Don't Call Me Ishmael

by Chris Kennedy

  I caught movement out of the corner of my left eye and looked to find the old guy. He nodded once to me. “Thanks for the help,” he said. “Looks like I made the right choice to not kill you. You’re kinda handy in a fight. My name’s Sam. Sam Boudreaux.”

  “Umm, thanks…I think,” I replied. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “I fought in the war with Dellik Unified,” he said as he checked the two bodies near me. One glance at the first one was all he needed before he moved on. “It was nasty. The damn Corporations are going to be the death of me yet.”

  I nodded. No wonder he didn’t seem bothered by the dead bodies.

  He waved toward the one I’d killed. “What war were you in?”

  “I couldn’t tell you,” I replied. “I honestly don’t remember anything beyond four days ago.”

  “No shit? I thought you were just trying to get the drop on me.” He nodded toward the body. “You may not remember it, but it looks like you’ve still got some skills. People that can do that are few and far between.”

  “What? Cut someone’s throat?”

  He nodded. “Takes a particular type of man to do that.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, a psychopathic one. I think I was being treated for it.”

  “No, I was thinking more along the lines of some sort of special forces trooper. We followed them into a Dellik facility one time…they left a trail of bodies like that. And worse. Half the time, they took the heads clean off. Those guys had had some modifications and were tough sons of bitches. And the Agents? They were even worse.”

  I shrugged. I couldn’t remember being a soldier, much less a special forces trooper. They had lengthy training, I would have thought I’d remember if I’d done it. Special forces was a nice thought, but I was still leaning toward psychopath.

  “Where ya headed?” the old man asked.

  “I don’t really know,” I replied. “All I was really doing was trying to avoid getting killed; I didn’t have a particular destination in mind. Why?”

  “Well, at least one of the Blues got away, so I suspect they will be back, and this time, they’ll bring the whole gang.”

  “I thought I killed the leader.”

  “No, the guy in charge of that pack was the leader’s brother—his second in command. Saw them together on TV once, back when we had power…and TV, too, for that matter. The fact that you killed his brother…the real leader is going to be pissed. Me and my family are going to have to leave. You’re welcome to come with us. Like I said, you’re kinda handy to have in a fight.”

  “Where you headed?”

  “East. I’ve got family in Pensacola.”

  “So where are we now?”

  “You don’t even know where you are?”

  “Nope. Told you, I—”

  “Don’t remember anything before four days ago,” the man finished. “Got it. You’re in the mighty metropolis of Slidell, Louisiana.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” I replied. “Where the hell is Slidell?”

  “About 20 miles northeast of the French Quarter in New Orleans.”

  “Huh.”

  “You don’t remember being here?”

  “No. As far as I can remember, I’ve never been to Louisiana in my life.”

  “Not even for Mardi Gras?”

  “I’m pretty sure I would remember that.”

  “Maybe no one showed you their tits.”

  I shrugged. “It’s possible. I would hate to think someone had, and I didn’t remember it.”

  “Maybe they just weren’t that memorable.”

  I shrugged again. “Maybe not. So, Pensacola?”

  “Yeah, my brother was in corporate management with Obsidian. He has a winter home on Perdido Key. If anyone survived, he did. We need to get out of here before the Blues get back, and that’s the best place I can think of to go. I don’t know if there’s anyplace ‘safe’ anymore, but wherever he is will be the closest thing to it.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to stay and fight rather than run?” I asked. “I killed at least 10 of them. How many more are there?”

  “Lots. A number of the gangs merged in the aftermath of the war.” He sighed. “I lied earlier, because I didn’t want the grandkids to hear it. I said that we were waiting for the police to reestablish the law. Most of the local police got wiped out by the Blues—that blue band they’re wearing? It’s from policemen they’ve killed. I was hoping the National Guard would get here before our food ran out. Unless any of the Corporate troops still exist, those are the only people who have a chance against them.”

  “Well, shit,” I said, sighing. “I guess I’m along for the ride then, as I’m sure they’ll be gunning for me. How long’s the drive?”

  “Drive? No one drives anymore.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since the war. How are we supposed to get gas? When you got here, you came from the direction of I-10. Did you notice any traffic on it?”

  My face reddened. “Uh, no. I was kind of busy trying to stay alive at the time, but now that you mention it, not a single car drove by during the time I was by the highway.” My shoulders sagged. I really wasn’t up for this. “So, how long’s the walk?”

  “About 175 miles, give or take.”

  “That’s a long-ass walk. Especially through country that may not currently be very friendly.”

  “That’s a fact. Especially with children along. There’s something to be said for safety in numbers, which is why I invited you along.”

  “Well, I can’t stay here, and going south or west is out, so east sounds pretty good at the moment, especially if I’m going along with you. How long will it take you to be ready to go?”

  “How’s five minutes sound?”

  “Four would be better.”

  “You remember I have kids, right?”

  “Five will be fine.”

