American Apocalypse Wastelands

by Nova

  “Well, I hope it’s no one I’m related to,” Diesel said.

  We talked some more about where the gray car might have come from. Diesel pointed out nearby towns on the road map we had pinned to the wall and made some suggestions. “Of course he could be coming out of some farmhouse in the woods,” he added.

  “Before I forget,” Max interjected, “you both need to be at the VFW hall for a meeting at 1800 hours. Night is going to talk about the block manager program, and I am going to make my pitch to the vets about a town militia.”

  This was news to me. “When did this get planned?”

  “Oh, about two hours ago—when I found out they were having their monthly get-together.”

  Diesel grinned. “They gonna have food again?”

  “Yep. I think the Ladies Auxiliary is doing something.”

  Diesel looked at me. “You’re going to like this. Some of these women can cook!” We talked a bit more about the Ford. Diesel said he knew a guy who could fix it.

  I never made it to the meeting. Just as well. I hate meetings. The food would have been nice. Watching Night do her thing would have been nicer. That would have taken care of the first thirty minutes and then it would have gone downhill fast.

  There is always some idiot at this kind of meeting who feels the need to talk and talk. Then I would have to fight the overwhelming desire to pistol-whip his ass because even I am smart enough to know that would set back our community outreach program.

  I was sitting in the office with Max. We were getting ready to head to the VFW hall; for Max, an appointment at 1800 meant arriving at 1745. Diesel had already left. He and Night were going to meet us there.

  Then a concerned citizen came in. He said he had been driving into town from West Virginia to see family. About ten miles out of town he saw an RV off the side of the road and on fire. As he passed it, a white Ford F-150 and a gray, foreign-make car had pulled out and gone the other way. He didn’t stop.

  “I saw that RV on fire and them boys staring at me through that truck windshield, and I hit the gas. Them boys sure didn’t look like Good Samaritan types to me, let me tell you. Thank God, I’ve driven that road a million times, because I was flying.”

  “They follow you?”

  “No, sir. And I’ll tell you what, I am taking the long way back when it’s time to go home.”

  We asked him some questions but he couldn’t give us a good description of any of them. Max thanked him, told him we would get right on it, and sent him on his way.

  After the door shut, I looked at Max. “We?”

  “Yeah, well, you and Ninja need to run by and take a look. I need Tommy and Old Guy at my side for the meeting—they being local and all.”

  “Okay. So, we take your truck, see what we see, and report back. That it?”

  “Yep. And Gardener—”

  “Yeah?”

  “Make sure you pick up a couple M-14s. You may need to put some holes in steel.”

  “Okay. Give me your keys and I’ll be on my way. Make sure you tell Night what happened.”

  He handed me the keys and as I walked toward the door he added, “Body armor. Get the good stuff for you and Ninja out of the armory.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  I grabbed the armor and two M-14s and headed to the farm to look for Ninja. Of course he wasn’t where he had signed out to be. Instead I found him on the far side of the berm horsing around with the kids and Woof. I walked the kids back to the house while Ninja ran into the trailer and got whatever he thought he needed.

  We headed back toward town and about fifteen minutes later we were moving down Route 235 West. We were probably going to run out of daylight, which would hamper our look-see. I figured we’d have to come back and told Ninja as much.

  “Then why are we going now? Can’t it wait?”

  “No. There might be hurt people waiting for help. Plus, how can we be the law enforcement around here if we never go out on calls?”

  “So where’s our medic kit?”

  “Shut up, Ninja.”

  He laughed. “I thought so.”

  We talked about farm stuff and some girl he had seen when he had been in town. We saw the smoke right about where we were told it would be. It was coming from a dirt pull-off picnic and rest area. I stopped the truck. No one else was around. I saw a trailhead at one end of the pull-off with a couple of state signs next to it.

  “Is the Appalachian trail around here?”

  Ninja replied, “I have no idea.” His tone left no doubt that he thought it was a stupid question. He was right; it was.

  “Okay, hop out. Take the M-14 and cover me. I am going to roll right up to the RV. Get off to the side in the bushes.”

  He gave me a look that clearly said, Idiot, I know what to do, and jumped down out of the cab.

  I rolled up to the RV and got out. The camper had not completely burned. I could still make out the sticker on the door. It was the couple heading to the Born Again compound in Pennsylvania, all right.

  I didn’t like the smell of the smoke, though. Burnt RV should not smell like pork barbecue.

  I gave Ninja a hand sign: CLOSE ON ME. Then I walked around the RV. That’s where I found the old guy. He was lying in the dirt. It looked as though they’d had him kneel and had shot him in the back of the head. There was a spent brass casing on the ground about five feet from him. I picked it up and looked at it. It was a 9-millimeter. I dropped it into my pocket.

  About then Ninja came around the corner. I looked at him. He looked curious instead of like he was going to barf. He was starting to get hardcore, but I thought I would spare him seeing the toasted grandma I knew I was going to find.

  “Ninja, start making a circle around the RV. Work your way out and see what you find.”

  He nodded. One last backward look at the corpse and he began walking. I went around with him and stood in front of the door. It was open and I could see stuff scattered over the floor inside. It looked like the contents of a purse.

