore mines to the front door, and a third to the back door. After that, he crawled out a window, then went back to Trixie, who was now running around with Roscoe. To her credit, the pup was still on his leash.
“If the whole world is on fire and the only safe place to hide is through the front door, or the back door of the house, it’s better to burn to death.”
“I kind of figured that,” she said.
“You go inside, your body gets blown up, becomes a splatter-fest of ground beef. I’m going to head up to my place, get my things. You okay here?”
“Can I come with you?” she asked.
He shook his head and said, “No can do sugar buns. I need room for my weapons and my stuff.”
She crossed her arms and started tapping her toe. He refused to let her come, which caused her to fake a big frown.
“Okay,” she said, “but if you come back and I’m dead or raped, it’s on you.”
“Do you know how to fire a gun?”
She said, “Sort of?”
He handed her his pistol and said, “Point and shoot when they’re close. There’s one in the chamber and a lot more in the magazine. Don’t point it at anything you don’t want to kill.”
She took it, then nodded.
“And take care of Roscoe.”
The leashed dog was sitting down but looking up at him with heavy eyes and those even heavier ears.
“You and I are best buds, right puppy?” she looked down and asked. Roscoe looked up at her, his big eyes wet and compliant.
“I think that’s a yes,” Gator said. “See you in a little bit.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Diesel Daley
Diesel’s mother was staring at the black television screen and screaming for him to turn it back on. She was screaming non-stop.
“The TV won’t go on, Ma,” he said on a deep sigh. “The power’s out.”
“It’s just a little thunder and rain,” she said. “Please, Eugene…I just want to watch my shows.”
He saw the shine in her eyes, felt her anguish. The TV was a distraction from the physical pain she was enduring. Nothing was redeeming in the woman anymore. She was an unbearable burden he’d have to endure, but only as long as he tolerated it. Staring at the back of her head as she screamed at him, he found himself thinking the worst thoughts.
“It’s not Eugene anymore, Ma. It’s Diesel.”
“Bug,” she whispered.
Just then, a guy named Paul or Raul—he wasn’t sure—walked in and said, “I had a quick question, but I don’t want to interrupt.”
“No, your timing is perfect,” Diesel said, standing up. “I need you to sit with my mother for a few hours.”
“Don’t leave me with a stranger!” she shouted.
“Ma, dammit, be quiet.” To the kid, he said, “What’s your name?”
“Paul.”
“Okay then, Paul. What’s your question?”
“That answered it.”
Not sure what he wanted, nor did he care, he said, “I’m going to head down to Nicholasville with Booger for a few hours. If Amell gets back, tell him to sit tight, we’re about to kick this thing off. I just need…I need what’s mine.”
“Who’s Amell?”
“He’s going to roll in any day now. Do you know motorcycles?”
“I worked on them with my old man for days,” he said. He was a skinny kid, like most of them, with odd facial structure and scarred knuckles. He saw the grease under his nails and felt the kid was being forthright.
“Amell rides a 1961 Harley Davidson, a Panhandle FLH he custom painted canary yellow. It sounds throaty and mean, and it’s got big ass chrome rims with white walls that are going to be dirty, which means Amell’s gonna be pissed the second he parks it.”
“I don’t blame him,” Paul said.
Diesel left his mother screaming for him to come back. Clenching his teeth against the noise, his eyeballs sat in a bowl of emotional flames.
He walked up to the barn that his previous crew had converted to barracks. He saw Booger working on a new bunk, then summoned him with an impatient wave.
“We’re going back to Nicholasville,” he said.
“I’ll get my leathers.”
A few minutes later, the two of them hit the road. Not long after that, they reached the outskirts of Nicholasville where a group of armed rebels stopped them.
There were six or seven rebel soldiers, guys who looked like him, guys who were clearly with the cause. Unfortunately, only half of them were armed.
In the back of his mind, he thought, There’s nothing more cowardly than a bunch of tweakers and felons playing God to this world.
Then again, this was the army he inadvertently started. Either way, he decided to neither give a bullet nor take a bullet in the process.
When he stopped and pulled off his helmet, a few of them gasped, then one looked at his buddy and whispered, “That’s Diesel Daley, he formed the Hayseed Rebellion.”
“I need two of you to come with me,” Diesel announced, deciding he didn’t need to formally introduce himself.
Two men stepped forward quickly and said, “We’ll go.”
He nodded.
The remaining men stood down, then stepped back to let them pass. When they got into the city, Diesel saw another checkpoint. Instead of seeing men controlling the inner layers of the city, as they were trained to do across the nation, he saw four dead rebels laid out on the street, their heads bashed in.
He cruised past the bodies, saw broken arms, splintered shins, a crushed skull with the skin split back so far, he saw bone. Most guys would try to hold their guts down, but a guy like Diesel let this fortify him.