  You have to be flexible in this Fallen World.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Six

  While Sam went to wrangle the kids and other folks in the house, I went back to get the rest of my gear. Of course, when I got back to the yard where I’d left my bags, they were gone.

  Frowning, I looked at the window where I’d seen the man before. He tried to not let me see him—he only used one eye to look out the window to minimize his silhouette, but I caught the movement as he dodged out of sight, and when he looked again, 15 seconds later, he was looking down the barrel of the rifle I was holding. This time, I had a very clear view of him through the scope when he looked—it was a good scope and hadn’t been damaged when I threw the rifle—and I held the rifle tightly with one hand as I waved to him to come out of the house with the other.

  He dove back to the side, out of sight, and I sighed. I really didn’t have time for this shit.

  “The Blues will be back soon,” I called. “If you don’t want me to lead them here to you, I recommend you give me back my stuff. I’ve already killed a dozen people today. One more won’t make that much of a difference to me.” Sad as that sounded, the last two sentences were probably the truest things I’d said all day. It seemed like I should have felt something—anything—about the men I’d killed, but so far…nothing.

  Even Sam had looked a little sad when he’d looked at the man he’d shot, but me? Nothing.

  The door opened a crack. “Someone came and stole your bags,” the man yelled through the crack.

  “I told you to watch them,” I replied, “so one of two things is going to happen. Either you’re going to throw them out here where I can get them, or you’re going to come out here and lead me to whoever has them.”

  “I didn’t see who took them!”

  “As long as I’ve been out here, you’ve been watching out one window or another. You know who has them.” I made a production of looking down to turn off the safety on the rifle. “Last chance,” I said. “If those bags aren’t out here in five seconds, I start shooting. We’ll make it easy on the Blues; they can just foll
ow the sounds of my gunfire.”

  “One!”

  “Two!”

  “Three!”

  “Wait!” the man called. “Let me see if my wife found them and brought them in.”

  The door shut and reopened several seconds later. “She had them,” the man called. The door opened a little further, and the bags were thrown out into the yard. The door slammed shut before the second bag hit the ground. As the man appeared to have no intention of coming out to bring them to me, I made myself at home and walked in through the gate.

  I could tell before I got to them that they had both been ransacked, and that things were missing from both. They had been full…now they weren’t.

  I slung the rifle over my shoulder and drew a pistol so I could have a free hand. Keeping one eye on the door, I searched through the bags. The clothes were still in the duffel, but some of the food and water were gone. Two of the pistols and several magazines were similarly missing from the other bag.

  I sighed as I looked at the house, having armed the person I now needed to deal with. While nothing I’d seen so far had shown the man to be a killer, any person can kill if backed far enough into a corner. I also didn’t know how many other people were in the house; the man might have backup. I scanned the house, looking for another set of eyes—or a gun—and didn’t see one. I did, however, see a potential solution.

  “Several of my weapons and my food seems to be missing,” I called.

  The door opened a crack again. “That was for watching them for you,” the man said.

  “Are you planning on going anywhere soon?” I asked.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “It looks like you have two vehicles,” I said, pointing to where a small economy car and a truck sat under a carport. “I’m in need of transportation. If you throw out the keys to the truck, you can keep everything you stole from me, and we’ll call it even.”

  “I want another magazine of ammo,” the man replied.

  “Fine,” I said. I pulled one from the bag and flipped it onto the grass.

  Two seconds later the door opened a little more, and he threw the keys out.

  “Go!” he ordered. “And don’t try anything foolish—I have a gun on you!”

  I holstered the pistol, set the rifle down, and threw the duffel bag over a shoulder. Grabbing the rifle with one hand and the pack with my other, I kept the rifle pointed in his direction as I sidled to the carport. “Stay in the house until I’m gone, then you can come get the other magazine,” I said. “If I see you outside the house, I’ll kill you.”

  I threw the bags into the back of the truck, climbed up into the cab, and started the truck. It took a couple of tries, as if it hadn’t been run in a while, but it eventually fired up. I drove it down the driveway, and found Sam and his entourage waiting for me on the street. In addition to Sam, there were three kids and another, younger man, who was probably the kids’ father. The kids and the young man threw their gear in the bed of the truck and got in after it, while Sam joined me in the cab.

  “Would you really have killed him?” Sam asked.

  I stopped the truck and pulled back the charging handle to show him the rifle was empty. He chuckled.

  “I didn’t want to kill him and leave his wife without protection.”

  The man laughed harder. “Old Man Stevens’ wife died three years ago.”

  I started laughing, too, as we drove off.

  Sometimes you have to bluff in this Fallen World.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Seven

  We made it about 35 miles outside of town before we hit the first roadblock. I had hoped to avoid the majority of towns and cities by staying on I-10; the local roads would have been far more likely to have petty dictators set up traffic stops to exact “taxes” or whatever they wanted to call their extortion attempts.

  We’d passed several off ramps to little podunk towns and gas stations (which, I thought, would be great places to get ambushed), but there was no avoiding the intersection of Highway 49, which was a major north-south connector in Mississippi. With an outlet mall and an international airport, it was too much to hope for that someone hadn’t taken control of it.