  I stepped inside. The cabinets in the kitchen were all open, and everything was gone, even the cookies. The refrigerator was also empty.

  I walked back toward the bedroom. That’s where she was, or what was left of her. She was curled up on the bed—what was left of it. She had been set on fire. I hoped she was dead first. The bed was smoking, and she was crispy. It was not a nice crispy. It was a red-and-blackwith-glints-of-white-from-bones crispy.

  I backed out of there. I walked about ten yards away from the RV and took a lot of deep breaths. The smell would not go away. It was as if it had crawled up my nose and made itself at home in my sinuses.

  I shrugged and turned around. Ninja was standing there looking at me. He was getting pretty good at moving quietly.

  “There was someone in the RV, wasn’t there?”

  “Yeah. It was an old lady. They set her on fire.”

  “Why? To hide what happened?”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  “Then why didn’t they drag the old guy in there too?”

  I took my eyes off the road long enough to look at him. “Good point, Ninja, good point. Maybe they were just assholes.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Should we bury them?”

  “Not now, Turtle. We don’t have any shovels, and I am not sure how Max wants to handle it.”

  He was quiet after that. I was thinking to myself, No way am I going back in there and hauling Crispy Grandma out. Just thinking about it gave me the willies.

  We headed back. I dropped Ninja at the house. Night wasn’t there so I headed into town. Old Guy would have given them a lift back, but I was restless. If I could have, I would have headed for the Interstate and driven for a while. Instead I figured I would go to the station, park the truck, and walk the town.

  Nobody was at the station. Still at the VFW hall talking, I guessed. I decided to leave a note to let them know what I was doing. I went to Max’s desk in search of paper and a pen. Curiosity got the be
tter of me and I thumbed through the paperwork. Nothing exciting. Fed paperwork for law enforcement grants. Town census notes. Financial projections by tax revenue. He was welcome to it.

  I walked the town. It was a quiet night. The cicadas were out, and I noticed how the stars were a lot clearer and there seemed to be more of them. I also noticed that I still smelled like pork barbecue. I hoped I had some clean clothes back at the trailer because I wasn’t going to be able to get my usual three days out of these.

  I passed a couple of people out walking and said, “Evening, folks.” It was returned with a smile and a hello. I was glad I liked watching westerns as a kid. It was great training for this. I headed back.

  They were all at the station, waiting and buzzing with excitement—Night especially. I sighed inwardly. I knew I had a few hours of listening to her analysis of the meeting ahead of me.

  I won’t bore you with what was said. We talked for the next two hours. I told Max about what I found, and he called the state police on our newly installed landline. It worked most of the time.

  One day Miss Edna told us that she had talked to the woman who took care of the telephone lines for our subregion. If we were willing to pay a small fee, the woman had said, she would see that our phone service worked most of the time. She could not guarantee it, because the phone company was no longer doing maintenance on the equipment. She would try to keep the line up and running as long as they could scavenge material. She was even willing to take payment in food or other items. I had been there when Miss Edna came by the station to talk to Max about it.

  “Max, I don’t mind paying them their ‘maintenance fee.’ I’m not sure how we are going to come up with it, but I will figure something out. What I am worried about is if they try to squeeze us for more once they get the first payment.” She paused and then added, “After all, this is the phone company we’re taking about here.”

  Max laughed. “What are we going to do if they try that, Gardener?”

  I thought for a few seconds. “Hmm. How about her, or one of her employees, hanging from a tree with a sign around their neck? I think something like ‘I got greedy and tried to Banker this town’ would get the message across.”

  Miss Edna looked at me. I watched thoughts flit across the surface of her eyes. “Yes, that would do just fine.”

  Max came back from making the call and pulled me aside. “The state police don’t want anything to do with it. They said bury them and e-mail them the victims’ information. If we could do that, he told me they would owe us one.”

  “Shit, Max, I am not burying her. You can count me out on that one.”

  “Don’t worry. I got a couple of people from the meeting who will do it for silver. It will also help focus them on why they need us.”

  “Well, I hope they don’t eat a big breakfast before they go. That was nasty.”

  “Oh, and don’t bring up the militia. Old Guy won’t shut up about it, but I want to talk to you about it in private.”

  “No problem. We are going to have to find these people.”

  “Yep. All in due time.”

  We went back to join the others, and Night told me about the progress the block managers were making. She would soon have a complete census for us that would include who had Internet or phone service, where the vacant houses were, and much more. She also wanted to talk to me later about the RV incident. She wanted to look at the topographic map to see if she could figure out possible places where they might be based.

  Max was right. Old Guy was talking nonstop about the “new unit.” I sighed. I was trapped for at least another hour.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Two uneventful days passed. I showed up for work on the third day expecting the same. I stopped by the station to get Diesel. Hawk had decided he liked working the night shift. Eventually we would go to three shifts, with Diesel and me trading off on the swing shift. That way I could still do chores on the farm. It made for a long day, but hey, everyone else was putting in some serious time, too.

  I didn’t know Diesel really well yet, but from his grin I knew something shitty was in the wind. “Hey, Max. Hey, Diesel. What the hell you grinning about?”