Pulling away, he goosed the throttle, then headed to the church where Rhett had sent two guys to take care of Lance Garrity—the sheriff, and Walker McDaniel’s best buddy.
He saw the blackened church and smiled. He, Booger, and the two add-ons parked their bikes.
“Wait here,” he said.
Walking up the hill, he saw a pair of bodies lying dead on the barren lawn. He saw them and his mood darkened even further. These weren’t normal church folk. These were HR offshoots, both of them executed by someone with big balls.
He looked out over the lands. Then he turned his gaze back to the ash heap that was the church. He stepped into the charred remains, nudged a few boards aside, stopped when he saw a beef-jerky-looking arm. The hand attached to said arm looked like it belonged to a child.
Stepping back, turning around, he growled, “Enough.”
If he didn’t get his family’s gun back, if he didn’t recover his treasure, then all of this would have been for nothing.
As he was leaving, he saw a lump of clothing in the dirt. On closer inspection, toeing it out so he could get a better
look, he found himself looking at the half-burned Sheriff’s jacket. He started laughing to himself, then he shook his head in disgust.
So, Sheriff Garrity made it out alive.
He kicked the jacket as hard as he could, then he stalked back to his bike and said, “Hope you boys are armed and ready to roll.”
The three of them nodded in unison, then one of the newbies said, “We are, Mr. Daley.”
By the time he got to Colt McDaniel’s house, he was ready for war. But what he witnessed shortly after he arrived—which was something he thought he would never see—shook him to his core and caused him to rethink everything.
Chapter Thirty
Leighton McDaniel
Leighton wasn’t surprised when Kenley opted to ride on the back of the Harley with Hudson. There was something about her that Hudson liked, something familiar and comfortable by the look of them. Then again, the ginger could emotionally combust at any moment. But so could Hudson. Leighton looked away, not wanting to think of these things anymore. They’d all killed a lot of people, the latest of which was the rider of the motorcycle he and Kenley were riding.
When they got back to the dorms, they didn’t expect to find a dead guy in the hallway in front of Leighton’s dorm room, but they didn’t expect to run into Chandra either. She’d broken into a dorm room next door, hoping Leighton would come back. When they saw each other, they both started screaming like girls, and then they hugged each other for the longest time.
When they finally pulled themselves apart, it was to head into the parking lot to maybe find a car they could take. That was when they ran into Ezra—a thick cowboy in a beat-to-hell pickup truck.
What are you doing here, Death? the country bumpkin asked Chandra. Apparently, they knew each other.
Her roomie laughed and said, You and Hades got out, and now you come back?
I was looking for you, he said.
No, you weren’t, she laughed, pulling her hair over the bruising on her face.
Okay, I wasn’t, he said from his rumbling truck, but now that I see you, fresh as a flower that got rolled in the dirt and stepped on, I’m glad you’re here now. My name is Ezra, by the way.
Why are you really back, Ezra? Chandra asked.
The roads are too dangerous right now, he said. At least, they are if you’re alone and unarmed.
“We’re armed,” Leighton said, pulling Buck close.
Really, he exclaimed.
Where are you wanting to go? Kenley asked, impatient.
My folks have a place down in Burnside, on the river, he said. It’s beautiful, and I think it’s safe. Are you guys leaving or staying?
“We’re coming with you,” Leighton said, taking charge. Ezra answered her with a hearty laugh. She pulled out a stolen pistol, showed it to him, and said, “You drive us to Nicholasville, you get a gun. Otherwise, you can fend for yourself.”
I don’t know about that, he said.
Sure you do, tubby, Hudson said. It’s a reasonable trade.
Don’t fat shame me.
Leighton started to laugh, but it was an unsettling laugh, one that apparently made Hudson uncomfortable. She stopped. In a way, she understood his reaction. He’d seen her shotgun two guys to death without an ounce of hesitation. Then she’d been attacked by those idiots she set on fire and somehow managed to live through it. And then there was Aaron. Yeah, she understood. With Hudson, she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him, doing things no one else would ever be expected to do. But now that she was laughing, now that she was acting completely out of character, was he wondering if she was starting to crack?
Ezra glanced between Leighton and the others, then he said, Does that gun even have any bullets?
Leighton walked up to the kid, ejected the mag, then handed it to Ezra, who took it and checked the side markers.
“It’s full,” Leighton said.
Ezra handed the magazine back and said, So, all of you are going?
She watched Hudson and the others nod. Eyes back on Hudson, she felt him staying his emotions. Then he said, Me and the redhead will take the bike, the girls and Buck will ride with you.
Ezra started to nod, looking at Chandra, Leighton, and Buck.
Death and the kid here can ride up front with me, but she has to ride in the back, he said about Leighton.