  “Hey, uh, Fred?” Sam asked pointing out in front of us. He hadn’t liked calling me Ishmael—something about a big whale that had ruined his grade point average in school and made him go into the Corporate Army. When I told him about getting called ‘Fred’ by one of the Blues, he’d laughed and said it was perfect for me. I didn’t particularly want to be called by the name of a dead guy—much less one that I had personally killed—but the name had stuck. Even the kids were using it now. Whatever.

  I frowned at him for using that name—to which he smiled, of course—and asked, “What?”

  “What’s that out there?” Sam asked. He had stayed in the cab with me while his son, George, and George’s three kids—John, Alice, and Eric—rode in the bed of the truck. It probably broke a number of rules and ordinances, but they were made by governments that didn’t exist anymore, so it really didn’t matter. They tried to stay low, and I tried not to hit any big bumps that would throw them out. It had worked so far.

  “Looks like there’s a road block,” I replied, slowing the truck. The people up ahead had put several cars across both lanes of traffic, prior to where the exit ramps left the travel lanes. Only the ones in my lane affected me—there was a concrete divider between the two directions of travel. It was hard to tell if there were lanes through the cars blocking the highway—there probably were, but I couldn’t see from where we stopped. I could, however, see at least four people behind the roadblock. I stopped the truck about half a mile from the roadblock to consider my options.

  “What do we do?” Sam asked.

  “Well, I doubt any of those people are out here to ensure we’re well-provisioned as we go past, nor are they there to wish us a cheery good-by as they speed us on our way.”

  Sam chuckled. “That seems logical enough.”

  “So,” I continued, “I suspect they have malice in their hearts and are going to try to take what we have away from us.”

  “Also a reasonable deduction, seems like.”

  “The problem is that I don’t think I want to give it to them, nor do I know whether they will let us go on, even if we gave them everything we have.”

  “Including the truck.”

  “Including the truck I so recently acquired,” I agreed.

  “So what do we do?” Sam asked.

  “I’m thinking about that.”

  “Had any ideas?”

  “So far, most of them are just things I don’t want to do. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to talk with them. I don’t want to give them everything I have, including my life.”

  “All things considered,” Sam said, “I’d rather you not give them our lives either.”

  “I figured you’d feel that way.”

  “So we’re back to the same question. What do we do?”

  “I’m still thinking. It seems like there’s a plan in the back of my brain—like I’ve been in this situation before—but I can’t pull it out.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to decide soon, because it looks like one of them is coming this way.”

  I looked up and saw Sam was right; one of the men had left the shelter of the barricade and was coming toward us. Worse, he held a rifle at port arms.

  “Not the friendliest of greetings to send someone out armed,” I noted.

  “Would you walk up to a bunch of strangers unarmed?” Sam asked.

  “Probably not,” I replied. I shifted the truck into reverse and backed slowly away from the man.

  “What are you doing, Fred?” Sam asked.

  “Seeing how much he wants to talk to us. And my name’s not Fred.”

  Sam smiled, and the man started running toward us. I sped up, keeping the same distance between us. With no one else on the road, it wasn’t difficult.

  “You might also
be trying to piss him off,” Sam noted.

  I looked over and winked. “I might be doing some of that, too,” I agreed as I looked over my shoulder to drive down the road.

  “Seems like you might have succeeded!” Sam exclaimed, his voice rising. “Kids, get down!”

  I looked forward to see the man aiming his rifle at us. “Fuck!” I yelled as I spun the vehicle around.

  The man fired, but my sudden movement threw off his aim.

  “Guess we know a little bit more about his intentions,” Sam noted, grabbing hold of the handle above the door as I skewed the truck around.

  “Guess so.” I put the accelerator to the floor and roared off, jerking the truck back and forth as the man fired a second and third time. Finally, I was around a corner, and I slowed the truck to a stop.

  “Everyone okay back there?” I asked through the rear window.

  “Little shaken and bruised,” George said, “but other than that, we’re okay.”

  “So what’s the plan now?” Sam asked as I tried to catch my breath and think.

  “Well, I don’t see that we have too many options,” I replied. “We can’t go back to Slidell, and I still don’t want to stop and talk to the people at the roadblock.”

  “Nope,” Sam said. “They didn’t much look like the talking types.”

  “Our only other option is to run the barricade.”

  “While they’re shooting at us.”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t say it was a good plan…”

  “It’s just the only one we have,” Sam finished with a sigh.

  “Pretty much.”

  “Let them know in the back to stay down,” I said, driving off in the opposite direction from the barricade.

  “Okay,” Sam replied, “but aren’t you going the wrong way?”

  “Nope. Just trying not to make it too easy on them.”

  I had almost made it back to the prior exit when I saw them. “Persistent bunch,” I noted, pointing at the collection of cars and trucks coming toward us at a high rate of speed.