  Diesel laughed. “You’ll see.”

  “Yep. Come on, Gardener. It’s time to introduce you to your new patrol car.”

  I followed Max outside. I had noticed a blue minivan parked in front and was going to ask about it. It looked like I wasn’t going to have to.

  Max handed me the keys. “That’s it.”

  “You got to be kidding me. What am I going to do, take people into custody and then drop them off at their soccer game?”

  Diesel started snickering in the background.

  “What’re you laughing about?” Max asked. “You got to drive this piece of shit too.”

  “I know, I know.”

  I opened the door. There was a blue bubble light on the dashboard. I pointed at it. “Oh, now that makes all the difference in the world.”

  “You didn’t think I was going keep letting you drive my truck, did you?”

  I slid the back door open and looked around. On the floor was a DVD case. I picked it up and read the title: Veggie Tales. “So what were you using this van for before, torture?”

  “Very funny, Gardener. It’s only until we get the Crown Vic back from the shop.”

  “Right. I suppose this starts today?”

  “Yep, as soon as you get briefed. You’re on your own for a couple hours. Diesel is going to help me put in a tollbooth. Didn’t Night tell you?”

  “No.” Actually she had started to, but I had changed the subject to something that didn’t require as much talking.

  I rolled out in my blue 2001 Chrysler Town and Country. I hit the business section, parked, and did my rounds. I stopped in and picked up my rings. I had to slice my last remaining gold piece in half to pay off the balance. Then I got back in the minivan and started doing my drive through the residential areas.

  That’s when I saw the Accord. It had pulled out of one of the side streets and was heading toward the outside of town, where it could pick up Route 235 to West Virginia.

  I swept the bubble off the dashboard and turned to follow him. I saw him checking me out in the rearview mirror, but he didn’t pick up speed. Why should he? I was in a freaking minivan.

  He was going to have to stop at the four-way stop in three blocks. I put on my turn signal, turned right and then left, so I could run parallel to him.

  Three blocks up, I hit the intersection, made my left, and was picking up speed as he rolled to a stop. I didn’t. I floored it and was moving about thirty-five mph when he started through the intersection and I T-boned him.

  Wham! My airbag blew. Oh yeah, that hurt. I fumbled for my belt release and stepped out of the van. The other car’s airbag had not deployed. I was out of my car a few seconds before the driver of the Accord was, not that it meant all that much. It took me that long to be sure that all parts of me were going to function correctly.

  He stood shaking his head and holding on to the edge of his car. Since I had T-boned him, I had to go around his car. That was going to take too long.

  I yelled “Insurance!” at him and stepped back up into the minivan. From there I put one foot into the shattered side window frame and pushed off, trying to leap across the top of the Honda.

  I think he figured out about then that I wasn’t some dumb-ass who was taking a short cut to him with my insurance card. He dropped his hand from the car and went to draw his weapon.

  I didn’t make it all the way across. I came down hard on top of the car, my chest hitting right above where the driver’s head would be. I didn’t have time to draw. I should have drawn when I jumped. Instead, I reached out and grabbed his head with both hands and smashed it against the car where the door joined the roof. Then I pushed him back and did it again.

  I wanted to kill him, but I also wanted to talk to him. So I shoved him back hard. He lost his balance and fell onto hi
s back. I pulled my legs up under me, jumped off the roof, and fell on top of him.

  He was moaning. He wasn’t happy, and neither was I. My chest hurt and my right hand was bleeding. I must have scraped it on the shattered glass or metal.

  I put the barrel of the Ruger in his face and said, “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

  Blood poured from a gash in his head. I reached down, pulled his weapon from its holster and tossed it about ten feet away.

  “Get on your knees and take off your shirt.”

  “Damn. Call 911. I need help.”

  911? I thought. Is this asshole in shock or did he just drop in from Zone central?

  “Get on your knees, asshole. You need to take off your shirt so I can wrap that head wound.”

  He struggled with getting it off. I let him struggle. Damn, he had bled on it, too. We needed to get some gloves for this kind of shit.

  “Toss it to me.” I took it and walked behind him. “If you move, I am going to hurt you.”

  “Like you haven’t already.”

  I wrapped it around his head and knotted it tight in the back. “Stay there.”

  I looked up to see Max and Diesel flying down the street toward me in the truck. Max braked hard and was out the door as soon as it stopped. Both he and Diesel had their weapons drawn. Diesel had an M-14 and was scanning the rooftops and houses.

  Max yelled, “You got any more, G?”

  “We’re good. This is it.”

  Max holstered his .45, but Diesel did not relax. If anything he was getting even more tense. He kept watching the rooftops.

  Max walked over and looked at the minivan. “Damn, Gardener. If I knew you felt that strongly about driving this, I would have let you take the truck.” He walked over to where the dipshit was on the ground. “You know this is going to be a little embarrassing for you if it’s the wrong guy.”

  “It’s the right one. I remember the tag.” That wasn’t entirely true; I only remembered the first three letters. Close enough.

  Where was Diesel? I expected him to be standing here giving me a hard time. I turned and spotted him crouching by the back of the minivan. I didn’t like how he looked.