She’ll freeze, Chandra said.
I have a blanket she can use, he said. That’s the deal.
Why do you keep calling her Death? Kenley asked. She has a name.
Chandra laughed at this, almost like it was all so very humorous. When he first saw me, he said, ‘Then I looked and saw a pale horse. It’s rider’s name was Death, and Hades followed close behind.’ He was making fun of my pale skin.
Ezra smiled, then nodded and said, She is, especially being from California.
How do you know I’m from Cali?
We have a class together. I might have looked you up on Facebook before the power went out, but that was only to see what you looked like behind all that makeup.
Really? Chandra asked, looking like she wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
He shrugged his shoulders and said, So are we going or what?
I want to sit with her, Buck said, looking at Leighton.
Suit yourself, half-pint, Ezra said. But I only have one blanket.
The four of them got situated into Ezra’s truck while Hudson saddled up on the Harley. When Hudson was set, Kenley climbed on the bike behind him. She circled her arms around his waist, which had Leighton wondering what they were thinking. They’d slept in bed together, but she believed there’d been no romance between them. Kenley hadn’t wanted to be alone. But now it seemed they were forming a bond between them, one that was noticeable. What did any of that mean? Did it even matter?
Passing up his chance to ride in the cab with Ezra and Chandra, Buck pulled himself into the back of the truck with Leighton. She drew him into her body about the same time Ezra handed her a thick blanket. Thinking of the chubby cowboy, she wondered why his license plate read PRESHUS.
“Precious,” she mused aloud, pulling the blanket tight.
Chapter Thirty-One
Hudson Croft
Hudson put the bike in gear and took off. He checked his mirrors, saw Ezra’s truck following them at a distance. Did they know they weren’t heading to safety? Were they even aware of the storm they were about to head into? Then again, as harrowing as the road to Nicholasville was, he felt a little more comfortable knowing he had Leighton and Kenley fighting at his side.
He never expected to go to war with these women, but he liked them both. And more than ever, he loved the fight. At several points along their journey to Nicholasville, the fight came to them. It hit in waves, and they hit back, no one more than Leighton. But by some miracle, and through a tremendous amount of violence, they managed to get through Georgetown and Lexington with everyone still above ground.
Hours later, by the time they limped into town, they added six more deaths to their kill count. It wasn’t his idea to take the three dead men as trophies; that had been Leighton’s idea. If he wasn’t concerned about her before, now he was flat out unnerved.
On the other side of Lexington, as they started the last leg of their journey to Nicholasville, Kenley tapped his shoulder and pointed forward.
“I see it,” he said.
On the horizon, a beat-up Jeep appeared. He pulled out his pistol, let it hang from his side. He was prepared to rock and roll if needed.
Kenley had her weapon out, too. Where he would present the threat to the driver, should he need it, Kenley remained covert, her grip around his waist tightening.
“Get ready,” he said.
When the Jeep slowed, both he and Ezra slowed in response. He searched them as quickly as he could, and as best as he could, for weapons. His eyes were looking for a barrel slipping out of the window, a man standing up in back, or a passenger making a move over the roofline.
But then the Jeep drove
by them. Inside was a man and a blond woman, both of them looking as steadfast and as cautious as Hudson and his crew. He felt himself breathe a sigh of relief. Still, he kept his eyes on the side-view mirror and his hand tight on the gun.
“We’re okay, I think,” Kenley said.
“The woman was sexy as hell,” Hudson said.
“So was the guy,” Kenley added, making him laugh.
“I’m pretty sure they thought the same thing about us,” Hudson teased.
“Yeah, I’m kinda cute.”
“So am I.”
When they entered Nicholasville—the motorcycle, the pickup truck, and the three dead trophies dragging behind Ezra’s truck—they cruised slowly through the city, horrifying everyone. In the side-view mirror, he saw Leighton pointing her weapon at several looters who thought they could come at them only to realize that wasn’t so smart.
Every so often, Leighton hung halfway around the cab of the truck, giving Ezra directions to the house. He finally pulled ahead of Hudson and they followed the truck at a distance. After seeing dead HR at various checkpoints, Hudson felt himself relaxing inside. When they finally arrived at Leighton’s house, they drove up the packed-gravel driveway and parked behind the house.
Kenley climbed off of the motorcycle and stretched; Hudson got off the canary yellow Harley after her. Leighton hopped out of the truck, landed on unsteady legs, then helped Buck out. Hudson watched her take a few steps, marveling at her ability to look so innocent when there were three torsos still attached to the pickup’s hitch.
“Get those things off the truck,” Kenley finally said. She thought Leighton was a total nut job, doing what she did. Now, looking at the trio of half-bodies—men who were once whole—Hudson almost wondered if Kenley was right.